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lisired · 2 months

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who needs cupid’s bow?

pairing: bff!haechan x (f) reader

genre/warnings: bff2l, suggestive, lots of sexual innuedos but no smut, fluff, a teaspoon of angst, mc & hc are oblivious to each other’s feelings and jaemin calls them out on their bullshit, mutual pining

summary: Cupid is not on your side, it seems. He’s made you fall in love with the worst possible person ever, AKA your best friend, AKA the man who still eats tootsie-pops—willingly. And frankly, it feels like the damn candy has a better chance of dating him than you ever will.

word count: 11.1k

a/n: inspired by down for you by kehlani, boyfriend by ariana grande, and serial lover by kehlani. another oldie but i kinda like it… kinda. as always, feedback is appreciated!

It’s safe to say that Cupid is your mortal enemy (Or immortal—whatever. Nonetheless, you aren’t the biggest fan of him.)

You don’t know why, but for some inexplicable reason, he always makes you fall in love with the wrong people. Such as Lee Taeyong from eighth grade, or your failed relationship with Kim Jisoo from your biology class in high school — a pretty girl, but you were as compatible as Mentos and Coca-Cola. Hell, there was even Jung Sungchan from senior year, who you naturally drifted away from during an exam period. They’re all chapters in your book now, but you’re currently stuck on the one about your best friend, Lee Haechan.

It seems like you’re Cupid’s mortal enemy, too. You and Haechan are always side by side, down one another’s throats, there’s no way his arrow could have hit you and missed Haechan.

Perhaps, it’s a hole you dug yourself in. Via mutual friends, when you were seventeen, you met Lee Haechan — jock, senior, and the most beautiful boy you’ve ever seen. There was an instant connection between you two, all it took was a convo at a party about coincidentally both failing the same math exam, and you quickly became friends and close enough to pour out your heart into little rants whenever there was something personal bothering either of you, and you needed an outlet. You liked him because he understood you. He was patient witth you. You see, you aren’t the best at communicating how you feel, and he never makes you feel bad about it.

You remember breaking up with your then-boyfriend, Jung Sungchan, and while you weren’t heartbroken since you saw it coming and all the love had evaporated by then, you were devastated that you no longer had someone to kiss. That being your main concern made Haechan laugh. He thought it was the most you thing ever.

“Can I kiss you, then?” you asked, a little grin on your face, although you were very serious. It wouldn’t be the end of the world, kissing your best friend. He has pretty lips, and it isn’t like it’ll mean anything, you think. It’s just one kiss.

Haechan scoffed, biting off the last remaining piece of his Tootsie Pop off the stick. You’re kidding, he thinks. Why would you seriously want to kiss him? And after breaking up with your now ex-boyfriend? The wound’s still fresh. “You wouldn’t dare.”

To Haechan’s surprise, you dared.

He tasted like chocolate, exactly like a Tootsie Pop, as expected of him. You didn’t mind, though. You never do. It was fun, you liked the way Haechan held you in his lap and kissed you back with fierceness, and he still kisses you with that same passion, like there’s no tomorrow.

And that’s the problem.

Fast-forward four years later, you’re still best friends with Lee Haechan, only this time you’re in college, and have the fattest, most gigantic crush on him. Somewhere along the way, those lines between love and friendship were blurred. It’s impossible to pinpoint when, but you fell deep and hard for your best friend.

And the worst part? You doubt he’ll ever reciprocate those feelings.

One kiss turned into more than you can count on your fingers and toes.

Should you continue making out with your best friend who doesn’t reciprocate your romantic interest in him? Probably not.

Are you still going to, though? Absolutely.

“Y/n, I’m going to kill you,” Haechan states as he stumps inside the dining room. His hair is tussled since he’s just waken up from a nap, but you like this raw side of him. He looks gorgeous, and despite him basically threatening to murder you you still want to kiss him.

“Romantic,” you deadpan, training your eyes back on your laptop. It takes everything in you not to stare, but if you want to keep your feelings low-key, you need to follow a couple of rules.

“I know you took my Tootsie Pop. Where is it?”

You smirk a little, but it quickly fades into a line. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Okay, so maybe that’s a lie, and you both know it. You aren’t the only other person in the house, but Jungwoo, Haechan’s stepbrother, is asleep and wouldn’t cut his nap time short to do something as stupid as stealing the last of his brother’s favorite candy. That leaves you. As his best friend, you’re the first person to know Haechan turns murderous over those stupid lollipops, and that he’s the last person to know how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie-Pop. In your personal opinion, they’re not even that good. But he’s loved them ever since you’ve known him.

“We’re best friends, y/n. I know when you’re lying,” he remarks, and doesn’t give you the chance to answer before he persists, “where is it?”

There’s only one way out of this.

Run.

Haechan follows almost automatically, and in spite of being barely awake he obviously has the upper hand because he’s always leaned more towards the sport-y side. This doesn’t deter you though, because you have a getaway plan.

In your attempt to somehow outrun a man that used to do track and field, you make a beeline for the backyard door. He’s not going to outrun you in the grass in slippers, you think as you turn to see if he’s caught up on you. You’re in the lead, albeit barely, with your body almost being in arms reach. You try to pick up your speed, and once you reach the door you hurry to turn the knob. Except, there’s one, itty-bitty problem.

The door is fucking locked.

And you already know you won’t have time to open it, so you cave in to defeat, whirling around with your hands up in a surrendering pose. Your plan’s backfired; you’ve been caught.

“Oh, I’ve got you now,” Haechan says cockily. He has you—hook, line, and sinker, and at this point you aren’t even upset. You can’t be upset. His eyes are on you, and his body is close to yours, dangerously so.

“Okay, you win. Happy?” You mumur.

“Not until I get my Tootsie Pop back,” he shakes his head, “now where is it?”

Smiling, you shrug. Of course, you know where the candy is, but he’s either going to have to win or pry the answer out of you.

Then, he steps even closer, and your heart starts pounding in your chest twenty times faster than your feet were against the hardwood. This isn’t your first rodeo, you’ve made out with your best friend countless times, yet the anticipation gives you a rush, like you’ve never done this before. It makes you feel like a teenager in love all over again — seventeen, young and head over heels in love with the man closest to you.

He’s back you into the door, and you can’t keep your eyes off his lips. Beautiful, plush, soft, and your eyes flutter shut as you prepare to feel the same skilled pair against your own, closer, and closer, and closer—

Crunch.

“I fucking knew it!” Haechan yells, jolting your eyes open. You aren’t even given the opportunity to register the situation before his hands are digging into your back pocket, retrieving his fortunately unharmed Tootsie Pop.

It feels like he’s gone before you can even blink, and realizing he’s slipped back into the hall, you begin to follow him into his room. “Hey!” you yell, and he doesn’t say anything, just looking up at you from his gaming chair with that damn candy hanging from his mouth, “why didn’t you kiss me?”

“Why’d you steal my Tootsie Pop?”

Okay, that was stupid, yes, but there was a particular goal in mind which was reached, even if for a short-lived moment.

You frown, “I wanted your attention.”

Haechan shakes his head, laughing. “C’mere.”

Somehow, those words never fail, making you melt and slip into his lap effortlessly every time. You’re like Jell-O to his voice, to his touch, to his whole. You’re a goner, some would say, and a part of you is alright with never coming back if it means you get to feel all the weird, Cupid-y emotions he makes you feel.

At this point, you don’t think you’ll ever stop kissing Haechan. In the time that you’ve been together, you’ve both been in relationships, hence putting the make out sessions on hiatus. They were never really long though, because you’d break up with them and inevitably find your way back to one another in the end.

His fingers guide your chin up, and once more your eyes flutter shut as his lips unite with yours. Haechan kisses in a manner that contrasts with the soft feeling of his lips. He always starts off gentle, but there’s a hunger that overcomes him as he stands up and pushes you against his desk, rough yet graceful and holding you so firmly, like you’re glass, but he wants to break you. And when he shatters you into all those tiny pieces, you don’t care. You want him to glue you back together and do it all over again. He’s intoxicating, he’s an addictive drug, but he tastes like candy, and you can’t stop coming back to him. He feels like home, the place where you belong. The place where you can be one-hundred percent, authentically you, safe and whole, more than the general perception than you. And fuck, does he kiss like the damn devil himself.

You were silly for ever believing it would only be one kiss.

Jungwoo thinks that for people who are trying to keep their not-so relationship-y relationship under wraps, you two are very loud.

Speaking of which, and despite the nature of your relationship, you and Haechan haven’t even discussed your label. You know that you aren’t friends with benefits—you haven’t crossed that line, but to be honest, those lines have been starting to look blurry for a while—but you also aren’t in a relationship. You see other people, you fuck other people, and when other people ask if you’re dating, you both deny it immediately. You’re just best friends, you both say each time like some rehearsed line, even if it breaks your heart to hear him friendzone you.

Karina and Mark even have an ongoing bet about you two. Karina is one-hundred positive there’s something going on, whereas Mark is probably the only person in the world that wants to give you guys the benefit of the doubt.

“For heaven’s sake, I can’t get any type of sleep around here,” Jungwoo rasps, leaning against the doorframe, “I really hope you guys don’t do this shit when Dohwan’s here.”

His judgmental eyes practically bore into your soul, and you thank heaven that you don’t have to worry about keeping this secret from Jungwoo, even if he would probably appreciate it more if you did. He finds you in a rather interesting position, straddling Haechan’s lap as you press kisses into his collarbone.

It’s all Haechan’s fault, really. Three years ago, Jungwoo made the mistake of walking inside Haechan’s bedroom without knocking, accidentally finding you two making out in a very touchy way on his bed because a certain someone didn’t think to lock the door. Not only did you ruin his quote-unquote innocence, but his perception of you forever, and ever since that ordeal, Jungwoo has never opened his stepbrother’s door without knocking. This time, it just so happened to be wide-open.

You bite your lip, feeling bad. Kim Dohwan is Haechan’s halfbrother of whom he babysits whenever available (and you like to tag on, because dealing with children is stressful and Haechan’s already stressed enough), and on weekdays Jungwoo has to wake up from his nap earlier to pick up the kid from school and bring him back home, then leave for work. You were too loud and disrupted the poor guy’s nap time.

“Oh,” Haechan says the syllable blankly, not too sympathetic, “did we wake you?”

“Of course not, I usually wake up at 2pm and take extra longs showers to start my day,” Jungwoo deadpans, “but whatever. I’m heading out. Don’t forget to go grocery shopping today.”

“Noted,” you and Haechan say simultaneously, gazing at one another and stifling giggles when you catch each other’s gaze. Jungwoo smiles at you, then flicks off his brother before parting.

When you’re both all alone again, a few seconds pass before Haechan’s eyes do that thing where they twinkle every time something catches his interest (or perhaps that’s the in love side of your brain making you see things.)

“Hey, you coming to Chenle’s Valentines Day party Monday?” You don’t know why he’s even asking, you follow Haechan everywhere he goes like a lost puppy. Maybe he’s discreetly asking you out. “Unless you’re actually busy, by the way, I hope you know you’re going. And maybe you’ll find some single pringle interested in a relationship. You can’t just kiss me forever, you know.” Oh. Well that eliminates that thought.

A part of you is yelling at you to decline, to lie and say that you actually have a dick or pussy appointment scheduled for the 14th, yet another is weak, in spite of you being aware of how this works. First of all, Valentine’s Day parties are mainly for single people who don’t have anything better to do, and each time one of you go to one, you end up meeting some stranger and hooking up with them. You know that’s more than likely what he’s going to do, and you aren’t strong enough to watch him flirt with other people.

You know how to put up a good front, though, so you’ll fake it until you make it.

“We can do a lot more than kiss,” you suggest with a wink.

Haechan grimaces, “No thanks. Now get off my lap.”

You frown, but climb off his lap nonetheless. “Wow,” you drag dramatically, “You’ll make out with me for what feels like hours, but sticking your dick in me is where you draw the line?”

“Precisely.”

You gasp in faux offense. “Oh, come on. Sex doesn’t seem so bad. Like, think of it as my pussy giving your dick a nice warm hug.”

Haechan’s at a lost for words, his face bright red. How do you even come up with this stuff? “Oh my god, are you coming or not?”

You joke, “I thought you said sticking your dick in me was where you draw the line?”

He shoots you a glare so sharp you’re sure that if you were still on his lap, he’d be barely resisting the urge to shove you off. You don’t miss the way his cheeks heat up, though.

Haechan groans exasperatedly, leaning back his gaming chair, “Y/n, seriously!”

“Fine!” resisting your best friend is literally impossible, you conclude, because you have officially caved in to his request—or, more or less, demand, rather, “fine, fine! I’ll go!”

“Great,” he grins with satisfaction, beaming with his thirty-two teeth, and you even see little gleams of smiles in his eyes, “anyway, Dohwan’s gonna be here soon, so let’s get ready to go shopping.”

You furrow your brows. You have a solid twenty minutes left, and all you really need to do is slip on your shoes.

“I need more Tootsie Pops,” Haechan adds, and suddenly everything makes a lot more sense.

And you roll your eyes. “We’ll get you some more Tootsie Pops, but you better not ditch us for the candy aisle!”

“Of course, not,” he smiles, not even trying to sound or appear convincing. “I’d never leave you guys.”

That’s exactly what he does.

You aren’t even remotely surprised, though heavily disappointed when he announces in the middle of the thankfully empty cereal aisle that he’s going to find Tootsie Pops, managing to run off before you can even protest.

Gripping the shopping cart, you avert your gaze from the Cinnamon Toast Cruch boxes to his figure, almost missing him jog onto the following aisle. You shake your head, a small smile tugging your lips. If it were the end of the world, Haechan would stock up on those candies before he would even think to consider water.

“Auntie Y/N,” you aren’t quite adjusted to being addressed as an aunt, but you aren’t against it either. You have the image all put together—rich, thriving, and the kids adore you, “do you love my brother?”

That was perhaps the very last question you expected the six-year-old boy to ask you. Your eyes are a little wide, but it’s a kid, you remind yourself, so you shouldn’t be worried. But shit, then again, if a first-grader can figure it out, you’re fresh out of luck.

“Why do you think that?” You crouch down to be eye-level with him, having a feeling there’s some misunderstanding here. Dohwan’s bright for his age and doesn’t let anyone forget it, but you’ll be damned if he’s sniffed you out.

He makes a face. “I saw you kiss him, just like mommy and daddy do. And my mommy and daddy love each other very—” he stretches the vowel, and you can’t but giggle, “—much! That’s why they made me!” then he gasps, and you fear what it means, praying he doesn’t ask what you think he will. “Will you and my brother have a baby, too? I wan’ a new friend!”

On second thought, you think you’d rather he would’ve asked you what you thought he was. You nearly have a heart attack in the middle of the aisle, yet still, Dohwan gazes up at you with his innocent, sparkly eyes. You assume it’s in the blood; Jungwoo doesn’t have them, and he isn’t blood-related to Haechan, but Dohwan partially is, and the twinkle is promiment.

Calmly, you reply, “Don’t you already have a lot friends?”

He does, you both know it. You vaguely remember pulling up to his sixth birthday bash and being in shock of all the little kids jumping and flipping on the Spider-Man bouncy house. You haven’t been surrounded by that many children since, hell, probably since kindergarten.

“Yeah, but I wanna be a big brother,” he folds his tiny arms and pouts, “It’s not fair Hyuck and Woo get to be big, but I don’t!”

With minimum success, you manage to stifle your laugh, stretching out your arms to bring the little boy in for a hug, “You’ll be big one day. Trust me, you don’t wanna rush it.”

“And strong like Superman?”

“And strong like Superman,” you reassure, all smiley and convincing. “Now let’s go check up on your big brother, he’s taking too long.”

Dohwan rocks from side to side as he walks, murmuring some Nickelodeon TV show theme song, and you push the cart until you’ve reached your designation.

Quickly, you regret acting on your impatience. The scene taking place at the back of the aisle is anything but comforting—Haechan’s talking to some girl, whom of which is literally throwing herself onto him, and you can’t help but notice the way he wallows in the attention. For fucks sake, all the attention you give him and he doesn’t even give a fraction of it back! Then here comes this random girl from your campus.

Sometimes, you think about how you could do everything she’s doing right now—twirl your hair around your finger, be touchy with him, giggling girlishly at everything he says, funny or not—and yet he wouldn’t bat an eye, because you’re best friends and nothing more. Kissing each other breathless is already normalized between the two of you, what’s a little flirting.

Sometimes, you wish you hadn’t kissed your best friend that day. You’re both too comfortable, everything is too weightless. I love you, Haechan says it back without a thought. C’mere, he calls and pulls you onto his lap or cuddles you to death. Fuck, he—on very rare occasions when making out goes a little too far—groans into your ear, groping you a little. Scratch that. It may be weightless on his end, but it isn’t on yours, and everything has an everlasting effect on you.

“Auntie?”

When you look down at Dohwan, your gaze is so, so tired. Your eyes do the talking; you can’t move your lips.

He hugs your leg. “I love you.”

His face is pure, innocent, but he reads you so perfectly. The corners of your lips turn up, and you ruffle his hair, “Love ya, too. Let’s go get your brother, alright?”

He bounces eagerly, and you both begin to stroll down the aisle until you’re beside Haechan. You’re in a selfish mood today, so you think of some remark to make in the process.

“Nice Tootsie Pops, Bowlcut,” you mask your tiny emotional breakdown with a joke, “Hi, Faith.”

“Hope,” she corrects, evidently annoyed by your presence, though she doesn’t state it outright. “My name is Hope. And… bowl cut?”

“Interchangeable,” you dismiss her correction carelessly. In all honesty, you already knew her name, but you’re feeling like a bitter bitch currently, “and yeah, in high school Haechan had this hideous bowl cut that he—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Haechan grumbles, “that was four years ago!”

“And I’ll never forget,” you’re smiling blissfully, nostalgic. “Anyways, what’cha two doing?”

“We were catching up, it’s been a minute since I’ve seen Hope here,” you hear Hope snicker at this, and something about it is extremely off-putting. He turns to her, “So, I’m in a bit of a time crunch. Could I have your number?”

Ouch. Right in your face, literally.

She giggles some more, typing her number in his phone, and you try to focus on Dohwan so that you don’t cave into your desire to knock her upside the head. There’s already so much on your plate, you don’t need an assault charge.

She smiles, all bubbly and giddy. You know jealousy isn’t a good look, but it’s still pissing you off. “See you around?”

“See you around,” Haechan replies. She hugs him, not forgetting to shoot you a look from across his shoulder as she does, and only once satisfied does she turns on her heel, sashaying away.

“Didn’t know pussy was on the shopping list,” you sneer, relieved once she’s finally gone. Her presence was suffocating.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he rolls his eyes, “at least I’m actually trying, I don’t know what you’re going to do when I’m cuffed down and—holy sh—I mean crap! You’re so quiet, I forgot you were here,” Haechan jumps, only noticing Dohwan when he pokes at his leg. “And don’t you dare make a cuff joke, y/n. Not in front of the kid.”

You yell in that defensive tone which is a tell-tale sign you’re lying, “I wasn’t gonna!”

Haechan gives you the look.

The we’re-best-friends, I-know-when-you’re-lying look.

And that look is utterly withering, so you decide you’re accepting defeat. “Okay fine, maybe I was thinking about it, but I wasn’t actually gonna say it. Not with him around.”

Haechan snorts, like you said something funny, but in reality he just doesn’t believe you. “Yeah, alright. Let’s finish shopping.”

You don’t argue, but there’s a lingering thought in your mind as you push the cart, rattling around in your brain still.

When he’s cuffed. Hmm. You can’t speak for him completely, but you both know how that one goes. When you get into a relationship, you think the person is great and they serve as a nice temporary distraction—that is, until you’re bored and realize no one will ever compare to Haechan, and especially not in the kissing department. So you break up, and then you go back to making out with Haechan, solidifying your suspicion that no one will ever replace your best friend. It’s the reason you don’t do relationships anymore, you feel bad for using people when you know it isn’t going to change a thing. It never does.

As far as your knowledge extends, things aren’t too different with Haechan. You and him don’t push things, you don’t pry too deep. There’s some unspoken boundary, and you know when to drop things. That’s why you both say the same thing each time you ask one another why you and whoever it was that you were previously seeing broke up—it wasn’t working out.

Like a moth to a flame, Haechan always finds his way back to you too, because apparently you’re the only person that can keep him tied down. You don’t think that’s the case, though. Your problem is you’re in love with your best friend, no matter how hard you try to suppress the feelings. His problem? You can’t be sure, but you’d guess commitment issues.

Whatever it is, and as selfish as it may sound, you want it to stay. He isn’t yours, but you like the comfort of knowing that he isn’t anyone else’s, either.

If Cupid had a human counterpart, it would be Na Jaemin in reincarnated form. He may not have wings nor a bow and arrow, but he does have dedication and a gigantic mouth.

“I can’t believe you called me over here for this,” you stand in an effort to leave, but Jaemin pulls you back down by your wrist, so you sigh, accepting that you’re stuck in the cafe and in the middle of a Jaem-terrogation.

“Not so fast, Sonic. You still haven’t answered my question. I don’t have all day, you know, I have other people’s business to be in,” he admits unabashedly, and you snort at his honesty.

Jaemin is an extremely shameless, extremely straightforward individual. He knows what he wants, how to get it, and the only time he’s afraid of letting someone know what he’s chasing for is when it interferes with his goal of obtaining said desire. He loves all things drama and gossip, and these are the lengths he’ll go to squeeze information out of you. No wonder he’s one of the writers for the campus newspaper.

“I don’t have feelings for Haechan,” you fiddle with your fork. “And even if I did, why would it matter? Haechan doesn’t have feelings for me, either.”

“Forgive me, but you’re a fucking dumbass,” Jaemin concludes, and you gasp in dramatic offense. “Why would I be here if he didn’t like you back, y/n? You know that he hasn’t had anyone over in two weeks? There’s like, three things at the top of Haechan’s list of shit he needs to survive, and that’s you, Tootsie Pops, and sex. Yet he’s gone two entire weeks without it. He likes you, really fucking bad.”

“Golly gee, Haechan hasn’t fucked anyone in two entire weeks. He must be head over heels in love with me,” you deadpan, ignoring how Jaemin rolls his eyes in response. “Be serious, Jaem. He literally got this girl’s number the other day. The man said himself that he doesn’t want to stick his dick in me. There’s nothing going on.”

Okay, so maybe Haechan is a raging sexaholic. Maybe he’s been a little horny recently. And maybe contact-full makeout sessions have been a reoccurrence in the past two weeks, but none of that matters, and he typically has extreme self control. Fresh as yesterday, he was definitely trying to get into Hope’s pants. It’s weightless, everything between you. It means absolutely nothing, and you’re trying to come to terms with the possibility that it never will. You wish your friends would accept the fact, too.

At least they don’t know you and Haechan make out, and have been for the past four years. They’d be insufferable, and you two would absolutely never hear the end of it.

“Y/n, please. Your biggest competition is those damn Tootsie Pops.”

“And if you told him that he had to live without me or the candy, he’d choose them over me any day.”

“Actually, he’d tell me to fuck off—and stop asking him stupid questions. You can’t tell me I’m wrong because I’m speaking from experience,” Jaemin grins, “I pushed the question until he gave me a proper answer. He chose you, by the way.”

You groan into your hands, “Unless you have some other evidence to provide besides this stupid question and him not getting laid in two weeks, you’re wasting my time here, Cupid.”

Jaemin sighs, “I thought I could pressure you into admitting your feelings—”

“I don’t have feelings for Haechan!”

“—that you deny having, but I guess taking the high road doesn’t work. Don’t worry, I still have plan B. I mean, you should be worried, but it’s whatever.”

You blink. “Plan B?”

He ignores you, standing up and preparing to take his leave. You’re still curious about whatever his alternative, backup plan is however, and he doesn’t look like he’s going to tell you.

“Jaemin!” You shriek. “What are you talking about?”

“February 14th, Chenle’s party,” he answers vaguely, swinging his bag over his shoulders. “Be there, or be square. Whatever that means.”

He exits without another word, leaving you dumbfounded and with a sudden dread in your chest. They don’t… know, do they? No, of course not. How could they? You’ve been keeping this secret for nearly four years, and the only people that know are Jungwoo and Dohwan.

Great. Another reason to dread the fourteenth, and despise Cupid—and his human counterpart, your actual mortal enemy.

“I know you like Regina George, but the dress code is Cady Heron.”

Bummer. You didn’t exactly plan on attending as a sexy bunny in fishnets and knee-high boots, but you don’t intend on wearing a Party City outfit, neither. It’s only the 6th though, so you still have a week and some change to outfit plan.

You frown, “Why the change? None of his past parties have had much of a dress code.”

“Because Chenle is also stuck babysitting his baby brother on Valentine’s day while his parents are having a date night,” Haechan answers. “I’m not saying you have to dress like a prude, but don’t dress like a slut, either.”

Ignoring the insinuation behind his words, you don’t miss the fact he said also. “What do you mean also? Don’t tell me…”

“Exactly what you think. Dad is whisking my stepmom away on a romantic evening date to only God knows where, and Jungwoo is busy with his girlfriend, so me being the sole single-pringle in the family gave him the bright idea to have me baby sit,” he explains, though he doesn’t seem burdened by the task. “I don’t really mind, though. It’d be one thing if I planned on getting some pussy that night, but no one’s smashing at a party where there’s children. I hope not, at least.”

You wince at that. You hope not, too. It’s a setback that you have to re-plan your outfit, but on the plus side, Haechan can and will help you decide this time, even if you have to force him.

So that’s where you find yourself a couple hours later, your bedroom a mess as the aftermath of the meticulous care you’ve put into your self-styling. You’ve narrowed it down to two outfit selections; option A, the white crop-top with the cute pink pants; or option B, the pretty and red mini-dress with stilettos. It’s a little embarrassing that hours of your indecisiveness have led you to this conclusion, but you want to choose the perfect outfit that’s also not overbearing.

“And I have to help you why?”

“Because you’re my best friend, and that’s what best friends are for, duh.”

Haechan’s favorite thing about your place is you have all his utmost favorite games—and that literally everything there is like a piece of you, from the decoration to the smell of your perfume bottles you keep in your bathroom. He’d never tell you that, though—so he wasn’t too enthusiastic about being interrupted from his video-gaming session. But then, he realized he gets a special preview of your Valentine’s day outfit, and Haechan loves the way you dress, probably an abnormal amount. Slutty or prude-y.

“Then what’cha waiting for? Strip for me, princess,” he demands jokingly. It isn’t normal for you to feel bashful by anything a guy says, but everything is so different with Haechan. It’s the littlest, simplist things that drive you over the edge, that make you want him in ways you probably, scratch that, definitely shouldn’t.

And all the questions, assumptions, and rumors regarding your nonexistent relationship with Haechan aren’t exactly unwarranted. You two flirt and touch an abnormal amount, and while it’s common knowledge that Haechan is a touchy person, and you’re a natural flirt, people say it’s extreme between you two.

That makes you laugh. When it comes to the tension between you both that people speak of, you wish you could see what they see.

“You want to watch me strip?” You’re genuinely surprised, only the other day he seemed repulsed by the thought of you naked. “That’s new. I’m guessing you haven’t gotten laid in a hot minute.”

Haechan rolls his eyes, silently confirming what Jaemin told you at the cafe, but you shake the thought away, refusing to let it spur you on. It doesn’t mean anything. “Anyways. You’ve got nothing I haven’t seen before, baby girl. Now, you gonna strip or what?”

“I’m stripping, I’m stripping! Relax, Liam Payne!” It’s really nothing he hasn’t seen before, because Haechan’s seen naked girls, and he’s seen you half-naked before, so neither of you actually care. You peel off your top, slowly and in a strip tease sort of way and look him in the eye, giggling once you catch him shaking his head. You don’t repeat the movement with your shorts though, simply taking them off and picking up your new shirt to slip it off the hanger.

Successfully discreet, Haechan wallows in the sight of you half-naked for as long as he can before you’re slipping on the crop top and the pink pants. Now that he thinks about it, he bought you those pants, and darn do they make your ass look good. Then he realizes he’s thinking about your ass and taking not as discreet looks at it, and shakes the thought away.

“So?” Your voice cuts through the silence. “What do you think?”

He needs a moment to gather himself and recollect his thoughts, because he feels like turning on Destiny’s Child’s Bootylicious and if spoke his mind he would definitely say something he’d regret. Like, I could fuck the shit out of you. He doesn’t think he should say that.

“What do you mean, what do I think? I bought you those pants, I’d be damned if I thought you didn’t look good in them,” Haechan supplies, making you roll your eyes in response.

“Very underwhelming reaction. I wanted you to fall out on the floor and pass out for a few seconds with your hand on your chest,” you pout.

“Definitely not doing all that,” he chuckles. “But you do look good enough for… somebody to do it. Anyways, it’s stripping time again. Get in that dress for me, princess.”

If he doesn’t stop with the pet names you’re going to combust. You hide it though, taking off outfit option A and putting on option B. You feel confident in your appearance, with or without him, but the way Haechan’s practically gawking at you does boost said confidence.

“What about this one?”

Okay, so Haechan’s one-hundred percent biased in his decision—or maybe he isn’t, since he didn’t buy this outfit—though nonetheless, he loves this dress on you. In his personal opinion, you’ll look good in anything you wear, but the way this particular dress hugs your figure perfectly is a bonus. He knows all eyes are going to be on you the moment you step inside Chenle’s house, and maybe he’s going to have to keep you and Dohwan close to his side.

Rather than replying verbally, Haechan walks forward and pulls you into a kiss. His hands dip around your waist, skirting the area until he’s gripping you like he’s afraid of letting go.

And as always, you melt into his lips. Like ice to the sun, or wax to a flame. It’s the umpteenth kiss in your whole lifetime, but Haechan always makes it feel like the first time. Like two love-struck highschoolers, except with a lot more experience. Haechan kisses you like he loves you, and you hate it. You might even loathe it.

His fingers slip down your hips, to your revealed thighs, like he just so happens to know that’s one of your weak spots. Luckily you’ve learned some of his weak spots too, and not really thinking, you don’t hesitate to aim for his most sensitive one - his neck. You can’t get used to how beautiful he sounds as he moans, your lips pressing into his sweet spot and leaving undoubtedly a mark.

“Fuck,” Haechan moans, “you’re my kryptonite, you know that?”

“A kiss is all it takes for you to fold?” You gasp out with a smirk.

“Shut up.”

Your grin widens. “Make me.”

Just as he leans in, about to pin you down to your duvet and kiss the life out of you while you’re thinking that maybe this is the tension people speak of, his phone rings in his back pocket. It feels like snapping out some trance or spell, like a reverse Cupid’s arrow, and he instantly backs off of you.

He takes a look at his phone screen. “I um, I gotta take this.”

Biting your lip, you nod. “Okay.”

“You look great though,” he comments, and you smile thinly at him as he slips from between your fingertips yet again.

It seems that you’re left all alone, pathetically wet, and wondering if that person on the other line is Hope - but you try to shake that thought off.

Sighing, you flop against your sheets. Love is some extremely cruel, extremely rigged game that only lucky people win, and it seems that Luck has sided with the evil that is Cupid. You’ve been dealt cards, and Haechan refuses to show you his hand. All you can do is watch it play out.

Haechan knew that something was dangerously off when Jaemin bought him a brand-new bag of Tootsie Pops without being asked, and invited you over for a movie night with the guys, offering to open up with you and Haechan’s all-time favorite movie, Mean Girls. He even offered to play The Kissing Booth next! Everyone else instantly protested of course, but the fact he offered in the first place is borderline suspicious.

Sure, Jaemin’s not the devil or anything, depending on who you ask. He’s… kind, and he can be a sweetheart. But Jaemin does nothing for free, and Haechan can’t shake the thought that this is planned bribery. And it isn’t hush-money. Jaemin doesn’t buy silence, he buys words.

By the time Jaemin asks Haechan to help him with the popcorn, he’s ninety-nine point nine percent sure that something is definitely wrong here. Yet still, he follows him into the kitchen.

“Alright, what’s up man?” Haechan wastes zero time, wanting to get to the bottom of all this. “I know you want something out of me. There’s no other reason you would offer to play The Kissing Booth, or buy me Tootsie Pops for free.”

Jaemin scoffs, but he doesn’t try to front, “Glad you know. Since we’re on the same page, let’s address this thing with you and y/n.”

“That’s what this is about?” Haechan grumbles. “I’ve told you, I don’t have feelings for her!” He whisper-yells.

Jaemin has heard that far too many times for it to be convincing. He’s positive that even Helen Keller herself could tell you two are hopelessly in love. Takes one to know one, he thinks. It seems the three of you must be blind, because you and Haechan are oblivious to your feelings for one another, and it’s painfully obvious.

“And Mary wasn’t a virgin,” Jaemin says ironically, making Haechan roll his eyes. “If you’re not in love with her, then explain what the hell is going on between you two. I know that she’s your best friend or whatever, but you don’t act like it at all. From a fresh perspective, someone would totally think you’re in love.”

Haechan hates that he’s right. It doesn’t make sense the amount of times you’ve gone to public places and had cashiers refer to you as a couple, or elderly people ask you if you’re together. Because you’re not. You’re best friends, and even if Haechan wants to be more than that, that’s his label. And he’s sure he’s stuck with it for life.

“You’re fucking Hope to distract yourself from your feelings for y/n,” Jaemin adds, and it’s a statement, not a question.

“I’m not—”

“You are,” Jaemin interjects. “Head over heels, in love with a girl you think doesn’t reciprocate your feelings, and you’re also being an ass to her, whether you know it or not.”

If Haechan was in a situation where he needed to simplify the reason you two click so well, he’d say chalk it up to compatibility and say it’s because you’re like a mirror of one another. Which also means he knows you, better than anyone else even, and he knows neither of you do the whole catching feelings things anymore. You like to fuck and flirt, and fuck some more, to avoid the fact that you love too hard. If you fuck people whose names you don’t even remember, it doesn’t mean a darn thing that you two make out.

No one really knows about that part yet. But they do know that you like to fuck, and that’s why Haechan thinks that if he’s an ass, then that means so are you. What the fuck is he doing that you aren’t?

Even if he is an ass, what is he supposed to do? He’s only recently realized that damn, he actually does have feelings for you, which is where Hope comes along and yes, he is fucking her to distract himself from you. So what? It’s not like it’s working, he’s still stuck on you, obsessed with the thought of you, craving your touch and the sound of your voice. He still loves you, and it’s so scary because no matter what his friends say, he thinks they don’t know you or your relationship like he does. They think they do, but they don’t.

“I’m not in love,” Haechan lies through his teeth, “maybe I’m in like.”

Jaemin snorts. In like? That’s the stupidest thing he’s ever heard. Not in love his fucking ass. “You’re in denial, that’s what you are.”

Haechan grumbles, trying desperately not to raise his voice so that the others don’t hear him from the living room, “Even if I did like her—and I’m telling you, I don’t—it wouldn’t change anything because she doesn’t like me.”

“You two are the same breed of oblivious and stupid,” Jaemin takes the popcorn out of the microwave, pouring it all into a bowl. He’s even laughing, much to Haechan’s confusion, but he’s apparently unbothered by Haechan’s lack of confession, “but fine. Lie to my face. I still have a backup plan.”

“A back-up plan?” Haechan repeats, lost.

“I just thought it would be nice of me to try and get you to confess before I have to work a Valentine’s day miracle, but unfortunately you two are a match made in heaven—both terribly stubborn,” Jaemin says vaguely, not really answering Haechan’s question, “so I guess we’ll all know the truth at Chenle’s party.”

Jaemin exits with the popcorn bowls before Haechan can even part his lips to ask another question, and he stands there, shocked and unsure of how to react. He’s concerned, though. Jaemin has something cooking (besides the popcorn), and he isn’t sure what, but it’s Na fucking gossiping blabbermouth Jaemin. That means it can’t be anything good.

So apparently when you and Haechan had that heated makeout session the other day, you left a trail - or in other words, you marked his neck the fuck up.

You hadn’t noticed because he covered it up with concealer, but you’re in the middle of another one of those when he stops you, preventing you from repeating your mistake.

“You can’t do that. People will see,” Haechan frowns. You wonder what’s the problem with hickeys. Is he embarrassed? No way. Haechan? Embarrassed? About hickeys? He has much bigger fish to fry.

In contrast, you’re over the moon. Even if he isn’t yours, marking him up makes you feel like he belongs to you. Plus, other people will see, and they’ll know that he isn’t theirs, either. Haechan also has a beautiful neck, you realize as you stare at his skin. It makes you wonder if there’s anything about him that isn’t beautiful.

“Would that be so bad?” You ask. “You’d look sexy all marked up by me.”

Haechan groans, “Do you ever think with your head and not your pussy?”

“I wish my pussy was my head. My head’s just so full of you,” you sigh dramatically.

It’s rare for Haechan to blush, but you somehow manage to make him full-on flush sometimes and you take that as an achievement. It’s partially the reason you love flirting with him so much, he’s so reactive. His reactions are cute sometimes.

“Be serious for 5 seconds,” he whines, and you giggle.

“I was serious,” you insist, “but fine, I’ll think with my head since yours is clearly not working. No one’s gonna assume they’re from me, Hyuck. Just tell them they’re from one of your hoes.”

“I know, but it’s not them I’m worried about. It’s, um…” he trails off.

You’re confused, blinking. If not your friends, then who on earth—oh, for fucks sake.

“It’s Hope,” you utter tonelessly.

“Yeah, uh, yeah,” he wonders why you suddenly sound so dry, and then the whole grocery shopping thing seeps back into his mind. You obviously don’t like Hope, and it’s not just you, really. Lots of people don’t like her. But Haechan needs a pretty face to compete with the image of yours in his head, even if it isn’t winning. “She kinda likes me, and—”

“Do you like her?” You don’t mean to ask so fast. It slips, like your mouth has a mind of its own.

Haechan shrugs. No, he doesn’t like her. He likes you, but he thinks that maybe he can somehow convince himself it’s the other way around. So he replies, “Maybe.”

Fuck. You try not to appear suddenly devoid of life, forcing a cheery smile. “That’s… nice,” you lie through your teeth. “Let me take this opportunity to have one last kiss before I possibly never will again?”

Haechan snickers, to silently say as if. He isn’t wrong for it, either. One kiss is never one kiss with him — never has been, never will be. There’s a reason you both bonded over bombing a math exam.

D-day rolls around, and you’re eyeing your frame in your full-length mirror, smoothing your palms over your dress as you give yourself a quick once-over before the clock strikes 7PM. You look like that bitch, and everyone in that party is going to fucking know it because you’re going to walk in there like that bitch. Fuck Cupid. You don’t need his stupid bow. And fuck Haechan, too. He’s your ride, but he’s gonna ditch you at some point in the party like he always does. It’ll be no different now, and this time, you’ll be the first one to leave.

The chime of the doorbell jolts you from your mental slumber, and you quickly reach for your purse then head towards the door with a heavy heartbeat. You know he’s already seen you in this dress, he chose it for fucks sake, but there’s something else that gets your heart racing—no. You can’t think about him. Fuck Haechan, remember? He’s no good for you.

“Here goes nothing,” you mutter to yourself, palm on the doorknob, “you can do this.”

Haechan’s sucks in a breath the moment you open the door. You look gorgeous. You always do, but in this particular moment, you look better than you ever have before. Those corny romance sayings usually make him laugh with mirth, but he’s genuinely convinced you look better everyday that he sees you. All dressed up like this, or not.

“You look so pretty, Auntie!” Dohwan beats him to a compliment.

You bend down to ruffle the boy’s hair, “Thank you, Dohwan. You look very handsome.” And then you look at Haechan.

He looks handsome as well, unfortunately. Jet black hair, exposed forehead, and his outfit is black with red hearts in the center of the shirt. You try not to pay him too much mind, but your heart and the place between your thighs don’t seem to agree with your mind. He catches you looking at him, and feels a twinge of anxiousness in his heart. Get it together, man, he tells himself. Lee Donghyuck doesn’t get nervous looking at pretty girls. Lee Donghyuck doesn’t hesitate about his actions, either, wondering if he should hold your hand, he doesn’t rethink what he should say. It all comes to him naturally.

“Yeah, you look beautiful,” he settles, mentally cursing himself for being unable to think of anything else. He blames you. Ever since you first snuck in his mind, you’ve been living rent-free there, and make it hard to think about anything else sometimes. That’s why he thought that needed distractions.

If you could relay the message to your heart, you’d tell it stop beating. Instead, you mask your emotion, smiling. “Thank you, likewise. Now c’mon, we gotta get there by 7:30!”

Haechan’s saddened by the dismissal, but you don’t catch his face as you walk to his car.

If you ignore him, you can do this.

Haechan cannot do this.

Something isn’t right. It wasn’t right the second he noticed you gave him a simple, rushed compliment, not bothering to make some sexual remark that usually makes Haechan’s cheeks feel like fire. You didn’t even kiss him before you got in the car. And Haechan’s sure you’ve been avoiding him like the plague, scurrying off and getting lost in the red and pink sea before he could even ask you if you wanted to check out the drink menu.

He doesn’t know where you are, and that haunts him. Turns out Chenle is paying Yangyang, Ten and Jisung to keep the kids entertained on one end of the house, whilst the adults do adult-y things on the other. You could be with someone else for all he knows, hell, you probably are. He was practically fuming when he saw some people staring at you as you walked in.

“Uh oh, I think y/n divorced Haechan,” Chenle jokes, and a choir of laughs follows suit.

Haechan grumbles, “A guy can’t miss his girl best friend?”

“Of course, you can,” Chenle drawls, “but everyone knows she’s more than just a friend to you. Like even if you aren’t together, there’s no way you guys don’t have feelings for each other.”

“Right? And they’re so cute together, too. A literal match made in heaven by angel Cupid,” Jaemin agrees, speaking as though Haechan isn’t right there.

“You’re dating y/n?” gasps Karina, overhearing Jaemin much to Haechan’s dismay. Oh, great, she’s as much as a blabbermouth as he is. The whole world’s going to think Haechan’s dating you in five minutes or less.

“No!”

“Yes, he is, spread the word,” Jaemin says, already knowing he doesn’t have to tell her. Karina’s mumbling I knew it under her breath before jogging somewhere.

“You know,” Haechan starts, downing a shot because if he’s not at least tipsy he’s going to die at this party, “she’s been making me watch murder documentaries with her and I’ve definitely picked up a thing or two. I’d be careful.”

Jaemin scoffs, “Please. You’re going to be kissing my ass and the ground that I walk on by the time this party’s over.”

There it goes. Haechan wonders what’s so special about tonight that Jaemin’s been hinting at vaguely. It’s been keeping him on his toes, but he doesn’t ask because he knows Jaemin, and he isn’t going to tell him a thing. The one time this guy wants to keep something secret.

An hour flies by, and Haechan still hasn’t seen you. He’s looked for you, and refuses to believe his eyes are somehow missing you, even though you’re in a crowd. He literally went up the stars and gazed over the railing for a better view, and you were no where to be found. You’ve refused to answer your phone, too, and Haechan doesn’t know what to do. He would just start talking to some random chick, but that’s not what Haechan wants. He doesn’t want some random chick. He wants to be with you. Hold you. Touch you. Kiss you, with no shame, no fear, in front of everyone, and he isn’t in denial about it. He wants you.

And Jaemin is fed up.

“Alright, I’m tired of you moping around drinking like a divorced man. Let’s go to the kitchen,” Jaemin suggests. Or commands, but still.

Haechan quirks a brow. “Where there’s nothing but more drinks?”

“Trust me, I’m not letting you drink anymore tonight. You have a wife and a kid to drive home,” Jaemin jokes. Usually he’d deny any sort of relationship with you that isn’t best-friendship, but Haechan simply shakes his head, following his friend and roommate into the kitchen.

Then he sees you, and his jaw doesn’t just drop, but it falls flat on the ground, bounces a little, and comes back down. You’re clinging to Chenle’s side with a confused face, equally as surprised to see him, though not very delighted.

“What’s going on?”

You stare at one another.

“Stop copying me!”

Jaemin and Chenle stare at one another, then stare at you two staring at one another, and stare at one another again.

“I hate to interrupt your… stare-off, but there’s a reason we brought you two here,” Jaemin interjects, making you two finally split gazes as you stare at him, confused.

“Which is?”

You glare at him. Jaemin’s success was short-lived, it seems.

“Drum roll, please,” he says, and Chenle begins tapping against the counter, “Dohwan!”

Suddenly, Dohwan pops up from around the corner. He’s on the completely wrong side of the house, and while he’s under adult supervision, you still wonder why he’s here.

You blink. “What’s he doing here?”

Jaemin smirks. “I’m glad you asked. Dohwan tells me he’s witnessing some very interesting sights of the two of you. Go ahead and tell us what you saw, kiddo.”

“I saw Haechan and Auntie y/n kissing, like mommy and daddy do!” Dohwan shares, grimacing in disgust. If you weren’t practically fearing for your life right now, you’d probably laugh at his reaction.

“And how often do you see this?” Chenle adds.

“Um…” the kid ponders, “every time Auntie y/n comes over. I heard them say they wanted to keep it a secret from me, but they’re not very good at it.”

Haechan shoots you a panicked look, and you’re wearing the exact same one. By the time you realize that this is what Jaemin’s been hinting at this whole time, it’s much too late. Your secret has been exposed to the worst people ever, and now they’re definitely going to think you’re dating.

“Thank you for your input, Dohwan,” Jaemin smiles, then turns to look at you and Haechan. You’re both frozen and stiff, unsure of how to respond. “So, anything to say about this?”

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Haechan’s quick to say. You hope no one catches the way your face falters with hurt for a split second. “If you want me to be honest, then fine, I will. Yeah, we kiss. We’ve been kissing since high school, but it didn’t mean anything then and it doesn’t mean anything now. We just, I don’t know, do it for fun.”

Chenle deadpans, “So you just kiss for pure, innocent fun.”

“Exactly,” Haechan nods. “It means nothing.”

It means something to me, you think to yourself, and when you notice the silence in the room, you gaze up to see everyone’s eyes on you, Haechan’s a little wide. Oh, fuck.

“I said that aloud, didn’t I?”

“Yep,” Jaemin grins. He was right. “Is there something you want to share with the class?”

Stupidly, you decide to look at Haechan, and he’s re-lost his composure, frozen up and stiff all over again. Your heart is pounding harder than it has been all night. It’s partially the alcohol, but you can feel it in your veins and all around you. It won’t leave you alone, and looking at Haechan, it’s faster, as if to say he’s the one I want.

So you choose to make another decision that you might possibly regret, but you have to get this off your chest. It isn’t news to anyone but Haechan anyways.

“Donghyuck,” you start, and he knows it’s getting serious because you just said his government name. You literally never call him by his government name. “I know we agreed to keep things platonic, and for it to mean nothing, but I want you. Like really, really bad. I think I—no, everyone’s right, I really am, extremely in love with you. If you don’t feel the same I understand, I just had to get this off my che—”

You aren’t given the chance to finish before Haechan swoops you in his arms, reaching for your waist as he pulls you into a kiss. There’s a chorus of cheers from Chenle and Jaemin, followed by a shriek of disgust from Dohwan as he covers his eyes, but you two aren’t trying to hide anymore, you want to scream from the rooftops that you’re in love. Yes, the infamous Lee Donghyuck and y/n know more than flirting and fucking. You’re in love, drunk off of a sip of it and the taste of Haechan’s lips, and god, has kissing your best friend never felt better.

“Let’s give the newlywed couple some privacy now,” Jaemin says with a grin. Gosh, he really is the spawn of Cupid, but you have to thank him. This wouldn’t be happening if it wasn’t for his stupid ‘gotcha!’ plan. “You two work this out.”

The three of them pile out, and you and Haechan part from one another to breathe. You stay in comfortable silence for a moment, his hands slipping into yours.

“Your hands are sweating,” you comment after a while.

“It’s hot.”

“It’s the middle of February.”

“So? Global warming is real, you know,” Haechan shrugs, refusing to acknowledge the fact that his hand is sweating because he’s nervous. He’s accepted that you make him feel all warm inside and his heart feel like mush, but he still isn’t used to not hiding the way you make him feel.

You laugh but don’t press things. “Newlywed couple, huh. Can’t be, you still haven’t popped the question.”

“Yeah?” He laughs, too. “Then will you take my hand in marriage and take me as your illegally wedded husband?”

You hum, pretending to contemplate, “Hmm, I don’t know. You sure you don’t wanna marry a giant cardboard Tootsie Pop cutout? Or what about that girl? What happened to her, by the way, I thought you said you liked her.”

Haechan groans, not really wanting to think about her right now, “No more Hope. Ironically, she’s a lost cause. I had to cut shit with her because she can’t comprehend what a fling is. She wanted a relationship, and you know, I lied to you when I said that I might want her. I didn’t know you liked me back until, like, now, so I was just saying shit in hopes of convincing myself I could stop liking you. That planned failed, though.”

His words lift a massive weight off of your shoulders, and you finally feel like you can breathe now. Take that, bitch, you think with a smirk. She was giggling in your face so hard at the grocery store, but you’re having the last laugh.

You tilt your head. “What about the Tootsie Pops?”

“Yeah, sorry but I can’t give them up as easily. Would you mind a Tootsie Pop bouquet?”

Gosh, this is the man you love. You roll your eyes, but smile as you reply, “You know, you’re like a Tootsie Pop.”

If Haechan were a dog, his ears would perk up right now. “How come?”

“I’ll never know how long I’ll be able to kiss you without wanting to fuck you,” you lean in his ear to purr, voice tickling his neck. You eye it and his lips, and lord knows you can’t wait to finally be able to mark him up again.

“Yeah? Wanna go home, put Dohwan to sleep, and let me take this dress off you?” He grips at your waist, his hand resting there with the burning urge to dip lower. He bites his lip.

“Thought you drew the line at sticking your dick in me,” you joke.

“That was when I was in denial about wanting you,” Haechan whispers, “but now I can admit to myself that even though you amazing in this dress, I wanna take it off of you. Your body’s perfect.”

“I kinda hate the scar on my thigh.”

“Don’t. It provides depth to your character. It makes someone wonder how you got it, the story of how it happened,” he answers, ever so deeply.

“Poetic,” you snort, “can’t tell if you’re giving me Bruno Mars or John Legend vibes more right now.”

Haechan rolls his eyes, smiling. “You said you’d never know how long you’d be able to kiss me without dying to fuck me, right?”

“I never said dying.”

He ignores you, “Then let’s put it to the test, shall we?”

Your lips wind up pressed firmly to his, with your hands on his cheek and his palms on your hips yet again. It’s fiercer than ever, Haechan’s kissing you like he doesn’t want to let you breathe, like he wants to stay in this moment with you forever. He kisses you with love and lust, with passion and desire, with emotion and no more fear in his chocolate-y eyes. You don’t regret kissing Haechan that day. It took a while, but it brought you to this moment where you can finally call him yours. And that one more kiss stuff is bullshit. His lips are yours and vice versa, and as you’re by each other’s side, you’ll never stop kissing him. And he’ll never stop kissing you.

“They’re here!” Karina suddenly bursts into the kitchen, pointing at you and Haechan. “Look! I told you they were dating!”

Oh, god. You totally forgot about Karina’s stupid bet with Mark. Mark looks entirely devastated and surprised, devastated because that’s twenty-five bucks gone from his wallet, and surprised because he genuinely believed you and Haechan have been best friends this whole time. Technically, he isn’t wrong, but you’re not sure if you want to interrupt to tell them that.

Mark whines, “Oh, c’mon! I really thought you guys were just friends.”

“Pay up, loser,” Karina smirks, and with a pout, Mark pulls cash from his pockets.

Haechan looks at you, and while you don’t say anything, you can tell you’re both thinking the exact same thing. The whole campus is about to know you two are dating. Karina’s for sure going to tell everyone she knows, hell, probably even people she doesn’t know, and there’s a ninety-nine point nine percent chance of Jaemin raining your business on everyone in his latest report for the school newspaper.

You can’t say that you care, though. This is what you wanted, to unashamedly love Haechan, to be able to state it proudly in front of everyone, to let everyone know, to claim him as yours and yours only. So fuck Cupid. Fuck his bow, fuck his arrow, because this relationship is all a product of you and Haechan’s hard work and dedication.

Who needs Cupid’s bow when you have tasty lips and Tootsie-Pops?

“You’re telling me you’ve been in love with me for the past four years? Oh, you’re a soldier. I would have given up in the first month.”

You snort. Part of becoming Haechan’s girlfriend is the process of telling one another the secrets you’ve been keeping, such as how long you can been in love. Haechan’s been in love with you for a solid year, he thinks, maybe two, but it’s been almost four years for you, on the other hand.

“If only it were that easy,” you sigh. “Trust me, I tried getting over you by getting under other people—how Jessie Reyez of me—but that didn’t work out, obviously.”

“You are too much like me,” Haechan shakes his head. “What made you think we should anyways?”

“You mean, four years ago, or now?”

Haechan shrugs. “Either. Give me three reasons.”

“Oh, brace yourself. I could do a presentation on this. One, we know each other’s McDonald’s orders. Two, like you said, we’re very alike. When have we ever argued over pizza toppings?” You reason. “Three, I can’t imagine kissing anybody else. I mean, we’ve basically been practicing on each other for the past four years. I’m the reason you can kiss so good, it would insane for you make out with other people. Four, I have a fat ass and sometimes I catch you staring at—”

“I said three reasons!” Haechan cries, face blooming red as a rose.

“I could go for a fifth,” you grin, “we’re both terrible at math.”

“Damn right we are,” he mutters. “But that’s what makes us… us, isn’t it? The only reason we’re dating right now is because we couldn’t resist kissing each other after one time.”

He’s right. It practically only took one kiss to fall in love with Haechan. He’s giving you major Dua Lipa vibes right now.

“I know you’re thinking about that Dua Lipa song right now.”

You smirk. “You know me very well.”

He tilts his head. “And what else are you thinking about?”

“That you look like all I need,” you say in tune, making Haechan laugh. “And I just want to feel your skin on mine.”

“Then we should do something about that, right?” Haechan smirks back.

You’re kissing the smirk right off his lips seconds later, and this is where you decide that you just can’t get enough of him. Even if one kiss is all it takes, you’re greedy for more, and more, and more, until both your lips are swollen and you’re both gasping for air.

#haechan smut #nct 127 smut #nct dream smut #nct smut #haechan x reader #nct imagines #haechan imagines #lee haechan smut #nct x reader #nct #nct scenarios

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goldyeokki · 11 months

Text

𝟏𝟎 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐈 𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ¹⁸⁺

꒰ ♡ ꒱ 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐓: lee donghyuck, huang renjun, mark lee, osaki shotaro, jung sungchan, uchinaga eri (giselle), ning yi zhuo (ningning)

꒰ ♡ ꒱ 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄𝐒: pure crack, a pinch of angst, fluff, smut ꒰ ♡ ꒱ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: you and lee donghyuck both get along like oil and water. if it were up to you, you would be going about your days without even breathing in his direction. unfortunately you're in the same friend group and you have to tolerate each other. as handsome or attractive as people claim him to be, you hate his guts. there's so many reasons why you hate him, so why do you get butterflies in your stomach when he's near?

꒰ ♡ ꒱ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 35.5k (i'm so sorry) ꒰ ♡ ꒱ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: [NOT 100% PROOFREAD] social media elements; uni au; enemies to lovers; lots of plot before the porn; semi-slow burn; lots of flashbacks in first half; reader is in denial half the damn time; hyuck is a self-sacrificial idiot; love triangle (?); renhyuck crumbs; sungtaro forever neos; mc is emotionally constipated; mc wears a skirt and makeup; mc is canon attracted to both men and women; bad ex!song mingi; consumption of alcohol; mentions of weed and vapes / unprotected sex; big dick!hyuck; brief mean dom!hyuck; praise; possessiveness; choking; edging; overstimulation; clit spanking; multiple orgasms; mating press; if i missed out any i apologise

꒰ 💬 ꒱ 𝐇𝐔𝐀'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: the first installation of before the last flower blooms is finally out! happy belated birthday to our fullsun hyuck, and i hope everyone enjoys this fic as much as i did when i wrote it (♡ˊ͈ ꒳ ˋ͈) a lot of blood, sweat and tears were put into this i think i lost a bit of my sanity ngl

have you ever taken a look at someone and been filled with a compelling urge to shove their smug face into a hot, steaming pile of crap?

that’s how you feel whenever lee donghyuck breathes in your direction.

you would think that being in a big friend group would discourage any feelings of animosity between one another. unfortunately, that is not the case for you and someone whom you want to call your mortal enemy. but it would be a stretch to say that. you have a rather complex relationship with donghyuck.

for the longest time, you’ve both hated each other’s guts yet due to your shared friend group, you’ve learned to tolerate each other and be civil when the time calls for it. sometimes you’re both as thick as thieves, being the culprits for harmless little pranks that your friends often become the unwilling victims of. he is a notorious flirt who can and will flirt with anything that breathes. your friend group (especially renjun and mark) are victims too but when it comes to you, he knows exactly what to say to make your heart skip a beat or render you speechless. you’re convinced that he’s doing it to toy around with you because you’ve never seen him in a relationship, be it casual or serious, for as long as you’ve known him.

but when it’s just the both of you, there are moments when he’ll strip away that obnoxious—dare you say, façade—and you can simply exist. he won’t pick on you like he usually would. sometimes even in the presence of other people, he’ll still actively look out for you. if you could describe his behaviour around you in one word, it’ll be confusing. he edges you and drags you around with a ribbon you don’t recall him ever tying on you and it gets so frustrating when he gets the last laugh.

he’s a massive pain in the ass for sure but there is one thing that you can admit: he doesn’t strike you to be the kind of person who would be malicious to others without reason. you just hate personalities like him.

he’s always strutting around like a proud peacock, acting like he knows something nobody else in the room does. he always finds a way to get under your skin—be it sidling up to you and telling you stupid things with your friend group around or teasing you when it’s just the both of you—but you’d rather be buried six feet under than admit your life would be less entertaining without him around.

you don’t know why lee donghyuck hates you, but of all the reasons that you hate him, you have a hot ten list that he routinely reminds you of every waking second of your life.

#10: EVEN WHEN HE’S QUIET, HE’S STILL THE LOUDEST PERSON IN THE ROOM

there was a party at his fraternity just a couple of months ago. you were the first to arrive along with giselle since class ended early and you weren’t exactly in the mood to study. mark was the one who bribed you both with the promise of bubble tea so of course you didn’t want to disappoint. you came to the conclusion that he didn’t want the first few strings of people to come in and see a party full of testosterone. he had always been thoughtful like that and you’ve admired him for it. it’s no surprise that he’s so well-liked everywhere he goes.

when you arrived, donghyuck was nowhere to be found. it was only mark, renjun, and some others you don’t fully recognise lugging the beer kegs around. both you and giselle offered to help and they gave you towers of plastic cups to plant at every corner of the fraternity possible.

“it feels weirdly quiet without him. i don’t like it.” giselle mumbled just loud enough for you to hear. she was stacking a few more cups on the foldable table that leaned up against the stairs with fruit punch and rows of canned drinks for anyone who didn’t want to drink alcohol. of all the frat houses that you’ve been to, the one that cared most about their partygoers was the alpha neo frat.

you didn’t want to admit it, but she was right. even when there’s music playing through the speakers at a volume loud enough for you to feel the bass in your bones, it’s eerily quiet without his presence. it felt like you were in a horror movie waiting for the killer to surprise you.

“don’t summon the devil, babe.” you chuckled through your nose. you heard her giggle quietly from where she stood and then there was silence.

an uneasy feeling settled in the pit of your stomach, like the calm before the storm.

from where you were in the kitchen, you had the perfect view of the entrance to the door. you nursed your bubble tea and chewed on the paper straw. it was beginning to get soggy and you were starting to get annoyed. how the hell were you going to chew on the tapioca balls now?

something told you that he was going to appear in a couple of seconds. you kept your eyes on the door, biding your time as you patiently waited for the man of the hour to arrive. at least he had never been tardy.

the front door suddenly threw open. the corners of your lips crack a soft smile. right when you had predicted.

“I’M HERE, PARTY PEO– ah? it’s just you guys . . .”

lee donghyuck came barrelling in with sungchan and shotaro in tow, all carrying more cheap beer. he first spotted giselle and immediately grinned before he made his way over to greet her with bear hugs. “giselle, our pretty girl!” he practically yelled for the whole house to hear. you’re almost sure that the walls were trembling from his voice.

“hi, y/n!” shotaro and sungchan were the first to spot you as you emerged from the kitchen to help them with the beer cans. you waved back at the duo. when you reached for the pack in sungchan’s hands, he raised them above both your heads and you raised an eyebrow. “this one isn’t for the party, it’s for us to start the party.”

“yeah, we figured the frat already got more than enough for half the campus and then some,” shotaro mused. well, they’re not wrong. with an amused laugh, you gestured to the kitchen.

“alright, let’s keep them cool in the fridge first while we wait for the rest of the gang to come in.”

shortly after the remainder of your friend group had arrived, everyone gathered in a circle in the living room with a beer can in hand. some force in the universe had placed you in between donghyuck and renjun—two best friends with absolutely opposite personalities. damn, your luck was shit.

everyone took their time (see: a quick five seconds) to get ready to shotgun their beer before the party started. you weren’t exactly the best at it but you weren’t going to ask the loser on your right to help out. when you struggled to punch a hole, donghyuck quietly took your can and passed you his freshly punched one with a sigh of faux annoyance.

“c’mon, y/n. we shotgun beers every time we party!” he complained out loud which naturally gathered a few pairs of eyes to land on you both. you wanted to be embarrassed but you’re too occupied processing the fact that he had performed a selfless act . . . of sorts. you rolled your eyes and glared at him when he attempted to give you a tutorial on how to punch a hole in a beer can. “this is how you do it, babe. if you can’t do it, you can always ask for the handsome and charming hyuckie to help you out!” ooh, you really want to sock his stupidly handsome face that very moment.

wait. handsome? no. he’s not handsome. he’s attractive, yeah, but not to you.

fuck. keep it together, dude.

“shut up, it’s not like i do this every other day unlike you, dumbass!” your brows creased and you were tempted to smack the back of his head but you held yourself back. instead, you simply scoffed and attempted to look away.

“just take my can, since i’m your greatest friend in the whole wide world and you looooove me.” donghyuck made it a point to quite literally push his face close to yours. in the dim multi-coloured lighting of the common space you’ve all gathered at, the glint of his lip ring caught your eye. ever since he had gotten that lip ring a few months ago, you’ve been guilty of staring at it every once in a while. but it’s not like you wanted to! it’s right there. it was right in your face, how could you not stare?!

you sharply turned your head and shoved him away to put some distance between your bodies. he’s such a sneaky brat.

“no you’re not, suck my dick.” you rolled your shoulders back and looked at giselle who stood across you in the circle. she only gave you a pointed look and winked flirtatiously, which very quickly made an amused smile appear on your face.

“okay, okay, are we gonna start or are you two going to keep bickering?” renjun voiced out what everyone else was most likely thinking. you assumed that donghyuck was batting his eyelashes at him or probably doing something weird with his face. “don’t give me that look, donghyuck.”

“it’s my lucky handsome look on my lucky handsome face.” he countered. his best friend sighed quietly through his nose.

“anyway.” you pressed, side-eyeing the smug bastard and forcing the shotgun session to begin.

“this is our final year, kinda started a while back but, whatever.” you began, then looked at sungchan, mark, and ningning who were conveniently lined up next to each other. you smiled softly at the trio. “except for you three. mark started grad school already and our babies ning and channie are still in junior year.”

the fond nicknames rolled off your tongue easily for the two younger members of the friend group. hushed giggles and chuckles lingered in the air, almost with a bittersweet note. everyone knew what it meant for you and the rest of the group. as much as it pained for you to say it, you really don’t want this little ragtag team of weirdos to disband when the bulk of you graduate. renjun is still pursuing grad school afterwards so at least he and mark will still have each other but it’s so up in the air for everyone else. despite it all, you know that your love and bond with one another are strong enough to lead you all back to each other.

“we’ll catch up. just wait for us.” sungchan raised his beer can to you. before you can continue, you were interrupted by none other than—

“(nickname) this is too sad, i’m taking over.” donghyuck cleared his throat obnoxiously and bumped his hip against yours as if telling you to move aside. you exhaled through your nose, hearing renjun quietly snicker to your left as you shifted your position accordingly. “first party of the alpha neo frat, let’s have tons of fun and get shitfaced drunk!”

when everyone was about to cheer in agreement, shotaro cleared his throat so obnoxiously that you feared he was going to cough up his larynx. donghyuck blinked and looked at the male.

“. . . within reason because we have classes tomorrow?” he attempted once again, unsure and obviously not a big fan of the responsible idea. shotaro nodded with a bright, satisfied smile, eyes forming half-crescents as he did. donghyuck whined out loud and began his little complaining rant. “taro, you’re no fun. the uni experience is to walk into 9ams with a hangover and–”

“can’t hear you, we’re shotgunning!” ningning announced and raised her can to her lips. laughter echoed throughout, filling up the space of the common room and also your heart. mark followed suit, cheering before he did, and some of the golden liquid dripped past his lips as he downed his drink.

everyone was putting their beer cans up to follow and you felt compelled to face your side. you looked to your right to meet donghyuck’s gaze. had he been waiting for you? almost always you end up right next to each other during pre-party shotguns and almost always he would offer to shotgun together. you don’t understand why but you couldn’t care enough to want to figure out why.

he raised his can slightly. he didn’t say a single word but you could hear him asking if you wanted to shotgun your beers together. the corners of his lips curled upwards into a hopeful yet cheeky grin, but not before swathing his tongue across his bottom lip. your eye caught the saliva-stained gleam on his lip ring once again and you had to force yourself to drag your gaze back up to his eyes. you really needed to give renjun an earful for dragging him along to the piercing studio.

you nodded and gave him back a sincere smile. the both of you raised your beer cans, bodies facing each other. his eyes were fixed on you and you could feel some form of disturbance in your stomach. why did you feel a little nervous? you met his gaze and lifted your can to your lips, him mirroring your actions. in shared silence, while everyone cheered and celebrated in the background, you shotgunned your drinks together as your eyes were locked on each other.

you’re brought back to the present thanks to a rather violent sneeze that came from your left. you turn to look at giselle who’s wrapped up in a thick blanket. her cheeks and nose are a bright scarlet, eyes watery as she glares at her laptop while furiously typing away.

it’s a busy period for the entire student body. just like everyone, you’re swamped with deadlines and projects. you have a milestone check with your professors for three of your classes in the upcoming week, an exam in two, and a group project to consolidate before its submission that same week.

what you’re looking forward to is the four-week semester break that comes right after. you’re not too big on parties but some cheap beer, messy making out with a hot stranger with alcohol and music buzzing through your veins sounds like the perfect celebration after the stressful weeks that came before.

as a journalism student, you doubt giselle is able to catch that much of a break. you remember her complaining to you about her workload a couple of nights ago. her head was on your lap as you stroked her hair while listening to her. apparently, on top of writing an article, she has a group assignment worth 70% of her grade that requires the entire group to produce a video news story. although she was assigned to a team with no freeloaders, everyone’s ideas keep clashing which is causing a lot of stress and pressure on her as the designated team leader.

“gigi, are you sure you want to continue studying?” shotaro quietly whispers, very clearly concerned. he’s only wearing a t-shirt since he had already given her his hoodie, but anyone can tell he’s ready to run back to his dorm to grab another layer for her if she needs it.

“yeah gi, you look really sick.” you echo his sentiments, tucking locks of your hair behind your ears to get a better look at her. there’s a seat between you two, occupied by your bags and unused books. you lean closer to her over the seat and press the back of your index and middle finger against her neck. she doesn’t feel hot, but she does feel a bit warm. unsatisfied with the results you’d gotten, you press the same fingers against her temple. only then do you feel her temperature rise. “giselle babe, you should rest. you’re burning up a little.”

“don’t worry about me, guys,” she manages a weak smile. she sounds so nasally and you resist the urge to sigh but shotaro doesn’t. “i promise i’m okay. it’s just a bit of a sinus.”

“are you sure?” you cock an eyebrow upward, withdrawing yourself back from her.

“i am, i promise.”

everyone leaves it at that. you’re back to dedicating your attention to your laptop to focus on studying but you very quickly find that you’re unable to.

you feel a prickling sensation—like somebody is staring intently at you, watching your every move like a hawk—and it sends goosebumps rippling all over your arms and the back of your neck. you peel your attention from your screen and let your eyes glaze over the table.

sungchan is buried nose-deep in his arsenal of open textbooks surrounding his laptop, preparing for his mock bar exam that’s coming up in a couple of weeks. the poor law student has the toughest professors and you really feel bad for him. shotaro sits next to him, calmly reading through a biology textbook as he highlights and annotates the text. you’ve always noticed how colourful his learning materials are, flagged with multicoloured tabs at the sides. mark has his eyes glued to his laptop as he types away, headphones blocking out any noise that could tamper with his concentration. ningning is sifting through sheets of notes that look like they came straight from those aesthetic study youtubers you’ve come across online, most likely questioning why on earth she decided to major in psychology.

your gaze finally lands on lee donghyuck.

he has his laptop in front of him, and a notebook on his right. he has notes scribbled down and taking up half the page but his pen is nowhere to be found. you drag your eyes to his face where he’s already looking back at you with that stupid grin of his. the shine of his lip ring underneath the library’s fluorescent lights almost winks at you at the same time he does.

frankly, you don’t understand it at all. you cannot wrap your head around how even in a place where quietude is sacred, he’s the loudest man in the room without even opening that damn mouth of his.

he picks up his phone and begins to type furiously into it. your phone vibrates violently on the desk. should you be curious about what he just sent you? you grab your phone and eye him suspiciously.

of course. of course he would send that.

#9: THE WORST OF HIS INAPPROPRIATE COMMENTS ARE ALWAYS DIRECTED AT YOU

you would do anything to figure out why you’re his victim. he does throw inappropriate comments at others, especially the males in your friend group, but he seems to refuse to err on the side of caution with you. does he forget that you’re both at each other’s throats? you’re sure he doesn’t since you constantly threaten him (albeit, emptily most of the time) in response to his behaviour.

whenever you walk in medium-to-large-sized groups, you find yourself—no—you find donghyuck always gravitating towards wherever you are. you’re often found in the back to make sure nobody gets left behind and sometimes it works out when he ends up on the tail with you. since he has a megaphone for a throat, you’re able to utilise him if there are any issues if he hasn’t already alerted the group.

the problem lies wherein he tends to forget where he is when immersed in a conversation.

countless times there had to be someone to grab him and yank him back into the group because he was straying a little too far or he was somehow caught in a conversation with the person across the street.

“aww, my pancake is so thoughtful!” that is his go-to line when it’s renjun who fishes him back in, followed by a harassment of kisses all over the poor boy’s neck and face, and back hugs.

“is this the part where i call you hyung?” due to mark having a more westernised outlook when it comes to formalities, nobody in the group really calls for him with honorifics. donghyuck likes to abuse that and seize the opportunity in moments like that to make the poor grad student flustered.

“taro, i love you! i know you love me too, what you did is evidence of your undying love for me!” his victim shotaro tends to get tackled, thankfully not to the ground, and you remember having to be the one to pull them both in because a car was coming from the rear.

but you? oh, you’re getting it way worse than any of those combined.

there was once when he was walking backwards while talking your ear off about one of his professors who keeps ignoring his contributions while he’s in class. sungchan and giselle were walking ahead on the walking path, discussing schoolwork since she had some questions to ask him. dear donghyuck on the other hand was on the road, taking advantage of the fact that it was nighttime and there were no vehicles nearby. you tried really hard not to pay attention to him but his voice was too loud to drain out. you really wonder how renjun does it.

a motorcycle sped past. and then another. both of the vehicles maintained a safe distance from him but you weren’t sure about the one further back. the car was coming in close at an almost dangerous speed.

“hyuck.” you warned him sternly, reaching out for him but he’s moving his arms around too wildly and too absorbed in his conversation to notice.

“–and then he just ignored me! like, hello? i have–“

“hyuck.” the car’s getting closer. you’d really hate for this one to get into a car crash. as much as it would most likely be reimbursed since you’re nearby campus grounds, your friend group kinda needs him.

“–i’m a good student! i don’t know why he does it! is it out of spite? does he hate me? does he–“

“god fucking damn it, donghyuck!” pissed off and scared beyond your wits, you quickly grabbed him and violently yanked him onto the walking path. everything happened a little too quickly for your own liking. you don’t know how his reaction time struck faster with you than the damn car.

when he almost tripped over the slight elevation from the road onto the walking path, his weight sent you both crashing down. he wrapped his arms around your waist and quickly flipped your position to cushion your fall and you ended up on top of him instead of the other way round.

the car zoomed past and you heard the echoes of giselle and sungchan running back to catch up to you both. they sounded so distant, though.

you’re hovering above donghyuck, shellshocked as your brain tried to process what the fuck just happened but you’re more focused on the equally stunned expression on his face. his deep onyx eyes searched yours for any semblance of hurt.

you felt his hands gently massage your waist in an attempt to calm you down and you were thankful because it was working but you’re not going to admit that to him. you swear your heart stopped at that moment. it felt impossible to tear your gaze away from him—soft brown hair dishevelled, fear and panic in his eyes, tongue nervously swathing over his bottom lip to coat his lip ring in a thin coat of saliva—he looked . . . vulnerable. unlike how you’d always see him, all cocky and strutting around like he owned the place.

“y/n?” your name came from his mouth in the ghost of a whisper, almost melodic, but you barely registered it until you felt another pair of hands on your arm to pull you up.

“oh my god, y/n, are you okay?!” giselle helped you onto your feet while sungchan helped him out. her soft fingers cupped your face and your gaze was redirected to her. “that driver is so stupid, do they want to die?! ah, seriously . . .”

“yeah, i’m okay. just . . . just a bit shocked.” you nodded, not wanting to worry her at all. her brows creased in concern and you had to give her the best smile you could muster. your fingers wrapped around her wrists and squeezed them gently. “i’ll be okay, i promise. we should check in on hyuck, though.”

you both turn to look at sungchan who was being dramatically hugged by donghyuck. the taller of the two looked at you, silently asking if you were okay and you confirmed it with a nod. you didn’t think it was a situation that was too life-endangering but it was enough to leave you terrified for a while.

when you’ve all finally calmed down, you continue your journey back to the dorms on campus. donghyuck fell into stride with you but he made sure to walk on the path this time, protecting you from the road. he gently bumped his hip against yours to get your attention. giselle and sungchan were back to talking about defamation and lawsuits a few steps ahead of you so you just tuned them out. you’d probably fall asleep if you heard any more.

“you okay?” he mumbled just loud enough for you to hear.

“mhm. you?” you wanted to say that he’s uncharacteristically quiet but you couldn’t exactly blame him.

“i am.” he left it at that for a heartbeat before he draped his arm over your shoulder. and so it began. he sidled up close to you with that annoying grin on his face you wished you could wipe off. “y/n, i didn’t think you were so passionate about me!” his free hand raised to ruffle your hair and god, you really wanted to push him down face-first onto the pavement.

“shut up, dumbass.” you groan when he quite literally pressed your cheeks together, squeezing your shoulders in an exaggerated form of affection.

“ah, y/n, i know i’m super handsome and my charm is sooo irresistible but you can’t fall in love with me! it’s not your brand, y’know.” he continued his onslaught of . . . whatever the fuck he was doing. giselle and sungchan turned to look over their shoulders to make sure that you were both okay. you met their eyes and they chuckled in amusement before they resumed their conversation.

“i think you shouldn’t worry about them too much.” sungchan teased but donghyuck simply pretended that he didn’t hear him.

“you wanna die, is that it?” you scoffed through your nose in disbelief. how the hell was he so quick with such comments? you shoved his arm off of your shoulders and took the opportunity to elbow him in the side. you didn’t even hit him that hard but the dramatic actor in him keeled over while crying to the heavens how you’re being so brash and brutal to him. “you got a death wish, you bastard? why the hell would i want to be with someone as annoying as you?”

“i have my redeeming qualities! i’m the best cook out of all of us! mark can’t even fry eggs!”

“don’t bring mark into this! i swear, i will push you into a river right now.” you’re not mad. why would you be mad? you were just a little ticked off. why would he insinuate that you were going to have feelings for him? he’s such a fucking rascal. you have standards, for fuck’s sake.

donghyuck was back to walking properly and he crossed his arms across his chest, licking his lips and cocking an eyebrow upward as if challenging you.

“oh yeah? if you want to see me all wet, y/n, i can definitely arrange a private show for you.”

an image of him soaked from head to toe, grinning childishly at you as he stood in the rain flashed in your brain. his cotton shirt stuck to his body like a second skin, hair was flat as he walked up to you with that stupid look on his face. you’d never really noticed how sharp his jawline was until you watched the raindrops easily slide down to his chin and onto the ground. nor had you ever really noticed that even though he wasn’t as built as that guy jeno in your class, he still had a decent physique with his toned biceps, chest, and stomach.

your cheeks burned when you realised you had been staring at him all along when that memory made itself present in your mind. defeated and very obviously at a loss for words, you flipped him off.

sometimes you wonder if he just says these kinds of things just to watch you get ticked off. ever since you first met, it has been non-stop terrorising. it doesn’t even matter if you’re alone or in the presence of other people.

you quickly type your response and send it but before you can put your phone down, he’s replying with more to piss you off. you silently scoff through your nose and lift your gaze to him only to find him—yet again—staring back at you.

your heart stopped for a brief second when your brain finally processed his text. he’s always throwing such things your way without warning and you don’t even get a second to answer before he’s moving on.

you would do anything to be able to chuck your phone at his head right now. but given the circumstances, you would all get banned from the library for causing a huge ruckus.

this isn’t the first nor will it be the last time he’s going to say shit like this to you.

immediately you’re yet again reminded of a similar incident that happened a few days earlier.

it’s not like you were dressed up more than usual. you were just trying a different style than usual and it involved more revealing clothing. said clothing was just a strapped black lace bustier top. everything else that you wore matched the top and was relatively normal.

giselle and ningning were obviously supportive of you trying something new, even going the extra mile to go to thrift stores with you after class and hunting shopping spaces online for the right piece. naturally, you modelled for them through facetime before you headed for class and their encouragement gave you more than enough confidence to leave your dorm.

you held your head a little higher than usual, and your steps more confident as you went about your day. your classes ended around noon, and usually, you would meet up with sungchan and giselle to have lunch before studying a bit. you weren’t waiting for compliments from anyone nor did you need any but of course, lee donghyuck had to put himself out there and get underneath your skin.

he was most likely on his way to his frat house. sometimes you’d bump into him if you were unlucky. he knew better than anyone not to sneak up on you from behind (especially after halloween in freshman year) but you’d rather have him do that than yell your name for the entire campus to hear. he’s like a malevolent spirit in the guise of an attractive man-child who thinks fart jokes are funny.

“y/n, are you ignoring me?” he whined out loud and it gained the attention of some passersby who looked towards your direction in brief curiosity or annoyance. he called your name again as he caught up with you before he threw his arm over your shoulders. you have never known if it’s a habit or if he had been doing it on purpose to get under your skin.

“what do you want, hyuck?” you deadpanned, turning your head slightly to look at him while walking. he easily fell into stride with you—as if it’s an action as natural as breathing—and surveys you from head to toe. his silence speaks a thousand words at maximum volume and now you’re suddenly self-conscious.

he walked a couple of steps ahead of you while facing you. his hand gently grabbed onto your forearm, as if he was guiding you somewhere. your brows creased in visible confusion.

“y/n.” he called out your name so sweetly that it almost threw you off-guard. you nodded at him to tell him to continue. for a moment, he didn’t. his dark eyes glazed all over your figure from head to toe, tongue swiping over his lips. the sun’s rays got caught on his silver lip ring and it shone brightly enough to capture your attention for a split second.

he was wearing a maroon button-up shirt with the buttons undone halfway down to reveal the silver cross necklace that always hung loosely around his chest. you would be lying if you said he didn’t look good. he’s attractive and he knows how to highlight his best features.

his eyes finally met yours and truthfully, nothing could have prepared you for what he said next.

“you look really fucking good.” the corners of his lips tugged upwards into a playful, cocky smirk. he winked at you and blew an air kiss before turning his back onto you and walking off. you were frozen in place as he continued his journey to wherever the fuck he was supposed to be. he raised his arm to wave at you but not once did he look back. “see ya for movie night tonight, babe!”

remembering that particular incident had your cheeks burning against your will. forcing yourself back to the present, you rake a hand through your hair and look down at your phone to find new texts from him.

you don’t know if you want to crawl onto the table and choke him or just leave him on read. although the first option sounds great, you know that he would probably pin you down faster than you’d like.

as much as you would hate to admit that he is right, you’ve all been holed up in the library for quite some time. giselle isn’t getting any healthier nor are any of you going to get any more productive. you lick your lips and sigh through your nose. there’s no way around it—everyone needs to stop studying.

#8: LEE DONGHYUCK GETS HIS WAY MORE OFTEN THAN YOU CARE TO ADMIT

you’re not going to lose this fight. there has been one too many times where he gets his way. half the time, he’s whining and using what he calls his ‘undying charm’ against the entire group to get them to bend to his will. that ‘undying charm’ is him using aegyo of all things.

renjun would do anything to get him to stop doing it and it often means giving in against his wishes. sungchan simply enjoys watching donghyuck humiliate himself. shotaro is often torn between liking it and hating it but you don’t blame the guy one bit. mark loves it because he finds it cute for some reason. giselle doesn’t really care for it. ningning films it all for blackmail, but given how he pretty much enjoys doing it, she now vows to convert the footage into meme packs for the group’s perusal.

you’re on the same boat as renjun except you’re not willing to bend and break so the hellspawn can reign supreme.

donghyuck is staring at you yet again, batting his eyelashes and pouting as he shimmies his shoulders slightly. you stare back in mild disgust. he points his chin to the rest of the group, pouting yet again at you and you can hear him whine and beg for you to be the one to suggest stopping.

then, you hear some faint thudding of sneakers against the carpeted library floors. is he stomping his feet?!

when you pretend to drop a pen so that you can see his feet, he’s unabashedly stomping them like a child being refused a new toy. picking up your pen, you rise back into your proper seated position. you’re convinced he’s a man on a mission to get you to break. so far, out of everyone else, you’re the one with the highest success rate of not letting him get his way.

renjun isn’t part of your study session for the day since he had to work with his team members so you’re the only person standing against lee donghyuck’s constant need to be pampered.

you’re not that easily bribed but you’re not sure if you want to count this as a win, either.

donghyuck looks at you with his face aghast as though he just saw a ghost walk right behind you. you simply shrug lamely. if he wants to eat and stop the group study since it’s barely productive for anyone anymore, then he’s the one who says it. you have a feeling that he doesn’t want to be the one to put a halt to the session since sungchan was the one who suggested it. as soft and gentle-looking as the towering man is, he’s dead serious when it comes to studying.

you hear a creak of the wooden study chair before a pen clattering onto a thick book, followed by a soft groan of defeat. your gaze quickly flits over to ningning who is leaning back and balancing her chair on its two hind legs.

“i don’t wanna study anymooooore!” she complains loud enough for the table to hear.

“ning!” shotaro hushes her with a whisper but there’s a wave of relief that washes over him when he realised he’s not the only one done with studying. he gently taps mark’s shoulder and you half-expected the grad student to not notice. mark immediately removes his headphones and blinks, looking at the table like a deer caught in the headlights. “you okay to stop? we’re all kinda brain dead and giselle’s about halfway to becoming one of the zombies from train to busan.”

“am not.” giselle gruffly protests before blowing her nose as quietly as she possibly can.

“yeah, i’ve been vibing to my music since an hour ago.” mark bashfully admits as he hooks his headphones around his neck.

“traitor.” donghyuck huffs.

“let’s pack up and send gigi back to her dorm.” you suggest, already closing your textbooks and laptop. some of the gang (namely giselle, ningning and sungchan) still need to return the library books they used so you took your time. “her dorm room is the biggest out of all of ours so we can just order food and stay with her til she gets knocked out from the cough syrup.”

“that sounds like an amazing idea, y/n.” you gingerly look over at the man who was begging for you to speak first minutes ago. he’s grinning widely at you and wiggling his eyebrows. of course, he got saved by ningning. or was it you who got saved by her?

you pick up your phone and quickly text him.

when you pocket your phone, you don’t even attempt to be subtle as you flipped him off openly. in a childlike fashion, he reciprocates the action.

you help giselle with the books she borrowed and make sure she didn’t get any of her gunk on the poor pages. she looks like a kicked puppy as she cleans up her side of the study desk, tying up the plastic bag that ningning gave her to throw all of her used tissues. you can always count on the psychology student to be ready with the weirdest shit. if you need a hairdryer at that very moment, you’re 70% sure she can provide you with one immediately.

after the large study desk has been cleaned and sanitised, you make your way to leave the library in complete silence. sungchan and shotaro are up ahead while ningning walks closely behind with giselle. that leaves you in the back with mark and your oh-so-beloved donghyuck.

your eyes take some time to adjust to seeing the night sky. you entered the library around two in the blazing afternoon and it’s now seven in the evening with the sun nowhere in sight. everyone is finally out of the suffocating building and you’re able to get a breath of fresh air.

“i want fried chicken!” donghyuck suddenly screams into the night. since you’re right next to him, the sudden announcement startled you to the point you nearly tripped over your own two feet. his voice echoes in the distance for the rest of the universe to hear. maybe aliens will hear his call and abduct him.

“jesus christ, dude.” mark punches his shoulder at the same time ningning whips around to kick him for scaring her.

“you idiot, don’t go around yelling without warning them!” she starts to smack him for a good minute while he whines about the ‘pain’, knowing full well she has the combined strength of two doughnuts.

“i just wanted fried chicken!”

“eat my fists instead, jackass!”

so the both of them continue for a little while longer until ningning finally gets exhausted from exerting the last of her energy. instead of doing anything to stop her, everyone just watches with smiles on their faces. sungchan cheers her on, and shotaro has his phone out filming the whole thing.

you catch his eye and raise an eyebrow.

“for the memories,” he smiles sweetly, eyes forming half-crescents. you want to believe him but you know damn well he can be as big of a troublemaker as donghyuck.

“okay, yeah, now i’m down for some fried chicken.” ningning casually announces after her attempt at beating donghyuck up into a pulp. he stands up straight, stroking his ‘sore’ arm after spending the last couple of minutes bent over. “no fried chicken for gi, though. only warm soup.”

“ugh, you suck.” giselle groans and creates a bigger distance between the both of them by walking sideways but ningning drags her back. the younger girl wraps her arm around giselle’s and sidles up to her lovingly. “i still hate you, ning.”

“you love me.” she dreamily sighs.

everyone falls back in step to make your shared journey to giselle’s dorm before getting dinner.

you’re not sure what had come over donghyuck but he mirrored ningning’s affection with both you and mark, sandwiching himself between both your bodies.

“dude if you scream again without warning–“ mark begins but he immediately gets interrupted.

“i won’t, i promise!” he childishly tries to win the other’s favour. you know that it's a battle that was lost before it even started because the grad student is weirdly weak to donghyuck’s aegyo. “i’ll be a good boy, markie.”

you turn to look at him with an expression of very obvious disgust. when he takes notice, he turns to you and gently bumps his hip against yours.

“is y/n feeling a little neglected? does widdle (nickname) want some lovin’?” he tries to lean in to snuggle into your neck.

“stop it, you’re so gross!” you try your best to push him away but the hold he has on you is firm. you don’t even notice that he had unlinked his arm from mark’s and he’s tickling you to try and get a reaction. you’re not that ticklish but you’re sure that you’re laughing out loud at the absurdity of the situation.

“oh my god, it’s been years since i’ve heard y/n laugh like this.” you hear sungchan exaggerate in the distance. giselle sneezes out loud (enough for her to jump in her spot) and you assume it’s her way of agreeing.

when donghyuck is finally satisfied with his aggression, he breaks away from you with a wide grin. you take a second to catch your breath, huffing as you glare at him.

he’s bathed in the moonlight and fluorescent lights from the street lamps as he walks smugly. you want to be mad at him but you can’t. or maybe you’re not. it feels good to be able to release pent-up energy within you but you’re not exactly happy that it’s him of all people that’s making you laugh. his eyes glint mischievously and so does the silver ring that perches near the corner of his plump lips.

“you’re still gross.” you deadpan.

“say what you waaant,” he drags the last syllable in a sing-song voice. god, you really hate it when he says it like that. you want to choke him for it but you’re sure he’s going to enjoy it. “still made you laugh.” he shrugs, the smug grin not once leaving his face.

you shove him away and stick close to mark instead, who welcomes you with a hearty laugh and a head pat.

all of you arrive safely at her dorm ten minutes later and place your belongings by her study desk. she makes a beeline for her bed before flopping into it, sliding out of her furry indoor slides and burrowing herself underneath the covers. ningning makes herself at home and lies down next to giselle whose incoherent grumbling barely reaches the other girl’s ears. nobody is a stranger to her spacious dorm—it’s the go-to place for hangouts when you’re all too lazy or tired to spend time outdoors.

while everyone settles down in the open space between her bed and study desk, you make your way to the small kitchen to make her some warm honey lemon tea. you don’t remember where you got it from but you’ve always drank honey lemon tea whenever you fell sick. at times when you take care of your sick friends, you always make the drink, even for the worst of them all. there’s a buzz from your phone in your back pocket.

“since when did we order the food already?” you say out loud, free hand grabbing a mug from the dish rack.

“mark texted him while we were walking.” sungchan pops in to grab a canned drink from the fridge. he notices you and the mug you’ve taken and immediately picks up on what’s happening. he grabs something from inside and passes you a half-lemon protected by a beeswax wrap before leaving without another word.

you think nothing of it, sliding your phone into your back pocket so you can continue making the drink. you grab the jar of honey that she keeps in the wall cabinet and upon placing it down on the counter in front of you, you stare at it. one of the reasons why you hate it when any of them are sick is the honey. you will almost always have trouble opening up the jar and closing it properly because half the time, you’re making the tea after a shift at work or some heavy studying.

doesn’t hurt to try, though.

you brace as much strength as possible from your exhausted body and do your best to unscrew the airtight lid. you’re too lazy to boil some water and let the jar sit for like, ten minutes, so using sheer brute force is all that you have left in you.

“tsk, c’mere.” someone’s voice rumbles gently in their chest from behind you. they grab the jar from you and you turn to find donghyuck. within the blink of an eye, the lid pops open and you barely miss the way his biceps bulge under his loose-fitting shirt and the veins that run along his forearms making an appearance. “you could’ve asked someone for help.”

“yeah, yeah.” you wave him off dismissively. he’s the second person to reach into the fridge to grab a drink before he disappears back into the living room, where the main party and one sick person is.

by the time you’re done preparing giselle’s tea, renjun had also arrived with everyone’s dinner. you bring both her tea and samgyetang to her so she can eat with the rest of the group. ningning has since moved to the floor to join everyone so you decide to accompany the ill.

“thanks for the food, ren-jeon!” donghyuck calls out while the chicken gets distributed. shotaro had disappeared into the kitchen to grab the paper plates so chaos reigned for a short while underneath giselle’s roof.

“just for that, you owe me ten dollars for service and delivery fees.” the duo-toned male flips him off.

“what?!” he cries incredulously.

“i take both cash and bank transfers,” renjun states flatly as he makes himself comfortable in the circle. shotaro returns with a stack of paper plates and paper cups to a scene of donghyuck throwing yet another tantrum.

“i wonder when hyuck will ever beat the bratty bottom allegations.” sungchan quietly (not really) comments and it’s more than enough to send the entire dorm into flames.

everyone is shouting and donghyuck is, well, whining, which doesn’t really do anything to help him. not positively, at least. you sit down next to giselle and find sungchan smiling to himself amid the noise.

“guys!” shotaro is torn between laughing and taming everyone down. mark is taking everything in with a huge smile on his face while smacking a very unbothered but smug renjun. “oh my god. sungchan, what have you done?” he mumbles in pure terror.

“everyone shut up before her RA comes in to complain! you know her RA is the worst.” you feel a little bad but you’re laughing too, so you help shotaro with the damage control. your words are more than enough to get the rowdy bunch to quiet down and you puff your chest slightly in pride.

whenever you hang out at giselle’s dorm as a huge group like this, it tends to be risky but since more than half of you are in your graduating year, you don’t really care.

“y/n my saviour!” donghyuck springs from his spot and prances over to you, pulling you into a crushing hug and burying his face into your neck. your heart immediately starts racing a mile a minute. your ears suddenly burn and your throat runs a tad bit too dry at the sudden action. this stupidly natural reaction to skin contact with him always has you barely feeling dizzy at the end of it. you don’t know why, but you hate it. it doesn’t happen with anyone else.

“okay, stop, you know i’m allergic to you.” you gently form some distance between both of your bodies. he huffs in protest but releases you regardless.

you find yourself a seat next to mark with your back against the leg of giselle’s study desk. shotaro and renjun are sitting close to the foot of her bed, while donghyuck sits in front of her bedside table. sungchan sits on the other side of mark, which leaves ningning space between giselle’s thighs since she’s sitting upright on the edge of her mattress.

the last thing you expect is having complaints about exams and assignments as the conversation topic.

almost everyone is studying in different disciplines. ningning studies psychology, giselle studies journalism, sungchan is a law student, renjun and shotaro both study biomedical science, mark studies music, and donghyuck is a computer science student. the boys are all in the same fraternity—alpha neo—and you met the girls through freshman orientation. ningning and giselle came from the same high school so they had already been friends when you first met.

you’re lost in the bubbles of conversation that break away from the main topic, indulging whenever someone asks you something (“y/n, you have prof. moon, right?”) or needs your confirmation (“that ta jaehyun is hot. am i right or am i right?”) on something.

“sungchan, after your mock bar exam, let’s host the biggest party ever.” donghyuck suddenly announces for the whole room to hear. there are some hums and nods of agreement but you’re frowning slightly, mulling it over. he seems to have noticed and quickly adds: “channie’s mock bar is the final exam and nobody else has anything due after the date, right?”

you think long and hard for an answer when it’s already in front of you—no.

“i don’t see why not.” renjun is the first to pipe up and agree. “it’s the end of exam season, we’re letting the summer pass, and then we’re graduating. a pre-celebration of celebrations, if you wanna look at it like that.”

“you’re not wrong,” you twist your lips to the side, nodding. it’s not like you’re going to have to worry about a lot of things after sungchan’s mock bar exam. your summer internship has been contracted so you wouldn’t be entirely jobless the whole time. there’s a couple of weeks’ worth of a window between the day after his mock bar exam and the day your internship begins.

“how big are we talking? if you’re talking cheap beer, you gotta up your game.” ningning takes a sip of her coke.

“we’ll get soju! vodka! we have a running tradition in the alpha neo frat where seniors every year will put money in a safe spot for the incoming seniors to use.” you aren’t at all too impressed or reassured with the explanation that donghyuck had just given you. you cock an unimpressed eyebrow upward at him to make sure he knows it. he catches your eyes and purses his lips in a thin line, glaring at you. “i know we have a lot because i’ve lifted the box before and it’s heavy. no sound of coins, either.”

“oh yeah, i make sure to put in a portion every time i get my paycheque from work.” mark chimes in as a matter of factly. “i don’t think i’ve contributed the most, but i’ve definitely contributed.”

the whole room erupts into a cacophony of “aww!”s and “that’s so sweet!”s, praising the grad student for his selfless deed. it’s obvious that he’s not used to all of the attention so he’s just shyly grinning and hiding his face behind his hands. even you can’t help but coo at how adorable he is when he becomes bashful like this.

“we’re gonna be able to have the best party ever thanks to mark!” shotaro claps his hands in joy.

“i mean, it’s not because of me—” mark begins, only to be interrupted by a very excited donghyuck.

“let’s make sure it’s the biggest party we’ve ever thrown!”

a loud, violent sneeze rips through the room and everyone turns to look at giselle. ningning slowly and gingerly moves towards sungchan and renjun instead.

“how about we make sure that gigi doesn’t die first?”

⠀⠀ ⠀⌒⠀ִ ✧ ﾟ 𓆩 ♡ 𓆪

a few days after that, you find yourself in the campus library yet again. this time, you’re alone in a small cubicle to focus on studying. the last time you studied there, it was pure chaos and of course, it’s all thanks to donghyuck.

a thick book full of material related to your course of study is open right next to your laptop. translucent sticky notes are all over its pages, highlighting important keywords and scribbled-down annotations that would help you recall concepts better. your shoulders are straining after subconsciously curving your spine and turning yourself into a shrimp for the entire forty-five minutes that you were studying. you’ve decided to take a quick fifteen-minute break since you’ve been studying for about three hours in total already.

you roll your shoulders back and get up from your seat to do some quick stretches and relax your body. you’re thankful that you are lucky enough to be able to get this secluded corner in your campus’ busy library. while you’re cornered in and hidden by rows of clean, white bookshelves, you have the perfect view of everyone and anyone who’s on the level beneath you. unfortunately, that also means you’re able to see people doing anything other than studying.

like the girl that’s trying to trap a helpless jeno against a bookshelf. it feels rude to look but sometimes you do enjoy just watching humans be in their natural element. you spot someone else coming in and interrupting the girl from whatever she’s trying to do. curious, you stop stretching and lean in to get a better look.

jeno instinctively reaches out to this person and immediately pulls them flush to his side, even going the extra mile to press a kiss to the person’s temple. a few words are being exchanged, the girl appears to be apologetic and then she walks away. jeno and this mysterious person hug it out but there’s no mistaking the hearts in his eyes as they talk in hushed whispers. when they’re leaving, you notice that they’re practically attached to the hip that it’s a little difficult to see if they’re holding hands or not.

you smile quietly to yourself. jeno’s in the same frat as donghyuck so you know that donghyuck would most likely be up-to-date with all of the happenings with all the frat members. you don’t have a say in it but there are times when he will suddenly blow up your phone with the latest gossip that he’s heard of. you hate it when he does it because not only does it distract you from whatever you’re doing but you end up wanting to hear more because your friend group is too wholesome and full of healthy relationships for any drama.

#7: HE LOVES GOSSIP WAY TOO MUCH

you’re about to return to your station and study when there’s a violent series of buzzes in your back pocket. there’s only one person on this godforsaken planet who wouldn’t be afraid of spam-texting you and it’s none other than lee donghyuck.

you watch your message go from ‘delivered’ to ‘read’, but there’s not a single sign of life from him. did he suddenly fall off the face of earth and die? did aliens appear out of thin air and abduct him? you frown at your text messages with him, scrolling up to your past texts then scrolling back down, half-expecting to see the three dots pop up but there’s none. whatever, he’s probably crossing the road or something.

you return to your seat in your little study corner, ready to continue your productive streak when your phone starts buzzing again. the screen lights up and you see donghyuck’s caller id appear on your screen. you know better than to reject his call so you slide the answer button across and bring your phone to your ear. as soon as your line connects, he’s whisper-yelling your name into your ear.

“you’re not in the library with me, you don’t have to say my name like that, jackass.” you balance your phone between your shoulder and your ear as you reorganise your notes aimlessly, hands itching for something to do as you talk to him.

“how else do you want me to say your name?” he scoffs in disbelief that you had chosen to start the conversation with that. “would you rather i say your name like this?” it’s followed by him lowering his voice as he calls your name, rasp evident and a quiet, teasing chuckle punctuating it. shivers rush down your spine in a quick, teasing flash and your stomach flutters nervously as you blink at your laptop screen, the words swimming aimlessly in your vision.

“don’t do that ever again.” you do your best to deadpan him but your breath hitched just before you had spoken. your voice had definitely betrayed you back there and you’re just glad he didn’t relish in that opportunity to openly embarrass you.

“or what? you’re gonna fall for me?” you can hear him smirk through the line with the light huff at the end. ticked off from his provocation you glare at your laptop screen as if it’s him. you grab your phone and change its position to your other ear as your free hand digs through your bed for your airpods.

“not even for a million dollars.” the words taste bitter on your tongue. why do they? you finally find it at the bottom of the bag and fish it out, quickly plugging your ears. they ding at the successful connection and his voice quickly comes through.

“i didn’t think i’d be worth at least a million to you, babe.” he purrs which unleashes another set of flutters in your stomach and uneasy throbs of your heart. he better be glad you’re not within arm’s length because you’d be throwing hands immediately.

“god, just shut up already. you said you had the juiciest news or something?” you grumble, urging him to change the subject. you prop your phone up against your half-empty water bottle just in case he chooses to switch to video out of nowhere. there are one too many times of that happening while you’re in the middle of a call with him.

“oh, fuck. yes, right! okay, so, remember that really hot TA, jung jaehyun?” he begins with a tremble of excitement lacing his words. you mumble a quiet, “uhuh,” in return as you take a look at your notes to see where you’d last left off. “he made out with a freshman and apparently they got pretty deep into third base.”

“if making out is first base, isn’t third base pretty much fucking?” your question slips from your lips before you can even help yourself and you can hear him scoff incredulously at you on the other side of the line.

“no, my dear y/n. the first base is light kissing. the second base is when you start making out. third base is making out with over-the-clothes action, maybe a little bit of dry-humping . . .” he starts explaining as if you’re someone who’s just entering the world of physical intimacy with another person. “do you need me to teach you or something? i’m free right now if you catch my drift.” you don’t need to see him to know that he’s obnoxiously winking and licking his lips at you.

“suck my dick, hyuck.” you sigh, rolling your eyes. where did you stop again? you swear you noted something down somewhere in the book. regardless, you urge him to continue. “the story? what’s wrong with him making out with a freshman? it’s practically a rite of passage, i made out with this guy who went by ten and another senior then. i can’t remember their name, though.”

“wait, ten? he’s the guy that’s an apprentice at the piercing and tattoo store renjun always goes to!” he gasps. “hold on.” you hear donghyuck struggling on the phone, hands probably busy as he focuses on whatever obstacle he’s facing. your eyes return to your since-abandoned study session. you’ve studied for a little over four hours and you deserve at least a couple hours’ break before you continue. right? yeah. yeah, that sounds good. “i’m home! renjunnie, are we gonna order food?” he most likely has his airpods in too because boy, is he fucking loud. you had to lower your volume so your eardrums wouldn’t rupture.

“do you have fucking trumpets for lungs?” you hiss in slight pain while you start packing up. he giggles out an apology that you know he doesn’t mean at all.

“okay, get ready for the shock factor. ready?” his footsteps are heavy as he races up the carpeted stairs to get to the room that he shares with renjun in the frat house. you made a non-committal noise that tells him to continue while you peel off the translucent sticky notes you’ve used on the pages of the library book. you’d be damned if the library staff found your notes and countless question marks and ‘what the fuck’s written next to paragraphs. you absent-mindedly reach for your bottle, pocketing your phone and taking a sip of water. “the freshman is the prof’s niece.”

why did your brain choose to make you do that at that very moment?

his words take you by complete surprise and you’re choking on the water as it runs down the wrong pipe. your eyes search your laptop and the library books you’ve used for the day and you heave a sigh of relief when nothing is damaged. you want to berate him for not warning you. who the hell says ‘shock factor’ anymore and why did you take a sip of your water?

“oh my god, are you okay?!” you can tell he’s torn between laughing and being concerned for you but he ends up choosing to do the former. your fingers close into a fist and you repeatedly thump it firmly against your chest, coughing and clearing your throat until it doesn’t feel like you just got waterboarded. “y/n, you good?” it’s his turn to cough too but from laughing too hard.

you really ought to get him for this one but it was kind of your fault that you decided to drink water right then and there. whatever—you can blame him still. he doesn’t have to know.

“lee donghyuck, what the fuck?” you want to be mad at him, you genuinely do, but you can’t.

every time he drags you in to gossip about something he’s heard of because a friend of a friend of a friend told them some juicy rumour, you end up getting immersed because of his weirdly captivating storytelling skills. you hate to admit it but even he can spin paint drying into something thrilling and interesting. sometimes he reminds you of the aunties and grandmothers in your family coming together to talk in hushed whispers about things that are happening with their children. you’re confident he’ll fit right in with them.

you’ll always get distracted from whatever you’re doing. you’d be lying straight through your teeth if you said he didn’t have a nice voice. he has a lovely one and you know he’s got some good lungs when you have karaoke nights. you remember everyone being surprised when donghyuck and renjun first sang properly for everyone.

wait, why are you thinking about his voice?

“i’m serious! it’s the niece! i even stalked that professor’s facebook!” you stare at the glass wall in front of you, deadpan at his confession. he sounds so proud of it, too.

“why on earth would you do that?”

“in my digital literacy class, i learned to always fact-check before disseminating information because fake news easily goes rampant–”

“my god, just shut up. forget i asked.”

“now, why on earth would i do that?” he’s smirking to himself—this one you’re sure of—and he’s probably puffing his chest out, too. suddenly you hear a voice in the background that sounds distinctly like renjun’s. “huh? i’m talking to y/n. wait, you have a shift today? can you bring back the chocolate croissant for me pleaaaaase? please, junie, pleaaase?”

“you’re so annoying, help the business out and buy it instead of taking the leftovers!” renjun scolds him but you know that he will be bringing back that croissant for donghyuck if there’s any.

“tell renjun to have a good shift at work,” you quickly pipe up with a quiet grunt as you lug the heavy book to return it where you found it.

“don’t tell me what to do!” he retorts childishly. in a sweeter voice, he goes, “have a good shift at work renjunnie!” you roll your eyes in annoyance.

“thanks, y/n. hope your study session was productive.” renjun’s voice is right in your ears and you hum positively in reply. you find the nearest book return cart first before the right bookshelf so you carefully put it in there.

in the background, you hear some back-and-forth bickering and you hear jeno’s name perk up in the conversation. you don’t really know him that well since he tends to keep to himself and he has his own friend group.

finally, the phone is back in its owner’s possession.

“okay, hi, i’m back. did you miss me?” he coos into your ears and you have to physically resist the urge to punch something as a substitute for his stupid face.

“i didn’t even notice that you’d left.” you close your laptop and slide it into its sleeve before packing it into your bag.

“ugh,” he groans. “i have an exam tomorrow and i lost my calculator.” as you leave the library, you frown slightly at his statement. this is going to build up to something. he’s going to ask to borrow your calculator, you’re sure of it. you have one lying around because your field of study doesn’t exactly require frequent usage of it and your upcoming exams and assignments don’t need it.

“then get a new one,” you lamely suggest. if the word ‘borrow’ even leaves your lips, he’s going to ask you for the calculator. you already know he’s going to ask anyway but you’re just trying to minimise the chances of him doing so. if possible.

“for an exam? it’s not cost-effective!” donghyuck whines in your ears and you roll your eyes. the automatic doors slide open and you walk past jeno and the same person who had saved him earlier.

“neither is losing your calculator a day before your exam.” you retort with a scoff through your nose. although they were ahead of you until you took over, you managed to catch a glimpse of their fingers brushing against each other, itching to hold the other’s hand. right before you sped up, they intertwined their fingers and you can’t help but smile to yourself. that’s cute.

“c’mon, just lend me yours! i know you have one!”

#6: HE BORROWS THINGS AND NEVER RETURNS THEM

you’re not the only victim of never getting your things returned to you. he’s borrowed a lot of things from a lot of people and you doubt he’s returned over half of the items.

back in freshman year when some of you hung out in your dorm, he asked what made your room smell so good. you wanted to say that you were acquaintances back then but given how comfortable he was with riling you up, you figured you were past that already.

your dorm wasn’t the biggest nor was it the smallest but it was enough to host renjun, mark, donghyuck, giselle, and yourself for the time being. you don’t even remember why the hell this particular combination of people was in your dorm.

what you do remember was mark ripping the nastiest fart by accident since he had been skipping meals and finally had proper food earlier that day after everyone had literally dragged him to the nearest kfc to eat something with everyone else.

you had to open the windows and your door to let the air circulate. honestly, you half-hoped that someone would walk past the dorm and smell the toxins that had been unleashed. mark was, of course, extremely embarrassed to the point where he was laughing his ass off while donghyuck and renjun made fun of him. you grabbed a dainty glass bottle that can be easily mistaken for perfume and quickly spritzed every single corner of your dorm until it smelled like apricots, tangerine and vanilla.

“whoa, that smells so good!” donghyuck was the first to make a comment on the scent of your air freshener. “may i?” gone are the days when he used to ask politely for things. now, he just whines, begs, and acts cute until he gets his way. you handed him the bottle and he read the labels and everything in curiosity, surveying it like it was the finest item that had ever graced his hands.

you had let him be and checked in on mark to make sure that his soul wasn’t going to ascend into the heavens out of embarrassment. within minutes, donghyuck was asking if he could borrow it to test for his own room. out of the goodness of your own heart, of course, you said yes. it’s safe to say that you had to buy a new bottle a couple of weeks after that because the one you let him borrow never saw the light of the next day.

in hindsight, you probably should have taken that as a precautionary tale or even a lesson. even though he isn’t the best at returning the things he borrows, at least he pays back what he owes when it comes to money. maybe that’s why you lent him that vintage corduroy jacket that you thrifted and made the excuse that he looked good in it and that it was too big for you.

“so can i?” donghyuck’s voice pulls you back to the present. you don’t have any upcoming exams or assessments that require you to use the calculator so it’s practically just collecting dust. if it were someone else asking you, you’d give in with no hesitation. since it’s the one person on this godforsaken earth who likes to mess with your head, you need to seize the opportunity and ask for something in return. “pretty pleaaasseee? my bestest friend in the whole wide world?”

“ouch, imagine if renjun heard that.”

“he’ll live.” you hear a soft thump from his end and you assume that he had fallen back on his pillow dramatically. “c’mon, y/n, please? i’ll do anything!” then he begins to start chanting ‘please’ quickly enough to make you cringe.

every time you think that he cannot possibly get even more annoying, he proves you wrong when you least expect it. at times like this is when his brain truly astounds you.

you start to tune out his incessant mantra that turns into white noise. since it’s two in the afternoon, you’re headed to the canteen to have a slightly late lunch before you head back to your dorm. the entire campus seems oddly empty but you know you can attribute it to a majority of the students mugging in the library or off-campus for their field projects.

“y/n! are you listening to me?” you snap your attention back to him and blink distractedly like it’ll help you focus on him.

“what? i stopped when you started being extra annoying.” the kiosk for purchasing your meal ticket appears and you make your way over with a light spring in your step.

“i said i’ll buy you a meal in exchange after your exam tomorrow . . .” your brows furrow slightly when he sounds pouty. this is where the tricky part comes in—there are some very special cases when he’ll tug at your heartstrings and get you to break when he sounds desperate and pathetic enough. as your finger hovers over the purchase button, you start to find difficulty in moving on.

“i want that curry katsu rice from hongdae.” the corners of your lips upturn in a proud smile as you finally buy your meal ticket and grab the small slip of paper.

“what?! i don’t have a car, we can’t drive there!”

“there’s a car rental service and it costs like, eight bucks per hour. hongdae’s a half-hour drive with good traffic. you can rent a car for two hours, three hours maximum and make it back in time. my exam ends at 11 am and yours at 10:45 am so i don’t see the problem. you’re still paying less by buying me food than buying a brand new calculator.”

silence falls on his side of the line and you know you’ve hit the jackpot. you grab a tray and start picking out the side dishes that you want with your rice as you wait for his response. you quickly thank the canteen staff and find a seat amongst the sea of empty tables. it’s so eerily empty that you feel like you’re in a ghost town illuminated by fluorescent lights.

“fine, you win. i’ll let you know if i can rent a car.” he grumbles.

even as you eat lunch, you’re both talking about anything that you possibly can as if you’re a pair of friends who haven’t spoken to each other in five years. you wonder if it’s the stress of exams and assignments wearing you down because you find yourself letting yourself go around him. you’re able to laugh freely, throw insults at him, and forget about how taxing university can be for the graduating cohorts.

after you’re done eating and returning your tray to its designated area, you’re still talking to donghyuck. you don’t want to admit it out loud to him but he does have a nice voice. soothing, even. you prefer to listen to him when he’s not whining or making annoying sounds with his mouth. he is most definitely a guy with great humour, and he’s thoughtful and polite when he wants to be.

he accompanies you through the phone as you make your way back to your dorm, talking about how renjun keeps getting distracted by some guitarist in a store while he works. the few times he visited his best friend at work, apparently he kept staring out the floor-to-ceiling glass walls as if waiting for someone to appear. then he’s complaining about how jeno refuses to admit to this person that he’s known since freshman year that he’s in love with them. so that’s who the mystery person is. you don’t personally know them nor have you met them but you’re sure that he has good taste.

finally, you’re back in the sweet confines of your dorm and it’s the same second that your airpods begin to breathe its last few breaths. thanks to donghyuck, you’ve been given some time to shut your brain off before you spend the rest of your day mugging and doing last-minute revisions for tomorrow’s exam. if you’re going to look at the brighter side of things, it’s your final exam and everything else is just submissions in the following week.

“okay, i gotta go. my airpods are dying and i need to continue studying.” you announce, sliding out of your shoes and into the furry dorm slippers that giselle had gotten for you.

“boo, you nerd.” although he says that, you know that he doesn’t want to end the two-hour call just yet. the weird thing is, neither do you. “study well. you’ll crush your exam tomorrow.”

you frown at the sudden affirmation.

“thanks,” you mumble. “you too.”

“at least say it like you mean it!” he complains loudly and you resist the urge to strangle him through the phone.

“what do you mean by that? i didn’t half-ass it! would you rather i go—“ you put on your best customer service smile and voice from when you used to work in retail—“‘oh, hyuckie, thank you so much! you’re the greatest, i’m sure you’ll do well tomorrow too!’?”

“yeah, i do! i like it a lot better when you call me hyuckie!” you open your mouth to hit him back with a smartass retort when you realise that you can’t. what he had just blurted out finally registered in your brain after an entire three seconds of silence.

“. . . huh?” that was all that you managed to say.

“everyone calls me hyuckie but not you.” his voice is barely above a whisper, a confession that’s so shy leaving his lips. “it’d be nice if you called me hyuckie every once in a while, you know.” is this his way of saving himself after that? are you reading too much into it? when did you even call him hyuckie?

when you backtrack and realise that you had indeed called him hyuckie by complete accident, your face burns in embarrassment. it’s not like you don’t want to call him that. you do but every time you even want to formulate it in your brain, you fear that it sounds more affectionate than you want it to be.

what the hell do you say now that it’s slipped?

you’re struggling for the right words to say, searching every corner and crevice of your brain for something—anything—but it feels like the seasons have passed and the flowers have bloomed until the final petal is hanging desperately onto the bud for an answer.

“i’ll call you hyuckie whenever i want to.” your voice comes out in a shallow whisper. it doesn’t sound like a proper answer but more like a promise.

“or alternatively, you could always call me yo–”

“can’t hear you, i’m hanging up, bye!” as soon as you anticipate what he is going to say, you talk over him in panic and abuse the red button on your screen until the call ends. with a loud groan of defeat, you drop yourself onto your bed and toss your phone onto the pillows. you cradle your head in your hands and release another groan, this time out of frustration.

it doesn’t make sense why your heart is fluttering and your stomach is twisting from what he said before you interrupted him. you both get along like fire and ice. he flirts with every single thing that breathes. you insult him every chance you get. you hate his guts half the time. he picks on you and gets on your nerves every waking moment of your life.

so why do you feel this compelling urge to kiss him to shut his stupidly handsome face up every time he’s near?

maybe it’s because you’re stressed.

yeah, that sounds right. you’re not thinking straight. the mental exhaustion and fog that comes with mugging for exams and tying loose ends for several projects are finally taking a toll on you. it’s so bad that it’s beginning to cloud your judgement and influence you into thinking otherwise.

yeah.

you’re just stressed. you’re definitely not developing feelings for someone in your friend group. university has been taxing on both your mind and body. this feeling—whatever this is—will eventually pass.

suddenly, your phone buzzes on your pillow. you lean over and grab it to open up a text from none other than the man himself.

another loud groan rips through your throat as you toss it back onto the pillow.

“i hate you, lee donghyuck.”

⠀⠀ ⠀⌒⠀ִ ✧ ﾟ 𓆩 ♡ 𓆪

before you know it, your exams are over and all of your assignments are turned in.

no longer are you staring at a laptop screen amongst an ocean of open books and colourful page tags or holding a pen praying it won’t run out of ink halfway through the exam. for the first time in weeks, you managed to feel relaxed and well-rested after sleeping for ten hours straight. forget having to hole yourself in some secret corner in the library or your room with days-old stains on sweatshirts.

you’re free from the treacherous throes of exams and so are your friends, which is why you’re at the alpha neo fraternity with virtually every single student on campus with a cup of fruit punch in your hand.

like what donghyuck had promised, it’s the biggest party of the frat that you’ve ever attended yet. led lights line the perimeter of every ceiling to set the mood. speakers are found at almost every corner making sure the music fills the space. the entire place reeks of alcohol and sweaty bodies dancing, playing games, making out, and doing anything they can to relieve the stress of university.

speaking of donghyuck, you haven’t seen him in person for quite a while. you’ve texted, sure, but you’ve also been texting the others in your friend group. everyone had arrived at different timings so you couldn’t do your shotgun tradition which is perfectly fine. maybe you even felt a bit of relief if that meant not seeing him for a while longer.

the one who greeted you at the door was a face that you completely did not recognise. you doubt she’s someone from the frat but she did a great job at welcoming you in. she pulled you into a hug before she let you in and she strongly smelled of soju and beer so you figured she was drunk or at least close to that.

now you’re sticking close to the walls, hoping to catch even a glimpse of any one of your friends. texting them is futile especially when you’re sure half of them are drunk already. even if you feel a tad lonely in a frat house full of people, you’re sure your friends are more or less fine. probably.

“y/n!” you hear your name amongst the loud crowd and heavy bass that resonates through every fibre in your bones. you turn to see giselle with one hand already out to grab you. a soft laugh escapes your lips as you make your way over to her and meet her in the middle. “we were looking everywhere for you! everyone’s in the attic.”

“the attic?” for all the time you’ve spent in this house, not once have you ever guessed that there would be an attic. or a basement. “is it a creepy attic like the ones in scary american movies? rundown and all that?”

she cackles out loud and that’s when you know she’s on the verge of being drunk. she begins to lead you to wherever this place may be, snaking through a sea of sticky, sweat-slicked bodies.

“it’s well-kept, don’t worry. it’s not just us, there are others in their own groups too. it’s like . . . like . . . oh! a small party away from the main party.” she reassures you with a slight sway in her steps. if she’s on her way to being drunk, that means sungchan, ningning, and donghyuck are most likely already there. of everyone, renjun and shotaro have the highest alcohol tolerance out of everyone else, but you’re sure they want to take as many shots to get them loopy.

after navigating through the crowd, there’s a flight of stairs at the end of the third-level hallway, hidden behind a foldable shoji screen. that’s kind of a smart way to hide the attic from the lot of them.

the attic is unlike anything you’ve imagined.

fairy lights are strung along the walls, with singular light bulbs and potted plants hanging from the ceiling. there’s a moderately big speaker at the far end, connected to presumably mark’s laptop, playing music that you actually like. it’s not loud enough to be heard by people outside but it’s loud enough to drown the music at the main party.

like what giselle had said, there are people mingling around in their own little groups but sometimes they’ll break away to talk to others. there’s a table for snacks and for some reason, a large plate of roasted chicken. from the way it looks when you survey it, apparently, people are eating it too. there are three plates of baked cookies with one labelled ‘infused with devil’s lettuce’.

above your head, there’s a huge skylight that’s open to reveal the constellation of stars that decorate the dark night sky. moonlight floods generously through the attic and illuminates everything that it delicately touches. at the end, there’s a balcony separated by sliding glass doors that would lead people to the swimming pool below.

you spot what’s left of your group in the distance. donghyuck is the first to notice you and call out your name eagerly. you spot ningning, shotaro, and mark sitting with him in a circle.

“y/n!” one by one they turn their heads and cheer your name enthusiastically. your heart swells at the affection the group has for you and a big beam spreads across your face.

“i’m here too? hello to you too, damn.” giselle sulks and pouts, burying her face in your neck. you laugh and pull her close to your side, squeezing her waist gently before letting go so you can both sit down.

“so how drunk is everyone?” you place your cup down on the wood floor, looking at the group and the various states of drunkenness.

“on my way there,” ningning cutely slurs her words with a cheeky thumbs-up. sungchan is nowhere to be seen and you have to guess that he’s getting drunker than a skunk.

“we just wanted to get our eyes on you first before going to the main party. hyuck’s already four shots in within a little over an hour.” mark points at a somewhat drunk donghyuck, eyelids halfway down and shoulders drooping while he sports a loopy smile of contentment. if you didn’t know any better, he probably had a little bit of the edibles with his drinks. “renjun and sungchan are downstairs playing beer pong with others, we’re looking to join.”

“ning and i found two other girls who are really, really cute and we’re also hoping they’re a little—“ giselle flicks her wrist downwards gently “—so we can get some action. but maybe it’ll just be me if we don’t sober up soon.” she takes another swig of her drink with a toothy grin.

“i’ll go with beer pong. with this one drunk,” you gesture at donghyuck, “i’m sure we can get him to do some weird shit. good luck to you girls, though.” you’re already laughing to yourself thinking about the possibilities that could happen. when he’s sober, he’s already quite competitive and stubborn. these two traits of his seem to shine brighter when he’s drunk.

“sounds like a plan.” shotaro gives the gathered group a thumbs up.

everyone gets up and collects their valued belongings as you prepare to move to the main party. within minutes you’re back to loud, pop music that everyone knows the lyrics to with ridiculously strong bass shaking both the skeleton of the house and yours.

you’re bumping into swaying bodies left and right, either high as a kite or drunk as a skunk until you finally find the corner where renjun and sungchan are playing beer pong. there are a lot of faces that you don’t recognise but you immediately pick out jeno, the hot TA jaehyun, and the hot girl you hooked up with some months ago from them. at least they’re familiar.

it appears that the beer pong is no longer just beer, but a mix with soju and some coke. some drinks contain all of those. that’s surely one way to party.

when a ping pong ball bounces off the table and onto the floor, you realise that sungchan is no longer trying.

actually, he’s no longer sober.

renjun has practically wiped all of his cups while he only has half of renjun’s. the poor law student can barely even stand straight, he’s aiming all the way to his opponent’s general left area. you’re not even sure if he’s able to stand after the game.

“i can do it better,” you hear donghyuck mumble out loud enough for it to reach the ears of alpha neo’s king of beer pong.

“are you sure about that?” renjun scoffs through his nose and the ping-pong ball hits his chest. however, it bounces and lands in one of his cups. he was about to congratulate sungchan but there’s a gentle thud and the next thing you know, the poor boy is on the floor and knocked out cold. “oh my god. okay, someone else please play. i’m taking him to his room.”

“markie! i wanna play with you!” donghyuck has chosen his opponent and you have chosen to help renjun get sungchan up to his room while shotaro babysits the lightweights.

honestly, you didn’t think that taking sungchan back would require maths, physics, the forces of nature, and some divine magic. he’s a very tall person—the tallest in your friend group, too—and that means his limbs can end up in awkward, gangly situations. his arms are flopping over your shoulders as you help him up the stairs but it’s more of you and renjun making a joint effort to drag him up.

when you get into his room, you tuck him into bed while renjun prepares a bottle of water, some pills for the morning, and a plastic bag on the side just in case he needs to hurl. you’re both in and out quickly and then it’s just the both of you alone as you make your way back to the beer pong table.

“so when are you going to act on it?” renjun asks out of the blue. you turn and look at him in visible confusion, gesturing at him to elaborate. “your feelings for donghyuck.”

“huh?!” you almost choked on your spit at his ridiculous assumption based on nothing at all. “i do not have a crush on him.” do you? your tongue is all twisted as you think of a compelling argument to dispel his claims. “have you seen him? he’s . . . him!”

“dude, i’ve seen the way you look at him and the way he looks at you.” he laughs. what the hell does he mean by that?

“i look at him in contempt and disgust. my feelings for him are pure hatred. i tolerate his existence.”

renjun doesn’t seem at all too convinced by that. underneath the dim, coloured lighting, you’re glad he won’t be able to see most of your facial expressions when you turn away from him.

“whatever you say, y/n.” he smiles sweetly at you but you know it’s not sincere. it’s thinly-veiled sarcasm and he always gives that smile when he knows something that you don’t.

you open your mouth to retort when somebody grabs your arm unexpectedly. ready to fight whoever had grabbed you without your consent, your free hand balls into a fist as you turn but you’re quickly met with shotaro and his soft smile. you immediately relax.

“sorry, did i scare you?” he bashfully apologises while dragging you and renjun into the small circle that’s formed around the two beer pong players.

“all good, taro,” you pat his bicep gently.

mark has cleared some of his cups while donghyuck has only cleared a couple. it’s obvious who’s the winner and it’s even more obvious who’s tipping over the edge already.

“how’s the winner feeling?” you muse teasingly, arms folded across your chest as you look at mark.

“it’s not much of a challenge.” he shrugs as his opponent misses yet another cup. “he’s too drunk to even aim properly. i’m tipsy and i still can get some shots in.”

“talk later when i smoke your ass, lee minhyung!” he slurs, wagging his finger at the other. you’ve seen the man in varied states of drunkenness before but this is probably the first time he’s properly let go.

“oh no, the government name.” mark giggles while he grabs a ping pong ball so he can prepare his round. “i’m so scared, hyuckie.” he bounces the ball against the table and it aptly lands in one of donghyuck’s cups. half of the circle cheers while the other half chants for the sore loser to chug.

even in his drunken state, he can find the cup with the ball bobbing sadly. he takes it and carefully places the soiled ball into a bowl of clean water. you’re curious about what he will be drinking this time—will it be coke, beer, soju, or all of it mixed?

the second you see a slight frown on his face as he tastes the drink, you know it’s something he doesn’t want. he got beer.

“markie, winner gets to pick what the loser does!” he announces before downing the carbonated drink. god, you really should’ve seen this coming.

#5: HE WILL DO ANYTHING TO PROVE A POINT

the first time you had witnessed donghyuck go to lengths to prove a point was in freshman year. the boys were playing basketball while you, giselle, and ningning sat with shotaro at the side to listen to music and just vibe. you didn’t know what had started the commotion but there was a lot of shouting that had immediately stolen your attention.

“you’re not tall enough, jackass!” you heard renjun yell, fingers pressed to his temples as if he’s beyond stressed out.

“you should talk, jun.” donghyuck grinned. that man looked death in the eye and winked.

renjun did not hesitate to grab the orange ball from mark’s hands and started to chase him around with it.

“you wanna fucking die, you rat bastard?!” you couldn’t help but laugh at the scene unfolding. giselle practically fell into your lap laughing when the ball bounced off the ground and attacked donghyuck in the ass.

“all i said was i can definitely dunk!” he cried out in agony as he dramatically fell on the court and rolled over on his back in a spread-eagle position. sungchan grabbed the rogue ball and towered over him with a sadistic grin, raised over to his chest and ready to throw it directly where the sun doesn’t shine. “no! no, no, no! channie have mercy please, i’ll buy you ice pops! i’ll buy you anything!”

you were half-expecting sungchan to smash donghyuck’s precious testicles right then and there but he’s not as sadistic as you are . . . probably. he pretended to drop the basketball and the victim screamed bloody murder, immediately curling up and begging for mercy.

“you definitely cannot dunk!” you shouted loud enough for the boys to hear.

“yeah, hyuckie! you’re too tiny!” ningning continued the jeering and everyone was laughing out loud at the blatant affectionate bullying.

“i’m not too tiny?!” not wanting to take any more slander, he jumped onto his feet and immediately bumped into the tree that is sungchan and another round of giggling filled the air. “everyone, wait here. i’m gonna be back and exact my revenge! just wait!”

“we have all day, hyuck.” you raised your eyebrows and he flipped you off in response. and so he walked off with his phone to who knew where.

“should we follow him?” mark asked, hands on his hips as he watched his figure become tinier in the distance.”

“he’ll be fine.” renjun waved dismissively and walked over to where the non-basketball players lounged with the music and food.

“welcome to the oasis,” shotaro welcomed them with a smile, passing their water bottles over to them while they made space for themselves.

minutes later, donghyuck comes back with a ladder and you already had a rough idea of what he wanted to do. everyone fell silent as he walked across the court and planted the ladder directly underneath the hoop. he went back to your little picnic spread to retrieve the ball and by then, ningning had her phone out to film him.

all eyes were on him, basketball tucked under his armpit, strutting back to the metal ladder with a purpose. he climbed the steps and as soon as he was within reach of the hoop, renjun heaved a loud sigh.

everybody knew what he was doing by then. he held the basketball high over his head and dramatically shoved it down the hoop.

“i told you i could dunk!” that was simply the beginning of his countless misadventures just to prove a point.

there are over dozens of memories you would love to reminisce about but the beer pong game appears a tad more interesting.

mark had already gotten more than half of donghyuck’s cups, leaving him with three left to win. his sore loser of an opponent has about ten cups to clear and the winner is standing with one hand on his hip while he leans against shotaro.

“hyuckie, mark kinda won by a landslide.” renjun throws one of his arms over his shoulders to support him but he’s whining nonsense and pouting at his best friend.

“he still has cups! i can still win!” he declares aloud only for his words to get swallowed by the deafening music.

watching him, you have no idea if he’s an idiot or just plain drunk and competitive. but you honestly respect the fact that he’s still so eager to lose.

“okay, and what– guh– what does the loser have to do?” mark is obviously starting to feel the effects of the alcohol. as much as you would like to be a good friend and get him water, you’d hate to miss the shitshow when hyuck loses.

“wear a trash bag and throw himself in the pool.”

out of all the bets that the boys have been involved in, this is considered very tame.

mark’s eyes light up and it looks like he’s sobered up slightly as if he’s gotten a new sense of purpose.

you want to say that the game has gotten tense but everyone’s waiting for the grad student to win so they can play too. a song that you recognise begins playing and it’s that viral tiktok song, cupid. naturally, everyone else knows it too and starts aggressively yelling the lyrics.

weirdly enough, they’re playing the english version instead of the korean version which makes you laugh a little. most of the students at the party are native korean speakers so it was pretty amazing to see them excitedly singing along flawlessly. you spot some randomly mouthing things (see: donghyuck) until they get to a part they recognise.

from the corner of your eye, donghyuck was dancing along and even yanked mark to rope him into joining. the sheer sight of them drunkenly yet passionately dancing makes your heart swell with so much affection for your friends. renjun already has his phone filming it because you know that mark will deny ever doing it.

“i’d give a second chance to cupid!” everyone, including yourself, screams into the air, and bursts of laughter resonate afterwards.

“by the way,” mark turns to donghyuck, gaze heavy and serious. the younger male reciprocates the energy and you suddenly wonder what’s up. “you could never wear a trash bag. you’re too good-looking for that, bro.”

you sigh heavily. you definitely need more drinks for this. you turn to renjun who’s already way ahead of you, returning with three cups of soju mixed with coke.

“what? i could definitely rock a trash bag!” donghyuck protests with his words slurring together a little. you take your cup and take a huge gulp, needing the buzz under your skin.

“nobody’s wearing any trash bags!” shotaro exclaims in exasperation, not wanting to deal with either one of them accidentally flashing the entire campus. it’s not like it’s the first time, but he still wants to save some of their dignity.

“shh, let them be.” you wave dismissively at the two men standing on either side of you. “you two go and get drunk.”

“and let you have all the fun in watching these two dolts?” renjun scoffs but takes a swig of his drink. the last time you had all gotten drunk like this, renjun was the one who had taken care of everyone. you know he needs this release more than anyone since he’s going through some personal things on top of stressful exams.

“go on, jun. we know our y/n will take care of us.” shotaro cheerily swings his arm over your shoulders and takes a generous gulp of his drink. oh, he’s going for it alright. a wide grin spreads across your face as the three of you bump your plastic cups together.

renjun mulls over it for a moment before he quietly sighs. that’s when you know he’s given in. your eyes widen when shotaro stops him from chugging his drink.

“junie, let’s do that thing where we lock arms and drink!” you’re not sure if it’s the sugar in his system (he mentioned eating too much chocolate beforehand in the group chat) or if he had a bit of those weed cookies but shotaro is oddly giggly and loud. you’re not complaining, though.

you take a couple of steps back to give them space as they lock their arms. the two bring their cups to their lips and start to chug together. a laugh is caught at the back of your throat as you shake your head, taking another swig from your own cup.

“time to party!” shotaro and renjun disappear into the crowd, leaving you alone with mark and donghy–

wait.

you whip your head around, squinting to find the drunken sore loser. good god. you don’t know where he could have possibly gone. mark is generally not a problem when he’s drunk—all he does is giggle at everything and shower the nearest object with compliments. right now, the victim of his affection is jeno.

you look at the two and make eye contact with jeno. he probably managed to sense that you’re worried for him so he flashes you a sweet, reassuring smile and throws a thumbs up too. you exhale and smile back in relief, nodding slightly at him. you’re definitely going to have to thank him one of these days.

now, to the matter at hand: where the hell is lee donghyuck?

if it’s up to you, you’d flip the entire frat house upside down, pick him up like a mii character and drag him away from the crowd. since you have various limitations, you’ve resorted to using a high iq method: you have to think like a drunk donghyuck.

the best and the worst thing about him is that he’s unpredictable. but even when he’s unpredictable, he is predictable. so, taking a gulp of your drink, you try to think of the most probable theory that you can based on what had transpired less than fifteen minutes ago.

when the realisation hits you, you sigh and finish the rest of your drink. if you’re going to take care of him, you’ll do it with a slight buzz in your system before you can let go of all your inhibitions. you quickly find the nearest bin to dispose of your cup before setting off on your quest to stop your drunk friend from doing something stupid.

the first location that you went to is the kitchen. it is weirdly empty but you’re glad you didn’t walk in on anyone fucking. you notice the cabinet door underneath the sink is open slightly ajar. you open it up fully to see what’s inside and you’ve revealed your first piece of evidence: the pack of black trash bags being messily thrown aside with bits sticking out of its packaging.

so he already is in possession of the trash bag. he can’t be too far. you reckon he is definitely nearby. you just need to find bits and pieces of trash bags as you wade through heavy, sweaty bodies that you refuse to make any contact with.

donghyuck’s voice finds you faster than you trying to find him. you follow the direction where his laughter and drunken announcements are coming from until you find yourself in the backyard where the pool is, with the man himself dressed in a trash bag that barely covers his ass. wait. he’s not wearing underwear!?

“lee donghyuck!” you try your best to throw your voice over the music and it seems to have worked because he’s slowly turning around as you rush over.

the only problem is that his arms are still up and you can see the head of his dick peeking from the hem of his trash bag dress. you quickly avert your gaze out of respect and disgust (it was mostly the latter) and grab his arms to pull them down so he doesn’t flash himself to anyone else.

“what the hell are you doing?” you grab the cup that he’s holding and shove it into the hands of a passerby. he follows the direction of the cup but you divert his attention back by grabbing his jaw and forcing him to look at you instead. “lee donghyuck, focus up.”

“y/n, you’re so hot when you’re angry at me,” he wistfully lilts, his body swaying towards you and you steady him with your other hand. you simply let his comments be, knowing that he’s just intoxicated with enough drinks to keep him that way throughout the night. he calls out your name again in a sing-song way, arms circling around your waist and pulling you into a tight hug. “it feels so hot and you’re so warm but i’ve always loved your hugs . . .”

“yeah, whatever, let’s get you in bed. you’ve had enough.” you reach into your back pocket for your phone to take a look at the time and he hisses at the bright light from your screen. you mumble a half-assed apology that you probably don’t mean. it’s not even one in the morning. how quickly did he drink? you arrived at the party about two hours ago and the doors opened at nine.

donghyuck starts whining your name and leans in to rest his forehead against the crook of your neck, snuggling into you more when you begin to move.

#4: HE’S THE WORST DRUNK IN THE GROUP

you don’t mind your friends when they get shitfaced drunk. most of them are tolerable. mark starts to be overly affectionate with the nearest object. renjun gets moody and a little bit of a killjoy but get him more drinks and he’ll turn extremely giggly. giselle is weirdly confident and will begin to confess her undying love for her best friends. sungchan turns into a curious five-year-old and will eventually pass out. shotaro is loud, giggly, and will act like a person who’s high as a kite. the opposite is also true when he’s consuming the devil’s lettuce. ningning is also another one who unlocks a hidden volume button and becomes a loudspeaker when she gets drunk, and can and will make out with the nearest girl. donghyuck, on the other hand . . .

“hyuck, c’mon.” you pat his back but he squeezes you tighter and nuzzles his nose where your skin is exposed, needing the contact. another weak whine drawls from his throat. “you’re drunk and you’re gonna regret it in the morning. let’s get you in bed.”

“you’re not my parent.”

“no, i’m not but i have your mom’s number.” you don’t but you know it’s enough to scare a drunk donghyuck into behaving.

just as you predicted, he pulls away from you and his eyes widen in a mix of fear and panic. your faces are impossibly close. your cheeks and neck burn from the sudden proximity. from being mere inches away, you can see the beauty marks on his face, the gentle slopes and the sharp angles that make up his facial features accentuated by the strong shadows of the dim, coloured lighting. he looks good in neutrals and natural lighting but as ruby red filters into view, it’s like you’re looking at an ethereal creature made by the hands of aphrodite herself.

“you wouldn’t.” he dramatically whispers. his breath reeks with a putrid mix of john walker, soju, and coke, which easily brings you out of whatever stupor you were in before he started speaking.

“try me.” you challenge him with an eyebrow cocked upwards. you grab your phone and unlock it, immediately pretending to search for his mom’s number in your contacts. you tap on mark’s number and pretend to start a call.

“no! nonononono, don’t, don’t! i’ll behave, y/n, please!” donghyuck immediately grabs onto your wrist and gives you the best drunken puppy eyes he can possibly muster. you almost feel bad for wanting to laugh but you quickly hide it with a scoff through your nose. it’s not like he’s going to hear it, anyway. “promise me you won’t call my mom!”

“fine, fine,” you shake your head and keep your phone in your back pocket. “are you ready to go to bed?”

“i’m not tired!” he whines and starts to stumble off, in pursuit of what you’re guessing may be another red cup for a drink. you follow him from behind and make sure he doesn’t bump into anybody and get into a fight with one of the weirdly muscled dudes from another frat. lee donghyuck is a lot of things but a winner in physical fights isn’t one of those.

“no, but you’re extremely drunk and you’re gonna get a hangover so bad you’re going to throw up.” when he picks up a cup, he diligently yet clumsily scoops it into the bowl of spiked fruit punch. sure, why not? that works.

“can a drunk person do this?” he turns to you and looks at you like he had just cartwheeled across the room. you give him a non-committal noise and he takes it as a win, triumphantly downing a generous amount of the punch. an excited squeal escapes him and you had almost mistaken him for an idol’s fan. “this tastes so good! it feels like i have the teletubbies dancing in my tele-tummy.” oh god, you barely forgot how much worse his jokes can get when he’s smashed.

he can barely stand still, body swaying as he struggles to keep his feet on the ground. as you stand there and survey him from head to toe, clad in nothing but a black trash bag, the first question that pops into your mind is: where the hell is the rest of his clothes? the deep, saturated red of the coloured lights emphasises some of his best features.

you notice the curves of the toned muscles of his biceps, the dark shadows that cast making them appear more defined. your eyes trail further down and his thick, sturdy thighs come into view. he had once told the group that he went for a lot of dance lessons, spanning from jazz to ballet to tap, and has a natural affinity for it. even though he no longer dances, he’s part of the university ice hockey team with mark, jeno, and sungchan. maybe that’s where he gets those thighs from.

before your mind can start to wander, somebody bumps into you from behind and you’re shoved into his chest. his arms come around to instinctively hug you but he has his cup in hand still. you feel cold water run down your back and you involuntarily shiver.

“lee donghyuck!” your voice comes out a lot more whiny than you intend it to.

“i’m sorryyy!” even his apology is coming in a slight slur. “tissue—hic!—tissues . . .” he mumbles, searching around for something to clean you up with. you sigh as you make some distance between the both of you. you can’t really be mad at him when he’s under the influence of alcohol.

“that’s okay, hyuckie. let’s get you into your room, yeah?” the nickname falls from your lips all too naturally before you can even register it in your brain. you take him by the arm and remove his crushed plastic cup from his hand, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

“m’kay . . .” he grumbles. luckily, he’s too drunk to even realise that you’d called him by his favourite nickname. when you look at him, he looks like a kicked puppy with his shoulders sagging and feet dragging along the floor as he walks with you. cute, you think to yourself.

donghyuck looks down where your fingers wrap around his forearm. he doesn’t say a word but instead chooses to remove your hand by the wrist, then place it where his hand is out waiting for you. he intertwines your fingers together, warmth spreading through your body and your heart is skipping beats every other half-second. you look up at him in surprise but all he does is give you that big, cheeky grin of his.

you clench your jaw and take a deep breath. why are you suddenly feeling nervous underneath his gaze? he’s drunk. he’s intoxicated. he’s anything but sober. he can’t form any coherent thoughts so you can’t start feeling these . . . weird things in your stomach when he does shit like this. all you need to do is get him to your room and change his clothes. you might borrow one of his shirts since your top is ruined, but it’s not your first time doing it.

“c’mon, let’s go.” you chastise him gently and tug him forward so you can continue walking.

it feels like the crowd keeps forcing you two together. wading through the sweaty, dancing bodies, your back is pressed up against donghyuck’s chest. you don’t know if he’s slowly sobering up since his free hand is on your waist, squeezing every now and then as you desperately search for a way out from this suffocating sea of people. everyone is stumbling all around you, barely bumping into each other, slurring apologies or half-assed empty threats that disappear in the thick fog of music in the air.

after what seems like forever, you finally found the flight of stairs that lead to his room in the frat house. by then, donghyuck is practically leaning against you for support and mumbling incoherencies that you can barely make any sense of. you lug him down the hallway and as you get further from the party and music, you find yourself paying attention to the shit he has to say.

“sometimes i wonder why you act as if you hate me so much but then i realise maybe you like me like i like you too but then i think again and it feels like . . . mm . . . it feels like your body is so warm and soft, i can fall asleep on you . . . junie told me to make a move but i don’t know . . . should i make a move?”

what the hell is he talking about? you spot his door and zero in on it, bumping into one of his very sober frat brothers—johnny, was it?—who flashes you an apologetic smile as he makes his way out to rejoin the party. you thought that his eyes were looking a little red-rimmed but you let it go since all that’s on your mind is to get this drunk man out of his trash bag and into a set of pyjamas, tuck him in, then call it a night.

“y/n,” he drags out the last syllable of your name and rubs his face into your shoulder. “feels hot, wanna take m’clothes off.”

“hang in there hyuckie, we’re almost in your room.” you release your intertwined hands and he whines from the loss of contact. you sigh, rolling your eyes as you open the door. it’s not your first time in his room—he has always kept it clean and organised. you flip the light switch and his room is illuminated with a bright white light. he’s one of the fancier ones who has a remote controller to change if he wants warm light, white light, or somewhere in between.

as soon as you sit him down on his bed, the first thing you do is peel your top off. he’s drunk and he definitely won’t remember a single thing, which is why you’re so comfortable with it. you start digging through his drawers for one of his shirts to wear and grab the first one you see, pulling it over your head and immediately being showered by his scent.

his usual cologne consists of smoky, woody scents balanced out with the sweet tones of vanilla. he always smells so familiar to you and it fills you with a certain kind of warmth that spreads throughout all over your body. sometimes you hope his scent embeds itself into you, sinking through your skin and deep into your soul.

when you realise that he’s been awfully quiet, you wonder if he’s fallen asleep, but the rustling of the trash bag tells you otherwise. you whip around to look at him struggling to get himself out of the plastic with his dick out for the whole world to see.

“lee donghyuck, what do you think you’re doing?” you sigh in exasperation, deliberately looking anywhere but waist-down.

“it’s hot, y/n!” he complains out loud and lets his body fall back onto the mattress dramatically. even when he’s drunk he doesn’t resist being a little bitch, huh.

“i know that, chill. let me get you some damn clothes so you don’t have your dick out.”

you turn your back on him and start to dig through his drawers once again. you pull out a pair of basketball shorts and dark navy calvin kleins for him to change into. before you can pass them to him, donghyuck is out of the trash bag and he’s hugging you from behind. his arms are secured around your waist as he rests his forehead on your shoulder while groaning in pain.

“can you make the world stop spinning? m’head hurts . . .”

“lee donghyuck, are you naked?”

“i asked you first.”

you sigh.

“i can’t make the world stop spinning but can you put on some clothes?” with the fistful of his minimal clothing, your peel one of his hands from your waist and place it there.

“i dunno, can i?” ah, he really is cute for trying.

“just put on the clothes.”

he mumbles something to himself, most likely complaining about how ‘mean’ you are but it’s nothing you haven’t heard before, especially when he’s like this.

you hear him stumble and struggle until you hear the elastic band of his boxers snap against his waist. you don’t hear any movement from him and you’re overcome with a strong urge to turn around.

“hyuck?” you softly call out his name.

“can i just wear my boxers to sleep? ‘s too hot . . . m’body feels like ‘s on fire . . .”

for someone who’s drunk, he sure is moving around a lot faster than you would like to admit. before you can even do anything else, he has his arms wrapped around your waist and his forehead is yet again on your shoulder. you’re being engulfed in his scent from standing in his room, wearing his shirt that’s a tad big on you, and him hugging you from the back. maybe engulfed isn’t even the right word— you’re overwhelmed, practically even drowning in it and your mind is reeling from how good he smells and feels, much against your liking.

“i’ll turn the air conditioning on for you, how’s that sound?” he’s an absolute handful to deal with when he’s drunk. it’s like taking care of a sugar-high kid, especially when he crashes and burns and turns into a big baby.

donghyuck makes a small sound of approval and you take that as a yes. you turn around whilst still being trapped within his arms. your hands perch tenderly on his firm shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze but he pulls you in tighter and you sigh.

“hyuckie, i can’t tuck you in and turn on the AC if you’re going to keep hugging me.”

“but y’feel nice an’ soft,” he mumbles into your shoulder, nuzzling his nose until he makes contact with your skin and sighing happily. “wanna cuddle you.” the sudden confession had your stomach twisting nervously in knots.

he’s drunk, you remind yourself. he hasn’t a single clue what he’s talking about. it’ll pass when he’s tucked in and fast asleep. suddenly you yearn for the loud music and sweating bodies downstairs.

you wordlessly reach behind you to unwrap his arms from your waist. with your fingers wrapped around his wrist, you lead him to his bed and sit him down after you have pushed aside his blanket. you make sure that he’s properly lying down before turning on his air conditioner and setting the timer for an hour.

donghyuck whines your name into his pillow when you tuck him in, refusing to let you go.

“hyuckie,” you gently warn him to behave without an ounce of real anger.

“‘s too bright. wanna cuddle.”

you fall silent at his request. he’s drunk and exhausted and you can tell from the way he’s getting whinier and his fights are becoming weaker. you need to throw his trash bag dress away and toss all of his dirty clothes into his hamper.

“give me five minutes, can you do that for me?” you whisper. you’re going to have to turn the lights off as soon as you’re done with what you have to do. you’ll just let him cuddle you and as soon as he falls asleep, you can return to the party and check in on your other friends.

“fine,” he grumbles after pondering it over. you’re suddenly overcome with the urge to pat his head and give him a kiss on the temple like you would to literally anyone else when you’re taking care of them when they’re drunk off their asses. you hold yourself back and quickly get down to business.

within minutes, you flick the light off once all of your chores have been completed. it only means that you have to return to entertaining the man-baby who had been quietly watching you while you worked.

donghyuck calls out for you again and you sigh loud enough to let him know that you’re still there. if you’re going to get in bed with him, you might as well get comfortable even if it’s for ten minutes.

you quickly shimmy off your jeans before crawling underneath his duvet on the other side of his bed. you hear some shuffling so you guess that it’s him rolling over and your assumption is correct when you feel his arms circle around your waist to pull you flush to his chest. it probably doesn’t matter to him that your back is to him, but god, it’s the only thing that matters to you.

heat rushes from your core straight to your cheeks and chest, goosebumps rippling across your arms as he nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck. you’re fighting tooth and nail so you wouldn’t feel anything but there’s a whole kaleidoscope of butterflies fluttering in your stomach from the contact.

“y/n?” he calls out, his voice merely the ghost of a whisper. you feel his plush lips move softly against your skin through the cotton of his shirt that you’re wearing and for a brief second, you had wondered what it’s like to feel it directly on your exposed skin. “you won’t leave me, right?”

you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t know what he’s secretly talking about. just before he met you, he had broken up from a relationship of close to four years. you remember how he was in his healing stage when you were first properly introduced to each other. it appeared like he was a mere shell of the man he used to be.

to him, everything reminded him of her. you maintained a safe distance from him because you knew it wouldn’t be pretty if something happened and the last thing you needed was to cause infighting. your group was still fresh and looking at everything through rose-tinted glasses. you were all new to each other and there were boundaries yet to be set.

you remembered renjun sharing with you that she was her first real relationship—you still remember her name: kwang haein—and they quite literally went through thick and thin together. renjun lamented to you, saying that they didn’t exactly have the healthiest relationship and it didn’t help when they started it in high school at the ripe age of 15. it was a miracle they made it all the way to graduation.

she was someone who would manipulate him into spending time with her and gaslit him every time they got into a fight. she was emotionally unavailable and hyuck had so much love to give. every time she spared mere crumbs, he would number them and keep them to satisfy himself, considering the affection that he deserved. the worst part of it all was the fact that haein broke up with him through text of all things. she called him a narcissist for wanting to spend time with renjun and mark, rekindle what was once lost and rebuild their friendship after he realised the damage he had done to her.

you don’t know what exactly happened, but you know that haein gave this poor man abandonment issues.

tears prick from the corner of your eyes without even realising it when you recall the hurt and the pain he must have experienced during and after his relationship with her.

get a grip, you tell yourself, exhaling quietly through your lips. you quickly wipe away your tears before they fall and turn around so you can look at him. he shifts back when he realises you’re moving around. half-lidded eyes heavy with the beckoning of sleep, he looks at you in confusion.

“i’m not gonna leave you, hyuck,” you promise. before you can even catch yourself, your hand moves up to push locks of his dark brown hair away from his face. you recall his grape hair from a couple of months back. the colour looked really good on him but at the cost of his hair getting damaged since he decided to diy it himself to prove renjun wrong. he did a pretty good job, though. “you’re not getting rid of me that easily. we’re good friends, aren’t we? even if we fight a lot and say that we hate each other and insult each other more than half the time.”

“yeah.” he lets his eyes fall close and you smile. “we’re friends.” your smile quickly turns into a frown. why did he sound so disappointed? you refuse to let your brain wander. there’s no use thinking about it. he’s drunk, you remind yourself. why do you have to keep telling yourself that? why does being so close to him make your heart race a mile a minute?

you choose to spend your energy waiting for him to fall asleep, watching as his chest rises and falls until it moves into a steady, slow rhythm. you quietly call out his name to check if he’s awake. he doesn’t respond. good, he’s asleep.

one good thing about him being drunk is that when he falls asleep, he can easily be mistaken for a dead body. the whole world could be collapsing all around him and he is still sound asleep.as you close his bedroom door behind him, you heard him mutter something in his slumber but you didn’t go back to check on him. you do feel bad for leaving him after you told him that you wouldn’t, but you can’t afford to skip out on the alcohol. you’re not going to leave him in general. after what had just transpired from the time you found him in his trash bag to when he asked you such a vulnerable question, you’re in desperate need to get wasted and maybe get a number to add to your body count.

⠀⠀ ⠀⌒⠀ִ ✧ ﾟ 𓆩 ♡ 𓆪

the first thing you did when you woke up the morning after was rethinking your life choices to drink and party until three in the morning. you’re good with alcohol so you didn’t get as shitfaced as you wanted to but it did enough damage to leave you slightly disoriented when the sun woke you up. after you had cleaned yourself up, you headed back to the frat house in donghyuck’s shirt and a pair of drawstring sweat shorts.

so there you are, standing in the kitchen with a renjun who’s wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants and an apron with a very tan bodybuilder’s body on it, making pancakes and hangover cures for the gang. honestly, the main reason why you wanted to spend some time with renjun is to ask him for his thoughts on what had happened between you and donghyuck the night before.

“renjun,” you attempt to call his name and it comes out more nervous than it should’ve. “hyuck kind of uh, said some stuff to me . . . last night. when i um, when i was tucking him into bed.” you grab one of the pancake mix boxes and start to make more pancake batter. your eyes sit on his side profile, waiting for an answer from him but all that you get is a hum to signal for you to continue speaking.

you really hope that you won’t regret spilling your guts to him. it’s noon and it’s way too early for you to be awake, especially after partying and babysitting grown men last night. nobody should be awake other than shotaro but he’s up in his room showering after he helped to clean the house up before you arrived.

you spare renjun no detail, even going back to clip bits and pieces from your past interactions together as proof points as to why his behaviour shouldn’t be so strange yet it only serves to circle back to why his behaviour was strange. he listens patiently to every word, nodding and humming to let you know that he’s still there and his mind isn’t wandering off into some faraway land.

“so, uh, yeah.” you conclude lamely, passing him the bowl of pancake batter that you made while pouring your heart out.

renjun makes eye contact with you and there’s an unrecognisable expression on his face when he takes the ceramic bowl from you. is it disappointment? is it confusion? you can’t tell and frankly, you’re too scared to ask.

“dude, we’ve been over this.” oh god, not this again. “i’ve told you so many times that he’s literally in love with you. and if i didn’t know any differently, you–”

“who’s in love with who?”

speak of the goddamn devil.

“nobody.” you quickly snap and turn around to look at donghyuck. “nobody is in love with anyone.” you steal that opportunity to take a good look at him.

his dark hair is a mess with a cowlick sticking out on the side of his head, and luckily for everyone in the room, he’s wearing a pair of grey sweats instead of waltzing into the kitchen in his boxers. unluckily for you, however, he’s not wearing a shirt. you can clearly see the dips and curves of his chest and the structured v-line that disappears past the elastic of his sweatpants along with the stupid happy trail.

“eyes up here, babe,” he winks at you before walking past, exaggerating the swing of his hips before he gives renjun a back hug. you should seriously punch him right then and there but seeing how he’s most likely dealing with a hangover (and hiding it very well), you decide to be merciful. “my pancake is making us pancakes? how sweet of you!” he presses their cheeks together and you can tell that the victim of his affection is stuck between hitting him in the face with the spatula in his hand or letting him be.

there’s no way this casanova over here is in love with you.

he would probably trade you for a $5 steam gift card. he picks on you and gets under your skin every chance he gets. he’s a damn nuisance and a pain in the ass. he’s loud, he’s throwing you inappropriate jokes every time the opportunity presents itself, and he’s such a gossip. he gives you so many reasons not to even look at him romantically so why the fuck did you get butterflies in your stomach last night?

it’s safe to say that it bothers you to the point where you’ve made it your personal mission to distance yourself from him. you’re doing this as a favour for both of you. you won’t have to deal with these confusing emotions that are stirring within you and he doesn’t have to be so fixated on you. honestly, you don’t even know what he sees in you.

donghyuck, on the other hand, sees this news that someone in your shared friend group is in love with you, as an opportunity to fix you two up together. you can be so uptight sometimes that a good fuck should help you loosen up. that’s what he thinks, anyway.

after he has breakfast and cleans himself up, he sits in his room and pulls out one of his notebooks. he flips to a random page and begins to plot out his game plan to get you a partner. if everything goes well, there’s a confession by the end of the week and if he’s lucky, you might even get a good lay. he’s doing this for your own good, and maybe a little bit of his own, because if you’re not going to look at him like he does, he should at least help the other person.

the first clue that he has is ‘he’. that’s the only clue that he has, really, but it narrows down the list of suspects pretty well. renjun and mark are obviously off the hook since they both have their own respective crushes to deal with. or maybe he can’t really say ‘crush’ for mark since he’s going to attempt to ask them out soon.

he stares at the two names that he had scribbled down: osaki shotaro and jung sungchan.

he sets the scene with you and shotaro sitting next to each other on the couch, laughing and giggling with each other. the transfer student has his arm thrown over your shoulder. he leans in for a kiss and you reciprocate. no. he then pictures you and sungchan next, doing the same things. there’s a pierce in his heart as he thinks of the possibility of you ending up with either one of them because the selfish part of him doesn’t want you to.

he wants you to end up with him. lee donghyuck, the one and only person who’s constantly getting under your skin because he likes seeing the frown on your face and the way you scrunch up your nose in annoyance. the only person who’s willing to spend the extra bucks on renting out a nice, clean car to drive you out to hongdae to eat at that japanese restaurant you love so much because he knows you’ve been stressed off your ass. the only person who showed up at your dorm with your favourite food when you got stood up by a supposed ‘ex’ in freshman year because he knows how it feels to be tossed aside for something better.

lee donghyuck wants to be the one and only person that you hold and kiss and love because he finally got a taste of it last night when he pretended to be too drunk so you could take care of him, and he doesn’t want anyone else to take it away from him.

renjun has told him before that his feelings for you will be reciprocated. he doesn’t understand it, though. if he means that you’re going to reciprocate his attempts at spending time with you, sure. that, you definitely do. he knows that you take extra care of him especially when he’s vulnerable but he’s always surmised that it’s your way of showing affection after calling him silly things like ‘shitty’ or ‘stupid’. he knows that you don’t mean a single word that you say, which is why he loves it so much when you’re both caught in this little game of cat and mouse.

if he means that you’re going to return his romantic feelings for you, he’s not going to believe it at all.

swallowing the ugly feelings that threaten to surface, he shoves them deep down and buries them away, never to be opened by anyone ever. even if he can’t be the one who makes you happy, he sure hopes this mysterious suitor can make you half as happy as you make him feel.

the first person donghyuck has to text is none other than his second beloved anime boy, shotaro. the first place, of course, belongs to none other than his frat brother nakamoto yuta. he quickly searches for his contact and begins a conversation.

his heart stops.

you and him?

partners?

he stares at his texts in shock, watching his message go from ‘delivered’ to ‘read’ and a thumbs up appear on its outer corner.

is that what you’ve both looked like to others?

immediately he pictures you on his lap, his chin resting on your shoulder as he wraps one secure arm around your waist. his free hand is yours to fiddle around with, enjoying the sensation of your skin on each other. he immediately recalls the warmth of your body when your back was pressed up against his front last night.

heat spreads from his chest to the rest of his body at the mere thought of being able to have that with you again. if there’s anything he needed last night after weeks of exams and deadline submissions, it’s you. but you arrived late to the party, dressed so simply yet so you manage to look so goddamn attractive in your oversized shirt and jeans.

pause. you were wearing his oversized shirt this morning.

he reels through his mind and scavenges through what he had witnessed in the kitchen when he came down. the first thing he saw was you, standing with your back facing him in his navy blue ncit varsity shirt and his name and number on the back.

donghyuck definitely didn’t feel jealous when you weren’t alone in the kitchen. there was a bitter taste in his mouth when he had eavesdropped enough to know that someone has a crush on you, and it pinched his heart painfully when both you and renjun looked so domestic in the little nook. but it was partly soothed when he saw renjun wearing the abs apron.

right. renjun. he needs to tell him.

it might be the shirt you had stolen from him last night when he had accidentally spilt his drink on you. does his shirt feel that comfortable? does it smell strongly like him?

his heart soars when he realises that you’re walking around campus with his name on you. you’re not his at all—you don’t belong to anybody, in fact—but this little detail has him giggling to himself alone in his room, euphoric bliss filling him up.

now, it’s time for him to figure out who the hell has a crush on you, but he doesn’t know if he wants to sabotage the crush or keep you for himself. he’ll probably decide later on. for now, he just wants to know who.

⠀⠀ ⠀⌒⠀ִ ✧ ﾟ 𓆩 ♡ 𓆪

you don’t know how or why, but you’ve come to this one conclusion: you have strong feelings for lee donghyuck. are they positive? sexual? negative? you have no idea. but every time he pops up into your mind unprompted, you feel a very strong urge to hope you spontaneously combust in the middle of whatever it is that you’re doing.

you’ve made it a point to avoid him for as long as you possibly can and in turn, avoid confronting your feelings, too.

every time he texts you to gossip or just yell in general, you do your best not to get pulled in by his theatrics and bizarre storytelling methods. you don’t want him to think you’re ignoring him even though you are, but you’re not exactly the best actor.

still in the festive spirit of being free from the shackles of painful and mind-numbing exams, a sorority is hosting a party. this time, it’s giselle and ningning’s: alpha chi ræd. even today, you still find it a little weird that giselle managed to hook up with her ex-girlfriend who is also her sorority sister.

red, purple, and black. sounds like the standard ræd party. you know that giselle and ningning are going to dress the best that they can and be sirens for the night. it’s a couple of hours away and you’re chilling in your dorm with some show playing on your monitor that you’re not really paying attention to. your ears are cushioned by your wireless headphones, walking around your room aimlessly.

should you start picking out your outfit now? it’s not like you have anything to do, anyway. your eyes flit to the time on your digital clock. you haven’t had dinner and you know better than anyone to drink on an empty stomach. chewing on your bottom lip, you grab your phone and start texting your favourite dinner buddy. his charming smile always gets you extra free food.

after sealing the promise of dinner, you turn on the lights so your room wouldn’t be drowning in complete darkness. you take off your headphones and turn off the forgotten show playing in the background serving as background noise. there’s a strong urge inside of you to text hyuck and ask him if he wants to join you and sungchan for dinner because you know he’s coming over in a heartbeat with the promise of free food.

but you don’t.

you’re not supposed to like him. you can’t. it’s going to ruin the dynamics of the friend group . . . right? you look at your phone, the screen lighting up to display a group photo you had taken together on a trip to jeju and nami islands to pretend to be tourists.

your eyes immediately find where you and donghyuck are sitting on the ground together. his arm is wrapped around your waist, pulling you close to him with your thigh crossing over his. your hand throws up a peace sign while you laugh, eyes forming half crescents with your hair blocking some of your facial features. his other hand is on your cheeks, thumb and index fingers pressing them together to make you look silly. you can hear his laughter in your ears, beaming ear to ear with a grin rivalling the sun.

behind you both, everyone’s also trying to get someone else to fuck up the photo. renjun was trying to tackle mark onto the ground but he ended up getting piggybacked. ningning has sungchan in a headlock while giselle and shotaro are trying to out-tickle each other, resulting in shotaro almost falling over and tripping on hyuck.

warmth fills you from your core, spreading all over your body as your eyes wander back to you and him.

you can’t fall in love with him. you can’t risk falling for someone like him. not again.

your story isn’t half as sad as donghyuck’s—or at least, you hope it isn’t. you met someone back in freshman year. he’s on the same campus, just a year older but studying at the same level as you are.

it was during your freshman orientation. thinking about it makes you want to barf, really. he’s similar to donghyuck personality-wise and you got along with him extremely well. you could flirt and insult each other within mere seconds and it’ll all be in good heart. over a very fast period of time, he had asked you out on a date.

of course, you said yes. he’s charming, funny, and good-looking—what more could you need or want?

you were too infatuated to realise your so-called relationship was toxic and he was merely using you for a fuck buddy. he didn’t have the emotional availability, the maturity, the seriousness, or everything you needed for a secure and healthy relationship.

luckily you were able to cut ties with him and break everything off before it got any worse. you thought it was your first real relationship while in university but he decided to pull you around and toy with you.

you snap into your senses when your phone buzzes in your hand. your screen lights up with a message from donghyuck.

your fingers move to type an answer out, that there’s no way sungchan of all people would have a crush on you, but there’s a knock on the door with the man himself carrying your food.

#3: HE’S THE WORST AT KEEPING SECRETS

you take a mental note to reply to him later and in that, you’re reminded of the fact that nobody should ever tell him secrets. ever.

there are way too many times when he accidentally spoiled a surprise or ruined something because he gets way too excited. everyone knows how honest he is and sometimes he may slip up in his promise to be honest to everyone around him.

you open the door to reveal sungchan carrying a bag of food in his left hand and another bag that you assume are his party clothes. he’s clad in black slacks and matching dress sneakers, with a fishnet top underneath his oversized white tee. now, you’re kind of excited to see his final look.

“hi y/n, i have secured the munchies!” he greets you with a gentle smile and you invite him in.

“you look excited for the party.” you comment as he sets the food on the low table in the middle of your dorm room. he grins back at you as he begins unpacking while you transfer him however much you owe.

“extremely,” he sighs almost wistfully. “i’ve never been to a ræd party before and i’ve always heard good things. apparently, there’s going to be beer towers and those little shot ferris wheels and an open bar in the backyard.”

you sit down across from him and pull your kimchi fried rice towards you. a soft laugh escapes your lips from his enthusiasm. you don’t blame him. the alpha chi ræd are well-known for their impeccable music, booze, and theatrics. the alpha neos are better known for their vibes and safety.

“well, joohyun’s pretty loaded and so is wendy. it wouldn’t be out of the box for them to throw such fancy parties, especially since joohyun’s graduating top of the class for her master's degree.” you carefully peel open the lid and start to mix your food together as sungchan does the same to his bibimbap.

“speaking of parties, i was thinking that we should throw mark a canada-themed party for his birthday.” he suddenly pipes up, and you cock an eyebrow upward in question at the sudden subject shift. “i mean, obviously we won’t tell hyuck. we nearly fumbled with renjun’s birthday because he got too excited about the project.”

a bright laugh bubbles from the back of your throat at the fond memory. since renjun is an avid movie lover, everyone decided to bring him to a diy drive-in movie. well, less of a drive-in, more of a cinema in the middle of a rugby field.

giselle gave this brilliant idea to surprise him with a short film of their best or favourite moments with him. it’ll of course be concluded with a gift-giving session. in order for it all to be executed flawlessly with no holes, you had to find a way to shut donghyuck up. that meant he couldn’t be left alone with renjun at any given time.

“i still find it hilarious that he almost fucked up the film surprise because he asked renjun to airdrop him videos of the both of them.” you snicker at the memory, remembering how all of you nearly got found out thanks to his slip-up.

“it’s literally so stupid!” sungchan is laughing with you and you can’t forget when mark literally had to throw himself in and save him. “but it’s cute how their dynamic goes. hyuck is the one who lives in the moment and jun is the one who captures the moment. and hyuck is also the one asking jun for said moments when he starts to miss whatever had happened.”

no truer words have been spoken.

“i remember when he thought that mark had a crush on me. he texted it to me while i was hanging out with mark and giselle. we had literally managed to just get more comfortable with each other. god, that was lowkey traumatising.” you shake your head and start to eat your meal before it gets cold. sungchan looks at you with glimmering eyes, obviously intrigued by the idea of you and mark becoming an item (which is never). “why are you looking at me like that?”

“so i wasn’t the only one who thought that way?” he teasingly nudges your knee with his. you groan and roll your eyes at him as he laughs at your reaction. “no, seriously though! i did think that he had a crush on you!”

“for like, the millionth time,” you sigh. “mark made it very clear he was nervous around me because i scared him. i have an aura that’s ‘intimidating�� sometimes, i guess? his words. i don’t know.” you make a non-committal noise and shrug.

sungchan doesn’t say anything, only stuffing his mouth with a spoonful of his food while maintaining eye contact with you. great. another one who looks like he knows something you don’t.

“out with it.” you tiredly beckon with your free hand, eating more of your fried rice.

“speaking of crushes . . .” there he goes again. “. . . what’s up with you and hyuck? he told me that you’ve been kind of avoiding him.”

‘kind of’ is an understatement. you are absolutely, without a doubt, a hundred per cent avoiding him. you just didn’t think that you were that obvious. you didn’t really know what to say so you quietly play with your food, swallowing whatever is in your mouth before speaking.

“i . . . guess i kinda am?” you look at him, obviously unsure. “i don’t know . . . i mean . . . well . . .” you’re racking your brain for some sort of answer but you know that sungchan already knows your answer from the way you’re stammering.

he happily continues eating his food without a care in the world, satisfied with your answer.

“did he do something to piss you off?” he asks but you shake your head. he does a lot of things to try and piss you off but he hasn’t really gone too far just yet. “then what is it? did something happen at our party?” you give him the stink eye when he gets it spot-on.

sungchan straightens his back and leans in closer to you. of course he’s excited when he gets exclusive content. sometimes you can’t help but wonder if hyuck’s love for gossip managed to bleed into the systems of the others. sungchan, mark, giselle and yourself have never been one for gossip but every time hyuck says he knows something and starts sharing, you’d be very much upset if you got cockblocked while he did.

“the only person who knows what happened that night is renjun.” you begin and you do your best to put on a serious tone but with the younger male’s excitement and eager smile, you can’t help but break a small smile, chuckling through your nose. “you can’t tell anyone, okay?”

“lips are sealed, cross my heart and hope to die.” you can tell that sungchan is biting his tongue—he has more to say—but he keeps his silence and your peace, urging you to continue. you eye him suspiciously but continue regardless.

so you tell him. you know you can trust him to keep his mouth shut about it but with donghyuck’s persuasive magic that works on everyone, you try to hold yourself back from going down into the details.

the whole time you’re recounting the events of the night for the second time, you’re feeling butterflies in your stomach yet again when you recall his scent overwhelming you in the best way possible. you recall his slightly calloused hands on yours, fingers intertwined; body pressed up against yours so intimately.

sungchan took it upon himself to take your hand and scoop your rice, bringing it to your mouth wordlessly to get you to eat since you tend to forget about multitasking. you nod at him in thanks when he pulls his hand away to let you take a couple of bites and take a quick break from storytelling.

“so yeah.” you finish it off lamely, angrily taking a bite of your rice and finishing it up. “that’s the whole story.”

“you’re in love with him.”

his comment almost made you choke on your food. you manage to save yourself from dying while sungchan laughs at your misery and misfortune, glaring at him while you do until you’re able to calm down. he pushes his bottle of grape juice to you and you snatch it from him, downing the drink until you’re fine.

“what the hell do you mean ‘you’re in love with him’?” you sputter incredulously. your heart is shaking, drumming wildly against your rib cage as you rake your fingers through your hair. you? in love with him?

“why are you like, the last one to know?” he grins knowingly, leaning back on his hands.

“what the hell do you mean i’m the last one to know?!” this time, your voice increases in an octave as you almost shriek your words out. when you realise how ridiculous you sound, you clear your throat and straighten your posture. you’re suddenly reminded of donghyuck’s texts to you. this man sitting across from you does not have a crush on you.

“everyone can see you’re both like, pining after each other in your weird way.” sungchan’s grin grows wider when he’s connected the dots together.

“there’s no way.”

“oh my god, renjun was so right. you do look super constipated whenever you fight it!” your face burns up down to your neck and up to your ears. you have half the mind to throw your dirty takeout bowl at his head. “we need to get you looking absolutely smoking tonight. like an absolute hottie.”

“i’m not dressing like a stripper.” you deadpan him.

like a scene in a coming-of-age young adult movie, he’s dragging you to your closet and giving you the biggest transformation to step into the party looking ‘absolutely smoking’.

the first thing that he pulls out is the very black bustier top that hyuck had said you look really good in. sungchan continues digging through your closet until he finds a maroon leather mini skirt with a split hem that you haven’t worn in ages and throws it to you.

you look at the two articles of clothing, unsure. you turn to look at him.

“trust the process!” that is his favourite thing to say. maybe you will. for the sake of not getting blacklisted to a ræd party.

after you brush your teeth and get dressed up, he nods in agreement when you let him back into your dorm.

“you look so good, hyuck is gonna be all over you tonight!” your face burns up again, your heart fluttering in your chest and you glare at him.

“that’s not the point of the outfit.” you deadpan.

“yes, it is.” sungchan insists, pointing at what should be a dresser but is more of a station for you to get ready and take photos of your outfit. you shoot him a dirty look but make your way over anyway. “you’re going to look hot and irresistible and all eyes are going to be on you.”

“i’m not in the beauty inside.” you roll your eyes and pick up the tools to properly enhance your facial features. he shrugs and moves over to your monitor to play some music for you both to get ready for the party.

you can hear him giggling and typing away on his phone while yours tries to throw itself off your bed from vibrating too hard. so the group is active. you take a quick glance at the clock and it’s ticking down to the golden hour. outside, the sky has already darkened, coating the entire city in an ocean of navy and black with speckles of twinkling stars.

you don’t do too much with your makeup, merely going as natural as you can but you grunge up your look with dark lipstick and highlights where it’ll enhance your best features. it’s a night full of partying, drinking, dancing, and making out with hot strangers. people will most likely be too drunk to think twice about what someone else looks like.

“‘kay, i’m done.” you announce out loud, packing up all of the things you used and storing them away. sungchan helps you onto your feet before stepping back to look at you from head to toe. you watch him cautiously, slouching a little but immediately snap to attention when he sighs and stares at you, silently telling you to stand properly. honestly, it feels like your mom is making you show off the outfit she got you.

he makes a circle in the air with his index finger, wanting you to spin for him. you exhale a heavy sigh but you do it begrudgingly and give him the best model turn you can.

“okay, okay, i see you!” he cheers you on and it gives you a much-needed confidence booth. “alright, let’s head to the biggest party hosted by ræd and get bitches on our dicks!”

“god, you are so weird.” you laugh as you grab a small shoulder bag that’ll keep your necessities safe.

when you’re walking to the party, you’re able to spot the sorority from a mile away. there are bright lights and projections into the sky, music thundering and filling up the empty night air, and bass shaking the ground with more vigour with every step that you take.

you know how big ræd parties are but for some reason, you feel a little nervous. you shouldn’t, but you are.

as you walk up to the door, there’s already a lot going on. people are making out on the front lawn on the verge of having sex in front of everyone, you spot a freshman dressed up to impress talking to a very disinterested person that you recognise to be sunwoo from one of your classes. the corner of your lips quirked upward into a smile. you’re definitely going to find him to tease him about it.

“y/n! sungchannie!” ningning’s voice manages to dominate the blaring music and catch your attention. you turn and see her with a drink in hand and her cheeks absolutely flushed. is that the blush or the alcohol’s work?

she’s wearing a royal purple silk bandana top wrapped around her chest and black low-rise ripped shorts. her indigo heeled boots click against the hardwood floor as she rushes over, dyed hair bouncing in its high pony.

“ning, hey!” you and sungchan both speed up to meet her halfway, passing the threshold and immediately melting into a crowd of chatterboxes, drunks, people making out, and dancers. they’re playing some song you don’t recognise but it’s along the genres of r&b and indie pop so naturally, everyone is eating up what the trendsetters are feeding them.

“you made it and you both look like absolute sluts!” she squeals excitedly, pulling you into a hug and you all laugh together, squeezing her a little before you let go. “the alpha neos are here already, you’re both always the latest!” she chastises but she pouts when she gives you both another once-over. “but you look so good! fashionably late, and fuck, you both look so sexy, i’d make out with you right now.”

“kinda swaying towards the other team right now, ning. if i’m swaying back to how my parents wanted me, i’ll let you know.” sungchan plays along with her faux flirting, throwing a wink her way and she laughs brightly.

“okay okay, go mingle, find a hottie to make out with, i don’t care—have fun! sooyoung put me in charge of welcoming people til like, ten, so i have to stay sober til then. i’ll catch up with you guys later. drinks are in the backyard!” after speeding through her brief, she disappears to greet more people. sungchan and you exchange looks before chuckling.

“alright, i’m gonna go get myself my fix.” you tell him. so there really is an open bar in the backyard like what he said earlier. such a weird detail, but it sure as hell makes the party a lot more interesting.

“sounds good. i’m going to look around and decide what i want to do. i never know how to act at parties.” he complains to himself. a short sigh later and he looks where the sea of people beckons him. “i’ll catch you whenever. have fun and stay safe, y/n.” he gives you one final hug before you both part ways.

after snaking through crowds of dancing people and slinking through dimly-lit hallways with people pressed up against walls to make out or smoke, you finally find the backyard behind sliding glass doors. there’s literally an open bar with a bartender out of a food truck and a pool right next to it. your eyes search for any indication that you’ll have to pay for your drinks as you approach the vehicle and when there’s none, you lean up against the counter and flash your best smile to her.

she notices you almost immediately and smiles back as she makes her way to you. her name tag shines with moonbyul embedded into the silver metal. that’s such a pretty name.

“hi there,” she greets you warmly while setting down the glass that she was cleaning. “how can i be of service?”

“can i have two sour plum shots, please?” you request politely. she nods and starts your order.

moonbyul turns around to grab a bottle and starts mixing the drink for you. you watch as if caught in a trance, her movements fluid like a dance. from the corner of your eye, you thought you had seen donghyuck. a quick second take later and it was indeed him. suddenly you’re praying to all of the gods that you know so he won’t try and approach you. he catches your eye and you quickly turn back to the bartender, hoping she’ll hurry up with your drinks.

in a four-storey sorority house full of partygoers and people hungry for a quick lay, there’s not going to be a chance of you bumping into him. right? even if there is, it’s going to be a low percentage. you take another peek in his direction and someone you don’t recognise is chatting him up and you exhale through your lips in relief.

she returns with two shot glasses full of honey-coloured poison and a smile that could literally charm your skirt off in an instant. for a second, you had almost forgotten about him. what kind of sorcery does this woman possess?

“how much is it? i hope you take bank transfers.” you awkwardly laugh but she immediately shakes her head.

“don’t worry about it. it’s four bucks since you’re cute.” heat rushes to your cheeks and you smile shyly, mumbling a quiet word of thanks as you make your payment. you down the two shots back to back and disappear back into the house. there’s barely any time for your body to process the alcohol and you hope that it’ll kick in as soon as you hit the living room where people are dancing.

you catch a whiff of the cannabis and peach-stained air when you walk through the dimly lit hallway again, letting it fill your body as you begin to feel the slight buzz of your liquor. the first person that catches your eye on the dance floor is giselle. there are way too many people in the living room dancing—there’s no way he’ll find you here.

“y/n!” she slurs the final syllable of your name with a lazy grin on her face. her cheeks are flushed with alcohol as she stumbles to you, pushing through the crowd to pull you in. you gladly allow yourself to be welcomed by her, laughing as she gives you a tight hug. “come dance with me!”

she immediately turns around to press her back against your chest and you put your hands on her waist, laughing with your head thrown back. you can’t tell if it’s the alcohol or the people you’re surrounded by but you’re immediately getting drawn into this coven of sirens on the dance floor.

the music fills you from your fingertips, bass reverberating in your bones as you let your body follow the groove. giselle grinds into you, surprising you, but you quickly recover and let her do whatever she wants. you quickly recognise the song to be madison beer’s baby, and you’re devoured with a lust to be a little slutty.

someone taps your shoulder and you turn around to find a very attractive woman that you don’t recognise. she offers to dance with you and you quickly agree as her hands find your waist. your hands loop around her neck and you’re pulling each other impossibly closer.

you mouth the lyrics with a charming smile and heavy-lidded eyes, swaying your hips seductively. her dark oculars watch your every move with the corner of her lips curled upwards in a lazy smirk and god, that looks really hot.

in a quest to make her melt, you take advantage of the loosened tie that hangs around her neck. with one hand you pull her towards you until your faces are mere inches away, teasing a kiss before you let her go and turn around instead.

alcohol, power, and confidence surge through your veins with the heavy bass acting as a guide for the intoxication.

“such a tease,” she hums lowly in your ear. a bright laugh escapes your lips, shivering involuntarily as her nose gently glides along your collarbone before pressing a kiss to your shoulder blade. “you smell so good, too.”

before you can reply, your eyes spot donghyuck from across the dance floor. he visibly lights up when you catch his gaze but you’re stiffening up and immediately searching for an exit. you hate it when he gets like this.

#2: HE CAN GET TOO PERSISTENT

you free yourself from giselle and your hot mysterious stranger, eyes scanning the bodies you’re surrounded by until you find an opening where you can flee. he’s about to make his way to you and that’s when you duck your head and snake your way out.

your heart is beating out of your rib cage as you spot a room with no light on with the door left slightly ajar. without a moment of hesitation, your feet are taking you there and closing the door shut behind you. luckily the room isn’t occupied so you can stay in there for a while.

you stagger slightly in your steps, feeling the gentle buzz of the alcohol underneath your fingertips. a soft sigh escapes you.

there is no way that you can avoid him all night while having fun but there’s no harm in trying. he’s an immovable object but you’re an unstoppable force. you can outwit his unrelenting nature. probably.

what are you even going to do if he finally catches up to you, anyway? the break before summer break has been serving you perfectly when it comes to avoiding donghyuck after that party. however, even as you keep running away from him, he comes haunting you in your dreams and you mean it literally.

you had a dream of him with his tongue down your throat and his large hand shoved into your underwear. when you woke up, you were feeling things. you aren’t supposed to feel anything for him!

needing a quick break, you pull out your phone to check your notifications. unfortunately, even there he’s made an appearance and by the looks of it, he’s not going to go away any time soon. you delete all of your notifications from him in fear you may accidentally press on one of them and then you’ll have to read whatever was sent. and then he’ll start hounding you on why you left him on read.

after exactly three minutes have passed, you take a deep breath and dive back into the party. there’s no reason for you to be nervous. he should be far away from you now, in some corner of the sorority searching for you. you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t feel guilty.

you decide to sneak back to the bar to get yourself another shot or two. the alcohol is good to get you feeling the buzz, but not strong enough to get you drunk. maybe you should have taken four at once earlier.

moonbyul chuckles to herself when she sees you approaching the bar again within the span of an hour. at the very least, you’re glad to see her too. she’s handsomely leaning against the countertop and greets you with a smile.

“welcome back, gorgeous.” she waves before straightening herself and placing her hands on her hips. “i see the sour plum shots barely did anything to you.”

“and if i said i only came back for you?” you flirt brazenly with a grin on your face, watching her features morph as she laughs lightly. it might be the booze but she looks so stunning you’re almost at a loss for words.

“then i’ll get you a free drink on the house because you’re rather eye-catching.” she winks and your plans to be a casanova immediately burn up into flames as your face heats up. “cute.” she mumbles to herself before turning around to make a drink specially for you.

you fiddle with the details on your bag, pinching the fabric as if you’re waiting for donghyuck to literally just show up and you’ll have to face him. you don’t want to. not under any circumstance. you’re not ready for the conversation that comes after, the feelings that may surface after you bottle them up.

your phone starts buzzing in your hand and you see it’s him texting you again. there’s a pinch in your heart and you shove your phone into your bag. you came here to let go; to let loose. you didn’t come here to talk to him about what could possibly be between both of you.

when moonbyul presents you with a pretty glass of a pink drink that is literally glittering, you blow her an air kiss and she winks back at you. you don’t know what’s in it but you hope it’s the right dosage of poison.

you head back into the house and slowly drink it, savouring the taste of the various liquor mixed with fruit juice. it burns smoothly down your throat with a delectable concoction that runs straight to your brain. oh yeah, this is the one.

in the back of your mind, you can hear shotaro and renjun scolding you, telling you to slow down before you fuck yourself over. part of you wants to ignore them but you’d feel too guilty. you love them too much not to listen to them. renjun can get scary when he’s upset, too. a quiet sigh passes your liquor-tinted lips and you ascend to the second level in another feeble attempt to throw donghyuck off your trail.

there’s no direction you’re heading to—you’re just searching for a distraction. you swirl your drink in your hand, letting the music and the alcohol mingle in your veins as your eyes scan the area lazily. one arm extends across your waist, stopping you from pursuing any further and spinning you around to find renjun.

“you’re avoiding hyuck.” that is the first thing that comes out of his lips. his eyes narrow when he sees your pretty glass of poison.

“no i’m not.” you insist with a slight frown. you’re lying straight through your teeth and you both know it.

renjun takes your glass from you and takes a whiff of it and groans at the strong stench of alcohol. is it really that strong? you barely felt anything.

“how much have you had to drink?”

“not enough.” you grumble in annoyance like a kid getting caught stealing cookies from the jar.

“i’m cutting you off.” your eyes widen and you look at him incredulously, ready to protest but his stern gaze makes it clear that it’s not up for debate. your shoulders sink in defeat. he swaps your drink for his and so does his tone for a gentle, kind one. “here, have some water. i heard from ning that you arrived with sungchan almost an hour ago. slow down, please?”

you swallow thickly, bringing the cup to your lips and sipping on the water. you don’t like it but it’s not like you have a choice in the matter.

“fine . . .” you mumble into the cup before taking a generous gulp.

“why are you avoiding him? is this because of what happened at the party?” you’re almost unnerved at how easily he’s able to read you. “you do realise that you are both kind of, i don’t know, you’re both good for each other? in your weird way? nobody understands it but everybody knows it. it’s clear as day, you need to stop fighting it. whatever happened between you and that guy isn’t what’s going to happen between you and hyuck. you know that, right?”

he speaks the truth aloud and it knocks just enough sense into you for you to sober up against your will. you eye him watchfully and he cocks an eyebrow upward.

“god, i hate you so much.” tears threaten to prick the corner of your eyes and renjun chuckles when he realises you’re on the verge of crying. he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small pack of tissues. you let him dab your tears away carefully.

“yeah, yeah,” he chuckles through his nose. “as big of a house this is, it’s still enclosed by four walls. and you look really good tonight. someone as attractive as you shouldn't be crying at a place like this.”

you glare at him as more tears break the dam.

“oi, why the hell are you crying harder?!” he laughs but you know it’s his way of trying to cheer you up. you break a short laugh in between tears. he’s the only one who knows what happened between that guy and yourself. you didn’t really allow yourself to talk to anyone about it.

when you finally manage to calm down, he gives you a tight hug and you take a deep breath. you’re still going to avoid hyuck, though. you’re not ready to face your feelings just yet. even when he’s not here, he’s still so persistent when it comes to you. you wouldn’t be surprised if he manifested this shit.

renjun lets you go with a pat on the head after you finish the cup of water.

you disappear further into the second floor, in search of something to do, perhaps someone to talk to and keep you occupied as you think of your next move. how long are you going to keep avoiding him? that’s a good question. maybe for as long as you possibly can. it’s a tough game to play especially when your opponent is the ever-so-determined lee donghyuck, but you hope for your own victory.

there’s not much on the second floor besides a communal area where people are in a circle smoking joints and a balcony right behind it where you can have a view of the entire campus town. bummed out by the lack of festivities, you head back downstairs to find someone to bother. you haven’t seen mark, giselle, and shotaro. maybe you should try your luck with one of them.

you find yourself lurking along the walls, hoping that you’ll find someone you recognise so you can say hello to them. the dance floor seems a lot less busy than before so you decide to tag in. maybe that mysterious stranger will come back to find you again.

“y/n?” that’s a voice you never want to hear for the rest of your life. you quickly spin around to see the man who led you on and broke your heart with a charming smile on his face.

there he is, standing before you with the same smile like what happened a couple of years back wasn’t a big deal. you’re not the best when it comes to processing your feelings and just shoved them deep down in hopes you’ll forget, but you never did. how could you forget some of the fondest memories you’ve made in your second year of university?

“song mingi.” you exhale through your lips, eyes wide as you take in his appearance. his hair is dark now, compared to the dyed blond he sported then. he’s wearing a shimmery purple button-up with his sleeves rolled to his elbows and the buttons undone halfway, showing off his physique. you swallow thickly. what do you even say to him?

“you look . . . you look really fucking amazing.” he chuckles through his nose. he gestures to the dancing bodies around you but you can’t find it in yourself to move, to tear your gaze away, to breathe. you’re caught in a spell cast by him years ago, reactivated by his mere presence. “can we dance?”

“i . . . mingi–“ you start to protest, but the words are stuck in the back of your throat as you look back at him all doe-eyed and naïve like you did back then.

“just one dance, please? i want to–“

in the blink of an eye, donghyuck’s scent overwhelms your senses. no longer do you see mingi but it’s donghyuck’s broad shoulders blocking most of your view. you don’t know how he managed to wedge himself so quickly between your bodies but he did, and you finally remember to let go of the breath you didn’t even realise you were holding.

“y/n doesn’t want anything to do with you.” his voice is stern and steady, half an octave deeper than how he usually speaks.

“hyuck . . .” your call for him falls on deaf ears.

“who are you–“

“it doesn’t matter. you’ve dealt your damage.” donghyuck takes the opportunity to grab your wrist gently yet firmly to drag you off of the dance floor. your heart starts to beat rapidly against your chest. “y/n, what were you thinking?” he chastises you as he continues leading you far away from the noise.

he’s speaking to you, probably scolding you for freezing up like that, but not a single one of his words registers in your brain. you’re staring—no, admiring—his appearance, the beauty marks on his face, his dishevelled hair, until you both stop at the end of the hallway on the second floor. at least you know you’ll have some privacy.

“y/n.” he sternly calls out your name and you dazedly snap to attention. “y/n, why have you been ignoring me? was it something i did? something i said?”

“no,” you frown, avoiding eye contact entirely. you start to feel antsy, fingers itching to toy with the hem of your leather skirt.

“then what is it? i don’t . . . i don’t want to stop being around you.” he sounds so dejected with his voice dying out, merely whispering the last part but you catch them as soon as the words leave his plump lips.

“it’s not . . . no.” you’re choking up, obviously at a loss for words. where do you even begin? “i . . . hyuck, you’re always on my goddamn mind.” you blurt out angrily, not even meaning to sound pissed off. but at that moment, you are. you’re burning from the neck up and your hands form fists at your sides. but you’re not angry at him—you’re angry at yourself.

“what?” he dumbly asks as he gapes at you.

#1: HE BROKE DOWN YOUR WALLS WITHOUT YOU EVEN REALISING IT

you hate him so fucking much.

you clench your jaw, grounding yourself before you continue. if you’re going to do this whole emotions thing, you’re going to do it your way. all of your feelings are climbing their way to the top, freeing themselves from the once-unbreakable confines as they race to the back of your throat. you look at him with pleading eyes to apologise quietly before you turn away.

“you . . . fuck, lee donghyuck. do you have any idea what you do to me? you . . . you’re so fucking annoying. you get under my skin. you make me wanna chuck a metal ball at your head half the time.” you start pacing back and forth, sometimes pausing to make eye contact with him before you’re back on your rant. “you’re so insufferable with your stupid comments—you always have something to say. always so fucking loud, always so– ugh!” you throw your hands up in the air in frustration.

“i-i’m sorry, i didn’t realise i was–“

“shut the fuck up.” you snap immediately, turning sharply to him with a pointed finger. there’s a pause and you realise just how livid you sound. you apologise to him softly and drop your hands to your sides. one quick glance at him and it literally breaks your heart. you were supposed to harbour your feelings so it wouldn’t put you both in a bad spot.

you sigh and run your fingers through your hair. so now you’ve done it. you’ve told him how irritating he can be, but you still haven’t told him the most crucial part yet. he’s been looking at you this whole time, waiting for you to continue and clinging on to every word you’ve said as if he’ll crash and fall if he doesn’t. you take a deep breath.

“despite all of that shit you somehow make me . . . fuck, you make me feel happy.” your voice cracks as you turn to look at him. your heart is trembling and so are your hands. “you . . . you make me laugh. you fucking– ugh, i feel safe around you. i can’t even be properly fucking mad at you. i don’t– do you know how fucking annoying that is? i hate you so goddamn much because you managed to tear through these walls i built without even me knowing it. you made your own space with me in my sanctuary and holy fucking shit, i hate you so much because i think i’m fucking in love with you.”

you said it.

“y/n.” he chuckles dryly and reaches his hand out to get your attention. you gnaw on your bottom lips, already stressing out over the word vomit. you desperately turn away and refuse to make eye contact with him. “y/n baby, look at me, please?”

every time he says your name, it’s like he’s holding the weight of a god’s name with it. he says it so softly and sweetly you want to break down and cry because nobody has ever said your name like that before. and the pet name? god, you’re melting but you don’t want to let go. you’re holding on to the last bits of control that you have.

donghyuck steps closer to you slowly like you’re a wild animal cornered by something foreign. he’s calm and calculated with his movements, calloused hand reaching to cup your cheek and you melt at the warmth of his touch, eyes fluttering as you let him guide your gaze to meet his.

“y/n, my angel,” he softly whispers. “i didn’t realise you already feel the same. if i’d known earlier, i wouldn’t have waited so long.” your brows furrow slightly, obviously confused.

“what?”

“i wasn’t sure you’d even look my way, i thought you were just indulging me like everyone else does. when renjun told me what happened between you and mingi, i swore to myself to never let any harm come to you, ever.” he takes a deep breath before continuing. “and fuck, i’m so happy that i make you happy like that. i just– fuck, y/n, you deserve to be happy. you deserve to be spoiled, you deserve to be loved, i can’t believe you closed yourself off because of one asshole. so please, please, i fucking beg—let me make you happy for as long as i can. let me love you for as long as i can. let me be your safe haven for as long as i can because i know i’ll fucking regret it if i don’t.”

“hyuck?” you whisper.

“yeah, baby?” god, you want to hear that every second of every single day for the rest of your life if you could. he notices your obvious reaction to it and he laughs quietly. “you like it when i call you baby?”

“fuck yeah, i do,” you nod. “kiss me.”

“thought you’d never ask.” he grins widely, dark eyes glimmering in pure ecstasy.

donghyuck’s left hand snakes down to your hip and pins you down to the nearest wall as soon as your lips meet. his are just as soft as you’d imagine them to be, the cool metal of his lip ring a stark contrast that sends an involuntary shiver up your spine. he’s gentle as he kisses you, savouring the liquor on your lips as you do his, eyes fluttering close as you wrap your hands around his neck to pull him closer to you.

a soft groan leaves his lips when you suckle on his bottom lip and his reaction causes heat to stir in your core. motivated by a hunger to get closer to him, one of your hands reaches down to loop and finger through his belt loop to pull his hips closer to yours. he instantly picks up what you’re putting down, pushing yours closer to his as he decides to crane your cheek to the side.

his lips leave yours and you whine quietly, already missing the mix of hot and cold, but it quickly turns into a sigh of pleasure when he starts searching for your weak spots along the canvas of your neck. within a heartbeat, he finds one of them and he nibbles and suckles on the spot the second he hears you sighing in pleasure again.

“hyuck . . .” you whimper his name and he growls into your hot skin. immediately you feel something poke against your thigh, which sets off fireworks in your rapidly beating heart and a rush of heat straight to your core.

“don’t say my name like that,” donghyuck warns, voice dropping an octave lower. “i won’t be able to control myself if you do, baby.” with the way he’s licking fat stripes and sinking his teeth into your skin to draw out the lewdest sounds from your mouth, you don’t want him to be tame.

you want him to lay his claim on you until the heavens bear both your sins.

your fingers run into his dark tresses, guiding him to the exact spot that’ll make your knees weak. he hums in approval when you roll your hips against his but he grunts when you moan out his name again. the grip he has on your hip tightens as if warning you even more as he continues to discover where to touch, tease, kiss, and bite until you’re putty in his hands.

“hyuck, please,” you whisper in his ear. you’re ready to tease him and push his buttons into getting what you want but he shuts you with a searing kiss, pushing you flat against the wall behind. the mixture of his hot lips and cold piercing sends your head into a tailspin as you moan into his mouth.

“you know exactly what you’re doing when you say my name like that, don’t you?” he brushes his thumb against your cheekbones fondly yet his sweet words betray the tint of condescension that laces his voice. you brazenly grin up at him. of course you know exactly what you’re doing.

donghyuck leads his thumb to your lips this time, tilting your chin up towards his face. he doesn’t hide the fact that his eyes are zeroed in on that feature of yours when you take his thumb past and into your mouth.

his gaze darkens as you generously suck on the digit, tongue swirling around it and pulling it in with every suck. the corners of your lips curl upward into a smirk knowing that he’s doing nothing to hide the boner straining in his pants. you don’t want to wait anymore; not when you can feel heat looking in your underwear until you have to press your thighs together to relieve the ache.

even when he’s entranced by you, he doesn’t let anything slide. the second he notices your plush thighs rubbing against each other, he pushes his knee between and bumps it against your core. you look up at him and he’s smirking lazily at you.

“does my baby need something from me?” you ought to melt right there caged within his arms from the way he purrs the pet name so lovingly into your ear.

“i want you.” to emphasise your statement, you grind yourself down against his knee and a timid moan falls from your lips. “i need you, hyuckie.”

“fuck, y/n,” he groans, dropping his head to your shoulder. both of his hands find purchase on your hips, guiding you as you grind against it, relishing in the friction against his pants. it feels good but it’s not enough—you need all of him. you want him to devour you until he’s coming back for more even after he’s had his fill.

“hyuck, i’m begging you,” you plead in desperation. “fuck me before i find mingi to do it.”

in an instant, you know you’ve pushed the right buttons to get him to act on his desires and throw caution into the wind. he grabs your wrist and immediately finds the nearest open bedroom. you follow dumbfoundedly with your lips parted, entranced with how he switched from being teasing to taking command. it’s kinda hot.

“you’re gonna regret ever saying that, baby.” he warns when he finds an unlocked door, flicking on the light switch. you don’t recognise the room but you’re not given the option to observe when he pulls you in and locks the door as he pins you against the wood, lips finding yours and uniting you both with a hot kiss.

you mewl into his mouth when he takes both your wrists and pins them above your head with one hand, the other pawing at you through your clothes. you had chosen to not wear a bra that night since the top gives enough support and you do not regret your decision at all when he finds your perked nipples to pinch them gently. the contact makes your jaw hang loose with a moan caught in the back of your throat as he slides his tongue in to taste the alcohol that you previously intoxicated yourself with.

your hips find a mind of their own, rolling into his to quietly beg for some friction where your pussy is throbbing for attention.

donghyuck lets go of your wrists so he can make quick work of your clothes, stripping you down until you’re left in nothing but your underwear while he remains fully dressed. his mouth detaches from you and before you can dare to complain, he wraps his lips around a pert bud so he can hear you moan for him. he smiles around your nipple, enjoying the symphony of sweet cries coming from you as he swirls his tongue while one hand takes the other between his thumb and index finger to tug and tease.

“hyuckie . . .” you sigh softly just as your fingers run through his dark tresses to gently pull at them, every little ministration doing nothing to help the ache between your legs. as if he knows that your cunt is feeling neglected, he dives his other hand into your underwear and hums in satisfaction at what he finds. he releases your breast with a wet pop, rising back up to find your lips for a sweet kiss.

“who are you so wet for, hm?” his fingers reach between your lips and you can hear how wet you are, blood rushing to your cheeks at the lewd sound. “is it mingi?” he cocks an eyebrow upward, practically spitting out your ex’s name with venom when he finds your throbbing clit and gently pinches it.

“n-no! fuck, no, never!” you squeal at the jolt of pain and pleasure sending a shockwave straight to your brain. you shake your head to let him know that it’s not mingi, wanting to let him know that it’ll only be him who makes you this wet, but your throat runs dry as soon as he sinks his middle finger in.

“no?” he echoes, slowly sliding his finger in and out of your cunt to watch you scrunch your face up in pleasure. “then who’s it for?”

your eyes flash open when he completely halts his movements. his eyes widen too but in faux surprise to mock you and god, you really want to choke him for that. you’re about to taste heaven but he’s purposely dragging it away from you.

“who’s it for, baby?”

“it’s for you, asshole.” you bite back and this time, he’s truly in shock with his eyebrows raising at your sudden outburst. when it finally registers in your brain what you had just called him, you gasp quietly, ready to apologise but the air gets knocked out of your lungs before you can.

donghyuck’s finger slips from your underwear, hands firm on your hips, and he spins you around to pin you down to the bed. from beneath him, you watch in a mix of trepidation and arousal as he rips the fabric apart with his bare hands. you had expected him to throw it over his shoulders but he pockets it in his pants instead.

“h-hyuck, i-i’m sorry, didn’t mean to–”

a gentle, wet smack against your clit shuts you up instantly. it’s another jolt of pleasure that makes heat rush to your core even more, the sensitive bundle of nerves begging for attention with a soft throb.

“since i’m an asshole,” he begins, licking his lips. your focus immediately zones in on his silver lip ring shining as he gets onto his knees. your gaze flits back to his and his eyes are fully blown with greed and a feral hunger reserved for you. knowing that you have him so worked up like this sends another kaleidoscope of butterflies fluttering in your stomach and they burn into little flames of lust that melt into your body. “you’re not cumming until i say that you can.”

he grabs the back of your thighs and dives into your cunt, thumbs pulling your pussy lips apart as he starts to lap at your juices like a man starved. trickles of electricity run up your spine as your fingers fall to his hair, grabbing onto whatever you can as you throw your head back in pure pleasure.

the heavy, wet muscle sharpens at the tip to flick at your clit while two fingers dip into your heat. your body burns, hips lifting off the bed only to be forcefully restrained again by his arms. he curls his fingers as he sets a steady pace to relish in the way your walls wrap around them, wondering just how good his cock will feel when he finally fucks your brains out. you’re not holding yourself back either, tugging at his hair and moaning his name with bits of apologies caught in between stammers but he pays no attention to you.

“fuck, hyuck, right there!” you gasp, clamping down around him when he hooks his digits and his fingertips brush against the spot that calls for your orgasm. he wraps his lips around your clit, suckling gently, and you can feel him smile when a high-pitched moan of his name falls from you. “shit, oh my god–”

he starts to thrust his fingers in and out of you at a rougher pace, making scissoring motions to stretch you out only for your walls to stubbornly tighten around him. a knot starts to form in your belly without warning and you’re now fearing what he’ll do when you’re going to cum. yet that fear turns you on even more, a high-pitched cry bouncing off the walls when he sucks on your clit stronger.

as much as you try to roll your hips into his face to feel him deeper, he pins you in place, not allowing you any movement and you tug at his hair in annoyance. your eyes fall down to look at him and you could instantly come undone from the view.

donghyuck already has his gaze fixed on you, watching your every expression and you melt underneath his hold with a meek mewl. he cocks an eyebrow upward at the same time he harshly suckles on your bud, drawing out a louder moan of pleasure from you. his lips let go of it, choosing to roll his tongue languidly while his fingers relentlessly tease your g-spot.

“h-hyuck, please, i’m sorry, i’m sorry!” you manage to cry out, the knot tightening and threatening to break free. “i’m gonna cum, please, i need to cum so bad, i’ll be good, i’m sorry!” tears prick the corners of your eyes and he rests the side of his face against the inside of your thigh, pouting in mock pity as he starts fucking his fingers deeper and faster into your cunt.

“aww, you’re gonna cum?” he coos, laughing when you nod desperately and clear drops tumble down your cheeks. he’s such an asshole. you want to take the reins and make him pay for it but all you can think of is how hot he is when he’s mocking you like this. it doesn’t stop your stomach from twisting, your walls from clenching around his digits, and your body aching for sweet release. “i dunno y/n, do you deserve it?”

“yes, fuck, i do, i promise!” your back arches when his fingertips rub directly against your g-spot, fingers slipping from his hair to grab at the sheets beneath you. “please, i’ll be so– i’ll be so good for you, hyuck, i only want you. nobody else, please!”

you’re doing your best to keep your orgasm at bay but he’s pushing you further to your edge to test just how far you can go with a mischievous grin on his face. you hear fabric getting pushed around but you can barely think of anything else when his fingers are toying with your cunt and clit. your orgasm creeps closer and closer, threatening to come apart on his fingers alone but you want to cum around his cock. you gnaw on your bottom lip in an ardent effort to control yourself but donghyuck had other plans for you.

he pulls his fingers from you and immediately shoves his cock into your awaiting cunt.

the stretch burns perfectly as you struggle to accommodate his size, cockhead hot and heavy as it generously kisses your g-spot. that was it. as soon as he sinks himself fully, you’re cumming around his cock with a piercing cry of his name, back arching into the air as your entire body trembles. it hits you like a rippling wave, goosebumps set alight along your arms as you form white rings around him.

“oh fuck, shit, oh my fucking– fuck, y/n, baby you’re so fucking tight.” a slew of profanities tumbles from his lips as he stays completely still, not wanting to hurt you but his thumb taps gently at your clit as he helps you through your orgasm. he waits for you to come down from your high, taking that moment to pull his tie-dye shirt over his head and toss it in a corner to be forgotten.

you pant heavily underneath him, eyes half-lidded as he leans down to pepper soft kisses all over your face. it’s a strange feeling to feel his hot lips against your own burning skin but the coolness of his lip ring manages to give you a small slice of relief. with his clean hand, he pushes away the locks of your hair that block his view of your face, chuckling to himself when you look up at him with pleading doe eyes. you finally have a taste of him and all it does is leave you wanting more.

“did my fingers feel that good, baby?” he hums against your forehead before kissing you. you nod dazedly in reply. your throat feels far too dry to be able to say anything so you do your best by swallowing your saliva. “don’t pass out just yet, pretty. we’ve barely started.”

you whine, throwing your head back from the teasing at the same time your walls clench around his cock from his words. you feel so full with him sheathed fully inside of you, tip kissing the bundle of nerves deep inside of you effortlessly that even the slightest movement can make you squirm beneath him.

“hyuck,” you sigh quietly. your hands reach up to cup his strikingly handsome face, watching closely as he leans into you to kiss you again. god, you’re never going to get tired of his lips on you. you gaze deep into his eyes when he pulls away for air, “make me yours. i want all of you.”

“i’m gonna make sure everyone knows you’re mine, baby.” it’s a promise that you know he intends to keep when his lips meet yours once more, hips slowly rolling up against yours. you moan into his mouth, eyelids fluttering shut and you wrap your legs around his torso to pull him closer. he starts to slowly withdraw his cock from your cunt and begin at a slow and steady pace, being mindful of the fact that you had just come down from your first high of the night. “god, i didn’t think you’d feel this fucking tight. you’re so much better than what i’d imagined.”

“you touched yourself to me?” what leaves your throat is a mix of a gasp and a moan, walls stubbornly clenching around him when he pushes himself back into you.

“how could i not?” donghyuck scoffs through his nose. one of his hands snakes between both your bodies as he languidly thrusts in and out, rolling your clit underneath his thumb so your slick will lubricate his cock as if you’re not already soaking wet for him. “you’re the person of my fucking dreams. remember that shirt of mine you stole recently, baby? yeah? i came so hard when i fucked my fist wishing it was your tight little pussy.”

you whine at his words, images of him touching himself in his room to the thought of you appearing in your mind so clearly that your walls clamp around him. he starts to speed up while he searches for the right angle that’ll make you scream your lungs out for him.

“yeah? y’like that, baby? love the way that i touch myself to you like a damn pervert?” he punctuates the last word with a particularly harsh thrust upwards into your pussy and you gasp for air, eyes rolling back and toes curling in. “right there?”

“fuck, yes!”

he throws one of your knees over his shoulders and steadies himself at a comfortable position. he withdraws his cock from you until his cockhead is barely wrapped by your twitching hole before he starts to fuck into you. his name is ripped from your throat as he sets a brutal pace, hips pistoning in and out mercilessly, tufts of trimmed hair rubbing against your clit. you’re still sensitive from your previous orgasm and you know it’s not going to take too much for you to cum again.

beads of sweat drip down from his hairline, sliding down to his chiselled cheekbone to fall onto the sheets beneath you. you feel every thrust deep in your stomach, getting absolutely drunk on the feeling of his cock filling you up and stretching your walls beyond comprehension. every harsh thrust and drag of his cock in and out of your cunt sends you closer and closer to the edge as tears spring from the corners of your eyes.

“does my cock feel that good, baby?” donghyuck croons sweetly.

“yeah, s’fucking good,” you slur dazedly and hope that it makes even an iota of sense to him.

“mingi won’t ever be able to fuck you like this.” he growls and suddenly his thrusts are getting rougher. you guess that it’s motivating him further to plough into you, bed creaking with every light bounce of your body underneath him. “nah. he’s never gonna make you scream like i do. he’s never gonna treat you half as well as i do, isn’t that right, pretty baby?”

tears flow down your hot cheeks, blurring your vision but you can see how his teeth toy with his lip ring, equally agitated and pissed that you’d been treated badly. you mewl his name weakly to try and snap him out of it but he doesn’t hear it at all. instead, he readjusts your position.

donghyuck presses both your knees to your chest with his hands, mounting the bed and achieving a higher angle. you look up at him, anticipating his next move. all he does is give you a sweet kiss on the forehead and a playful smirk before he’s snapping his hips against yours again. the new position allows him to reach deeper than he previously did as he looms over you with a satisfied grin on his face, watching you writhe underneath him from the pleasure that overwhelms you.

“nobody’s gonna fuck you like i do.” he wraps his fingers around your throat and presses down at the right spots to restrict your airflow. your head falls back as it only emphasises how every touch lights your body on fire, every rough thrust rendering you speechless and all you can do is gasp and moan and whine for him. “yeah? am i fucking my pretty baby so good they can’t even speak?”

you try to say his name but all that comes out is a croak that barely resembles it. when he releases your throat, you almost whine out at the loss but you’re not given the chance. his hand snakes between your connected bodies to roll your clit under his thumb, eager to encourage your orgasm.

“you look so pretty when you’re all fucked out, baby,” he coos sweetly. the combination of his cock drilling into you mercilessly and fingers working to toy with your sensitive bud sends your head into a tailspin. a familiar knot forms in your lower belly once more and you can tell he’s chasing his own orgasm. all that fills your mind is how good his cock feels deep inside of you and how you want him to fill you up til you’re leaking. “so, so damn pretty. an absolute angel looking like this underneath me, i could fuck you all day and all night now that i have you. i’ll make sure everyone knows you’re mine and i’m yours, i’ll make sure any person who even thinks inappropriate things about you, i’ll fuck you right in front of them to make it clear that you’re not up for grabs.”

his words sink into your skin and you melt but your walls flutter around him which makes him laugh dryly.

“fuck, you’re so naughty. you clenched around me when i said i’d fuck you in front of others.” you whine, head tipping back as your orgasm creeps closer. “you’d like that, wouldn’t you? should’ve known you’re a nasty whore but that’s okay—i know you’re only a whore for my cock, angel.”

“‘m gonna cum, hyuckie!” you gasp, back arching as the knot tightens further.

“yeah? i’m close, too.” he pants hotly from above. “go on and cum around my cock, baby. make a mess for me, yeah? prove to me that i’m all yours.” the pet name is all that you need to come undone.

this orgasm hits you harder than the last, hot white spreading all over your body as your shoulders stiffen up. his thrusts are getting sloppier as he chases after his own high, cussing and whispering your name between grunts and groans.

“shit, i’m gonna cum–”

“inside!” you quickly capture his attention. his lips part but you continue before he can speak. “cum inside, i want to feel all of you, hyuckie.” with the gentle rasp in your voice and the pleading look on your face, he curses and a high-pitched moan is caught in the back of his throat as he spills his hot seed inside of you. his hips stammer and come to a still, groaning your name with his lids squeezed shut.

“fuck . . .” he gasps and wraps your legs around his waist so he can lean forward. your trembling hands reach up to cup his face, smiling fondly as you bring him in for a sweet, chaste kiss. “why’d it take us this long?”

“i wanna blame my emotional constipation,” you joke lightly and he laughs through his nose.

“it’s one of my favourite qualities about you.” donghyuck nuzzles his nose against yours, stealing yet another kiss from you. “do you know whose room we just fucked in?”

you blink blearily and look around as you tug him down so you can both cuddle for a bit. he follows your lead and slowly pulls out but quickly panics when his cum starts leaking out.

“oh fuck, i shouldn’t have ripped your undies for souvenir–” your realisation dawns upon you like a bucket of cold water when you finally recognise whose room this is. you start to smack his arm repeatedly while you hurriedly try to get onto your wobbly feet. “baby, what’s the rush?” he quickly catches you when you almost fall, failing to see what’s causing your state of alarm.

“we’re in ning’s room!”

“oh, shit.”

thank you for reading the first installation of the series BEFORE THE LAST FLOWER BLOOMS. if you enjoyed it, i would love to hear your thoughts in reblogs, comments, and / or chat about it in my ask box! check out my other works or the bonus piece while you wait for the next installation, I KINDA WANNA BE YOURS.

#lee donghyuck smut #haechan smut #nct dream smut #nct smut #hua writes #h.dream #h.donghyuck #h.smut #h.fluff #╭ ❝ series ❞ / before the last flower blooms

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wonbriiize · 5 months

Note

Hi could u write something about wonbin secretly dating the reader who is another idol !! reader is kind of an airhead in her group (who is under SM too!!!) and she’s a really good dancer and she has many fans !! one day she’s invited with 2 of her members to a tv show (like running man, knowing brothers etc) and there is also wonbin and riize members too !!! anyway one MC could make a joke about crushing or wanting to date the reader and wonbin would feel jealous, he then would make sneaky remarks about how he and the reader could make a great couple (so the fans could ship them hahaha) thank youuu

note; this was sm fun to write (and challenging bc i don’t really watch knowing brothers or running man so idk if i did well with writing about it), thank u anon for this request !! i changed it a little tho; instead of wonbin x reader already dating, i wanted to show how wonbin is secretly crushing on reader and gets jealous.. i hope you still like it !! <3 (it’s a bit long i’m sorry ㅜㅜ)

pairing; park wonbin x idol reader

warnings; a little bit of cursing

dancing together

your heart is heart shaking and your hands are sweating when you walk to the set of ‘knowing brothers’. it was your first time ever attending a variety show like this and you were nervous, you want to do your best but you don’t know if you’re variety show potential or not.

it hasn’t been long since your group debuted so you feel even more thankful that ‘knowing brothers’ invited you along with two of your other group members for their next episode.

some people think that they only invited you because you’re SM’s new girlgroup, they think that you guys got the big 3 privilege. what they don’t know is that being in one of the big 3 companies isn’t as much of an easy ride as they make it out to be and you all had demons to fight so you could finally debut.

“oh, they’re also here,” one of your group members softly nudges your side and you follow her gaze, your eyes landing on RIIZE. SM‘s boygroup that debuted a while ago.

“i can‘t believe our managers didn’t tell us that we wouldn’t be the only SM group here,” you whisper to your two group members.

“well, i don‘t mind. i can finally get to know sungchan,” the other group member giggles.

she has been crushing on sungchan since the minute she first landed eyes on him, but because of the fact that their schedule never aligns with your groups schedule, she didn’t really have time to get to know him.

well, none of you guys had the time to get to know any of the RIIZE members.

you try to catch a glimpse of park wonbin, the center of the boygroup.

your members don’t know this, but you’ve been eyeing wonbin for the longest time ever. everytime you guys walk past each other in the company building, you just feel something between the two of you. and you know that you’re not the only one who thinks that way ; especially when wonbin catches you staring and gives you a soft smile.

embarrassing, you think, he saw me staring at him.

what you don’t know about wonbin is that he has been eyeing you the whole time too. the second the company introduced the members for the new girlgroup, he was mesmerized by you. he made it his life’s mission to get to know you.

so the fact that he is here, at ‘knowing brothers’, with some of his group members, and you’re here too — it seems like the perfect opportunity to finally make a move.

when the cameras start rolling, your group enters first. getting hyped up by the people filming, the MC‘s and other guests, you gain confidence and the nervousness you were feeling a few minutes ago starts to fade.

✧˖°.⁺‧˚ ♡ ˚‧⁺ ✧˖°.

“oh, *y/n*, we heard that you’re the main dancer of your group,” one of the MC‘s points at you. “so we prepared something especially for you.”

it has been a while since the show started and your nervousness was completely gone, but when the MC grabs after your hand and pulls you to the middle of the supposed classroom, you feel your ears heating up a little.

“do you think you can do it?”

you take a look around the set, seeing how everyone is analyzing you — including wonbin.

you can’t let him see you being insecure. nope, you need to pull off your best.

“of course i can. i‘m the main dancer for a reason,” you smile, hearing your members cheer for you in the background.

the MC‘s stare at you, amazed by your confidence. they’re not the only ones though ; from the side of your eyes you see wonbin looking at you with a big grin on his face.

“seeing you so confident is refreshing, a lot of other idols would feel shy. it’s kind of cute,“ one of the MC‘s raises his eyebrow at you. ew. you’re so not feeling what he just said, but because the cameras are on, you can’t let your discomfort show, so you just laugh.

wonbin doesn’t notice that he put his hand in a fist when the MC called you cute until sungchan put a hand on his shoulder and told him to loosen up.

“you can’t let your jealousy show, wonbin.”

wonbin looks at him, acting like he doesn’t know what sungchan is talking about.

“jealous? why would i be jealous? i‘m not jealous.”

sungchan doesn’t answer, he just raises his eyebrows and grins at wonbin.

“the random dance play starts now!” the MC suddenly announces which brings wonbin’s whole attention back to you.

while the countdown to the first song started, the same MC who called you cute, walks closer to you . “a little spoiler; at some point, bite me by enhypen will play. i will jump in to do the partner dance with you.”

you had no choice but to press your lips together and smile. remember, it’s all for the show, you tell yourself.

the MC thought he was being slick with walking closer to you to tell you that, but he wasn’t as quiet as he probably intended to be because wonbin heard it. he heard what the MC told you.

“who does he think he is?” wonbin whispers to himself. “i‘m not going to let that happen.”

so far, the dances on the random dance play were all that you’ve done dance challenges to, so it wasn’t really hard. you were doing very good if you could say so yourself.

but the constant panic that keeps arising within you whenever the next song is supposed to play (because you just didn’t want to dance to bite me with the MC) is making it hard for you to focus.

and when the song finally plays, you close your eyes for the first few seconds because you weren’t ready for what’s about to happen.

taking a deep breath in and out, you open them again.. only to see wonbin right next to you, leading the dance.

wait? what?

you’re trying your best to not let the confusion show; why is he here? did he really just come up to dance with you? why would he do that?

the dance goes smoothly, it’s like the two of you were meant to dance together.

not to mention the fireworks that are exploding inside of you right now and they only grow bigger everytime wonbin even slightly touches you.

the whole time, wonbin is trying his hardest to not grin like an idiot because he’s enjoying this so much. he couldn’t care less about what everyone is thinking right now. for him, nothing else matters other than dancing together with you.

the music stops and you two freeze, just looking into each others eyes for a moment until you realize that you’re in public right now and everything is being filmed.

quickly, you bow to wonbin as a thank you and turn away from him to face the MC‘s (who are looking at you with big smiles).

“park wonbin,” the MC, who has been hitting on you the whole time, calls out.

wonbin turns to him, nodding. “yes?”

“you‘re quite the show stealer. and partner.”

wonbin doesn’t let himself get thrown offguard. instead, he puts on his best smile.

“i just thought that a main dancer should dance with another dancer. i didn’t intend to steal your moment, sir.. and also, don’t we look good together?” wonbin smiles at you.

the MC analyzes wonbin for a quick moment until he lets out the biggest laugh. “honestly, you danced way better than i could ever have. you matched *y/n*s energy very well and it’s true that you look good together.. almost like a couple.”

the other MC nodds in agreement. “seeing you two dance together makes me want to wish for a collab stage between the two of you in the future.”

now wonbin’s eyes wander over to you. his smile is so infectious that you feel the corners of your lips going up as well.

“well, *y/n*, let’s talk to our managers about this idea and make it happen.”

✧˖°.⁺‧˚ ♡ ˚‧⁺ ✧˖°.

“and.. cut! we are done!”

you let out a breath of relief. your first ever ‘knowing brothers’ appearance has offically ended. even though you enjoyed it, you can’t wait to go back to your dorm and just rest.

your members feel the same way.

“let us go change quickly,” one of them says when you guys walk to the backstage area.

somehow, your mind is still stuck on wonbin. you can’t believe what had happened. it feels like some kind of dream, or just something that you’ve imagined.

there’s no way that park wonbin wanted to dance with me, you just can’t seem to believe it.

being all in your thoughts, you didn’t realize that someone had walked up next to you.

“hey,” wonbin softly touches your shoulder which makes you stop walking.

“you were a great dance partner earlier.”

not being able to answer (because you can’t grasp the fact that he’s standing right in front of you), you just smile.

talk, say something, you pressure yourself. don’t look like an idiot in front of him right now when you’ve tried to show your best side the whole day.

“i should honestly thank you. really, i mean it. we did well together.”

wonbin smiles, his eyes sparkling, making it look like he has stars shining inside of them.

“i hope we can dance together sometime in the future too. and i don’t mean the collab stage.. i mean privately. like, only the two of us..”

wonbin can’t believe he just said that. it took him all the guts in the world but he’s happy that it’s out in the open, he’s happy to finally have the courage to ask you out (which is what he has been wanting to do for months).

hold on-

park wonbin?? is asking ME out??

you try your hardest to not stop breathing at this very moment.

“as in a date?”

wonbin scratches the back of his head. “yes.. uhm.. unless i was just imaging things and you don’t really want to get to know me the same way i want to get to know you.”

you stare at him while the fireworks you were feeling earlier are making a comeback.

“shit, yeah, maybe this was too much. i should probably just lea-” you cut wonbin off.

“i would love to dance with you again. privately.”

you’ve seen wonbin being all smiley the whole day but right now, you see the biggest smile on his face ever. as if he’s a little kid and someone gave him tons of sweets.

“cool.. more than cool. amazing. would you mind giving me your number so i can hit you up with the details later?”

you shake your head laughingly while typing in your number on wonbin’s phone.

once you give it back to him, his smile only grows bigger.

“okay, yeah.. i will text you. for sure. i just have to leave now, as you probably saw; sungchan keeps messaging me. uhm.. i can’t wait to see you again.”

before you could reply, wonbin turns around and you could swear that you heard him giggle while he excitedly walked (almost galloping) away.

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connieslover · 6 months

Text

𝙢𝙖𝙮𝙗𝙚 𝙞𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙩 𝙢𝙚 𝙡𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙𝙣'𝙩 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙢𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙙 𝙪𝙥 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙨

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ ࿐ headcanons of you being partnered up with the riize members for music bank

☆ idol!reader x idol!riize

first evuh riize hc... Many more to come teehee

osaki shotaro

★ BOYYY was he a nervous wreck when the two of you first met... but nevertheless he kept smiling like :D

★ you two always devoured the tiktok challenges and every idol just loved filming with the two of you because you dance so great tgt!!

★ shotaro would sometimes ask you for help with pronunciation and u'd always gladly help him

★ he wasn't afraid to interact with you more confidently on camera when the two of you got to know each other better

song eunseok

★ lowkey... the first few interviews you did together were awkward

★ the two of you became closer to each other when you realized you both loved watching anime and for the first time, eunseok couldn't stop talking

★ ngl even though it's scripted he'd love it when you'd have to say flirty lines/compliment him

★ he would get shy whenever you're interviewing him and his group because they'd be teasing him afterward

jung sungchan

★ you best believe that everyone would obsess over your height difference because mf is literally a giant

★ whenever you accidentally mess up your lines sungchan will quickly cover for you

★ whenever it's time for you and your group to promote he'd be your BIGGEST hypeman

★ absolutely a fan of the matching mc outfits

park wonbin

★ like eunseok, i feel like the first few interviews you have together would be awkward

★ the type to discreetly stare and glance at you during interviews

★ he messed up once and he got so upset but he was glad that you were there to cheer him up and cover for him

★ Lowk would hate it whenever he wasn't free to mc because that would mean seeing you mc with another guy

hong seunghan

★ he was shy at first but he became super confident and loved teasing you on and off-camera

★ i feel like he'd have sm selfies of the two of you together but he'd never post them because he's afraid of what the fans would say </3

★ would be SOOO excited to do the tiktok challenges with you

★ before the interviews he'd nudge you on the shoulder and the two of you would fight back and forth

lee sohee

★ just like sungchan, he would be super supportive whenever you promoted

★ the brightest sunshine ever... the two of you would have sm fun together and the guests would be comfortable

★ whenever both of your groups would promote at the same time he'd be so excited Like he'd just go to your room and ask to practice (he already has his lines memorised)

★ he made the cute iconic nickname for the two of you

lee chanyoung

★ boy was super shy and nervous the first time you met...like he was so timid

★ the staff would constantly tell him that he was being too quiet but you'd be there to reassure him and make him more comfortable

★ super giggly and loves it when you laugh and hide your face behind the cue cards

★ definitely cried on his last day mc-ing with you

#riize #kpop #riize imagines #rize oneshot #fluff #riize members #wonbin #sungchan #sohee #seunghan #eunseok #anton #shotaro #riize fluff #idol x idol

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chiiyuuvv · 4 months

Text

FOR @cake1box

Sorry this took so long!! 989 • TAGLIST — @soul-is-a-strange-kid

Thinking about..

Being a sm trainee, popular around the group of aspiring idols for your ability to joke around, making people laugh during very stressful times

In addition to being popular, you also knew most of everyone. You didnt have to be friends in any case, but you were able to hold friendly conversation with whoever you pleased

All but jung sungchan

Its not like you had something against him, you just felt a little flustered under his presence. The way he looks down at you with a small smile, ready to engage with any of your shenanigans

Many adored your height difference, calling the two of you cute but you always brushed it off, a little too harshly that it made sungchan frown

Did you not like him? Were you very uncomfortable or something? And the way you kinda avoided him, your sentences cut short while looking anywhere else but him. He took the hint, silently leaving you to talk to your friends

You were so busy trying to keep your heart steady that you didnt notice your actions, everyone but you in the room able to cut the tension with a knife

And when you learnt how he felt from your friends you felt awful, trying to find ways to revive the friendship, but feeling as though it was too late

The next dance practice day you find sungchan laughing with his friends, flexing his new blue shoes to anyone who passed by. Along with his shiny blue necklace.. and bracelet.. the boy sure loved the color blue. You did too, how funny

Months later and your group has debuted! The members come to cheer you on as you landed a spot to become a mc for one of the little shows

Sungchan was one too, and the members knew about your little crush on him, so they had to tease accompany you

You saw a relived smile on sungchans face when the staff announced the theme would be 'blue summer'. Since you and sungchan would be the young mcs, they wanted to spread some youth, making sure you were comfortable on the big screen

You hear sungchan mutter to himself that he loved the color blue, taking out his favorite blue shoes from his bag

And looking down, you notice you had the exact same pair on, one of your members giving you a cheeky smile

"Oh my god.. are you two.. matching??" She exaggerates, taking long dramatic pauses because of her gasps.

Sungchan eyes widen, this was probably the first time he noticed you here on the set, glancing at your shoes before taking in your shy wave

"Oh.. hey!" He smiles and it feels like your heart is about to beat out your chest, your make up doing an awful job at concealing your blush. A boyish smile on his face tells you that he wasnt mad at you in any way. He did kinda like you after all

Before sungchan could get another word you, your called to the stage, sending a little nod at him since you were slightly nervous, but very excited.

After greeting your guests and learning that the group you were interviewing was NCT dream, recording go on smoothly. There were times where sungchan would add some jokes to lighten the mood, his smile shining bright as you felt your lips curve up too. He was contagious, yet you never wanted to leave

Sungchan makes another joke and you share a laugh, your eyes lingering onto each other for a little too long when one of the members notice, a small smirk on their faces. "You know, youre very cute together." The member, haechan begins. "And wearing matching shoes too? This much be on purpose."

A slap lands on his chest from mark as he quietly laughs, watching the two of you blank out, your cheeks red with slightly widen eyes. "Oh well-" "uhm.."

"Oh my god, you're so cute!!" He laughs again, earning another smack on his chest. "Next question!" Renjun says, taking your attention away from your beating hearts

You weren't dating sungchan, but you wouldnt mind it. Late night drives with him, his arm around your shoulder as he gives you a kiss on the cheek. Stop thinking like that, you needed to focus. As you read another line, you notice sungchan steal a small glance at you, his head dropping as he tries to hide his growing smile

"Pretty." You hear him mutter, a stutter in your line in response. He didnt call you pretty, youre just being delusional. Focus!!

But little did you know, he did mutter the word pretty, his heart thumping as he steals another glance at you. You were just so effortlessly beautiful, with or without make up. How??

The rest of the recordings happen in a flash, waving at the group of 7 goodbye before leaving the set to collect your things. "Good job out there." Sungchan says, a sideways grin on his face as he tosses his bag over his shoulder

"Yeah, you too." You smile back, letting your hair out of a ponytail

"Nice shoes." He adds, a little smirk on his face before it turns into a laugh when you roll your eyes. "Yeah, i like your shoes too." You share a laugh

"Hey i um.. i know a place where more shoes like these are made." He says, pointing at your shoe then looking up at you. "If.. you'd like to come with me." He shyly suggests

"Like a date?" You watch as sungchans eyes widen, a bashful smile on his face as he shrugs. "If you want to.."

"I'd love too." You state with a smile, sungchan returning it. "5 pm, tomorrow?" He askes.

"Perfect!"

And the next day you find a pair of shoes that was pepsi themed, and other cola themed. He still called you his pepsi to my cola to this day ♡

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fadedncity · 2 years

Text

wc: 5.2k

pairing: hunter!haechan x hunter!reader

cw: supernatural!au, smut, fem!reader, ex friends/fwb to enemies to fwb again, angst, sex pollen, dubcon(?), weapons, violence, gore, character death (non mcs), masturbation (reader receiving), alcohol consumption, fingering, teasing, pet names, unprotected sex

song rec: hypnotic by zella day | if you let me by sinedad harnett | love me up by etta bond | crave by tove lo

"You want me to what?!"

"Come on, there are worse things," Taeyong tried talking you down.

"I'd rather Lilith drag me to hell herself."

"Okay, now you're just being dramatic. Haechan's not that bad."

"Oh, no, he's just an annoying, pompous asshole."

"I-" before he could get in another word, you cut him off.

"Why can't you just send Sungchan? He's one of the newbies. The experience will be good for him anyway."

"I sent him and Shotaro to Oregon with Yuta to take care of a crossroads demon."

"Jaehyun?"

"Vampire nest in France with Jeno."

"Renjun?"

"Shapeshifter in Morocco."

"Kun?"

"On vacation," Taeyong sighed. "Look, you two are some of the best hunters I know, and I really need you on this case. Both of you."

You knew you couldn't keep standing here bitching over this when the real problem was still at large. People were still getting hurt, and you couldn't let your feelings of anguish toward him get in the way of your job.

You rolled your eyes before sighing, "When do we leave?"

"Been waiting on you."

Looking over your shoulder, you glare at the man standing in the doorway of the room designated to be Taeyong's office. Haechan smirked at you before winking. You scoff, turning back to Taeyong.

"You're gonna owe me," you tell him.

"Wouldn't have asked if I wasn't expecting to," he handed you the file, "Safe trip, you two," Taeyong smiled.

"We're leaving in fifteen," you told Haechan, "And we're taking my car."

Haechan held up his hands like he wasn't gonna argue with you about that, which was surprising, but you quickly brushed past it and Haechan out of the room.

"Haechan." Taeyong called him before he left, "Please don't kill each other and make it back in one piece."

"No promises," Haechan said before leaving.

. . .

The first hour was filled with tense silence between the two of you. Every time Haechan tried to start a conversation, you would shut him down, not wanting to hear anything he had to say.

It wasn't until he picked up the file from Taeyong sitting on your dashboard did you finally let him get some words in since he was actually saying something helpful.

"Says there have been four victims in the last five weeks."

"All the same motive?"

"Yeah, all four of them were drained of their blood. Completely."

"Vampires?"

"No teeth marks were found. So, it's no looking likely."

"Any connection between the victims?"

"No, not that I can tell. Aside from living in the same area code, none of these people had anything in common."

"Great, this makes our job much easier. What about a vengeful spirit? Or demon?"

"Could be. But can't say for sure until we get there."

Haechan closed the file and threw it into the backseat.

He sunk into the passenger's seat, about to change the song playing on the radio before you slapped his hand away.

"My car, my music."

Haechan sucked his teeth, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Fine. I was gonna try to take a nap anyway."

"Whatever gets you to stop talking."

Glaring over at you one last time, Haechan shifts in the passenger's seat, turning his back to you and shutting his eyes.

Hours have passed, and you've been driving on the dark road with no cars ahead or behind you for miles now. The only thing accompanying you in the darkness was the low hum of music coming from the speakers and Haechan's soft snores.

It didn't even register you had been driving for so long until you started seeing the sun rising from behind the horizon.

Haechan woke up with a stiff neck to find the car at a stop, and you were no longer inside with him. Taking in his surroundings, Haechan realized you had stopped for gas.

You were so spaced out you almost didn't hear him getting out of the car, the slamming of the door bringing your attention to him.

You looked over at the Gemini, stretching his arms over his head with a yawn.

"How much longer do we have to go?" Haechan asks.

"Three more hours."

"Okay, you should let me drive," He tells you.

"No-"

"You've been driving all night. It won't do any good if you fall asleep at the wheel and kill us before we can even get there."

He's right. It irks you, having to admit he's right.

You took the pump out of the tank once it was filled and closed the hatch.

You held out your keys, Haechan ready to take them, but you retracted your hand before he could.

"Be gentle with her. This is my baby."

"Baby," he scoffs, "You know I can be gentle when I wanna be," he says, taking your keys and getting into the driver's side.

You were blaming your lack of sleep on the way his words had an effect on you.

You shook the thoughts away and got back into the car, your eyes shutting almost instantly before Haechan could even pull out of the gas station.

. . .

"Oh, you gotta be fucking with me."

Now, this was an upgrade from your usual shitty motels. There was a couch a full bathroom, a minibar, and a queen-sized bed. One queen-sized bed.

And you have no doubt in mind who was probably responsible for this.

"I'm gonna fucking kill Johnny," you mutter.

"Get in line."

You were expecting to have to flip a coin or something.

"You can take the bed. I'll be fine with the couch," Haechan says, settling his things down.

"Suit yourself," you said happily dropping your things and heading towards the bed practically calling your name.

"I'm gonna shower. Then we can head over to the coroner's office?"

"Fine with me. Wake me if I'm not up in an hour." you say resting your head on the pillow.

The bathroom door closed, and you got comfortable on the bed. It wasn't the most comfortable mattress, the bed springs digging into your back, but you've had worse, so you weren't gonna complain. The sound of the water running was the last thing you remember hearing before your eyes fluttered shut, and you drifted off to sleep again.

. . .

You walked out of the morgue, thoroughly annoyed. And feeling Haechan's unbothered presence was pissing you off even more.

Bad enough that Mark thought it would be a funny enough fucking joke to give you fake badges with the same last name, leading the coroner to assume you were married. And instead of correcting her, Haechan thought it would also be funny to play along and act as if you were.

So while you were actually working, examining the bodies, and trying to figure out what was responsible for the deaths of those four people, Haechan was talking up your fake five-year marriage on the spot with the coroner. You know he's good at this part of the job, but there's no reason for him to be this good.

Haechan loosens his tie walking in tow with you back to your car after you finish your questioning.

"See, that wasn't so bad," Haechan says, and you roll your eyes at him. "Alright, when are you gonna pop this hate boner you have for me?" he asks.

You scoff, "Whenever that big ass ego of yours deflates."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Like you don't fucking know," you mutter.

"Yeah, I fucking don't. So why don't you stop acting like a pouty little brat and just tell me."

You didn't say anything, and Haechan sighed.

"I thought you said you weren't mad about that."

"I'm not but that doesn't mean I have to like you after you did it."

"It was two years ago!"

"And it was fucked up. But it's funny enough you keep showing up whenever you think I'm in need of saving."

"Need I remind you I am the one who quite literally saved you from being that werewolf's late night snack?"

You grumble at him under your breath, walking away.

He tries to keep up with your steps, following you to the car.

"Look, I'm sorry," he said, and you finally stopped, "For everything. I didn't mean to shut you out. I was just...scared," he admits

"Of what? I thought we were both very clear about where we stood."

"And I still cared about you. You know what it's like getting close to something in this line of work," Haechan tells you, "And I wasn't just gonna let you die for the sake of your own ego. You're too good of a hunter for us to lose."

You didn't even think you still held this much anger towards him until now. You didn't want to anymore, seemingly taking this long to get over it. And it would make this job a lot less painful if you weren't stuck thinking about the past.

"Don't try to flatter me now, Donghyuck." You say, a phantom smirk playing on your lips. "You're still an annoying, pompous asshole," you say.

Haechan snickers, putting his hands in his pockets and walking up to you.

"And you're a heartless, whiny little brat," he smirked at your offended expression. He then stepped back and asked, "Wanna grab breakfast?" quickly changing the subject.

"You really wanna eat now?"

"Can't work on an empty stomach," Haechan says, "I'll buy," he offers.

"Fine. But, after, we're going to the crime scenes."

"Yes, Mrs," Haechan teases, laughing when you shoot him another death glare.

. . .

"You okay?" Haechan asks as he enters the run-down house.

"Yeah," you shake the unsettling feeling and follow in behind him, "We're getting close."

"But we still have time. We just need to find her heart and kill her. Simple."

Yeah, simple.

The one thing you hate about witches is how difficult they make it to hunt them. Using glamour spells to appear as whoever they want or hexing five random people as a part of some ritualistic sacrifice trying to raise something much more malicious back from the dead. They're always unpredictable.

"I'll check upstairs," you tell him.

Haechan nods, heading towards the living room to check the first floor, "Hey, Haechan."

"Yeah?" he turns around.

"Don't be stupid and get yourself killed," you say.

He nods again with a smirk, "You too."

Reaching the top of the stairs, you held up your shotgun as you crept down the halls, carefully checking every room you passed. The floorboards croaked under your weight with each step you took.

It was deathly silent; your ears started to ring. You couldn't even hear Haechan downstairs as you reached the end of the hallway.

You pushed the last door open with the barrel of your gun and started looking around. Different plants and herbs were scattered all over the room, and you made sure to stay a safe distance away, not sure what some of them were.

When you found the room was clear, you lowered your weapon and looked around, finding a book that you could only assume was her grimoire, opened to a page.

Careful flipping through the pages, you find the ritual she was trying to perform, only needing a few more things, including one last victim, before it's complete.

Supplies and ingredients were laid out all over the table, most of the things looking unfamiliar since she was using an older method of magic.

Among the items, a box unlocked. The box holding the witch's heart.

"Now, who's the heartless one," you mumble.

"That one's still up for debate," the voice sent a chill down your spine.

You turn around, aiming your gun, but it's too late.

In her true form, thin skin stretched across the witch's face, baring rotting teeth. You could barely see anything else as she wore a tattered black cloak, the hood covering most of her face.

She grabbed the barrel with long bony fingers, making you miss your shot, and shot the wall behind her instead. Before you could reload, she held out her hand, blowing the contents sitting in her palm in your face.

A floral scent invaded your senses, and your nose felt tingly as you inhaled whatever powder she possessed.

You heard the sound of Haechan calling your name, his footsteps rushing to your location as your body hit the floor.

"You both have been very entertaining to watch. You looking at him when he's not paying attention, and him looking at you once you turn away. Ugh! it's just someing about the secret pining that gets me everytime. So beautiful yet…so painful," the witch looks off dramatically into the distance, "But don't worry now, child. I have freed you of your misery." she speaks, smiling widely.

Before Haechan could get a shot, she moved faster than you'd expect, and she's a lot stronger than you's think for a few centuries-old witch.

"Haechan," you weakly called his name.

He was quickly disarmed and he couldn't seem to be able to move.

"Ah, I get what all the fuss is about. He's even cuter up close. I might save him for myself," the witch wickedly grinned, "You'd make a perfect vessel," she caressed Haechan's face.

Her skeletal fingers wrapped around Haechan's throat, squeezing his airway.

Using all the strength you could muster, you reached for the box with her heart. She fell to the ground, weakly crawling toward you to try and stop you as the shard of glass in your hand pierced through the rotted tissue. She cursed at you as she wailed out in agony.

"You'd do it too, for love," was the last thing she said before burning to ashes.

"Call us even now," you teased Haechan before you toppled in pain.

"You okay?" Haechan rushes to your side.

"No, something's very wrong. It hurts," you whine.

"What? Where?"

"Everywhere. I don't know what the fuck she did to me."

"Okay. We gotta get you outta here," Haechan slung your arm around his neck, helping you to your feet.

You clung onto Haechan, stumbling over your feet, leaving the house with Haechan's arm around you, keeping you upright.

You squirmed in the passenger's seat, the pain getting even worse.

"Haechan, I can't. Everthing fucking hurts," you cry.

Haechan's knuckles turned white from how hard he gripped the wheel, applying more pressure to the gas, rushing back to your hotel.

You felt like you were burning inside out while simultaneously being stabbed. Yet you were thinking about how hot Haechan looked. Maybe the end is near.

Haechan's face was set in a hard line, his jaw clenched as he did about 30 over the speed limit. You found your eyes drifting over to him, distracting yourself for a moment. Haechan's sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, the muscles in his arms rippling under his skin as he held onto the steering wheel. From the dark brown strands falling over his eyes to the jeans hugging his thighs so deliciously you couldn't resist the urge to press your thighs together.

Your pain subsided for only a second before you shook those thoughts from your head, and your nerves returned to screaming in agony.

Haechan could care less about how badly he parked the car before running over to your side and helping you out of the car, rushing you into the hotel. Thankfully it was late, and no one was in the lobby other than the receptionist you slipped past without detection.

The moment you entered your room, you pushed Haechan away and locked yourself in the bathroom. You were taking a cold shower to bring your temperature back down, but you couldn't shake the thoughts of Haechan out of your mind. How good he smelled, how his body felt against yours with you tucked into his side, the genuine concern he showed for you-

You didn't even realize you had your hand between your thighs until you finally felt relief, stroking your clit. You bit your lip, trying to conceal any moans threatening to spill out of your lips. You desperately rubbed your clit, feeling the strongest need for release right now.

Your eyes were closed, and all you envisioned behind closed eyelids were Haechan. His face, his voice—everything was overwhelming.

You were already so close to cumming, as you thought of Haechan's fingers instead of your own.

You scraped your nails down the tiled walls, that knot inside you so close to breaking. Until you heard a knock on the door.

"You okay in there?" Haechan asks from the other side.

You snap out of it, opening your eyes as guilt and pain washed over you.

You cleared your throat, "Yeah. I'll be out in a second," you yelled to him.

The shower only helped temporarily. You were lying on the bed, half-naked, a thin layer of sweat covering your entire body.

You tried to wait for Haechan to come back after getting off the phone and hopefully with a solution to this. You were exhausted but still in too much pain to even try sleeping.

Your body jolted, alert once again, hearing the door slamming.

"Haechan?"

He didn't hear you calling his name as he flipped through the pages of the witch's grimoire you snagged from the house before leaving. Once Haechan stopped turning through the book, his eyes bounced around the page, reading whatever was written.

"Haechan?" you call him again.

He tore his eyes away from the page and met your gaze.

"What is it?" you ask.

For once, it seemed Haechan was at a loss for words. And his silence was beginning to scare you.

"Haechan, please just tell me," you pleaded.

He sighs, "If it's what Jaemin think's it is, it was phoenix's blossom she hit you with. It's pretty high grade and usually associated with spells of desire."

You thought this information would've clarified at least a few things, but you were more confused, leaving you with even more questions than answers.

"Okay, then why the hell does it feel like I'm dying?"

"The neglect of the heart's desires will ignite the eternal fires from within. Scorching the soul along with it," he read from the pages.

Fuck me.

You manage to roll out of bed and over to the minibar, pouring yourself a shot of whiskey.

If you're going to die before you're 30, you're going to at least have one last drink if it really is the end.

It was like you could feel Haechan's eyes on you as you poured another drink, the alcohol not being enough to eliminate your pain but numb it enough that it became bearable for you.

You didn't even notice Haechan had moved until he was standing next to you, pouring himself a drink.

He didn't say anything, just sipping on the amber liquid, carefully watching you. He looked at you blankly, and you couldn't tell what he was thinking. You were only starting to focus on how much prettier he looks up close.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" you ask him, annoyed with the wordless staring.

"What are you thinking?"

You scoff before downing the rest of your drink without as much as a wince, "What am I thinking? How pissed I am some old hag got the jump on me like this. How I'm gonna haunt Taeyong's ass from beyond the grave. How I'm never getting those twenty bucks Chenle still owes me." you half-joked.

The feeling of Haechan's fingers reaching out for your hand made you finally meet his eyes.

You sighed, "How angry it makes me to look at your face sometimes. How bad I wish things didn't get so fucked up because you were still my friend," you didn't notice he was slowly pulling you closer, "And how badly I miss the way you used to touch me."

He cupped your face, staring into your eyes.

"Stop looking at me like that."

"Why should I?"

"Cause I'm tired of looking at your stupid face," you didn't try too hard to push him away.

Your skin burns under his touch when Haechan grabs your waist, "Ah. Was this the same stupid face you were thinking about when you were trying to get off in the shower?"

Haechan teased you when embarrassment took over your face.

"You think I don't remember what you sound like even when you so desperately try to keep quiet."

Haechan cups your jaw, bringing your face closer.

"You don't think I miss the pretty noises you'd make for me."

You could feel the flood of arousal throughout your body, his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

Haechan's eyes are dark, and when you bring your hand to his cheek, you feel how warm his skin is compared to yours.

"Haechan, you're-"

"I know," was all Haechan said.

The residue of the phoenix's blossom on his clothes was evidence enough.

"This shit feels like poison coursing through my veins. And it is unbearably fucking hot in here. But I can't seem to pull myself away for you," Haechan pulled you flush against him.

"I wanna hear you say it," you stop him with your finger on his lips.

"I want you so bad, it's killing me," he said light-heartedly.

With that, your lips were on his.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, weaving your fingers in his hair. You moaned into his mouth when he pressed your body into the bar behind you.

You swipe your tongue along the seam of his lips, tangling with his before fighting for dominance. Haechan's hands were all over your body. He cupped your breasts over your bra, softly rubbing your sensitive nipples through the material, making you moan against his lips. You push the both of you away from the bar, Haechan blindly leading you to the bed.

His legs hit the bed, and you push him down onto the springy mattress, climbing on top of him. Haechan's hands guided your hips, grinding into his cock, your shorts, and his jeans being the only thing between you. His hands kneaded your ass firmly as you dragged your hips against his.

"Hyuck," you breathe his name. Haechan groans, even more blood rushing to his dick from the way his name sounded rolling off your tongue.

You started pulling on Haechan's shirt until you got it over his head and off his body, now lying on the floor. You trail your lips down his jaw, nipping his skin between his teeth, leaving openmouthed kisses on the side of his neck. Haechan slid his hand over the curve of your ass, sliding up your back, reaching for the clasp on your bra. He couldn't keep his hands off you. Haechan flipped you onto your back before he slipped one of your nipples into his mouth, flicking the perky bud with the tip of his tongue. You arch into Haechan's touch, his saliva covering your areola as he gives the same attention to the opposite one.

Haechan starts kissing down your body. He sinks his teeth into your skin, taking in how responsive you are to him.

Placing one last kiss on your hip, Haechan hooks his fingers in the waistband of your shorts, tearing them down your legs along with your soaked panties.

Haechan's intense gaze made you want to close your legs out of embarrassment, but he didn't allow them, keeping them apart with his hands. He runs a finger through your folds, coating his fingers in your slick.

Your hips instantly lift against his hand, and he takes amusement in the way you pouted when he drew his hand away.

"Fuck you," you whine.

"We're getting there, baby. Patience." Haechan doesn't hesitate to bring his fingers to his lips, licking your essence off his hand.

He hums, savoring the taste of you on his tongue. You could've sworn you watched his eyes grow darker; you could barely tell they were brown anymore.

"Taste as good as I remember, angel," Haechan licks his lips.

Bringing his hand back between your thighs, Haechan sinks two fingers into your cunt, easily breaching your walls from how wet you are. Moans bubbled up in your throat, the feeling of his fingers curling against your gummy walls eliminating the excruciating pain you were in.

You grab onto his wrist, rolling your hips into his hand.

"Haechan..please fuck me."

A sound resembling a growl rumbled in his chest, hearing you beg for him.

You pathetically whined when Haechan left you empty and untouched as he started to take off the last thing he was wearing. Kicking his jeans off, letting his boxers be the last to join the rest of the clothes on the floor, Haechan strokes his cock in his hand. Your mouth waters as you press your thighs together at the sight of him.

"You know it's been a minute, baby, and I haven't properly prepped you. Think you can take it?" he teases.

You wrap your hand around his length, squeezing your fist around him, making him curse lowly.

"Can you?" you raise an eyebrow.

Haechan pushes you back onto your back, giving you no warning before slamming into you.

"Oh, my fucking god, Hyuck!" you cried, your nails painfully digging into his shoulders.

"You're so wet—shit. Pussy feels so fucking good." Haechan groaned, thrusting into you.

You roughly grabbed his hair, smashing your lips into his, and Haechan's pace started to pick up. He dropped his head to watch his cock slip into your heat easily, every time he eased out of you just to fill you up to the hilt again.

Haechan sat back on his haunches, still fucking into your messy pussy. Haechan was in awe of the sight beneath him. The way you tried to move your hips to match his movements but had a hard time keeping up because of the pleasure fogging up your mind.

With his hands still on your waist, Haechan pulled you up to sit in his lap, sinking down even further on his cock.

You threw your head back, moaning shamelessly. You held onto him, gyrating your hips against his. Haechan grabbed your ass, lifting you up before letting you sink back down, the tip of his cock brushing your sweet spot.

"You're so hot," Haechan's eyes were glossed over as he looked at you. Your walls clenched around him tightly, humming in agreement as you studied his face.

You gripped his chin between your fingers, squishing his cheeks together before you planted a kiss on his lips.

"I want—I need more. Please, Haechan," you pant against his lips.

The corners of his lips curled up mischievously. Haechan pushed you back onto the bed, leaving you empty. He then manhandled you onto your hands and knees. You kept your hips raised in the air as he easily slipped back in, bottoming out. You moaned into the sheets, gripping them, feeling Haechan's cock stretch you in the most delicious ways.

"Fuck, angel," he rasped.

Haechan's fingers gripped your body, bruisingly tight as you matched his rhythm and moved your hips, your skin meeting in sharp slaps each time. Haechan grabbed your ass, spreading your cheeks and watching your sopping pussy swallow his cock. You could feel the slick dripping down your thighs, probably making a mess on Haechan as well.

"You feel so fucking good, Hyuck," your words were muffled by bedding beneath you.

"Poor baby. So desperate to cum," he started stroking your clit, making you squirm. "Good thing you have me to help make you feel better," he pressed a kiss below your jaw.

"Unfortunately, you're the only thing that can," you tease.

Haechan scoffs as if he took real offense to those words. But oh, was it the best decision you've made all night.

He forced your head back into the pillows, deepening your back's arch and fucking you relentlessly.

"Yes, yes, yes. P-Please—Haechan!"

"You feel that? How good I'm making you feel. Have I already fucked you dumb, sweetheart?" he said in a condescending tone, "What was it you said before?" he asked. Haechan knew you didn't have half a mind to think about anything from even two seconds ago, too consumed in the euphoric feeling of him blowing your back out.

"Hyuck..." was all you could say, and he proudly smiled.

"That's right, baby. Say my name. Remind yourself who's fucking you this good."

"Please, Hyuck. I'm gonna cum."

"Me too, angel." He snaked his hand down between your legs, rubbing your puffy clit.

You cried into the sheets. The sound of your ass slapping against his pelvis mixed with your muffled whines and Haechan's breathy moans.

"Let me feel that pretty pussy cum around me," he said in your ear.

Your pussy had a vice grip on his cock, nearing the edge. Your walls pulsed around his length, your legs shaking from the intensity of your orgasm.

"Haechan, Haechan, Haechan," you chanted his name, riding out the wave of euphoria.

If it wasn't for Haechan still holding your hips up, your body would have collapsed to the bed. He kept pounding into your heat, your pussy enveloping his cock as he fucked his cum into you.

You whined, feeling overstimulation begin to overtake you, but Haechan continued to lazily thrust into you. His cum started to leak out of you, dripping down his length and your thighs.

Haechan's cock finally went soft, leaving you empty, the sticky white substance now coating your folds and inner thighs.

Haechan rolled you over onto your back, looking into your glassy eyes. The tension filling the room was only accompanied by your heavy breathing.

You brushed his hair out of his eyes before slapping him across the face. Haechan cursed and rubbed his stinging cheek.

"Sorry," you apologized, "Had to make sure."

"Well?"

"Spell's broken," you tell him, sitting up.

"How do you know?"

"Cause I can go back to feeling like I hate you without being in pain again."

Haechan laughs, "You still hate me?"

"Maybe just a little less," you smile before you kiss him. Haechan wasn't expecting it, but he kissed you back immediately.

"Thank you."

"Are you sure I'm not already dead and in heaven?"

You laughed, "I'm pretty sure."

. . .

"You sure you're okay?" Jaemin asks over the phone.

"Yeah."

"And Haechan?"

You heard Haechan singing in the shower and bit back a smile.

"He's fine too," you say. "You think the witch knew what she was doing?"

"Of course, she did. She could probably sense the sexual tension between you two the moment you were in town."

"What are you saying? That that was her own twisted way of playing matchmaker?"

"She's a pretty powerful love witch, that's pretty much her specialty."

"If I didn't know any better, I would think you guys sent us here on purpose."

"We did. Just so you guys reconcile whatever was going on between you. But none of us thought this would've happened. You two could've died."

"But we didn't."

"Yeah, you didn't. What're you gonna do about that now anyway?"

"That is something we can figure out on the drive back."

a/n: now i’m ngl i may have self inserted a little too hard with this one except we actually have a happier ending 🙂

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oiwxa · 10 months

Text

UMAZANE MISLI | c.bg

STARRING: Choi Beomgyu x fem!reader

CAST: Lee Heeseung (EN-), Lee Geonu (Just B), Jung Sungchan (ex-NCT), Yang Jeongin (Stray Kids), Felix (Stray Kids), Choi Seungchol (SVT)

RUNTIME: 35.9k (sorry)

SYNOPSIS: Beomgyu thought that a life of academic excellence, popularity contests, and ego trips were left behind the moment he graduated from a prestigious private school. However, he found himself locked in an intense, three-year rivalry with you. He always had to be number one in everything that the two of you were involved in, but god damn, your band makes incredible music. Lord knows what would happen if one day, you find him moshing to one of your basement shows. Alas, you were oblivious, and he managed to convince himself that several streaks of messy, temporary red dye and ripped jeans immediately transformed him into a spy that infiltrated your band's smelly, sweat-infused, beer-rotting basement.

GENRE: Coming of age, slice of life, romance, comedy, band!au

DIRECTOR'S CUT: hi everyone !! this will be my debut into txt writing !! i hope you enjoy this fic, and as always, PLEASE triple check all warnings and make sure you read this work at your own discretion. You are responsible for the content that you consume. also !! of course, some facets of the band is inspired by the lovely joker out, the slovenian band that stole all of our hearts in esc 2023 !! the family dynamics and rich kid problems in this fic is inspired by succession, the HBO tv series. i also just wanted to give a quick shoutout to alice @jayflrt and her stoner's guide to starbucks smau, which inspired heeseung's character in this fic !! do give it a read if you have the chance !! she's vv funny LOL. also !! another shoutout to @jitaros for the e2l law school dynamics !! i tried my hand at the trope (watched too much better call saul for this LOL) !! this is an homage to crying lightning, and i hope reading this will inspire you to complete law school!hyuck :")))

SOUNDTRACK: Umazane Misli, Plastika, Demoni, Vem da Greš, Proti Toku, Carpe Diem, A Sem Ti Povedal, Bele Sanje, Katrina, and Dopamin by Joker Out (basically the entirety of Joker Out's discog tbh)

VISUALIZERS: Joker In // Law school Beomgyu

I. SHAGADELIC, BABY!

The studio has seen worse things. Pizza boxes covered in mold spreading toxic mildew across the entire room; broken drum sticks that were basically tetanus-inducing pieces of legos on the floor for the unlucky person sans socks or sandals; curled ends of guitar strings strewn across the floor like upturned nails; permanent stains of beer scattered in patches on the wooden floorboards; broken lightbulbs for more tetanus and other forms of infectious diseases; a nest of fruit flies concentrated on one of the leaking pipes next to the generator; an unidentifiable liquid etched on the edge of a dirty carpet with an equally mysterious source; crude graffiti filling up the bare cement walls; the temper of a lead singer with a god complex; and lastly, the simmering temperament of a guitarist that believes he deserves more credit than he is currently given.

To call the basement of an abandoned house on the distant outskirts of Hongdae a studio was an insult to professional musicians who spend their entire lives in a well-insulated creative space. Your band barely had the budget to install acoustic foam panels across the basement—not like you needed it, though. Nobody in their right mind would dare take the last train to the station and hike at least an hour atop a closed trail to record music in a dilapidated house. It wasn’t like there was anything or anybody listening to the so-called “noise” you and your friends made at ungodly hours, too. If there were, it was probably the ghosts of those who once populated what you assumed was a small, forestry village before the war.

Nonetheless, it became the meeting place that would house all of the band’s creative endeavors—and to be fair, you didn’t mind the musty smell or the murky leakages of dirty water. All of it to you slowly became a sanctuary that broke you free from the bondage of a degree you weren’t even interested in. What was even better was the people that occupied the rather decrepit space. Sure, there was a lot of infighting in the band that made you want to throw your drum sticks at each member or assault them and get charged with battery, but in the end, it was growing pains for the fruition of an otherwise decent band. For you, the disagreements everyone often faced were a testament to the band’s potential longevity. Even if you didn’t consider yourself the most vocal member of the ensemble, you had a reliable voice of reason that validated the input you’d give to every suggestion or performance discussed.

“Disagreements should be normalized, you know?” You once remember saying when Jeongin would often cry about the heated arguments Geonu and Sungchan would have. “I don’t think we’d be as good as we are now if we never fought or stood up for what we wanted in this thing.”

A word had to be said about the duo before proceeding into important matters—after all, it was the two of them that had the longest overall experience in Seoul’s university basement scene. Geonu in particular was who one might call the “veteran” in your band. He practically grew up around independent musicians his whole life, and his brother was in the garage rock scene since Geonu graduated from middle school. It was the norm for him to show up underage inside bars, venues, taverns, and any place that reeked of spoiled beer, sticky sweat, and copious amounts of cannabis abuse. Of course, Geonu managed to stay clean save for a few sips of beer here and there; he was notorious for his inhumane self-restraint and resilience, after all. When Geonu was fifteen, around the end of his last summer as a middle schooler, he started a hardcore band and toured a couple of basements around Seoul and beyond. The problem, though, was that his lead singer was a late bloomer. Instead of obtaining the gruff, aggressive, and extremely hardcore (for lack of a better word) tone that was required for the genre, Geonu had to suffer through his band receiving “baby noise” status. To his credit, he took it extremely well, using the ridicule to his advantage. It became a common gimmick later on for the band’s cult following to bring pacifiers and cry like an infant during the breakdown of each song. He even began attaching packets of powdered milk with each tote bag or cassette tape purchased from his fans for extra humor.

That period of his life closed when he was in his second year of high school, where he founded an indie band and completely changed the direction of his music. The hardcore punk to soft boy indie pipeline was a pretty common shift in many musicians in the current generation, and by then, Geonu had grown out of the nu-metal craze of gelled, spiky hair and repetitive power chords. He wanted something more out of his music and thus formed an unexpected friendship with Sungchan, who at the time was the star football player in their high school. Since then, the two had been in the same band together, often changing the lineup depending on where they were music-wise. The first generation of the band was called King Suit, and most of their shows consisted of covers translated from English to Korean. King Suit was perhaps the most radio-friendly iteration out of all the bands that Geonu and Sungchan were in, and they broke off for the exact same reason.

“Nobody really wanted to write music,” Geonu explained one time after a freshman party. “I mean, I can’t blame them. It takes a lot of effort, and most of us were self-taught. Sungchan was the only one who was willing to make the academic sacrifice to write and produce music with me, so we broke off after graduating high school.”

From what you could tell, Geonu didn’t seem to look back at King Suit with the rose-colored fondness of nostalgia. Each time he complained about his former members in a drunken pursuit, his voice would drop an octave lower, seething bitterness and poison in his slurred cadence. Geonu also only complimented Sungchan when he was drunk.

The second iteration of his attempts into the underground indie scene was with a short-lived shoegaze venture that was ironically named DARE. One surprising fact that you managed to squeeze out of Geonu was that Sungchan conjured the idea of starting a shoegaze band. He had been listening to a lot of my bloody valentine and Cocteau Twins owing to his nightly Naver scrolls and Spotify recommendations. According to an extremely inebriated Geonu, Sungchan became obsessed with collecting effectors and pedals, blowing his entire savings and part-time earnings into expanding his ever-growing collection of overpriced battery boxes. Truth be told, his obsession for pedals didn’t necessarily come from a place of musical interest—he just thought that some of the artworks plastered across the Keeley or Electro-Harmonix pedals looked cool. He managed to learn how to use them through deep research on YouTube and Reddit, but he would never admit that the sole reason for his collection was the pursuit of aesthetics. Geonu would also never admit that he wanted DARE to live a longer life, simply because his stubborn pride wouldn’t allow it. He would always argue with Sungchan about how the genre of shoegaze itself was a cut-and-paste replica of each other, and for Geonu, it would be embarrassing to admit that his opinions can change over time. He was too much of a staunch idealist in the sense that he stood by most—if not all—of his opinions, thus it would take an eternity for him to admit that he was either wrong or misconstrued about whatever statement came out of his loud mouth.

Then, Joker In was born—at least, that was what the current band was called. Prior to the name change, the band didn’t have an official name, so each gig just listed your names as individuals. It was the only iteration of Geonu’s bands that consisted of you in the lineup, in addition to Jeongin’s replacement as the current bassist. Prior to Jeongin’s untimely recruitment, the band had an upper year who promptly had to leave because he graduating and he was an exchange student. You didn’t know what went inside Geonu’s mind theater when he recruited Felix, but you assumed that the short-lasting membership was worth it if he was that good of a bassist.

And to your judgement, Felix was amazing. He was a veteran of the instrument and played the double bass at his university’s big band back in Australia. Naturally, he would adjust to the electric bass pretty quickly, mastering all the techniques and genres by the time the band scored their first gig. Felix wasn’t particularly good at Korean, but he didn’t need the language when his skills spoke for themselves. In addition to mastering the instrument, he was a phenomenal performer that captivated the audience through his laid-back playing style. Every note he plucked was effortless, and his deep, sultry voice complemented Geonu’s powerful vocals quite well.

The first time you saw Geonu cry was when the band dropped Felix off at the airport, bringing Jeongin along despite the awkward, one-sided tensions between them. Felix didn’t mind Jeongin’s presence since he joined the band knowing it was a short-term commitment, but Jeongin thought otherwise.

“What if he’ll hate me?” Jeongin would lament. It was your job to comfort him whenever he would dive deep into his woes about filling such a big role. Geonu was too cutthroat, and Sungchan was too much of a deadpanner. There was no way those two could ease the noisy thoughts of an anxiety-ridden boy.

“Felix doesn’t hate, Jeongin,” You’d reply as you stuffed his mouth with endless slices of pizza. “Have you seen the guy? I don’t think he could get angry even if he wanted to.”

The band became Joker In after Jeongin’s obsession for Eurovision came to light. At first, the three of you eyed him with confusion and bewilderment, wondering how a boy born and raised in Korea could care about a Europe-exclusive song contest. After being subjected to an entire week or two of arduously rewatching past contests and performances, you’ve grown to realize that Jeongin never watched Eurovision for the quality of songs that each artist produced. Sure, there were some good hits that grabbed your attention, but Jeongin didn’t care about the meaning of the songs written for the contest. For him, Eurovision was specifically created for drama and political tensions, paired with ridiculous, overtly surreal, and over-the-top staging that made you question the infinite potential of the human mind. What initially started as Jeongin’s sole hyper fixation now influenced the entire band’s direction, and Eurovision became a pact of friendship in Joker In.

“You have to watch Viktor Plushenko skating on a fucking ice rink on stage with Dima Bilan,” Jeongin said, pushing his phone screen on Geonu’s face.

“I’ve already seen that performance dipshit. You’ve shown it to me like, I don’t know? Every single time we go to the studio?” Geonu would reply, then keep his eyes glued to the performance. He didn’t want to admit that his go-to stage costume of a wifebeater and loose, silver parachute pants came from endlessly watching Dima Bilan on YouTube, but the avid Eurovision fan could pretty much piece his inspiration quite easily. Luckily for him, Korea didn’t have a lot of people that were willing to watch four whole hours of countries they’d never heard of sending artists runnings around in hamster balls singing about dusting a turkey in 2000s-era technicolor.

“They sure did bring a wholeass ice rink on stage, did they?” Sungchan said, using his tall stature to tower over Geonu and Jeongin. He kept his eyes focused on the Olympic figure skater as he gracefully slid around the small, constrained ice rink in Belgrade.

“Anything for Dima Bilan. Anything.” Jeongin cooed, eyes never leaving the blue-tinted stage on his phone screen. “Look at him! He’s so… sexy.”

“Take a shot every time Jeongin simps over Dima Bilan,” You interrupted, snatching the phone from Jeongin’s hands. You went on the search bar and typed in the keywords that led to your favorite Eurovision winner, Duncan Laurence. Once his deep, solemn voice began to reverberate across the vast emptiness of the basement, you felt the three roll their eyes in your direction.

“Of course, you’ll always play Duncan Laurence’s performance,” Jeongin sighed as he shook his head. He yanked his phone back from your hands and paused the video, momentarily admiring the tall, Dutch man playing the grand piano before shutting his phone off altogether. You returned the sentiment and folded your arms, closing your eyes from exhaustion.

“Jeongin, you know that people can enjoy the contest for the actual music they produce, right?”

“Well… yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” Jeongin replied, giving you his signature foxy smile. “You’re free to argue that Stefania won last year because of its musicality and experimentation with hip-hop and Ukrainian folk music, but man, you can’t deny that people liked it because of Mr. Pink Bucket Hat and MC Kilimmen’s breakdancing.”

“I don’t know, dude.” Sungchan interrupted. Whenever the topic of Eurovision 2022 came up, he always felt the need to join the conversation. “I think Chanel with Slomo deserved the trophy.”

Sungchan always had a penchant to enjoy female entries in Eurovision. When the band rewatched Eurovision 2010 and host their first sleepover in the basement for the first time, Sungchan fell asleep until Lena’s “Satellite” came on. The moment he heard her voice, he jolted awake as if someone shocked him with a defibrillator, posture immediately upright as he leaned his tall frame too close to the projector that they managed to hook up. For the whole week since, he kept replaying her performance whenever he had free time. When he was doing chores around the basement or setting up for practice, he would constantly hum the chorus of the song, following the singer’s odd, breathy cadence while swinging his hips to the rhythms in his head. It got to a point where it became an earworm for the entire band, and for a while, Geonu decided to ban the song from playing whenever they were together.

“You can’t keep playing Satellite when Alexander Ryback was way better,” Jeongin would bitterly mutter under his breath. He would then pretend to hold a violin and prance around the floorboards, using his light, airy steps to do several failed pirouettes.

Eurovision became the center of your band, and it became a gimmick to put at least one Eurovision song on your setlist—much to your chagrin. On the one hand, you would enjoy the songs that Jeongin would pick, such as “Believe” and Lordi’s “Hard Rock Hallelujah” for your university’s Halloween bash. In those moments, you were into it because you enjoyed the songs. On the other hand, the songs that were often chosen for your gigs were too “poppy,” for lack of a better word. There was not much you can do except keep steady beats intact while you watched Geonu and Jeongin mess around on stage. It was fun watching them get extremely drunk on copious amounts of cheap beer and vodka cranberries, but in the end, you were left performing basic 808s while the rest had their share of fun.

It wasn’t unfair. It was just the way music was evolving. You weren’t much of a connoisseur to begin with as well, so you sucked it up and kept the musical harmony of the band. After all, what was important to you wasn’t the ability to execute flashy fills or steal the stage from the rest of the members. If you wanted that for yourself, then you wouldn’t be in a band in the first place. The sole purpose of forming a group is to produce quality as a collective, not as individuals—as such, you kept your role practical. So long as you sounded good as a band, that meant you were doing your job right.

Maybe that was why you got along with everyone very well. Unlike Sungchan, who had a greedy streak of outdoing Geonu’s vocals with his shrill fills, or Jeongin, who had the opposite problem of staying behind and lowering the volume of his bass on the amp, you kept a good balance between showing off your skills and keeping the band’s overall sound in mind. That dynamic was also reflected in the way you interacted with the rest of the band. When you were with Geonu, you were an agent that showed him humility. You would always slap him in the back without any ill will, making sure he understood that there was no hierarchy in the band.

“We’re not Geonu and friends, you jerk,” You would often say to him while pinching his ears. “We’re Joker In now, and I don’t recall seeing your name at the forefront of our group.”

“My bad, my bad,” Geonu replied, feeling the pain inflicted wherever you pinched him. Sometimes, it would be a drum stick thrown in his direction. When you were feeling generous, you just shook your head and taunted him.

“I could do your job just as well, wanna bet?” You’d ask, pushing him to your drum kit in jest. Geonu could take jokes pretty well, but whenever this threat would reach his ears, he’d often see his life flash before his very eyes. Even if he prided himself in his skills as a multi-instrumentalist, he didn’t want to admit that he was terrible at the drums.

You had a relatively peaceful relationship with Jeongin, owing to the fact that you were both in the same section. As such, you had to parle with Jeongin the most about the musical direction of each song Geonu wrote or translated. Since the genre that you often played with the band was along the lines of contemporary indie rock or pop, you didn’t struggle a lot with learning the songs or creating a soft, basic beat that can go along with Geonu’s vocals and Sungchan’s playing. Jeongin’s case was rather different. Although he was a great bassist that had an impeccable sense of rhythm, he lacked the confidence to properly execute all the bass lines he had in mind. Whenever he felt daunting, it would take him a few drinks or a few words of encouragement until he could finally swallow his insecurities and face Geonu.

“Why are you so scared of that tiny angry man,” You’d often joke, sticking your elbow to Jeongin’s sides. He would look back at you with a flushed and nervous look, scrambling for answers in his fast-paced head while looking back at Geonu.

It’s not to say he was scared of Geonu, because you can’t really be scared of a man who was his height. Rather, Jeongin was intimidated by Geonu’s presence—and you completely understood where that unfounded sentiment came from. Jeongin was the only one who did not have any experience with live performances prior to joining the band. Sungchan had been playing with Geonu since high school, and you paid your dues back in high school when you were forced to play jazz drums in the big band. Sure, you had a bit of a blank when it came to performing live, but it was easy to get back in the motions of it all when you already knew what to do. Jeongin didn’t have the experience; he only had skill. No matter how great he was at the instrument in theory, he often didn’t know what to do once he was on stage. Geonu would have to pull him back an hour before rehearsals and sound check just to tell him to let loose—which ironically wasn’t something anyone could teach.

“Loosen up, kid. You just gotta get out there and play! Don’t think about being perfect or fucking up, because once you do, you mess up. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy, so you gotta get in there with good vibes only.”

Jeongin’s gotten better now, but he still shared the same meekness and apprehension when it came to Geonu. You were sure that it’d completely disappear with time, but you weren’t completely confident about the band’s status in a few years. There was a part of you that still considered it a short-term gig—something you’ll eventually grow out of once you graduate from university and get a “real job.” For this reason, you got along with Sungchan quite well.

Another word about Sungchan: Though he had the longest track record of witnessing Geonu’s god complex, he was also someone that didn’t take the band seriously. In fact, your shock persisted to this day when Sungchan drunkenly told you that he planned to leave the band and music altogether after he graduated.

“This is just a hobby for me,” You vaguely remember him saying with overly dilated pupils and languid, hazy steps. “I think I’ll quit when I get my shit together someday.”

It wasn’t until you were four months deep into the band that you realized why Sungchan didn’t want to pursue music forever. At first, you thought it was an uncomfortable, yet silent and covert tension between Sungchan and Geonu. They’ve known each other for so long; it was natural to have disagreements. Then, you realized through Sungchan’s work ethic and his commitment to the Varsity baseball team that he simply had more going for him than a four-piece cover band. He wasn’t the smartest of the bunch, but he was extremely athletic—which was always a plus when it came to the unlikely colliding worlds of mosh pits and Olympic-level stamina.

Joker In often had its moments of explosive fights and passive-aggressive silent treatments, but you wouldn’t have had it any other way. Usually, all it took was for Sungchan to complain that he was hungry, or for Jeongin to take his phone out and plug it into the projector, screening his niche obsession of odd European performances for everyone to see.

Unfortunately for you, though, the topic of today’s fight was around the one thing that should have brought the band together: Food.

“What should we eat tonight?” Geonu asked, adjusting the microphone stand with one hand while scanning the messy, crumpled, and coffee-stained lyric sheet in his hands.

“Pizza?”

“Sungchan, we’ve been having pizza for the past six months. If we order the same shit again I swear I might throw up,”

“Yeah, I’m siding with Jeongin on this one,” You added, leaning your head on Jeongin’s shoulder while clutching your unruly, growling stomach. “Pizza’s just not it right now.”

“Then what the fuck do we order, captain?” Sungchan snapped, heaving a sigh as he groaned in pain.

“Hey, don’t call me that!” Geonu replied and returned the sentiment, scratching his head in frustration and confusion. He looked out at the sky and checked his phone, taking quick glances between all the furniture in the basement. The skies were dark, and the only source of light the band had was the dim, low glow of an ancient, yellow light bulb that was still there before they called the place their studio.

“Didn’t I say we’re all equals here?”

“Well, you’re technically writing all the songs that we’ve played so far, and you’ve been really anal about the solo I’ve considered for Butterflies and Katrina…”

To be fair, Sungchan was right. For the past three weeks or so, Sungchan has tried his best to add more input into the mixing process, but Geonu would either turn his suggestions down or ask him to play quieter in recent gigs. At first, Sungchan could understand the frontman’s qualms; it was never in his best interest for anyone to overshadow each member. However, he disagreed with the way that Geonu played favorites. Two nights ago, he caved in and allowed you to perform a drum solo—but then again, that was out of the request of the audience. You were lucky enough to have half your friend group and the entire law society show up to embarrassingly chant your name over and over again until you had the opportunity to strike. For Jeongin, it was much more forceful. Geonu had been trying to replicate the same charisma that Felix had brought to the band, and as a result, he has given Jeongin complicated bass lines that aren’t the easiest to execute in front of a crowd. Geonu had his own moments as well, but he chalked it up to being the “face” of the band. Disagreements between the two were commonplace, but it wasn’t common to completely diminish Sungchan’s role to basic chords and simple riffs.

“Sungchan, for fuck’s sake,” Geonu replied in his usual tone. “I’m not being anal because I don’t like it. I’m being anal because I know you could come up with something better. This is the same, lazy, cut-and-paste solo that you’ve been playing in every single show so far, and we need more diversity in our tune to get everyone to eventually listen to the stuff we put out.”

“Geon, we’re a cover band. Don’t you ever forget that,” Sungchan chimed. He was sick of hearing Geonu tell him the same thing since they were in high school.

“So? Translation takes a lot of work! Besides, the only reason we’ve gained our following so far is that we do something unique and original that Joker Out don’t do on their shows.”

“Oh please, all the gimmicks you do on stage basically count as stealing. You see fan videos of Bojan online and regurgitate that.”

“Oh? Like what? Please give me an example, because from what I can see, the crowd loves what we already do.”

Usually, all it took was for you and Jeongin to step in and break the two apart. Jeongin would console Geonu on the sidelines, and you would take Sungchan out for a “walk” until he came back with a fresh perspective. Sometimes, it took hours—days, even—for both of them to set their differences aside and swear an oath of momentary truce. However, this was the first time you’ve seen their bickering evolve into a full-fledged fight. You snuck glances between a panicked Jeongin, who slowly unplugged his bass and turned off the amp. He looked like an ostrich that constantly peaked his head in all directions, eyes rapidly scavenging the best time to step in and do what he does best.

“I don’t know? You call our music shagadelic sad boy rock—just like how Joker Out describes themselves,”

“It’s an original word!”

“It’s not if they’re already using it…”

“Guys!” Jeongin finally screamed. “I’m hungry! Can we just postpone this little lover’s quarrel for another time?”

“Jeongin’s right,” You backed up, watching the two attempt to bicker amidst Jeongin’s ear-grating, dolphin-like screech. “We haven’t eaten anything since we arrived, you know? We’ve just been busy going through our setlist like, five or six times. Can’t we just call for a break and get back once we’ve eaten?”

“I hate that you’re always right,” Geonu finally responded after a light, pondering pause. “Pizza?”

Before Geonu could start dialing the usual pizza place’s number on his phone, a light creak bounced back and forth between the gray, cement walls of the basement. It came in little waves, then echoed with a booming shriek. The four of you immediately looked behind you, catching the lanky silhouette of a man wearing an oversized rugby shirt with marinara stains all over its striped pattern. He tipped his cap off and gave all four of you a smile, the very definition of heavy embodied in the soft, yet dense movement of each footstep. He wasn’t even wearing leather boots or platforms; his sneakers seemed to shake the entire room with every step he took. Once you were able to catch a glimpse of the intense redness in his eyes, you finally knew why someone who appeared so light carried such weight with him.

“Oh my god, you scared me, Hee!” You jokingly exclaimed, greeting him with a strong pat on the shoulder. He cocked his head back and forth, giant, glassy eyes adjusting to see the blurriness of your face. Once he was able to stay still, he returned the gesture with a wave that almost knocked him down to the ground.

“You losers didn’t call the shop so I got worried you died or something,” Heeseung said, passing the large box of pizza to Sungchan before slumping his entire body on one of the couches in the studio. “This place looks pretty gnarly, so I kinda expected a horror movie plot going on where one of you goes insane and murders everyone in the room.”

“To be fair, you did come at the right time,” You said, practically shoving a glass of water in Heeseung’s mouth. “Geonu was one step closer to ripping Sungchan’s head off just now.”

“Did you bring the usual?” Sungchan asked, knowing the answer just by the whiff of garlic, tomatoes, and mozzarella that wafted throughout the entire basement.

“Yeah, so every single one of you better pay me back. This was out of pocket.”

“You have the employee’s discount though, so the total price was probably around like, 12,000 won or something,” Jeongin said, trying his best to hold his laughter while taking a slice of pizza out of the box. Whenever Heeseung came with pizza, the war zone between Geonu and Sungchan subsides into a peaceful truce.

“Hey, shit’s brutal lately, okay? I gotta get my money back.”

Heeseung kept his body within the crevices of the old, unwashed couch, sinking his body further and further until he practically disappeared from your current realm of reality. At this rate, you would be surprised if Heeseung could get up and go home on his own. Though he was notorious for smoking copious amounts of weed every day, it wasn’t like him to show up to work completely fried. While the boy had problems with addiction, he was perhaps behind Geonu went it came to self-control and resilience. One time, he was able to quit weed for an entire month to focus on his studies. In those four months, he refused temptation altogether like a patron saint. No matter how many people tried to tempt him with a single puff or a bong rip, he would cover his nose and run away from the room. So far, he’s never caved in during these periods of asceticism.

“Fine, you stingy ass motherfucker,” Geonu replied, opening his phone to send a few Wons to the demanding pothead. “Broke ass bitch.”

“Can I talk to you real quick?” Heeseung suddenly interrupted. His brain shouldn’t be capable of multitasking in his current state, but the addition of money to his bank account was enough for him to forget about collecting his debt from the band.

“If it’s about that guy then I don’t wanna hear it. Besides, that’s all you talk to me about.”

“Beomgyu’s not bad if you give him a chance, trust me.”

Beomgyu. Hearing the name alone was enough for you to reach the same levels of anger that Geonu and Sungchan had just presented. Whenever the topic of Beomgyu came into the conversation, Geonu and Sungchan’s outbursts seemed like nothing but child’s play. While their arguments could easily be solved between a slice of pizza or a pint or two, you could never imagine yourself sitting idly and peacefully at a dining table with Beomgyu.

“Trust you?” You suddenly interjected, anger slowly seeping into your brain with each passing second. “Trust you? The person who gets insanely high and goes to Starbucks because you find the barista cute? No thanks!”

“Hey, man,”

“Don’t hey man me, you prick.”

“But you’re gonna love what I’m about to tell you,” Heeseung shushed, doing his very best to lull your unquenchable temper. The funniest thing to him was how being quick to anger was never in your personality. Throughout all the times that he’s known you, he was sure that it took infinite attempts to get you to at least crack or start getting annoyed—not angry. This was why no matter how much he tried to restrain himself, he couldn’t. It was too much fun watching you explode over some guy that apparently made it his life-long goal to get under your skin as much as possible—the best, or worst part about it is that it worked too well.

“I caught Beomgyu listening to Joker Out lately,” Heeseung started, barely containing the eruption of laughter that was bottled within the confines of his throat. “It’s probably your doing,”

“Of course he would,” You snapped, rolling your eyes at the thought of Beomgyu listening to your band’s idols. “He’s nothing without me,”

“You know what the better part is? He’s trying to learn Slovenian so he can one-up you and see them live in Europe or something,”

“I don’t care,”

“You clearly do,”

When it came to Beomgyu, you were terrible at keeping your temper in check. This was a well-known fact among your bandmates and a funnier gag to Heeseung. While your bandmates tried their best to pretend Beomgyu didn’t exist in your so-called friend group, they counted on Heeseung to spark the dormant anger within you. It’s not as if they were afraid of you, per se. It was more so the idea of taking responsibility; they’d rather let Heeseung take the fall than have you endlessly scream at them throughout practice for even mentioning Beomgyu’s existence. To be fair, they were right. With Sungchan and Geonu, things were simple. Even if they were to start punching each other during practice, everything could be solved if they ordered a slice of pizza. With you, however, things were different. You would endlessly talk about how much you hated Beomgyu regardless of the occasion. Even if there were pizza or expensive tickets to see your favorite band live, you would never let your loathing for Beomgyu come to a timely rest. It was always in the back of your brain, itching to come out at every opportunity you had.

“Look at you, little miss I have to be number one in everything,” Heeseung mocked in his inebriated state. He took a dab pen out of his pocket and inhaled its contents, watching the world around him slow down by the minute as your warped, contorted face continued to deepen its wrinkles. You were tempted to take a huff, but adamantly shook your head in absolute refusal.

“Say that one more time and I’ll hit your already empty head,” You replied, already hitting him a couple of times on the shoulder.

“Ouch,”

“Who the fuck does he think he is?! He’s the one who started this whole thing! I never even wanted it to be this way!”

“Yeah you kinda did,”

“How?!”

“I don’t know? Like, that one time you got angry because he beat you in a project,”

At this point, the band dropped everything to pay attention to Heeseung. He was already somewhat dangerous when he was sober, but he practically had no filter when he was high—which was, to be fair, about ninety percent of his existence. Whenever Heeseung was high, all social filters were removed, allowing him to gain access to all of the things that would incite anger in you. This time, it was the sacred project that sparked the endless rivalry between you and Beomgyu. The band knew to keep their mouths shut around the topic to maintain the peace that they kept between you, but Heeseung? The word peace itself didn’t seem to exist whenever he was too high to even think about what he would order at Starbucks.

“Well, that’s because he kept rubbing it in my face! I wanted to congratulate him!”

“He told me you got this close to beating him up in the lecture hall,” Heeseung replied, failing to contain the large grin that was permanently etched on his face. “One of the TAs practically had to grab you before you swung your knuckles in his face.”

“Well, that’s because he kept being annoying about it! He said I got a good mark because I sucked the professor’s dick!”

“You should know him by now, though. He has no filter.”

“But he said it like he meant it,”

“Yeah… about that…”

Even if Heeseung was, indeed, high, he was not a snitch—at least, he believed himself to be a man of his word. Even if tormenting you with talks of Beomgyu was one of his favorite forms of entertainment, what he refused to tell you was that Beomgyu was doing it out of his weird ways of telling you he had the hots for you. Heeseung didn’t know much about Beomgyu, to begin with, but to him, obsession in all forms was a pure sign of attraction.

“Look, I think you two just need to lock yourselves in a room and fuck,” Geonu interrupted, rolling his eyes at the scene playing in front of him. A part of him enjoyed watching you lose your cool at a single man that couldn’t even utter proper insults correctly. Whenever Geonu had the displeasure of seeing you and Beomgyu fight, he ironically laughed at the two of you without realizing that it was pretty much a reflection of his own battles with Sungchan.

“Hee’s right,” Jeongin quietly muttered, breaking his silence after devouring the last pizza slice. “I think you just need to get laid.”

“Excuse me?” You replied, mouth agape at the thought that Jeongin out of all people would call you out in your endless musings towards Beomgyu. “For your information, I do get some.”

“Oh really? When?” Sungchan joked. “When was the last time you fucked?”

“Last month!”

“Rebounds don’t count.”

“Yes, they do!”

“No, they don’t.”

A word about your rebound: it didn’t count. It was just a quick hate fuck with an ex that you haven’t talked to in three years. There was no preamble; it was action without thought. You didn’t even bother asking for her contact information after, and the two of you parted ways in mutual acknowledgement to never cross paths again. In that sense, it didn’t count.

“Anyway, you better sort whatever beef you got going on with Beomgyu out. It’s getting really annoying watching you two fight all the time.” Heeseung said, taking another puff out of his dab pen once he started to feel the ground on his feet again.

“Why is it up to me to fix things?! As I’ve said so many times before, he’s the one who started this whole mess!”

“Sure…”

“Why don’t you guys believe me?!”

“Have you seen yourself?” Geonu interrupted, scratching his head at your poor attempts at salvaging your once calm demeanor. “You’re like, little miss perfect. You’re in like, a million different student clubs, you’re volunteering around campus to the point where you live there—hell, you’re even running for student government this year.”

“Well, that’s because I need to! I need my resume to look good or else I’ll be unemployed for the rest of my life! It’s not like I’m doing so much because Beomgyu does a lot too!” You rebuked, treating the basement like a criminal court. So far, all the witnesses acted as judges with a gavel, striking each of their hammers down to denounce your alibi. Even if you believed you were right, it was up to them to recite the final verdict: Sure enough, you were guilty. Guilty of the vice that is competitiveness.

“I mean, I believe you when you say that, but you have to admit that you’ve been overworking yourself since you met the guy like, three years ago,” Sungchan admitted, shuffling his feet towards you to give you gentle pats on your back.

“No I haven’t!”

“Listen,” Geonu started with a deep sigh. “You’re in varsity, you’re in charity, you almost joined a cult, you’re in debates, you used to be a senior editor for the school paper, you completed your internship like last month, you’re acing all your classes, you’re in the administrative board for your faculty’s association, and you’re in Joker In. That’s overkill, and I’m betting my dick on you not doing this much had you not met Beomgyu.”

“He just brings out the worst in me!” You screamed to no avail. This was the dead end of your court case, and you had to leave the basement without the last word.

“He brings out the private school overachiever in you that’s for sure,” Heeseung joked, his pupils consuming the whites of his eyes until they were overly expanded like obsidian marbles.

“That was so uncalled for, Hee. Put a trigger warning before you make my PTSD worse,”

“Sorry, princess, didn’t realize that going to a super rich private school would be the same as surviving the Korean War,”

“Get the fuck out, Hee.”

You had to stand your ground. Every single time the conversation led to Beomgyu, you were always seen as enemy number one. To be fair, you were the more aggressive out of the two of you. While Beomgyu limited himself to crass insults, you elevated the threat of physical assault and a free boxing match for all of the university to see. Sure, it wasn’t your intention to want to beat him up into a neat, fine pulp, but there was something about Beomgyu that always made you so violent.

“And tell Beomgyu that he’s a prick!” You shouted, after finally managing to push an incredibly high Heeseung out the door. Through the small cracks that you left open, you could see him stumbling on his feet as he began to walk away, waving your figure off with a haughty grin. As always, he left his hat in your basement, and once you descended to the meeting point, you picked it up and threw it out of the broken glass windows, watching it swing back and forth between its sharp shards.

“You two really need to see a marriage counselor or something,” Geonu whispered, watching your rage slowly disperse into your usual calm.

“Geonu’s right, and I rarely agree with that cunt,” Sungchan added, attempting to flail his elongated arms on Geonu’s shoulders.

“Hey! We’ve been playing together for centuries and this is how you repay me?”

“My bad, captain,”

“I think you two need to go to couples therapy instead of them,” Jeongin interrupted, using his thin, fox-like eyes to slyly look at the pair. “I mean, you guys have been at it since high school. They’ve only been at it for like, three years.”

“Thank you, Jeongin. Thank you.”

As always, it was up to Jeongin to fix things whenever the entire band was on the brink of disbandment. For Jeongin, though, it was another stressful addition to his reluctant ventures as a member of Joker In. First, it was his anxieties about keeping Felix’s legacy after he left. Then, it was helping you mitigate the couple’s quarrels that Geonu and Sungchan always found themselves in. Now, it was helping you calm down after the mere mention of Beomgyu’s existence.

“Anyway, let’s get back to practice. Rhythm first,” Geonu snapped. The one thing about him that made him an efficient frontman was his ability to gather the team back into practice. No matter how many times he’d often want to throw his microphone stand in Sungchan’s face or duct tape your mouth shut whenever Heeseung would come in and deliberately bring Beomgyu up, he had faith that the entire band would succumb to obedience once he took control.

“Why?” Jeongin grumbled. To his detriment, Geonu had asked the rhythm section to double their practice time for the past week. At first, he didn’t really see an issue with this, but now, he was skeptical. You, too, shared the same sentiment, looking at Jeongin in confusion before reluctantly shrugging your shoulders and picking your drum sticks from the floor.

“I have to talk to Sungchan about something important,”

With this, you gave Geonu a salute and watched the two climb up from the basement and disappear altogether. Once they were gone, you started to hit your sticks together, counting from two as you waited for Jeongin to play the backing track.

As for Geonu and Sungchan, they eased into the abandoned kitchen of the rustic house, watching Heeseung’s slumped, sleeping figure on the broken couch. They made sure to drop him home before you finished your round with Jeongin, and they hurried to one of the care packages they’d often pack for a bottle of water.

“How do we tell her that Beomgyu’s been sneaking into our gigs?” Geonu asked in a hushed voice, his ears turned to the direction of the stairs that led into the basement.

“I mean, I don’t think we need to tell her,” Sungchan replied. “It’s gonna ruin the band and everything we’ve got going for us so far.” He nonchalantly took a sip of his water and took a quick glance at Heeseung, who was knocked out cold.

“What do you mean? I think she deserves to know so the two of them can finally fix things,”

“Geon, it’s not that easy,”

“How would you know?”

“I don’t, but I can tell,” Sungchan muttered, trying to keep his already quiet voice even lower. “It’s probably just them blowing some steam off because they couldn’t find a way to do it before,”

“Hate fucking?” Heeseung joked, keeping one eye open before slumping back down into the comforts of the smelly, tic-ridden couch. Geonu also reminded himself to tell Heeseung to visit the doctor and take a long shower once he got home.

“Not quite,” Sungchan said, returning the sentiment while walking towards Heeseung with another bottle of water. “You know, if you think about it, both of them come from a pretty well-to-do background. They’re both in the same program, and from what I sort of know about her situation and from what I can guess about Beomgyu, they’re both just facing the consequences of overbearing tiger parents,”

“What did she tell you?” Geonu asked. He was always one for good gossip. Unfortunately, Sungchan wasn’t.

“That’s not my story to tell, I’m just trying to see it from her perspective,”

“So we don’t tell her?” Geonu asked again, rolling his eyes at Sungchan’s tight-lipped nature.

“I mean, if she finds out, then she finds out. Just let it happen on its own.”

“And how do we make sure that nothing too messy happens in our gigs?”

“I don’t know, let them fight it off if it happens,” Sungchan muttered after a long, quiet thought. He’s thought about the scenario one too many times, but he wasn’t one to stop the inevitable. “It’s good to let all that pent-up frustration out I guess…”

“You’re too nice, Sung.”

“I know, Geon. I know.”

“What?! Come again?!”

For Heeseung to call Beomgyu’s voice a scream was an understatement. If a dolphin were to learn to speak, it would sound better than Beomgyu whenever the topic surrounded you and your entire being. It was for this reason that Heeseung sometimes loathed the idea of coming home; he supposed the price of free rent came at a cost of living with the earthly incarnation of wrath.

“Gyu, I know you heard me the first time,” Heeseung said, attempting to cover his ears to no avail.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Hee. My ears are getting bad from hearing her name!” Beomgyu screamed again, fury visible in the twitches of his eyes.

“Jesus, you don’t have to shout at me… I’m just your messenger boy,”

“And I don’t need to hear about her! So what if she’s playing their songs? She’s probably gonna fuck it all up anyway…”

“Says the person who went to their gig two nights ago,”

In the same way Heeseung knew all the tricks and tactics to turn you into a red, fuming ball of anger, he also knew how to push all of Beomgyu’s buttons. Then again, it wasn’t that difficult to get Beomgyu angry, for Beomgyu was the type of person to get angry at a mere fly that happened to land on his shoulder. It was very easy to tick Beomgyu off, but only you had the power to get him into a continual period of rage that never ceased to disappear the moment he hears your name or catches a whiff of your scent. Heeseung wouldn’t compare Beomgyu’s so-called hatred towards you in a predator-prey dynamic—to him, both of you were blood-thirsty warlords that could never come to terms with a ceasefire to the detriment of the rest of the world.

“Hee, I swear, if you told her that—”

“Don’t worry, Gyu. I’m not a snitch.” Heeseung interrupted. “What I am, though, is a messenger boy, and if I’m being honest with you, I’m getting sick of my job. Just admit that you like her and I don’t know? Go fuck her or something,”

“Hee, I don’t like her. Let me correct myself: I will never like her. I like her band, not her.”

Beomgyu was an enigma in many, many ways, but what never failed to amuse Heeseung about his reluctant roommate was how hatred was stronger than attraction or any feelings of love. Beomgyu was the type of person to go through lovers like a page in a novel—fast, yet detailed, but never stuck on the same page for too long. And yet, when it came to you, he seemed to be an avid reader that ceaselessly consumed and repurposed every page of a novel, adding and subtracting everything that he could concentrate all of his energy on understanding the layers and complexities of a text revered by schools and institutions alike.

“All you talk about is how impeccable the mastering is on the drums whenever you listen to their SoundCloud…”

“So? I just happen to like how she plays. That’s not a testament to me liking her,”

“Why do you hate her so much, Gyu? I don’t think I’ve had the chance to properly ask,”

Heeseung never had the chance to ask Beomgyu out of fear, even when he was high. That was the one thing that never went away no matter what state he was in. To be fair, he had every right to be scared or fearful in any shape or form; he’s never seen a type of hatred as intense and raw as the one Beomgyu harbored over you.

“Because she exists, Hee. She exists.”

“Can’t you just let it go?”

“No, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Beomgyu took a deep breath. He hated that he always ran out of something so essential to life whenever you came up. “Because some dipshit keeps telling my parents that she’s basically beating me in everything! Her!”

“So…?” Heeseung replied, rolling his eyes at the underwhelming result of their rivalry. “Why can’t you just tell them to shut up and mind their own business?”

“I wish it was that easy, Hee. God, I wish. Every time they call me it’s like Oh that girl got number one again! Oh that girl’s president of the law society, why are you VP external? Beomgyu-yah, why can’t you be better?”

Another word about Choi Beomgyu: If it wasn’t as clear as day, then it would be helpful to explain it now. He was from a well-to-do family with no financial obligations or the threat of living a brooding, middle-class life chasing paycheck after paycheck to sustain the bare necessities in Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. With this in mind, Heeseung begins to paint a kaleidoscopic diagram of the various reasons why Beomgyu may be so hung up on always being number two against you. He closed his eyes, allowed the remaining traces of cannabis to set the cogs in his brain into motion, and came up with an epiphany that shook him to the core: Beomgyu was a bored, rich kid that needed something to keep him at his toes, and you were the very stimulant that he was looking for. Sure, it was, in a sense, an underwhelming conclusion, but Heeseung could only digress. He wasn’t born into a family that had it all, and he reckons that if he didn’t have to worry about his finances, he would end up being a bratty, bored student out for blood just like the very person that offered him a taste of wealth in a sky-high apartment.

“Yikes… Talk about Tiger King and Queen…”

“So yeah, it is personal.” Beomgyu spat. It would be rude to call the boy tone deaf—especially in his hot-headed state. Heeseung kept his mouth shut, something that he rarely did when he was inebriated in any form.

“You don’t have to tell them about her, you know?” He asked after finding the right words to say. Beomgyu rolled his eyes and huffed under his breath, his hands twitching to throw his phone off the balcony.

“I’m not! That’s the point! I’m not telling them about her! They’re just stalking me on their own!”

At this moment, Heeseung thought of trying his best to reconcile the bad blood between you and Beomgyu. Then again, he pondered—another thing he never seems to do. If he were to succeed in getting you and Beomgyu to set your respective differences aside, then he wouldn’t have his very own source of entertainment anymore. As much as he would’ve hated to admit, he always looked forward to getting high just to hear Beomgyu complain about you. What made it even funnier to him was how you were nothing like the devil that Beomgyu pictured. It wasn’t to say you were an angel that descended from the heavens, either. You were, in fairness, just an average university student that couldn’t—and shouldn’t—care less about a rich boy that endlessly yapped about you. Without Beomgyu in the picture, you were just a drummer that had to deal with another pair of noisy rivals that needed to go to some form of couple’s therapy.

“Hee, you don’t get it, do you?” Beomgyu suddenly spoke, breaking the short-lived silence that Heeseung tried to salvage.

“Afraid not.”

“I can’t get along with someone like her. I just can’t. She gets on my nerves, and I wish she didn’t exist!”

It was common for Heeseung to hear Beomgyu complain about his parents and his brother in the few months or so of him living with the boy. In fact, it was a routine for Heeseung to hear Beomgyu complain. That was what he was good at, and he was glad that he was putting his skills to good use by choosing the right program and career path. Now that Heeseung had the chance to picture it, Beomgyu would make a fine lawyer, incessantly nagging his way through each court case until the jury rules in his favor so he would shut up.

“Jesus, you rich kids are kind of an ick…” Heeseung whispered. He gave Beomgyu a quick wave and headed straight to the balcony, closing it to see his roommate flash him the middle finger. He returned it with a smile, and fished a lighter out of his jean pocket to light the stem of a dirty, unwashed bong that was filled with beer instead of water.

“You should be lucky I’m letting you live here for free,” Beomgyu mouthed through the glass windows just enough for Heeseung to see.

“Yeah, I guess hearing you pine about a fellow overachiever and trauma dump about your terrible childhood is better than paying for rent,” Heeseung replied, opening the door to let Beomgyu into the balcony. Beomgyu hated it whenever Heeseung would smoke. A part of it came from the stench that stuck to his hair and clothes despite three laundry loads in the washing machine, and another part came from his irrational fear of anything related to drugs—which was rather odd since he was the type of person who was pretty loose when it came to drinking copious amounts of alcohol at social gatherings.

“Hee, if I go to jail one day, you’ll probably be out of this earth to witness it.”

“Oh, I’m so scared!”

Heeseung tried his best to stifle a bout of laughter that began to accumulate in his lungs but to no avail. In an instant, he was a laughing mess with red-laced eyes, and all Beomgyu could do was cover his nose as the hooded boy continued to blow smoke on his face.

“Close the fucking door when you smoke, you’re hotboxing the entire apartment,” Beomgyu screamed, storming out of the balcony to close the glass windows shut. Before he could go back to his room, Heeseung stood up and opened the door again, letting the stench of weed laced with moldy beer enter the ventilation system.

“You should try it sometime, Gyu. It’d loosen the stick up your ass for sure,” Heeseung said with a languid touch to his cadence. Every word and movement he uttered was met with heavy restraint, and Beomgyu knew that Heeseung wasn’t on earth anymore.

“Are you coming?” Beomgyu asked. He knew there was nothing he could do to reason with someone that was properly baked.

“To what?” Heeseung responded, almost shattering the bong in his hands as he languidly danced back into the apartment.

“Joker In’s gig tonight,” Beomgyu said reluctantly—almost too quick for Heeseung to catch.��

“Gyu, I deliver their pizza like, every day. I don’t need to go there again unless they give me shrooms for free.”

“Whatever,”

Beomgyu stormed off into the bathroom to grab the essentials that he relied on for the perfect disguise: a disappearing can of Manic Panic hair dye in neon red, a pair of scissors and a bunch of razorblades that he used to tear his jeans and his tank tops, a pencil of kohl eyeliner that he stole from one of his first hookups during freshman year, and a near-empty bottle of black nail polish. Heeseung often joked about how his so-called “disguise” was just a blast from the MySpace, scene-girl past, but Beomgyu refuses to admit that his go-to look to your gigs was less-than-perfect. He’s snuck into your gigs since he saw you secretly put posters of a Valentine’s bash on every crevice of the law faculty; he was sure a couple more gigs couldn’t hurt before the inevitable occurs.

“You’re going alone?” Heeseung asked, waving at his reflection in the mirror while trying his best to stop himself from uncontrollably laughing.

“Yeah, why?”

“What if she sees you?”

“Have you seen her play? She only focuses on rubbing two sticks. I doubt she’d even notice me.” Beomgyu replied, sharpening his eyeliner. Heeseung knocked the bottle of nail polish and caught it, a wide grin of pride on his face as he carefully placed it back in its original position near the sink.

“See? You’re constantly horny for her,”

“I’m not, she’s ugly and she’s annoying,”

“And yet you’re going to her gig,”

“Man, shut the fuck up.” To Beomgyu’s surprise, this had become his way of saying goodbye to Heeseung whenever he would go to your band’s gig. He used to push Heeseung out of the bathroom so he could concentrate on applying eyeliner on his waterline, but he’s become desensitized to the stings that he would feel when he would accidentally poke his eyes. Sometimes, Heeseung was willing to help Beomgyu apply red dye to his hair, tracing the lines of his tattoos around his arms and calling them crude shapes such as dick nozzle or pee pee stains. Whether he liked it or not, it had unfortunately become a ritual to have Heeseung with him when he was going through his transformation, and now, he was afraid that Heeseung’s absence wouldn’t give him the push and comfort he needed to go through with his covert operation to see you play the drums.

“I’m calling out to you, I wish I could hide,

Oh, no one loves me tonight

It’s just my demons and I,”

This was supposedly the hundredth time that Beomgyu had seen Geonu sing, but he could never learn from his mistakes. Alcohol, nicotine, and Geonu’s voice seemed to give Beomgyu the worst cross-faded experience of his life. Contrary to what others might believe, Beomgyu felt like this during all of Joker In’s gigs because Geonu was too good at his job. His voice had an enchanting quality to it that made Beomgyu’s walls collapse into putty, turning the decrepit paint-job of the basement into one, giant quicksand that continually pulled Beomgyu in. It didn’t help that the rest of the band amplified Geonu’s hypnotic timbre; Sungchan’s guitar acted as a second voice that harmoniously meshed with the mystic melodies that left Beomgyu in a trance-like reverie; Jeongin’s bass didn’t act as a stabilizer with its own heavy renditions of weightless bliss—and, of course, you.

Suspension of disbelief was something that Beomgyu thought he could never accomplish, and yet, the moment you started to strike each tom with your drum stick, he knew that everything in his life didn’t matter to him anymore. He supposes it was the power of music, but he also hatefully admits that your skills carried an unbreakable spell with each note you hit. Rhythm wasn’t even something he particularly enjoyed, seeing as most of the music he listened to was melodic and lyrical in nature. It was only when you took the seat to the drum kit that he was finally able to stand close to the speakers, in the very corner he saved for himself, just to see your tireless figure effortlessly match the energy of the rest of the band. He didn’t know what it was that made him nearly obsessed with the way you played: What it the nonchalance you brought to the stage? Or was it the fills you’d add here and there whenever there was an instrumental break? Was it perhaps the almost-melodic nature of your playing that aroused not just him, but everyone in the room into a mosh-pit frenzy? Maybe it was the way you looked when you played—but he wasn’t drunk enough just yet to admit something so… raunchy.

The walls started to fade one by one, and the group of people that crowded all corners of the basement slowly blended together into various forms and colors. The neon, old gray test lights that dyed the room in a diverse spectrum of colors swirled into one, hazy, hypnotic vision that almost made Beomgyu nauseous. Geonu’s voice began disappearing into thin air, and all he could hear was the muffled bass drum that you kicked with patterned intervals.

This was out of the norm, and Beomgyu’s recklessness amplified into tenfolds of fear. He couldn’t feel the sensations of his skin anymore; his eyes continued to swirl into an amalgamation of colors and people that looked like blurry amoebas; time seemed difficult to track as everything was moving too fast and slow for him to ground himself; each body he bumped into felt like he was getting crushed under its weight; Beomgyu couldn’t breathe; Beomgyu couldn’t see anything anymore; the only thing that Beomgyu could hear was an all too familiar voice that he wasn’t sure he hated or loved.

“Hey, you alright?”

When Beomgyu opened his eyes, he was outside the concert venue, crouched down on the same levels of the tall grass that tickled his face. His cheeks felt cold to the touch, almost as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice water on him. He felt through his hair and tried to contain the fear that embraced his body, locked in a state of panic at the sight of bright red staining his palms. It took a while for him to realize that it was just the temporary dye that he’d placed on his hair, but the apprehension and trepidation came to haunt him again when he looked up to see your concerned, glassy eyes.

“You don’t look too good,” You repeated, kneeling down to his level as you lit a cigarette and blew the smoke against his direction. There were several empty water bottles next to you, coupled with an entire cooler filled with soft drinks, fruit juice, and whatever Beomgyu could see in the dimly lit outdoors of the outskirts of town.

“No, I’m fine.” He breathlessly replied, staring down at the soles of his scuffed, leather combat boots. There was no way he could look up now. He could tell that you weren’t convinced; your chuckles made the pits of his stomach dance with the bile that was piling up in the organ. You took a water bottle and gently held his face in the soft surface of your palms, letting the liquid slowly refresh the corners of Beomgyu’s mouth. The haziness that he felt in his vision slowly dispersed into clarity—which worsened the nausea that overwhelmed Beomgyu in waves. It was the first time he got this close to you without wanting to rip your head off. He didn’t know how he felt about it, but the remnants of alcohol that swirled throughout his bloodstream made his cheeks flush in a bright shade of red. He quickly took the water bottle away from you, drowning himself in its cool temperature. Maybe that way, he would wake up and remind himself that you shouldn’t be a friend.

The cool winds of the summer night grazed his cheeks in a tender embrace as he tried his best to keep his head down. He relentlessly prayed that the dimness of the venue’s entrance would hide his worst-kept features from you, fearing for the worst. Ever since his first visit to your band’s gig, he’s never felt something so close to a palpable sense of freedom—a euphoric high that gave him the taste of being a carefree young adult caught up in the fast times of rock music and decadence. He’s thought about making amends just to keep his little, secret sanctuary intact, but his stubborn pride wouldn’t allow him to yield to someone like you. Now that he was sober enough to think about it, he found the irony behind you embodying both his shackles to parental approval and a one-way ticket to liberation quite laughably fascinating. During the day, you were the very picture of something his parents wished he could be, and during the night, you had all the qualities of becoming a musician he idolized. He cursed fate under his breath, wishing that you weren’t blessed with the gifts of intelligence and innate leadership skills. He refused to admit it, but in another life where all you were to him was a drummer in his favorite band, he would’ve given you the benefit of the doubt and let you into his life.

He was reminded of your presence when you hovered a thin, white stick in front of him that glowed within the vast darkness of the night sky. He politely refused, shaking his head as a way to tell you that he didn’t smoke. You stifled a bout of laughter and tucked the cigarette back into its flimsy, dilapidated box, taking a languid seat next to the boy that you decided to take care of without realizing that he was the main source of your misery in your school life.

“What was the last song that you guys performed? I think I missed it because I blacked out or something,” Beomgyu asked with slight hesitance.

“A new version of Vem Da Greš that Geonu translated a few days ago,” You replied, humming the tune to the song that he wished he saw you play live. Something inside of him was telling him that he shouldn’t stay here any longer, so he got up and stretched his arms and legs, callously calculating his angles so you wouldn’t see a single hint of his face. He reveled in your denseness but despised your natural amiability. Once you got up and mimicked his stretches, he turned his head back and stuffed his hand in his jean pocket, fishing for his keys as he mustered a small goodbye in your direction.

“Are you sure you can go home alone?” You asked. “I can drop you off at the bus stop or something, since this place is pretty far out from the nearest city,”

A part of Beomgyu knew that the city lights would reveal his identity, but another part of him also knew how stubborn you can be. Even if he were to tell you that he was fine, and that he’s been known to rely on drunk navigation a lot, he was sure you would ceaselessly insist on taking him home. That was another thing he hated about you—you were too nice, too caring, and too kind to be his rival.

“I’ll be fine,” Beomgyu replied, trying his best to change the tone and cadence of his usual voice. As expected, your cackles echoed across the large stretches of grass and greeneries that surrounded the abandoned house that your band inherited, and you slowly walked closer to his side to poke his shoulders.

“You were literally wobbling around the basement, and if it weren’t for a nice group of girls that nursed you back to health at the sofa, you wouldn’t be here standing up to go home,”

Beomgyu covertly checked the time on his phone, afraid that the phone case filled with his cards and IDs would give his identity away. The time read 03:46 A.M., and he heaved a long, drawn-out sigh. He should’ve called Heeseung a little earlier to pick him up before he got absolutely wasted. In fairness, he could just call an Uber and hitch a ride home, but the transaction would raise another round of suspicion for his parents. He already had enough to worry about when he turned off his location and lied about going on weekly hiking trips with his friends, and he didn’t want to subject himself to another endless lecture and the threat of heightened surveillance from his parents.

“Fine,”

You jogged back to the venue and quickly came out with several water bottles in your small backpack, tossing one in Beomgyu’s direction. It was already bad enough for him that you out of all people saved him from his drunken downfall. The last thing he needed to end his night was to go on a long walk back into the city with someone he was supposed to hate.

“So, where do you live, if I may ask?”

Beomgyu pondered. He didn’t have to tell you his exact address. “Around Mapo-gu, near Mapo station.”

“Oh?”

He didn’t like the lack of response on your end. A low, vibrating hum escaped your lips, and you snapped your fingers as your mouth widened in amusement. “That’s where my friend lives! I can ask him to pick you up once we get there!”

You quickly took your phone out of your pocket and held it in your ear, too quick for Beomgyu to protest and stop you from doing so. Now, he was sure it was all over. The moment he heard the receiver pick up, he braced himself for what was to come.

“Hee, are you awake right now?” You asked, impatiently tapping your foot on the concrete roads that led to the only bus stop in sight—a shadowy silhouette of a thin, metal pipe with a flat circle that read Supsok Village Complex 2. He took a quick glance at your fretful stance, fidgeting with the straps of your phone’s drum keychain while fiddling with the pair of sticks that were lodged under the straps of your loose, billowy joggers. A satisfied hum huffed out of his breathless mouth when he saw you irately throw your phone inside your backpack. Even if Heeseung didn’t pick him up from the venue tonight, he knew that he could always rely on his copious cannabis routine to fall into a deep, unyielding sleep around this hour.

“I’m sorry, my friend’s a bit of a pothead so he’s probably knocked out cold or something,” You apologetically muttered. I would know, he’s my fucking roommate, Beomgyu thought to himself, returning your regretful sentiment with the only form of forgiveness he was willing to give you. Now, it was just the two of you, and Beomgyu had no clue if he should take the long, arduous hike back to his apartment or be thankful enough for your clumsy attempts at assisting him back to his domicile. The fact that he leaned towards succumbing to your aid made him realize that he wasn’t as good with alcohol as he would’ve liked—and now, he was sitting right next to you, eyes glued on his warped reflection in the glass windows as he watched you idly fidget in your seat. He was more than willing to suffer through the entire bus ride to his area of town in awkward silence, but judging from the way you tapped your feet and snuck quick glances between his brows and the tip of his nose, he knew that there was no escaping your desires for a tangible conversation.

“So… did you enjoy the show?” You asked after passing through six different bus stops. Beomgyu played with the loose hems of his tattered tank top, letting the seams go undone. He didn’t expect you to take your hoodie off in one motion, tossing it to the side of his neck as you quickly looked away. He tried his best to etch the rare shyness he saw written on your curved, cat-like spine; this was definitely something he’ll be bullying you for tomorrow.

Was he at fault for catching you in your most vulnerable state? No. You were just too dense to realize that the handsome, messy, rocked-out, drunk stranger right next to you was the very bane of your existence.

Beomgyu’s glory was short-lived, though. Now, he had to make the move. He remembered what his brother had taught him back in middle school, when Beomgyu was still struggling through incessant voice cracks and embarrassing one-liners that he’d religiously recite to get the girl of his then-dreams to bat a single eyelash in his direction. Step one, take a deep breath—because oxygen is the key to looking good, apparently. Step two, expand the diaphragm to fill the ribcage and beyond. It provided the facade of chest muscles. Step three, turn the chin low enough so the vocal cords could only register low notes—he didn’t know the science behind it, but he found that doing these three steps immensely lowered his already low, baritone voice into unknown depths (Beomgyu would like to add that he would never do this sober. It took courage for him to fall for his brother’s tricks, and he was only ever so courageous when he was drowned in eighteen glasses of tequila sunrise).

“Y-yeah, you guys did great as always,” Did it work?

No, it didn’t. The timid shyness in your slouched stature was gone, replaced with your best attempts at keeping your laughter within the confines of your throat. He couldn’t tell if you were choking on air, stifling your dinner and pushing it back into your stomach, or suffering through an intense, sharp pain in your abdomen. All he knew at the moment was that the tension that was once present in the air instantly dispelled into the flowery picture of two young adults failing to hold their laughter back in the empty seats of the night bus. It was certainly an odd experience for Beomgyu to not just share a ride home with someone he would very much murder in the confines of an empty, night bus, but he couldn’t deny how right things felt at the moment. Within the dim, flickering fluorescent lights of the shaky bus, all he could see was another universe through the reflections of the glass windows—a universe where he met you under different circumstances. A different reality where he would take you home and house you in his apartment, watching sad movies in his bedroom until the first sunrise.

Are you more of an action person, or comedy? My favorite genre is melodrama, he wanted to say. Maybe in his “new” identity as a faux washed-up youth in leather combat boots and ripped jeans, he might have some leeway into managing his double life. Tirelessly hating you for three years straight certainly added tired him out, so perhaps it would be a new thing to try

“Ah, a repeater,”

“That’s… odd? I don’t see you around a lot, though,” You replied. It was often common for your band to track and befriend those that constantly attend your shows—then again, you weren’t the best judge of that. Each gig always ended in

“That’s because I don’t stick around after the encore. I just leave once the song is done,” Beomgyu replied, trying his best to alter the tone in his voice. He couldn’t tell if you were just extremely tired or if you had too much to drink, but the deep swirls of colors under your lids was enough for him to feel a sense of security in his identity being under wraps. Just like the milkiness of the dark skies that danced with several shades of navy, you swayed back and forth with the motions of the car, heavy lids slowly going in and out of sleep as you tried your best to stifle a yawn and pay attention to your somewhat new companion. The driver announced the last stop, acting as an alarm for you to slap yourself in the face and hop off your seat.

To be fair, both of you were in an equal state of fatigue and inebriation. Beomgyu was waddling as he tried to balance himself on the railings of the exit door, and you placed your weary palm on the semi-wet surface of the bus, momentarily taking it away after the driver had angrily beeped at you until you did so. Once the bus zoomed away, you felt a wave of nausea hit you—at first, it began at the back of your stomach, then, it slowly climbed its way up until you were hunched over at the nearest sewer, coughing out everything that was supposed to fuel you for a one-hour set. Beomgyu turned away and reluctantly placed gentle pats on the small of your back, hiding his face from the city lights that threatened to blow his cover off.

“My apartment is this way,” He muttered. You nodded after a few rounds of coughing, then doused yourself with the last water bottle that was inside your backpack.

“Mine’s on the other end of the street,” You replied, wiping your mouth with your jacket and quickly waving off his concerns with a tired grin. He couldn’t imagine the toll it took on you, or any musician for that matter, to play intense, fast-paced songs back to back without any rest, but perhaps that type of stamina was what it took to become a professional of sorts. Maybe that was also why you were such a feisty fighter, because you needed the energy to carry yourself throughout the day.

“See you around?” You asked. He didn’t turn to look at you. He simply stood still, lowering his head until all he saw were the messy, beer-stained surface of the degrading leather in his combat boots. He gave you a quick nod, then stuffed his sweat-ridden hands in his jean pockets. Somehow, he could still feel your presence lurking around, waiting idly until he entered the apartment. It wasn’t until he was within the comforts of his building, swiftly jogging up to the elevator, that you began to walk away. Through the large, glass windows of the apartment building, you were but a mere ant, eyes lingering on the path he took as if it were a complex maze. He could see you taking quick glances between your road and his, a satisfied smile on your face as soon as you confirmed that he was, indeed, safely home. That was another thing he hated about you. There was no need for you to have gone that far to make sure a stranger from your gig got home without getting mugged.

He didn’t need to be cautious when he opened the door to his apartment. Heeseung was already fast asleep on the sofa, strewn with empty bags of potato chips and bags of Starbucks takeout that he probably went out to get once Beomgyu had left to go to Joker In’s show. In his current state, it was practically impossible for him to get up and pick Beomgyu up. Beomgyu was pretty much used to ending his night with the role of a babysitter, but now, he didn’t feel like he had the energy to keep up with his routine. Heeseung could probably manage fine on his own, and Beomgyu desperately needed a cold shower to refresh his head at the unexpected encounter. God, she’s so fucking dense, Beomgyu thought, smiling to himself as he plopped his body on the warm, soft surface of his duvet. The shower will have to wait until the morning, and until then, he didn’t mind the extra load of laundry that came with massive spots of red dye on his pillowcases.

II. VOTE NO.24 ON EUROVISION! GO SLOVENIA!

To your luck, Geonu didn’t announce a practice session today. Normally, the band was privy to five hours of practice every single day—including the weekends. A part of it came from Geonu’s penchant for perfection, but another came from the growing bond that the band had developed over time. While Geonu and Sungchan didn’t necessarily need more time together, the daily sessions helped the entire band get to know each other and experiment with compatibility in the most esoteric way possible. In your first sleepover with the band at the eerie, decrepit basement (Heeseung would call it a horror movie set), you were able to call Jeongin a friend after he gently sat you through one of your first acid trips, gripping your hands tight as you endlessly cried about the visions and voices that still manage to chain themselves in your nightmares to this day. Another thing you learned about Jeongin that day was that he had a problem with mushrooms during high school, only quitting in his second year after an intervention that led him spiraling into a near-death experience of impulsively taking his car out in the middle of the night. You didn’t ask him for the specifics, nor did you mention that you were surprised that someone like him had gone through rehab, but you learned that Jeongin had trusted you with his story.

“Believe it or not, but Eurovision was what got me through that entire ordeal,” You remembered Jeongin telling you at some point. He was confined in a psychiatric ward for nearly a month, his schedule and time dictated through therapy sessions, group activities, and worksheets that he haphazardly filled. He also told you that time passed differently when one was locked inside the same, white walls every day, and so the only time started to move for him was when the person next to him invited him to watch several Eurovision performances in preparation for the finals in Rotterdam two years ago.

“I knew nothing about Europe then, but the guy next to me was married to a Swedish woman for a decade before she passed. They made it a routine to watch Eurovision every year, and he still tries his best to keep up with it even when she’s gone.”

You expected him to mention Maneskin as the band that got him through his slump, but Jeongin was a man full of surprises. For someone with beady, glassy eyes and a geekish demeanor, you didn’t think that Finland’s Blind Channel would be the one that would get him out of the institution.

“I mean this sounds like an edgy fourteen-year-old’s confession on an anonymous forum, but man, I’ve never really seen a band like that go so hard on live television, you know? Every time I see crazy antics or bands that had the same energy as Rage Against the Machine, it was always in the 90s or the early 2000s, when things weren’t too radio-friendly. And it wasn’t just them being hardcore like that, but it was how down-to-earth they all were—almost like they really loved what they were doing.”

Jeongin didn’t tell you why he started taking mushrooms or what led to him getting institutionalized in the first place, but it was enough for you to know that what you once perceived as an odd affinity for Eurovision was to him, an important getaway that cemented him back into the ground. Since then, the topic of Eurovision had become a daily part of your life—and now that the 2023 semi-finals were coming, Jeongin and the rest of the band had been keeping tabs on the latest culmination of the contest. In your downtime, Sungchan would update the Discord server with his ever-evolving tier list of entries, and Geonu would log on just to argue and contest Sungchan’s opinions. Of course, both would know their places once Jeongin would enter the conversation, but nonetheless, it came to a point where your days would feel empty without someone mentioning anything Eurovision related.

There was Eurovision, and then, there was Beomgyu.

Oddly enough, your days also felt incomplete without Beomgyu. Ever since you made the bold mistake of scheduling the same office hours as Beomgyu, the two of you had been in a constant stalemate of academic excellence. For you, it wasn’t necessarily the fact that you needed to prove something; you initially enjoyed seeing someone get so riled up and bothered at the fact that you were always better in everything you did. In a sense, your goals, ambitions, and fortitude didn’t come from a place of parental pressure or identity-building—you had to be on top of your game to the detriment of your well-being. While Beomgyu may have seen it as a competition, you saw it as a zero-sum game. To you, your entire livelihood basically depended on being the best at whatever, whenever, and wherever—excluding your role as a drummer in Joker In.

“Good morning, dipshit,” An all too familiar voice rang in your ears. You didn’t need to turn your head around to see who took the spot next to you in the vast lecture hall. Keeping your head to the busy tabs on your laptop, you heaved a sigh of both relief and exhaustion. Despite the absence of practice, you still had another part of your daily routine in check.

“What the fuck do you want, Gyu,” You coldly spat, knowing that the response you were going to get had to do with your gigs last night.

To the surprise of many—yourself included—your persona as the drummer of Joker In had been one of your best-kept secrets. Sure, being in a band was something most college kids got to experience, and student musicians were a common phenomenon across all facets of campus life. You nonetheless kept those two aspects of yourself as separate as possible, creating a clear divide that made sure none of those parts of your world intertwined and meshed together in any way. The law society didn’t need to know about the nightly debauchery you involved yourself in within the confines of the basement; those were stories that you kept to yourself to your grave—a musical pandora’s box that was meant to stay a secret.

“Heard through the grapevine that Little Miss Perfect got shitfaced last night,”

This time, you closed your laptop and snapped your head towards Beomgyu. Heeseung was terrible at keeping his mouth shut, but he wasn’t there to bear witness to the copious amounts of alcohol and weed that muddled your body that night. In a flurry of panic, you did your best to remember everyone that was present at the gig, scouring through the entirety of emails on Eventbrite that signed up for a ticket or two.

“And?”

Then again, what consequence would you get if you got caught? It wasn’t like the Law Society could strip you of your position; you were single-handedly the only president of the contemporary generation that managed to revive the organization from near death. If you told any of your professors about your musical ventures, you doubt they would look at you differently. In fact, they might even check out your gig or look up Joker In’s several sites across the internet, either becoming a fan of the band or not. Truthfully, there was no certain risk that threatened your current position and reputation on campus as the face of the Faculty of Law. The only thing that mattered to you was the unpleasant nature of combining your professional life with one that you exclusively created to escape the shackles of boundless perfectionism and tireless efforts to maintain all that you had built.

“That’s not a good look for the law society,” He grinned, perching his chin on his palm as he flipped through his notes. You did the same, clearing your throat as soon as the ten-minute mark on the digital clock succumbed all students into a quiet, dreary dread of a two-hour lecture.

“Last time I recall, you’re the one seen at a super sketchy rave last summer,” You whispered, keeping your head low enough so the professor couldn’t see you. “If you’re ratting me out for my band, then I’m ratting you out for doing lines with Heeseung at the Seoul Jazz Festival,”

“I only did one line, mind you,”

Another odd occurrence between you and Beomgyu’s rivalry was how both of you had accumulated so much dirt on each other, that it was practically impossible to call everything a truce. For the past three years, each intense battle between grades, essays, and projects was met with threats of outing the other for reckless behavior. Whenever Beomgyu would bring up your period of weed addiction in first year, you would rebut with some of his worst speeding incidents. If he were to draft an email to the program coordinator about your experiments with DMT when you just began your friendship with Geonu, then you were ready to send pictures of him doing lines with his rich friends at a yacht in Mykonos. Three years of constant rivalry also meant constant surveillance, and now that the two of you had reached the finish line to your respective degrees, the tension and threat of total exposure increased tenfold.

“A line’s a line,” Beomgyu silently spat through gritted teeth. “I’d never do coke, so you should be thankful I’m not kicking you out as president,”

“Fuck you,”

“I wouldn’t.”

“I’m lucky, then.”

“That’s the only luck god’s gonna give you, Gyu.”

Three years of unyielding pride and egoism also meant that the two of you knew when to stop arguing. Even if most of the people around you saw you and Beomgyu as a pair that didn’t know when enough was enough, there were certain limits that introduced a silent armistice in the war that Beomgyu had waged on you. For one, if fights were to occur before a lecture began, both of you were willing to swallow your feelings of pride and pay attention, ushering the competition elsewhere in the form of aggressive keyboard smashing and who could raise better questions to the professor. This was one of those instances, and as always, you left the lecture hall as the main victor, even being called after class to discuss the prospects of constitutional reform with the professor. Beomgyu simply stood to the side instead of leaving—another trait about him that you grew too accustomed to. Every single time you were either called after classes to discuss further questions or network with the professors, Beomgyu would always be behind you, scanning through every nook and cranny to seize any opportunity to either sabotage your efforts or present himself as the more eloquent and intelligent version between the two of you. Usually, professors didn’t mind this type of engagement—in fact, many academics would thrive in an environment where their students would actively contest and participate in the discourse surrounding topics that interest them the most. However, between you and Beomgyu, this would be a strenuous experience for any professor that was unlucky enough to be caught in your competitive mess.

Luckily, in every case, Heeseung would always be the savior, dragging the two of you out of the lecture hall in the nick of time.

“You two should just make out already,” He would often say while muttering strings of apologies to the meek, slouched professors that would hastily grab their bags and rush back into the comforts of their own offices. Albeit humiliating at first, you were now too accustomed to the lanky, tall, and especially inebriated man taking both you and Beomgyu’s collars throughout the ends of the campus, only momentarily seating both of you at the edge of the cafeteria to either laugh or complain.

“That’s giving him too much luck, Hee,” You bitterly retorted, giving Beomgyu the middle finger as a late greeting.

“She’s privileged enough to be a rich private school nerd who sucks people’s dick on LinkedIn. I can’t give her too much action,”

“You’re the nepo baby, Gyu! Last time I recall, you got in because of your brother’s recommendation letter,”

Talks about Beomgyu’s brother were what always riled him up the most—of course, second to talks about you.

Here’s the thing about Choi Seungchol: Though he wasn’t in the Faculty of Law, he was a memorable student that continues to be the face of the Faculty of Medicine. An accomplished oncologist with a prestigious tenureship at John Hopkins, he was one of the few Korean medical students who were able to break the difficult threshold of Western-dominated academia, proving himself with his tenacity, wit, and ever-expanding knowledge of cancer research. From the young age of seventeen, he had already graduated high school and shortened his study as an undergrad, dedicating his entire life to an ambitious—but certainly commendable—dream of finding an affordable, accessible, and efficient cure for cancer. Coupled with a look that was universally easy on the eyes, having a brother like Seungchol would have definitely sparked a deep-seated inferiority complex in anyone who had the displeasure of being his younger sibling.

Tit-for-tat seemed to be the game that you and Beomgyu often engaged in, and if his kryptonite was his brother, then yours would be the long line of lawyers that you descended from.

Unlike Beomgyu, who chose to study law out of an intense desire to separate his identity from his brother, you treaded onto the same path that marred your family name with generational pride. Sure, it wasn’t to say you wanted to become a lawyer, but rather, you wanted to become the best lawyer out of your family. Rich people had a different set of issues that they needed to face—a constant, mental battle that cut all ties between blood and family. In your family, there was no such thing as a maternal or paternal bond; every one that bore your name was wrought with the constant pressures of living up to it. Each generation was always compared to the last, and each brought the troubles of the past to the realities of the present. All the woes, infighting, and distasteful pride have unfortunately been a product of an entire familial generation that fought hard to keep its legacy intact—and for you, that meant your ticket to leave all of that behind was outdoing the family altogether, reigning supreme in the lifelong struggle of succession.

With you, your family wasn’t family anymore—they were stepping stones. A key to success and freedom that can only grant liberation once you did everything to prove yourself.

In a sense, all rich families were Darwinian. The Chois were a household name in medicine, and yours happened to dominate the legal system. One wanted to break free by independently taking another route in life, while the other aimed to destroy an old empire from within. To those that didn’t have the taste of prestige or the amount of free time to comprehend the psychological detriment of wealth, it was a simple case of money bringing too many unnecessary problems. Why worry about such minute issues like reputation and status when your windows didn’t work?

To you and Beomgyu though, things were different. Too different, in fact. When both your lives were mapped out to success and filling in the shoes of the past, it was inevitable that you would define yourselves and your actions around your family’s troubles. Something as simple as joining a band would cause immediate ruin to the decades of perfecting your role as the ideal candidate to take over your family’s law firm.

What Beomgyu didn’t know, and what you kept as an even deeper secret than your nights of musical debauchery in the basement, was that you were a bastard—the only child to a second, hidden marriage that broiled your entire family’s law firm in a mess that led to buying out several news outlets and tabloids who eventually took the money to erase all evidence regarding the scandal. You were paraded as the legitimate daughter of your family, and every single facet of your life had been broadcasted to the public since. From bagging first place in an essay-writing contest as a child to constantly making headlines as one of the best debaters in each high school debate competition, you had maintained the aura and image of a perfect successor. And now, all your accomplishments throughout university had been scantily advertised in university newspapers, online gossip forums, and local magazines—from your events in the law society, the talks you’d organize and give in legal seminars, down to the minuscule acts of charity you would do with the Cold Case Foundation. All of your life was documented for the world to see, prepping you up so the family could contain its skeletons within the safety of its closets.

This was why you couldn’t contain the hatred and anger you’d managed to keep to yourself for so long when Beomgyu would bring your family into the conversation. An inferiority complex paled in comparison to a family secret that threatened to bring the mighty walls of your family’s empire down to the ground with a single slip-up.

“News flash: I’m not the one who comes from an entire family that practices law,”

Ah, there it was. You stood up from your seat like always, never looking back as you stomped out of the cafeteria in blood-curdling, fuming anger. It was natural for Beomgyu to assume that you had an uncontrollable temper—after all, to him, you were a figure of contempt. Someone who was lucky enough to be born into a profession that he took up just to escape his lack of medical skills and affinity for science and mathematics.

“Jesus Christ, she’s so entitled,”

“Not cool, dude. Not cool,” Sungchan suddenly appeared as he always does, carrying a carton of coffee milk and sipping its sweet contents into his throat. Heeseung never really understood why Sungchan would always come to defend you whenever it came to any mentions of your family, but he chalked it up to the behavior of a secret admirer. Spending time together every day in the basement and playing in a band is a great way to get to know a person, and an even better chance to fall in love. If that were the case, then Heeseung certainly felt bad for the guitarist. Although you were already perceived as a picture of admiration, awe, and intimidation from afar, nobody truly knew how cutthroat and blunt you were behind the sheer curtains of model excellence. Heeseung was one of the few that bore witness to how ruthless you can be, and if it were him, he would thwart all chances of attempting to woo you. If Beomgyu was already enough of a testament to your mercilessness, then it was the strict, iron command you had at the law society that made you a less-than-ideal lover in bed and beyond.

“So I’m the bad guy for bringing up her family,”

“To be fair, she was the one who brought it up first…”

“Thank you, Heeseung!” Beomgyu exclaimed. Sungchan rolled his eyes and tossed the carton of coffee milk; a perfect shot right into the plastic opening of the bin. Heeseung watched with envy, lamenting at his failed basketball career. If only he had been taller, then maybe he might’ve had the chance to skip college altogether and fly to the US to sign a contract with the NBA. He’s always wondered why Sungchan didn’t opt for basketball as a sport, playing for the university’s varsity baseball team instead. He had the height and build to quickly gain ranks as a star player, and he certainly had the agility and aim to entrench himself as one of Korea’s best three-point shooters. Whenever Sungchan would look in Heeseung’s direction, the sense of being tinier than an ant in the entire universe maximized tenfold. It wasn’t just Sungchan’s height, but his general aloofness coupled with his nonchalance made everyone feel small under his presence.

Sungchan raised his hand at Heeseung, waving goodbye once a mutual high five was sealed and locked—a pact of honest brotherhood, as one might say. He mustered a quick, awkward bow in Beomgyu’s direction and ran off the same way you treaded, ignoring the pair’s curious gaze as he scoured through the maze of crowded young adults and intertwined hallways to catch you in your usual spot.

Beomgyu trailed Sungchan’s tall frame, watching his forehead graze the entry of the cafeteria. He huffed a sigh and grabbed his backpack, slinging it on his shoulder while knitting his eyebrows in frustration.

“Gyu, you’re not red anymore. You’re green,” Heeseung joked. Before Beomgyu could land a clean, painful hit on Heeseung’s neck, the boy quickly waved and ran past the swarm of students that crowded the hallways, waving his dab pen in the air as a quick sign of surrender. Beomgyu rolled his eyes and stared in the direction that Sungchan treaded, wondering if he should follow along.

Then again, what was it to him? Why was he so angry over something that didn’t even concern him in the first place? You were the one who brought his brother up constantly, so it would only be right for him to hit you where it hurt the most. He didn’t know much about you, but an aching, swelling pang of guilt began rising up in the form of acidic bile, swirling like rough tides in his stomach until a bout of nausea overwhelmed his entire body. Why the fuck do I care? She’s the one who started it all, Beomgyu thought. He gave the hallway that led to the Law Society’s office one, last glance, completely turning his back in the other direction. He had another lecture to catch; he shouldn’t be worried about you.

Once he found your figure crouched under the table of the Law Society’s main office, he knelt to your height, placing a firm hand on your shoulder. You swatted it away with faux bravery, rigorously wiping the soft tears that marred the apples of your cheeks.

“Hey,” He greeted.

“Leave me alone,”

“I can’t,” Sungchan laughed under his breath. “I’m witnessing you cry like a baby for the first time,”

“Shut up, Sung.”

For Sungchan, striking a friendship with you was unexpected. He’d at least expected himself to be on good terms with Jeongin before even attempting an acquaintanceship with you. When he initially met you, he had to admit that you were a deplorable person of sorts. You carried an air of superiority wherever you went, treated everyone like they were below you, and you always had a ruthless, competitive streak that turned everything sour with a single blink of an eye. From the moment he laid eyes on you, he was sure that he was going to tell Geonu to look for another guitarist.

“I can’t work with her,” He confided right after he heard you play the drums in a mock-up audition for a new recruit. “She’s… bitchy.”

“Sung, she’s a professional,” Geonu would often retort, ignoring Sungchan’s complaints about his own strict standard of musical perfection. “I’ve never seen anyone play with so much dedication and tenacity. If only you took this shit more seriously, then I think you can learn to put those feelings aside and actually play the way I want you to.”

For a while, Sungchan did his best to avoid you. Every time you would ask him to play with you so you could synchronize your playing style with his, he would politely decline, opting to send you recordings of his guitar practices from home or outright pretending he didn’t hear you. Granted, he anticipated that you were the type to not let passive-aggression go. One thing he knows about all law majors was their argumentative streak—to him, that was the reason why so many of the people enrolled in that program were born under the star of Aries. Hot-headed, independent, and defensive—those were all the characteristics that aligned with Aries Suns and anyone practicing the legal field.

It wasn’t until he got too drunk to stand that he experienced your rare displays of kindness. Though it was common courtesy to take care of drunk people at parties, you and Geonu were the only ones who actively checked up on him, closing the door to one of the rooms that became his personal infirmary while constantly feeding him water and a few, light snacks. Whenever he felt like throwing up and Geonu was unavailable, it was you who took him straight to the bathroom, lifting his head of hair as he lurched out his organs into the once pristine, white ceramics of a toilet bowl. Instead of asking him why he hated you, you simply kept your mouth shut, actively giving gentle massages on the crook of his neck and on the small of his back, gently feeding him more water in timed intervals as he continued to hurl and belch in the tiny, squared space of someone’s bathroom.

“Aren’t you gonna ask me why I don’t like you?” He asked, completely aware of his slurred words. You laughed and pretended you didn’t hear him—the exact same way he behaved whenever you would ask him to practice some of Joker In’s parts with you.

Perhaps he had too much to drink, or perhaps he just felt safe in the small, cramped, yet cozy spaces of the bathroom, but the first thing he told you—sans re-introductions—was the fact that he wasn’t sure if he was attracted to Geonu or not. In what felt like hours of him trying his best to keep his voice down amidst the blaring, muted, and bass-booted music that streamed into the tiny cracks of the wooden door, he sobered up in a crying fit, watching your figure transform from blurry blobs of wooziness into swirling, tear-soaked waves that made you look like you were submerged into an ocean of his woes and worries. He admired your silence; he admired the small smile that you gave him throughout his entire episode; he admired the way you screamed at whoever was banging at the front door to fuck off; he admired how head-strong and confident you were, even if he knew that you didn’t return those qualities to yourself.

From that day on, there was a mutual, unspoken pact that formed into a true, life-long bond between you and Sungchan. Whenever Geonu or Jeongin would ask him why he suddenly changed his mind, he would simply shrug, mimicking the same silence you gave him when he spilled his entire emotional journey of sexual discovery inside that holy bathroom. You did the same, giving subtle looks of confusion or outright denying the bad blood between you and Sungchan. The two eventually suppressed their qualms about Sungchan’s drastic shift, nodding in reluctant agreeability that this had to happen eventually for the band to continue.

“Anyway, I’m pretty sure Beomgyu didn’t mean it,”

“To be fair, I brought it up first. I got what I deserved,” You whispered, careful eyes scanning through random bystanders through the small creak of the agape, wooden door in front of you. Sungchan stood up to close it, but you grabbed the hem of his sweater, begging him to stay.

“Shh, don’t say that to yourself,” He replied, humming lowly to himself. “I think this is the point where you realize you should probably just get over it all. I mean, it’s been three whole years. Shouldn’t you just get over it and be the bigger person?”

Sungchan’s words hit you like a knife that slashed and hacked at an open wound. Each pause of silence brought another ounce of pain in your chest, and you couldn’t pinpoint if those feelings were a guilty conscience or another byproduct of your massive pride. You hated it when others were right, and you hated it even more that you continued to do the wrong thing despite knowing you could just ignore Beomgyu and get on with your day. Certainly, if you had kept things at light insults three years ago, then you shouldn’t be as riled up or hurt by Beomgyu’s actions and words by now. What bothered you even more, though, was how you didn’t seem to know who made things worse. At this rate, the rivalry between the two of you had gone on for far too long. You couldn’t pinpoint a true start that fueled your spite for him. It was almost like you had always hated Beomgyu from the start, even if there was a part of you that wholeheartedly disagreed with that predicament.

“You know what, you’re right, Sung. I should stop giving him any of my attention if I want him to shut up,”

“See, it’s not that hard!”

Before you and Sungchan could shake things off with a friendly hug, your phones buzzed in unison. With a quick nod, the two of you burst out of the Law Society’s office, ignoring the wary eyes that watched each of your steps with confusion and suspicion. You declined the call and swiped right on Sungchan’s phone, popping your head near the camera to see who was on the other end of the line. To your relief, it was an excited Jeongin, carrying crescents in his eyes as he huffed on his earphones’ microphone.

“Guys!”

“What’s up, Jeongin?”

“The finals!” He screamed, loud enough for you and Sungchan to mute the phone and cover the speakers.

“What about it?”

“It’s streaming right now on YouTube!”

You gave Jeongin a look of confusion, arching your brows and poking Sungchan with your elbows. Despite only getting close to each other for a short time, both of you mastered the art of silence. You didn’t need to tell him to look up the ESC’s website to check if Jeongin was right; there was a certain telepathy that linked your brains together. There was no need for eye contact or physical gestures, it was as if thinking was all it took for Sungchan to understand what you wanted him to say or do, and vice versa. If you were to picture it, then there would be a thin, invisible wire that connected your soul to his, matched with telephone cups where you each whispered your thoughts and actions back and forth.

“Oh word?” Sungchan muttered once he reached the homepage of the ESC. The semi-finals happened too fast, and it didn’t occur to you that you missed the entire ordeal. Sungchan nodded along, shrugging his shoulders while using his height to push past the sea of students who fell victim to your band’s antics. The key to the exit was Jeongin jumping up and down at the entrance to the university’s main gate, fighting his way out of the security guards trying to calm him down.

“Come on!” Jeongin exclaimed with infectious glee, grabbing you and Sungchan by the hand and taking the two of you to the nearest train station.

“Jeongin, where are we going?” You asked. You were sure that Geonu had pinged the entire group chat about the absence of practice that day. Sungchan checked his phone and showed you Geonu’s message once the three of you slowed down and tapped your transit passes to the gates. There was indeed, no practice at the basement today out of Jeongin’s incessant pleas to cancel it. Geonu would have never imagined canceling practice over a singing competition held in Europe, but Jeongin threatened to leave the band if Geonu and the rest didn’t comply with his wishes. Considering how Jeongin was the most compliant member who never seemed to ask for much unless it had to do with Eurovision, Geonu granted the boy’s wishes.

“The watch party!”

You scrolled through Joker In’s Kakao group chat with Sungchan, only to find no mentions of a Eurovision watch party anywhere. By now, the entire band had figured that Jeongin was the impulsive type. While you had access to his hidden story of mushroom addiction, the rest were privy to Jeongin’s sudden online activity at the crack of dawn. He would send a barrage of memes and videos on the group chat only to disappear for a week. The only times he would come back was if Geonu had made a practice announcement in the chat, or if the band called him to the meeting place.

Ergo, Jeongin was not the type of person to organize an entire watch party with his sporadic communication patterns.

Once the three of you had reached the apartment, a barrage of cannabis hit your nose. Of course, Heeseung was on the side with a bong in hand, while Geonu was already absorbed into the couch, eyes red artificial bliss. Before you could take off your shoes to step inside Jeongin’s apartment, you halted your steps, blinking several times to make sure you weren’t hallucinating. Some people say that hate was just another form of obsession, and the last thing you wanted was to see Beomgyu in your dreams.

“Why is he here?

“Beomgyu is Heeseung’s roommate,” Jeongin meekly replied, keeping a small smile on his face as he kicked his shoes off to dash into the kitchen. Sungchan reluctantly followed suit, taking a bowl of potato chips and popcorn to the small, glass coffee table that was at the center of Jeongin’s rather spacious living room.

“So? Heeseung never brings him to the basement when he delivers pizza,”

“That’s because Beomgyu doesn’t work at the pizza chain,”

Instead of sitting in the empty space next to Beomgyu on the couch, you opted to take a random spot on the couch, sitting behind Geonu’s legs. Normally, he would complain about you using him as a headrest, but at this rate, he was too high to comprehend that there was something leaning into his calves.

“Whatever. Since when did you like Eurovision anyway?”

“Before you did, that’s for sure, fucking poser,”

“Oh my god, you son of a—”

Before you could stand up, Sungchan placed a firm grip on your shoulder, entrenching you within the surface of Jeongin’s soft, fur carpet. You took a mental note to ask him about his tastes in furniture. On the other side of the couch, Jeongin had hurried back from the kitchen with a few packs of seltzer that he struggled to carry, pushing one of them into Beomgyu’s lap before he could retort in violence.

“So everyone in this room is voting for Slovenia, right?” Jeongin asked with an eerily large grin.

“Yep! Number twenty-four!” Sungchan confirmed, making it his duty to make sure you didn’t lash out throughout the entire song contest. There was no use in fighting back; the hands of a varsity athlete cannot be contested with the likes of an occasional charity player.

“I’m voting Finland…” Beomgyu huffed, rolling his eyes in your direction.

“Gyu, you literally listened to nothing but Carpe Diem last night,” Heeseung retorted in languid, heavy breaths. If one could guess the lightness of his lids, it would be comparable to a bodybuilder’s daily dumbbell perched on top of his eyes.

“Shut up. I vote for whoever I want, and my money goes to Finland,” Beomgyu replied, cracking a can of cherry seltzer open with his hand. You followed suit, prompting the boy to roll his eyes once again.

“He’s voting for Finland because he wants to be oh so special like the rest of the world who’s basically riding Käärijä’s dick!”

This time, you gulped the can of seltzer down in a single sip, crushing the weak, malleable material between your fingers while raising a middle finger in Beomgyu’s direction. Instead of chugging his drink, he took a deep breath, pacing the amount of alcohol that entered and exited his throat. He knew what he was like when he was drunk, and even if the need to punch you into oblivion was there, he had to control himself—at least, for Jeongin.

“Shut the fuck up, you two! It’s starting!” You and Beomgyu immediately behaved accordingly, exchanging silent death glares while Jeongin ushered to the middle of the large, flat-screen television mounted on his wall. Even if you knew how serious Jeongin was about anything Eurovision related, you didn’t know that he could exude a level of anger that outmatched you and Beomgyu’s squabbles.

The introduction to the Eurovision Song Contest lined up with the flurry of buzzes that attacked your back pocket. Upon seeing the caller ID, your fingers automatically hovered over the red button. However, the ringing didn’t stop. No matter how many times you’ve tried to dodge each call you got, it would only come back in waves, accompanied by a barrage of text messages that caught your eye,

Dad’s in the hospital.

To be fair, all your memories with your father had been non-existent at best. The only time you’ve ever seen him was in a pristine, neatly-ironed business suit, gallivanting around the meeting rooms of the law firm or taking the same behavior with him on the dinner table, only allowing everyone else to lift their forks once he was seated. Your father’s presence had a shroud of mist around it—mostly because you couldn’t remember a time when you genuinely bonded with him. To call your father a father only suited you best when you were writing your college application essays or passing interviews for internships and research opportunities. Outside of that, you addressed him with utmost formalities, keeping his power trips unbridled by addressing him as Sir or President. He used to like being called an attorney, but after he began to realize that everyone in the firm held the same occupation, he opted for something more. As such, the news of him being in the hospital was shocking, but it was the least of your current concerns. To you, he was just your lifelong boss, slipping you into the legal world with a guaranteed, secure career filled with success and everlasting wealth. The only reason you had to visit the hospital was to discuss the potential inheritance papers that might have to be negotiated on his deathbed, not because of a familial, patriarchal bond that was never even there to begin with.

“Hold on, I have to take this call,” You said, hastily getting up while balancing yourself on the carpet. You whispered a mute sorry in Heeseung’s direction, who was suddenly sober at the sight of his bong tipping over.

Once you were in the bathroom, you locked the door and turned on the lights, keeping your eyes away from the large vanity mirror that enhanced the brightness of the entire room. Closing your eyes, you allowed a mouthful of oxygen to enter your lungs, slowly breathing it out as you dialed your brother’s phone number. It didn’t take a single ring for him to pick up.

“Hey,”

There was always something about your brother’s voice that irritated you. It wasn’t too nasally, but it wasn’t the most clear-cut pitch either. There was a certain grating quality to it that made listening to an obese chain smoker for hours on end a better feat than hearing your brother in a firm meeting or a case discussion. This was probably the reason why you could tolerate Beomgyu, because you’ve lived with people you genuinely despised for as long as you could count numbers and read the alphabet.

“Why the fuck are you calling me?” You spat, anticipating the worst. You could hear your brother’s breath hitch on the other end of the line. Of course, a situation like this would stress him out.

“You know I only reach out if it’s important, so get your ass to the fucking hospital right now. Dad’s going through a hemorrhage, and it’s the worst one we’ve seen so far.”

“Oh,”

“So hurry the fuck up. I’ll write your uni up so you can take an academic leave. Shit’s pretty serious,”

Whenever your brother classified a situation as pretty serious, it usually had to do with money. Talks of a potential merger, a big case that’s worth billions of won, or the acquisition of smaller firms that soon became a part of your family’s legal empire. Anything that had to do with money was serious to your brother, and of course, anything that had to do with money was discussed between the family, beneath the nose of your father.

“What do you mean?”

“You know what this means, right? Dad’s dying, his fucking secretary had just been named the sole trust to the firm, and the entire family’s basically going to war over this fucking fiasco.”

“What the fuck do you mean he signed over the trust to her?”

This was the only time you agreed with your brother about the nature of serious situations. The entire firm and the family were aware of the affair he had with his secretary, but you didn’t know how bad of an impact his senility would have on the future and well-being of the firm and beyond. You kept the phone latched between your shoulders and your chin, taking a seat on the toilet cover while crossing your legs.

“Just come to the hospital. One of the Choi-owned clinics in Gangnam.”

“Okay, I’m on my way.” You curtly replied. “I’ll be there in twenty,”

Family ordeals were things that Geonu forgave when it came to skipping practice, but you weren’t sure about breaking the news to Jeongin. Perhaps if you simply told him about your father’s condition, he would let it slide. After all, he was the caring sort. Anything that tugged his heartstrings would render him in a thick, melted puddle of tears. All it took was a story of an old, dying man, and you were sure that Jeongin would let you go. Taking another deep breath, you counted to three and opened the door, slowly making your way from the kitchen and into the living room. Instead of taking your seat back next to Heeseung, you stood still, placing your hands on your waist. Despite Geonu’s current state, he managed to groggily sit upright, eyes peering straight into your soul. The rest of the people in the living room followed him as an example, eyes switched from the television screen to your leveled posture.

“Guys,”

“Look who’s back from her makeout session with the prof,”

“Beomgyu, not now.” You interrupted, clearing your throat as you mentally ran through the quick story you conjured up in your head. My dad’s bleeding out, and I have to go to the hospital to make sure he’s okay. I hope you guys understand.

“What, you can’t take a joke? Jesus, I never knew little miss perfect was a softie…”

You would usually let your temper subside and give Beomgyu the benefit of the doubt, but this time, he had crossed the line. It wasn’t to say you cared about your father, but it was still a dire situation that needed to be taken seriously. For all the intelligence that Beomgyu prided himself in, he was not the type to understand basic social cues. As if remaining still wasn’t enough of a message, you let the frustration you’ve built up for years wash over you, closing your eyes as you unleashed three years of pent-up irritation and vexation escape your lips in a shrill shriek. The only thing you felt sorry for at the moment was how this was directed at Beomgyu instead of your family, but you needed to release it all before you eventually exploded. Heeseung dropped his bong and alerted himself awake, leaving his mouth agape while his eyes quickly darted past your forehead. Even Sungchan, who was privy to your bursts of anger, lit up in static shock, rendered in a frozen state that made him glued to his seat. Everyone in the room now had their eyes on you—including Jeongin’s roommate who peeked his head out of his door.

“Seriously?! My dad’s dying, and this is how you react? Look, I don’t know what the fuck I did to make you hate me this much, but this isn’t a game anymore. I’m done, and I’m out of here!”

In a flash of a second, you were out the door, letting it swing before reclining into a loud thud. The entire room was now drowned in an ocean of silence, and Beomgyu was the only one who gasped for air. He tried to stand up and chase after you, but his legs were stuck to the cotton of Jeongin’s carpet, pulling him deeper and deeper until his entire body was one with the ground. Geonu exchanged glances with Heeseung and the rest of the band, taking a nearby glass of water and gulping it down in a single sitting. Sungchan quickly climbed up to the couch and sat beside him, patting gentle circles on the boy’s back before directing his attention to the sole, uninvited guest that ruined the watch party. All Jeongin could do at the moment was take the remote from the coffee table, lowering the volume of the television until the entire apartment was laced in another wave of deathly silence. Even if the living room was packed, it felt as if he was the only one in the room, stuck between the carpet and the technicolor screen that showed the first performer of the night. Glimpses of red, black, and white dyed the entire space in ominous colors, flashing images of Edgar Allan Poe in the empty, white walls that surrounded the entire group. The only time someone spoke up was when Jeongin’s roommate passed by to turn off the lights, quickly rushing back within the safety of his room as he locked the door shut.

“You fucked up,” Heeseung started after a few rounds of unspoken guilt. “Hard…”

“It’s not like I can tell her that I’m mad at her because I don’t know? My parents always yelled at me for not being like my brother?”

No, that’s not what I wanted to say, Beomgyu thought, but it was too late to take his words back inside his mouth. Now, the initial state of shock that occupied the room was replaced with pure, unbridled resentment.

This time, he was sure he fucked up.

“Why did you keep this up for so long, anyway? It’s not like it’s that hard to say sorry or something,” Geonu retorted, slowly sobering up.

“Look, whatever. I’ll get going now, because apparently, I’m always the bad guy,”

“Gyu!”

Jeongin tried to chase after Beomgyu’s silhouette, only for Sungchan to hold him back. With two silent nods, Jeongin let go of Sungchan’s sleeve, fiddling with the hems of his sweater while watching the tall, lanky boy jog out the door. He didn’t know if he should end the watch party then and there, or if all of them should continue from where they left off. By now, the second performance had started. Flashes of green and red brightly encompassed their eyes, and they remained seated. Geonu texted the band’s group chat and pinged your user to give them updates on your father’s situation, while Heeseung swiftly took his lighter and lit the stem of his bong, deeply inhaling the glass rim in what was going to be his biggest rip to date.

What was going on outside of Jeongin’s apartment was a different story on its own. You had called one of your drivers to pick you up from the nearest train station, and now, you were zooming past highways and fast cars, reaching your destination as soon as Beomgyu had stepped out of Jeongin’s apartment building. He tried to rush past the flurry of people during rush hour that crowded the station, but the only person he could see was Sungchan, who had managed to chase him by the tail of his jacket.

“Hey,” Sungchan uttered, never letting go of Beomgyu’s jacket.

“Here to defend your girlfriend?” Beomgyu spat. Sungchan was used to this by now,

“No, but I’m here to let you know that deep down inside, I know you’re not a bad person,”

The two were now in front of a vending machine behind the station, a place where drunken white-collared men would drink their sorrows away. It also happens to be the place for a rendezvous to hide under the neon lights of the city—high school couples that secretly meet after the academy for a kiss goodbye before going home, college kids that are too drunk to scan their passes at the gate, office workers that feel the need to have a drink or two before being welcomed back home by their kids, smokers who hide their vices under the surveillance system, and people that are waiting for their online saint to whisk them off their infinite suffering. The vending machine was witness to all facets of society, including Beomgyu and Sungchan’s conversations that would have never seen the light of day. Before the two began, it was a natural ritual for any that chose the vending machine as a meeting place to treat their interlocutors with a beverage or two. Sungchan chose a sizzling can of lemon cider, tossing a couple of loose change he had jingling in his pockets and inserting it in the machine. He tossed the can in Beomgyu’s direction, who accepted it with a meek, small bow. Then, Sungchan fished for the last few coins he could find in the deep trenches of his slacks, pressing the bright, green button that displayed a tall bottle of water. It didn’t occur to him that he had a half-filled water bottle that he took with him in his tote bag for baseball practice; the movement was as automatic as the vending machine dispensing a plastic water bottle in its hooded container. Once Sungchan had the water bottle in his hands, he twisted the cap and waited for Beomgyu to snap the can open. The two clinked their beverages and consummated a few sips.

“Sure, you’re insufferable and bratty as fuck, but I know you have the heart in you to listen,” Sungchan said, after he was finished with his water bottle. Beomgyu took the can back to the side of his arms, holding it tightly to make sure its fizzy contents didn’t spill out into the streets.

“She’s been going through a lot, so you should probably cut all of this and apologize if you still want to go to our shows,”

Beomgyu slowly nodded, taking the can of lemon cider up to his lips once again. For a big city like Seoul, his bright, neon yellow can stood out from the masses of commuters that passed the duo to get to their destination. Sungchan kept his water bottle under his arm, tapping on the plastic cap twice to make sure that he sealed it properly. With a satisfied hum, he cleared his throat and eyed the boy who couldn’t take his can off his lips.

“I know you’ve been sneaking out in your really shitty disguise, but for my sake, hers, and yours, you should talk it out and hopefully fix whatever you got going on,” He continued. His fingers found themselves at the edges of his pocket again, and an exasperated sigh escaped his lips upon failing to feel through a small, rectangular carton that eased all of his woes with a single huff of smoke. What he found instead was a small, cheap plastic lighter that he didn’t remember purchasing. Granted, he probably stole it off Heeseung’s collection or took it with him when he helped Geonu light his joint. Whatever the case, he found no use for it now.

“If not, I’m gonna have to ban you from ever showing up again,”

Beomgyu finally took the can off his lips, wiping his mouth with the thick decor of his jacket’s sleeve. Considering the weather, he should’ve probably opted for a lighter cardigan that didn’t graze his lips with leather. Nonetheless, he ignored all feelings of discomfort. He should be used to it by now.

“Whatever,”

“It’s not whatever, and I’m sure you know that too,”

Beomgyu watched Sungchan’s tall, lanky frame stand upright from his slouched posture, waving his transit card in his face as he started to walk towards the station. He didn’t know if Sungchan was going to go back to his place or if he would pay a visit to the hospital. The only way he would find out is if he bumped into him in the white, putrid halls of a place he’d been avoiding since he left home to attend university.

Beomgyu had always hated hospitals. For as long as he could remember, the smell of antiseptic and rubbing alcohol would always overwhelm his nose, rendering him in a trance-like state that made everything around him a blurry haze of fragmented memories. He could try to recollect the countless hours he’s spent waiting for his father to get off his shift, but all he could gather was the car ride home, sitting silently beside his brother while the driver played an old rockabilly tune from his time. His father wasn’t even in the car with them, and he was probably doing another late shift in the operations room with his mother on standby. When Seungchol was old enough to shadow their father’s sessions, he would be on these car rides alone, carrying the same, putrid odor that reminded him of a distant family that never had dinner together once. When Beomgyu would get home from the hospital, he made it a habit to call his maids or helpers to set up a dinner table with him, each member of the cleaning team acting as his father, his mother, and eventually, his brother. This was the only way he could sleep at night, because the scent of antiseptic would be replaced with dish soap, cleaning tools, and remnants of flower-scented detergent. If the cooks were available, they would also join Beomgyu at the large, family dining table of the Choi household acting as external relatives that he would only see in family functions.

Now that he was back at the hospital, the memories of a lonesome dinner came flooding back to him in tidal waves. First, his father’s tall silhouette would come into full view, for he was never the type of person to turn his head towards his second son. Then, he could see his mother’s side profile, eyebrows knitted in a constant frown as she would scan through each clipboard and envelope with a mixture of confusion and exhaustion. When he was in high school, his brother had already begun shadowing for one of the several hospitals that were under the Choi name. He would initially tag along, but opted to stay home once he realized that this wasn’t a game of doctors that he would play with his brother in one of the many playrooms they were granted as children. Seungchol had patients to attend to, and he was a mere nuisance to the inner workings of his family’s craft.

This was also the point where he figured he would try his hand at the humanities, shifting from an interest in stock brokers and the financial sector to settling for the legal field. In earnest, he never found an affinity for anything political. The newspaper was one of many things that made it so difficult for Beomgyu to remember his parents’ faces, since they would spend their mornings jeering at the headlines in disgust before rushing out to work. Seungchol started doing the same once he was old enough to understand the weary woes of the world outside of their wealthy life, and at that point, Beomgyu had already resented the news enough to block it off his phone and other devices.

If his lifelong grudge had taught him one thing, it was tenacity. It was a trait his parents exhibited when they went from performing surgeries to managing hospitals, and it was the same trait that Seungchol inherited when he began his own medical career. For Beomgyu, tenacity meant suffering through a lot of the things he disliked—whether it was politics, the news, or medicine. To him, tenacity came in subtle ripples. At first, it was the several scandals that he would hear about at the academy regarding big pharmaceutical companies patenting life-saving medication and selling it at a higher markup. He didn’t even know what a markup meant, but he did know that it was something he could use to destroy his family once and for all. When he entered university and applied for the law program, he used his tenacity to climb to the top, even when the humanities weren’t the strongest set of subjects in his CSAT exam. He didn’t understand how money worked, and he certainly couldn’t care less about the politicians he would see campaigning on the streets during election season. The only thing that mattered to him ever since he was a child was to do whatever it takes to get his family back in a single piece—even if it meant destroying the legacy and generational prestige that the Chois had built for themselves since the Occupation period.

Places like the hospital were what made Beomgyu’s tenacity disappear into thin air, replacing it with irresolute shakiness. It didn’t occur to him that a single whiff of the hospital’s chemicals immediately turned him into mush—a walking, wandering blob that’s place was always behind his parents or his brother. Here, he didn’t feel human at all. He felt like a visual display—a name tag that bore his family name in shame. It was for this reason that Beomgyu refused to call an ambulance or take himself to the hospital no matter how hurt he was. Every episode of alcohol poisoning would always end in several over-the-counter drugs that would end up in the toilet with the remnants of bile that trickled up to his mouth, coughing up every stint of regret that failed to leave his system. No matter how drunk he would get, he would always berate Heeseung for threatening to dial 119, constantly reassuring him that he could cure whatever he could on his own.

Now, he was back in the very place that he spent his entire life avoiding, hiding behind the metal railings of a hospital bed once his eyes caught a familiar, white coat sported by the outline of someone he hasn’t seen in years.

Apparently, years of playing doctors with Seungchol worked against him, and now, he was faced to face with someone he had the displeasure of calling his brother.

“Hyung,” The word used to come out naturally, but now, it felt too foreign to him. At this rate, he was more comfortable calling his own brother “Doctor Choi” than by any other name that he used to call him. He tapped his tongue twice inside his mouth to feel its insides squirm, then, he restfully let his eyes sit at the crown of Seungchol’s jet-black head, watching the luster of his healthy hair shine under the bright, fluorescent lights of the hospital that always managed to invoke a certain nausea within him.

“Beomgyu-yah,” Seungchol replied, his voice barely a weak whisper. “It’s been a while,”

“Are you in charge of him?” Beomgyu asked, jutting his chin towards the emergency room. Seungchol looked back and shrugged his shoulders, resting the clipboard on the hilt of his belt as he longingly stared at his younger brother.

“Who?”

“Him,” Beomgyu asked again, pointing to the patient’s profile on his clipboard. Seungchol adjusted the thick, rectangular frames that slid down his nose, squinting his eyes at the tiny fragments of characters that he could barely read. Beomgyu didn’t know that his older brother’s eyes had degraded past his early problems with astigmatism.

“Ah, you mean Kim & Lee LLC’s current head?” Seungchol asked.

“Yeah,”

“Yes, I’m in charge of him. My department assigned me to him since our family sort of owes them in some ways,”

Beomgyu didn’t question the Choi’s relations with yours. None of that concerned him in the slightest, and he was aware of the magnetism that many rich families often exhibited—birds of a feather flock together, especially when feathers were made of gold.

“How’s school?” He asked. He began walking towards the emergency room and stood outside of the door, peeking his head inside the tinted windows while he vigorously tapped his pen on his clipboard. Beomgyu kept his hands in his pockets and followed suit, peering at whatever he could read in Seungchol’s report.

“Alright,”

“I’ve heard his daughter’s faring better than you at school,”

Speak of the devil, and she shall arrive.

By now, a single sliver of your presence was hard for Beomgyu to miss. If tenacity was one thing he had, then perseverance was the other. Throughout the three years he had known you, he’s learned one, giant lesson: to persevere. No matter how much he dreaded the preparations for the bar exam, no matter how worn he was over countless hours of dedicating himself to reading pages upon pages of ancient Roman law, a part of him embraced the sheer hard work that he dedicated to each and every aspect of his academic career.

Then again, none of that mattered when he was always second best when it came to you. Even if the number of hours both of you had put into a project or an essay was the same, he would always fall short of a mark or two, forever trailing behind your shadow the same way he had always trailed behind the success of his ancestors, then his parents, and now, his brother.

“This is why I’ve always hated you, hyung,”

“I know, I know,”

That was another thing that Beomgyu noticed about the people that managed to do better than him in every facet of his life. From stories he would hear from his mother, the Choi ancestry was filled with quiet, blasé doctors whose first and only priority was to tend to each patient that required assistance. The same trait was replicated tenfold in the way his parents would berate him; both of them would shrug their heads in blatant displays of disappointment instead of yelling at him. He was sure he was never hit as a child, but the string of pain that came from the sheer looks of despondency was imprinted on his shattered ego, forever sinking their sharp fragments into the throes of his heart. When his brother reached the age of twenty, he had mastered the same, cold look that his parents would often give him, doing the same whenever Beomgyu interrupted him at the hospital.

How did it all come to this?

Beomgyu wished he knew the answer to a question he had been pondering since he was old enough to think for himself.

“So you’re not even gonna say sorry? Apologize? Admit that what you and our entire family’s put me through is wrong?”

“Beomgyu, that’s just how it’s always been. I don’t really know what to say other than how lucky you should be right now,”

Luck. Being born a Choi meant a lifetime of financial security and a plethora of career options knocking at the foot of his door, and yet, Beomgyu couldn’t see how this luck was worth the feelings of inferiority that plagued him to no end.

“How the fuck am I lucky, Hyung? How the fuck am I lucky?! Because from what I know, I’ve been the one that just so happened to be born with the inability to do math and science!”

Seungchol slid the pen he was tapping inside his breast pocket. He placed the clipboard on one of the empty, leather chairs that lined the entrance to the emergency room, adjusting the rims of his glasses in the process.

“All my life, I’ve studied so hard, went to the academy, and never complained about it—hell, I sucked it all up and gave up on getting friends, having fun, and basically being the best example of what mom and dad wanted. But no! Apparently Seungchol-hyung is always better! That law girl is always better! Inseong from fifth grade is always better! Everyone is always better than me! If they wanted someone better, then they probably shouldn’t have asked for another son!”

The only thing that Beomgyu could hear was his own voice bouncing back and forth between the walls of the vast hospital. Seungchol stood in silence, taking his glasses off and wiping the lens with the hems of his white coat—a pure semblance of their father.

“Beomgyu-yah,” He whispered with a lower voice. “Just know that I did all this because I wanted you to be free. I care about you, you know?”

He waved his younger brother goodbye, pushing the large doors to the emergency room where people dressed in blue scrubs awaited his command. Beomgyu tried to chase after him, but he stopped in his tracks. All his life, he was always behind his father, his mother, and his brother. Now, he was behind you. Through the small creaks of the door, he traced your sulking silhouette, seeing himself in the way you bowed down to your own brother, who stood upright with a phone and several envelopes in his hand. Maybe if he let his pride aside a long, long time ago, then he would’ve come to the conclusion that the two of you weren’t so different after all.

“This is Kim & Lee LLC’s associate speaking, and we would like to file an academic leave as soon as possible.”

Throughout knowing you, he had seen you cry for the first time, mimicking the exact same sorrows and anguish that plagued him since he was a child. There was nothing to be done, so he left the hospital, never turning back once.

III. VENUS PLAYS WITH MARS IN A GAME OF CHANCE

Nearly three months had passed, and you didn’t show up since. The band was aware of your periods of being a recluse, but none of them anticipated how bad it was until you stopped responding to their texts and calls altogether. The meeting place felt like a barren wasteland in your absence, and none of them could start practicing without you chanting the counts before every song. Heeseung would come by with a slice of pizza from time to time, and it has become a ritual for them to leave you a slice even when you’re gone. It didn’t matter to them that the offering would turn into mold in a few days—what mattered was how the last slice or two was always going to be meant for you, almost as if you’d come back in the crappy basement to devour your slice and complain about how it’s practically inedible.

The band wasn’t the only group of people that felt your absence, though. Beomgyu never realized how important you were in the law society until you gave him a passive-aggressive email that relinquish all your responsibilities as president to him. While a part of him felt happiness at the thought of finally taking over, there was an inkling of guilt within him that felt too unqualified to assume your role. Yes, he’s often lamented to Heeseung that he would’ve been a better president than you, and he even told his parents in a bitter argument that he was doing more as one of the vice presidents than you actually were as president, he had to admit that your absence caused an impending upheaval that practically caused the law society to implode. At first, it started with self-fulfilling prophecies stated by the other executives that were anxious about Beomgyu’s ascension as the de-facto president. Some said he wasn’t suited for the role based on academic performance alone, and others have already made predictions about his eventual impeachment from the board of executives. Your rivalry with Beomgyu was a well-known gag in the law society, but now, it didn’t feel like an inside joke anymore. In your absence, nobody knew what to do—and Beomgyu began to realize that perhaps he didn’t have it in him to be an effective leader and a prolific communicator.

In some ways, Beomgyu finally realized why you were so effective in a group setting. For one, your ability to make compromises with the rest of the team elevated your status and competence from a newbie to a reliable figure. The same could be said for your band. From what he’s heard from Heeseung, Geonu only recruited you because of your background in jazz. He never considered your dynamics with the group or if you were a difficult person to work with, and he chalked it up to luck that you were good at mitigating all sides of the argument whenever he and Sungchan would bicker. Your effectiveness as a team player was further highlighted in the dashing performances that you and your band would deliver as Joker In. Despite all the arguments and horror stories he’d hear from Heeseung, the Joker In he saw on stage didn’t evoke a single ounce of disagreement or discord. Once the four of you were on stage, it was as if you were a single unit with the rest of the band, seamlessly playing melodies as a natural instinct more so than hours of relentless practice and infighting.

Rhythm is the pillar of music and poetry, he once heard you utter in your conversations with the band. Though he initially disagreed and tried to back up Sungchan’s lamentations of playing a bigger role in the group, your absence has instantly highlighted why you were a stable foundation in everything that you were involved in. Sure, you weren’t the flashiest of both the law society and Joker In, but your absence placed a large dent in the operations of both. Even if you were a quiet figure in the law society, often staying on the sidelines to approve or reject event proposals while everyone was fighting for credit, everyone would always look to you as a final figure of approval. Once you either accepted or rejected an event and started dispatching the organization committee to plan and make these events come to fruition, all elements of disjuncture ceased to exist. It was the same with Joker In. Sure, you were often in the background trying to maintain stability while Geonu and Sungchan played the lead in each performance, but he was willing to admit that the band’s sound was nothing without your invisible hand guiding each melody and verse into perfection.

In a way that the band and the law society needed you, Beomgyu realized—albeit with denial and extreme hesitance—that he needed you as well. Without your presence, he couldn’t care less about his academic performance. Nothing mattered when the certainty of him being at the top was secured. The astonishing irony behind all this was that, in some ways, he did ask for this. He did ask to become number one in everything, and yet he failed to realize that perhaps being number one in itself was never something he could ever be.

The reason he got this far was because of his intense rivalry with his brother. For as long as he could remember, he was always vying for attention from his parents—practically pleading to be seen as anything but his brother’s shadow. Then, it was the several rivals he’d encountered in school once his brother was off to university. They were no match against your unyielding nature, but he would be lying to himself if they didn’t push him to further heights.

Competition was something that he was always surrounded with, and with you gone, he didn’t know where to start. Nothing mattered to him anymore, and he hated that feeling more than hating you.

For someone that prided himself in intelligence, he certainly fell short of common sense. Throughout all his years of trying to chase after your success and your achievements, he wasn’t ready for the loneliness and emptiness that would overtake him once he reached the top. Maybe that was why you decided to play in a band, even if doing so would result in parental disapproval. Sure, he didn’t know your life story, but that was at least what stopped him from starting his own band in high school.

What the fuck are you thinking, you bastard. Starting a band? In high school? This is why your brother was always better, Beomgyu-yah.

“Shut up, Dad,” He whispered, remembering all of the GPS trackers laced on his phone and the strict curfew he had to maintain in his teenage years. Even if he knew nothing about you, it was perhaps the freedom and carelessness you had in you that made him envious of everything you had. To him, you were the epitome of a life he could’ve lived had he not been born into his so-called family—a breath of fresh air that tempted him with the fruits of liberation and rebellion.

In some ways, he loathed you because he idolized you. He wanted to be you in any shape or form. That was, of course, until he rested his eyes on each news headline that managed to damage your reputation bit by bit.

KIM & LEE LLC’S GOLDEN HEIRESS DEMOTED AND DISOWNED FROM THE FAMILY TRADE: HER SECRETS ARE REVEALED

The news came out roughly three months ago, right after he caught a glimpse of your brother making a call to the university’s board of directors. A part of him wished that you would fight back the same way you did whenever Beomgyu would cuss you out or make your life a living hell—because to him, you were always a fighter.

He was aware that hospitals could change a person from the moment they entered into its sanitized walls, but he wanted to believe that you weren’t privy to its wicked curse. Above all the families that wept and got their morale weakened by an undesired diagnosis, an incurable disease, or an exorbitant bill that took a lifetime to pay back, he was sure you were immune to it all, keeping a headstrong demeanor in any situation.

But all rich children were doomed the moment they were born, and you were just like him, a victim of circumstance.

All he could do now was to continue dialing your phone number, even if the reply he got was the same, automated, female voice that told him your digital existence was erased from its archives.

I’m sorry, but your call cannot be completed at this time. Please try again later.

What if he gave you a chance? What if he got to know you instead of letting his bitterness get the best of him? Could things have been different between the two of you? Or would the rivalry persist in a different, more amiable form? Flashes of images were reflected in the large, bathroom mirror that he constantly gazed at, and in these times of automated mundanity between attending classes and fulfilling his new duties as the de facto president of the law society, all he could see was your smiling silhouette imprinted on the chair that he occupied, telling him again and again that he didn’t belong there.

He contemplated visiting your father, but the nurse at the reception would always get back to him about your absence. You hadn’t visited him since the day your family withdrew you from university, and now, he didn’t know where you were. The band refused to talk to him altogether, and Heeseung hadn’t been to the basement since he quit his job at the pizza place. Sungchan’s whereabouts were also unknown, and whenever he would bump into Geonu in the hallways, he was met with firm resistance.

“Don’t talk to me unless you’ve figured out a way to fix this entire mess.” The lead singer’s voice looped in his head.

Beomgyu didn’t believe in a lot of things, but now, he believed in one thing and one thing only: Pillars and foundations of a building can be broken, but they can also be repaired. If you were what kept everything from falling apart, then maybe it was his fate to be the carpenter that rebuilt all the things that he had managed to destroy. Donning the same, neon red hair dye and scuffed combat boots, he decided to live out his life as the boy who simply wanted to see his favorite band play one, final show in the place where he knew he could be himself, free of the shackles that bound him in a life of academic rigor, a lack of identity, and an endless battle of finally finding who he truly was.

“So you weren’t joking about Dad giving the trust to his secretary instead of us, his goddamn kids…” You remember saying to your brother when you saw your father laying unconscious in the hospital bed. To you, your father was a figure of utmost respect and order, someone who didn’t suit the strings and tubes of IV drips and an oxygen mask. He was an innovator, a natural leader that was always meant to stay seated right in the middle of everything—whether it was the dining table or the main meeting room of Kim & Lee LLC. It was your first time seeing him outside of his usual pristine, tidy suit, and you didn’t know what to feel about the sudden change in appearance. Sure, he has aged, but even in old age, you had at least expected him to live and fight for his life for ten more years, still donning a black, expensive suit with utmost pride.

“Isn’t this ridiculous?” Your brother replied, crossing his arms. The one thing that separated you from your brother was how difficult his expression was to read. Even in the face of adversary and doubt, he always managed to carry with him an aura of unyielding demonstration, refusing to display his woes on his sleeve.

“Yeah, I guess,”

“You know, I never wanted to consider you as a part of the family,”

“I know,”

“But this is a crucial time for all of us, and—”

“So what? Are you gonna create a fucking coalition of sorts within the family and try to sue Dad? The current owner and founder of the firm?”

It didn’t even scathe you one bit that your brother had, for the first time, openly shown his disdain towards you. It was always evident in the way he would avoid you around the house, never uttering a single word to you unless it had something to do with your academic achievements or the future of the firm. When your father announced that his solid line of succession had been broken by your existence, your brother moved out to America, only coming back when news broke that your father’s health was waning. It had always been that way since the two of you were children; the two of you were only siblings by family name and nothing more.

“If it’s several against one, old man, I’m sure we’ll win,” He coldly stated, flipping through several documents that outlined the future of the firm. There were many things you hated about your family, and your brother was the best example of why that was the case. Even if you refused to believe it, the opportunistic trait that carried your family’s name for generations was a genetic plight that even you couldn’t escape.

“Don’t you even have a shred of humanity within you? That’s our Dad, and he’s dying!”

“You didn’t look like you cared enough to arrive at the hospital on time,”

I was spending time with my friends! The only people who cared about me! You kept your mouth closed, demonstrating a pensiveness that only the law society and Beomgyu have seen you perfected. As always, your brother’s lips were pressed in a firm, thin line, eyes never acknowledging your existence. To him, the papers were more important than whatever was in front of him.

“You didn’t look like you cared enough to even be there,” You retorted, mimicking the same nonchalance that soon became your family’s trademark.

“My point exactly,” He hummed. “You know how terrible he was to us when we were children, right?”

“That doesn’t excuse ousting him from his position, though,”

“If his so-called leadership and stubbornness is what’s bringing the firm down, then I think it’s about time he left his post,”

“And you’re telling me that you’re the better alternative?”

It was one thing to admit that your brother was right, but it was another to acknowledge him as the next best option in the line of succession. Despite your father’s rather tumultuous decisions that came as a result of senility and burgeoning egoism, he was a natural at micromanagement. Even in his old age, he still commanded an air of elitism that only leaders had. Your brother, on the other hand, lacked such charisma. For all his smarts and his efforts, he simply didn’t have it in him to wield the same charm and authority that your father did in his younger years. Even if he was a spitting image of him, there was no denying that the resemblance was only in the skin. For what your father had in terms of innate control and governance, your brother fell short of such defining qualities. While you had made a name for yourself as a promising air, he was forever tainted in the tabloids as your father’s shadow, forever chasing behind the outline of his pointed shoulders.

“Well, I mean—”

“Shut the fuck up,” You spat. “I got better grades than you when you were a kid. I was first place in everything, and you were second at best. I attend the best school in the country, and, as always, you got rejected, opting for inferior schools. I’m already getting offers to attend law school in Ivy League institutions, while you had to beg your professors for a recommendation letter to even try to get into Columbia or Yale. You had your first internship at our company? Motherfucker, I worked at Morgan & Stanley Korea when I was nineteen. You think you’re the only alternative? You think you’re the next best option? Grow the fuck up and sit down. You’re just lucky to be where you are right now because you’re Daddy’s first.”

Now, three months later, you wished you could say more—not to your brother, but to your unconscious father lying down on his eventual deathbed. You wanted to cuss him out; you wanted to tell him how horrible he was; you wanted to plug his life support off then and there; you wanted to maul him into pieces; you wanted to slap him the same way he did when you would do every little thing to disappoint him; you wanted to take all his money and run away; you wanted him to experience the same pain and suffering of being a bastard child that should have never been born in the first place.

But, by doing so, you were admitting defeat. You were succumbing to an ideal scenario of revenge that would leave you unsatisfied even when your father would die on the spot. As much as it tempted you to destroy him when he was chained by his disease, you were in the game long enough to know that there was a better life out there waiting for you—a life of a true winner. You’ve wasted your entire existence on being the perfect heiress, but now, it was time for change. Now that you were disowned, you were free, and in your eyes, this was a victory in disguise.

And luck would have it that your pleas for freedom would be answered in a single phone call that sealed the deal.

“We just got a deal from DooRooDooRoo, they got back to us about the record deal,” Geonu had called you a month later, when you were spending every single day under the comforts of your duvet. Back then, you couldn’t even tell that a month had passed, because everything had remained frozen in time. Each passing sunrise and sunset meant nothing to you when seeing your father’s bedridden image would always feel like yesterday. In a sense, time had been completely difficult to track, and you opted for stopping your clocks altogether, tearing off the calendar in your apartment, and replacing it with its original white walls. You didn’t think that the newfound sparseness of your apartment would worsen the lagging of time that hazed your entire being, but it didn’t matter to you. You were out of school, and you didn’t have a schedule to follow anymore. Why place a calendar on the wall when all the dates are merged into one?

“What do you mean record deal?” You replied, keeping the phone on speaker to hear his voice. “Geon, we’re a cover band, I doubt they’d even want to sign us because we didn’t send them an original demo,”

Truthfully, the only thing that made the time pass was when you were in front of the electric drum kit in your room, replaying the same songs that once brought you joy in the basement that you managed to call your sanctuary. You contemplated leaving your apartment to visit it once in a while, but there was something in you that didn’t allow you to face Geonu, Sungchan, and Jeongin. What were you going to say to them? They already knew everything the moment the tabloids embarked on a journey of defamation, bearing their voracious fangs on another opportunity—a good story that would destroy the stronghold of your family’s empire. All they needed to know were in the headlines of each news article that was displayed on their television screens and their phones. If Geonu was right about signing a record deal with one of Korea’s biggest indie labels, then it would be bad press to have a fallen heiress as its core member.

“I sent them the track you worked on,” He stated an amalgamation of static breaching your ears. He was definitely in the basement—most likely alone. The day you disappeared, Sungchan had also gone missing, turning off all his devices and blocking off any form of contact. The same could be said for Jeongin, sans the drastic effort to cut all ties with everyone else. You could still get a hold of him, but it would be in inconsistent lapses of time where he would either sound groggy or overtly happy—nothing in between, and especially nothing like his usual self when he was active in the band. Word had reached your ears from his roommate that Jeongin was admitted to the psychiatric ward a few weeks ago, the culprit being psychosis and his sudden relapse into the same, old habits that marred him in his younger years.

Ironically, the news you would get from the people that you usually surrounded yourself with when you were a student didn’t come from themselves, but rather, from Beomgyu. Even if you didn’t answer his incessant calls, he would always leave you a voice note every day, detailing his new life as the president of the law society, the current status of your bandmates, and even little tidbits of his life. Without fail, he would always send these in at around six in the evening, making that hour the only way you could tell time. Before you knew it, you kept your watch active, setting an alarm with your smart home monitor to alert you whenever the hour was coming. Then, you would hide under your covers, pressing your cheeks on the cool, glass surface of your phone to hear his voice. Sometimes, you would close your eyes, watching fleeting images of a life that could’ve stayed intact had your father not succumbed to old age. Beomgyu had the voice of a narrator, and each description and detail he provided painted a picture of fragmented memories that felt distant yet so far away.

“What?” You screeched. You didn’t know how to talk to Geonu, and it was a shame that someone you played music with every day suddenly felt like a total stranger. You were too used to Beomgyu’s soothing voice giving you a glimpse of the outside world, that it didn’t occur to you that the current phone call you were having wasn’t a product of one of Beomgyu’s scheduled voice messages.

“The track that was in our drafts like, before you went MIA,”

“You mean Carpe Diem? That’s just something I wrote when I was bored, though,”

There were too many sessions in the basement that led to unfinished songs and fragmented drafts, but there was one, concrete product out of all the practices you’ve had as Joker In that never left your head. You couldn’t pinpoint the exact date of writing and actively composing the song, but it was certainly around your sixth or seventh night as Joker In when you began to voice more of your creative inputs into the musical journey that Geonu commanded.

It was perhaps around the summer season when Jeongin had just replaced Felix as the new bassist of the band. You were sitting on a draft that you had carried with you since high school with your covert experimentations with the adolescent underground music scene. The song was obviously incomplete, but you had the drum track narrowed down to perfection after years of working on it and rearranging some of the fills and sections, experimenting with complex time signatures while retaining a certain sense of replayability that many radio-friendly songs had. At first, it was just a side project that you conjured up after Beomgyu had challenged you to write a song. It may have counted as cheating to repurpose a draft that you made before meeting him, but so long as you changed and updated the song, then it could’ve counted as a new song. By then, you were still on shaky terms with Sungchan, so you opted to ask Geonu to play both the rhythm and lead sections of the guitar. Felix had happily worked on the bass when he was still in Korea, changing a few things here and there to suit his rather intricate playing style. You had worked with Geonu for a few weekends to complete the lyrical bits of the song, but each draft left you in an uninspired mess. Being eloquent in your essays and your courses certainly didn’t translate well into poetry, and even Geonu’s longtime experience with writing lyrics couldn’t quell the dissatisfaction you had with the piece.

That was until you decided to write your frustrations about Beomgyu, matching up each word, rhyme, and cadence with the tune that you believed you had perfected. You showed Geonu the first draft, solidifying your efforts with his nod of approval. He worked on rearranging a few words to fit the bridge and the chorus, and then, the song was suddenly scrapped. You didn’t know if it was because the band got busy with a surge of live shows and activities, or if you just didn’t want to work on the song any longer. All you knew was that by the time you decided to let go of the song, Beomgyu had replaced your brother and the rest of your family as enemy number one, making the song a daily reminder of him and his deplorable antics.

“Well, Sungchan completed his bits and covered Jeongin’s bass parts. I sang through it with some of the lyrics I came up with when I was listening to the initial track,”

“Wait… you got a hold of Sungchan?”

Sungchan's whereabouts were kept under wraps since the day you left the hospital and your university for good. At first, you tried to call him, but his number was non-existent on the third ring. Text messages led to nowhere, and his account on Kakao had been defunct when you checked the band’s group chat. The only remnant of his identity was left in Beomgyu’s daily voice messages to you, where he speculated that he might have gone back home somewhere in Seoul.

“I saw someone who might have looked like Sungchan at the station near Mapo-gu today, but I could be wrong. These days, high schoolers are basically giants now, and it’s pretty hard to tell, but I’m still searching for him nonetheless. Did you know? He chased after me when I tried to go to the hospital to see you. We had a long conversation by the vending machine, and then, he just disappeared like that. I think I owe him a lot, really, and if it weren’t for him, then I doubt I’d have the conscience to make things right. Once again, I’m sorry for being a coward that could only apologize through these stupid voice messages. You deserve so much more than that, and even if you don’t wanna see me, the least I could do is try to make amends. You can forget about me after that, but I just wanted you to know that I never hated you—really. I did say that a lot, and Heeseung might disagree, but I don’t think I hated you. I think it was a bit of the opposite.”

You could vividly picture the outlines of Beomgyu and Sungchan by the vending machine near Jeongin’s apartment, sharing a drink or two as they talked about the sudden turn of events. Without Geonu, who often brought out the best and the worst in him, Sungchan was the diplomatic type who disliked conflict. You were aware of him giving warnings here and there to Beomgyu whenever you would storm off from a heated argument with him, but you didn’t know that he would go to such lengths to make things right—and now, the only trace you had of who you could finally call your best friend was in the images that Beomgyu would leave in his voice notes and an unknown text message that read I got rejected.

“It’s a long story, but he signed the deal. You’re the only one that needs to sign it—of course, if you want to. I mean, I know how much your career and all that matters to you, so it’s no pressure. If you want, I can—”

“I’m signing it,”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I’m signing it,” You repeated without preamble. Back then, music was just a hobby for you—a way to escape the fast-paced, yet unchanging life of perfecting your image as the ideal candidate to lead your former family’s firm. In your younger years, the thought of pursuing music full-time and escaping the legal field to attend a music college in the heart of Seoul had plagued you, but you let the only thing you’ve known your entire life take over. Now that the foundations of your identity were shackled, you believed it was high time for you to rebuild everything you had lost in the process, facing forward to a newfound pursuit instead of constantly staying in the present.

“Damn…” You could hear Geonu slowly sniffle in the distance as if he were right next to you. The empty walls of your bedroom had suddenly transformed into the decrepit, unpainted cement that lined the basement. The scent of rotting, molding pizza and lukewarm beer wafted your nose, bringing you back to the sanctuary that you would now call your one, true home.

“What?”

“I just… You know… it’s been a while since we’ve last seen you, and I just didn’t expect you to sign the deal…”

Now, you could tell that Geonu was crying—something he never did in front of anyone unless he was drunk enough to let his tear ducts do the job. You took the phone away from your cheek, taking your comforter to dab a few splotches of wet tears that slowly trickled down your face.

“Well, a lot can happen in three months. I’m not in school anymore, I’ve been disowned, and I’m out of the line of succession. I’ve been given an apartment and some hush money to do whatever the fuck I want, and my so-called family has nothing to do with me anymore. I’m free to choose whatever I wanna do, and I think I’d like to tour with you guys for the rest of my life. I never thought I’d be saying this, but fuck, man. I need you guys.”

“I could say the same for you, asshole. Now quit moping around and get your ass in the studio. We’ll be recording and perfecting our debut album until we can all get a house in Europe and live with fast cars, big houses, and a nice life on the hillside.”

“Sounds like a cult or something,”

“Joker In is basically a cult, and we’re nothing without our founding member, so hurry up and get your ass to the studio. Now.” Before you ended the call, you could hear Geonu’s wide smile welcoming you back to the studio. You ended the call and tossed your phone on your bed, taking your bag of weary drum sticks with you. The map that led to the basement was entrenched in your head, and for the first time, you kicked your sneakers back onto the soles of your feet, jingling the keys to your apartment between your fingers as you heard the click that confirmed the safety of your house. You didn’t even check to see if the door was fully locked. None of that mattered when you were finally coming home.

Sungchan had told you personally that Geonu rejected him in the most “Geonu” way possible. A few days after the band’s reunion in the basement, he had invited you for coffee in one of the cafes near campus. At first, you wanted to change the location of your meeting. After all, being seen as a dropout was the last thing you wanted in your gradual return to life. However, the curiosity within you didn’t seem to die down when you breathed in the air of young adulthood and fast-paced trains. The cafe had always been there since you were a first year, and yet it had only occurred to you now to visit it and see what it had to offer.

It was a quick, heartfelt conversation between slices of apple crumble and hot cups of warm, camomile tea. He didn’t even give you a greeting; he just sat you down and told you that Geonu didn’t like him back.

“He said it was to keep the band intact, but I’m sure that’s just his way of telling me that he still wanted me in his life—you know? Even if he didn’t like me that way,”

You would’ve expected an underlying tension in the room during your first few practice sessions with the band, but the moment you entered the basement, everything was left as it was. The rotting boxes of pizza continued to collect mold and mildew, dyeing everything in a murky shade of green. All of the instruments collected dust—a remnant of a time when everything was actively used. Curled ends of guitar strings were strewn on the floor, uncleaned and unscathed since the moment everyone decided to take a break from the basement’s security. The only thing that struck you as a testament to time was how clean the abandoned house looked, perhaps due to a lack of usage. Conversations persisted the way they usually did, and before you knew it, everything was back to normal. Jeongin looked thinner than usual, but he had the same, bright aura of joy and the same passion for Eurovision that he did as before. Sungchan and Geonu continued to bicker in the same manner that they always did, letting the elephant in the room stay dormant. There was no awkward tension or uncomfortable silence that engulfed the entire band, and before you knew it, Joker In was coming closer and closer to perfecting their debut album.

Today was a different story. There was an announcement by Geonu that practice would commence as usual, and it was granted that there would be a couple of sleepovers in the basement since the deadline to pitch your demo to the label was coming to a close. Being one of the more punctual bandmates out of the rest, you decided to show up an hour earlier, carrying several backpacks filled with toiletries, instant food, and a comforter that held you in your worst breaks.

“Guys?” You called, only to hear your voice bounce back to you.

It was normal to hold pranks in the studio, but hide and seek wasn’t the band’s forte. Even if Geonu used his height to his advantage and crept behind small cracks of furniture and large amplifiers, you would always manage to find his mop of hair sticking out in the distance. Sungchan’s footsteps were too loud to ignore, and Jeongin was terrible at keeping his laughter at bay. None of those remnants of your bandmates was present in the studio, and all you could do was heave a sigh at the fact that they might be late.

Then, there was an eerie feeling that began to consume you. No matter how many times you’ve run up and down the entire house to see if anyone was there, you were left with an empty feeling of solitude, even if you were sure that you weren’t the only one in the building. There was an unshakable presence that made it too difficult for you to ignore, and after ceaselessly checking the same hiding spots again and again, you decided to halt your search altogether and give up. Heeseung often joked about the basement’s ideal location as a horror movie set, so maybe he was right about a few lost souls from the war that lurked in the corners of the basement.

“You know, this place could have been a burial ground or something, right?” You remembered him saying amidst a flurry of smoke from his bong. Perhaps he was right, and it was about time that you coined yourself a believer of the paranormal. Dropping out of school and throwing away your potential degree was the last thing you imagined, so if the unpredictable managed to stir your life in a completely different direction, then maybe ghosts did exist. Right?

“Hey…” A voice that only existed within your phone’s voice messages popped up behind your ears. You managed to let out a shrill shriek, quickly turning around to see a man with bright, red hair. His black nails were chipped to the edges, and his dark, grey jeans were distressed to reveal his protruding knees. The scuff marks on his combat boots were accentuated by the dull luster of leather that shone in the sunlight that seeped into the basement.

“Oh, hi there,” You replied, clearing your throat as you collected yourself. It didn’t occur to you that three months could change anyone this drastically, but seeing your former rival in an outfit that didn’t suit him eased all of the apprehension that was built up in your system.

“I know I’m the last person you want to see right now,” Beomgyu whispered. You weren’t used to seeing him so solemn, and you certainly couldn’t shake the dissonance in the calmness that he exuded. Even if you hadn’t seen Beomgyu in a while, you always associated him with a ball of anger that threatened to explode at any second, and now, the only thing that resembled his fiery passion was the bright, poorly dyed red dye that stained his head.

“Well, not really. You’re up there, don’t get me wrong, but you’re definitely below my half-brother, my father, and basically every single person in my family.” You said with a small, awkward smile.

“Oh, well, that’s good to know, I guess?” Beomgyu asked. He expected you to question his disguise or his presence, but perhaps you weren’t as dense as he thought. Maybe you knew who he was right from the start, even in your drunken state when you decided to send him home from a gig that felt like ancient history.

“Did your brother tell you what happened?”

“No, but your face was all over the internet for a while. Some tabloids saying Kim & Lee LLC’s star daughter had been removed from the line of succession after it’s been exposed that you were in the underground music scene,”

“Jesus…” You couldn’t help but laugh. “Out of all the reasons that they could’ve chosen, they chose that,”

“Yeah…” His voice was barely a whisper now, and he stuffed his hands in his jean pockets, the same way he did when he nervously walked home with you from the bus stop. “I also heard that your band got signed.”

“Through Heeseung?”

“No, through Sungchan actually,”

“Wow, I never expected him to talk to you like that,”

“I know, right?”

The light in Beomgyu’s eyes had disappeared, mellowing him out into a completely different person. Now that you had the chance to think about it, his newfound rebellious look suited him more when he would incessantly curse at you and call you by all of the profanities that the Korean language had to offer. The clean-cut, professional air of arrogance that he carried was reserved for the silent meekness that Beomgyu now exuded.

“So, why are you here?” You asked.

“The boys told me you were coming,”

“Ah…”

You checked the group chat and saw a flurry of texts from the rest of your bandmates detailing their tardiness. Geonu never went to the music shop since he would usually borrow instruments and equipment from his vast network of student musicians, and Sungchan was never the type to be late over a visit to the record store. Jeongin was a bad liar, and it was evident in his texting patterns that he tried his best to cover everything up with a rather believable excuse of waking up late from a nap.

“They set us up, didn’t they?” You scoffed. Beomgyu slowly nodded—the confirmation that you needed to finally piece everything together.

“I mean, three-ish years of basically wanting to kill each other needs to come to an end at some point, right? And it’s not like I’m graduating since I’ve already dropped out of uni…”

Beomgyu continued to fidget with the edges of his pockets, whistling a low, barely audible tune as he lightly kicked the can of empty beer that landed on the sole of his combat boots. When the can rolled over to your feet, you returned it to him with a stronger kick, initiating a simple game of soccer that allowed Beomgyu to display his years of practice in the varsity team.

“I quit the Law Society, and I also quit the debates team.” Beomgyu interrupted, keeping the can to himself instead of kicking it back to you. He began to do a few tricks and keepy-ups, stopping at the fifth pass to kick the can back to you.

“Oh,”

“I’m off student clubs for a while, and I’m just focused on getting my degree,”

“What happened to the Choi Beomgyu who wanted to be the best at everything?” You retorted with a grin, turning the can into an impromptu volleyball.

“You get to a certain point where none of that even matters anymore, really.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah…”

Now, the can was on the ground. You kicked it into a nearby corner and used your bag as a seat, taking your comforter out to wrap yourself around its soft surface. Beomgyu hesitated before joining you on the floor, maintaining a sense of empty space between the two of you. Your eyes traced the thin, sheer curtains that flowed back and forth with the gust of wind that cooled the basement, tracing its trajectory until your eyes landed on Beomgyu’s lonesome outline.

“Wanna… you know? Talk about it?” You asked, wrapping the comforter tighter around your shoulders.

“I think we should talk about you first,” He replied with a smile that used to be reserved for everyone else apart from you.

“Right… Well, I’ve been disowned! Yay!”

“You’re a full-time musician now, though,”

“Another yay!”

The basement had always been a place where you would escape Beomgyu for the simple reason that people like him brought you back to the familial infighting that plagued your childhood. It was a place reserved for music and music only, not a place to recall the copious amounts of studying and perfectionism that you allowed yourself to suffer through in your three-year rivalry with him. You would’ve never imagined that one day, you would be able to share this place with someone like him, but something about having him sit a couple of spaces next to you as you caught up with him felt right, rendering the intensity and tension that you associated with him into an evaporating mist.

“Man, you’re actually funny,” He said behind a light chuckle.

“And you’re actually pretty nice behind all your stupid dick jokes,” You retorted with the same, gentle sentiment. You took a can of lemon seltzer out of your bag and tossed it in his direction. He caught it mid-air and gave you an even brighter smile, glassy eyes scanning through the can with awe and nostalgia as he opened it and took its nectarine contents between his lips.

“Anyway, what about you? What’s going on?” You asked, taking a water bottle out and twisting the cap open.

“I think I’m gonna stick to being a lawyer, but I’m definitely staying out of the family drama,” Beomgyu replied. The can of lemon seltzer was now on the ground.

“I thought big pharma and the medical industry didn’t have as much fun as we do in the private sector,”

“After I kind of got over my brother being cut out for the job more than I did, I just felt the need to stop being bitter. I mean, it’s whatever. I don’t really care anymore about my parents telling me that I’m basically a disgrace to the Choi name. I overcomplicated my entire life by focusing on that the moment I started breathing, and I think it’s about damn time I act like a fucking lawyer and defend myself from them instead of constantly looking to them for approval.”

“That’s not a very Choi Beomgyu thing to say,” You laughed, rolling the water bottle until it knocked over his can of lemon seltzer. Its contents began pouring out into the wooden floorboards, and you knew Geonu was going to scold you about it later.

“Well, the Choi Beomgyu now is not the same as the Choi Beomgyu three months ago,” He replied with a smile, as if to tell you that he’d stick around to help you clean up the mess once everyone else arrived.

“I still don’t get why you hated me so much though,”

If Beomgyu were to apologize to you at the hospital or right after the Eurovision watch party, you weren’t sure if you had it in you to forgive him. This wasn’t out of the bitterness and pent-up grudges that you managed to hold onto for so long, but rather, it was more so out of your own pride. You were sure that you would take his apology as is and never speak to him again out of a failure to admit that you, too, had crossed the line when you brought out the same traumas surrounding his own family and his brother.

Three months of silence was all it took for you to admit that a three-year rivalry felt like a childish game. In essence, the two of you were one and the same, both marred by the heavy expectations of generational wealth and status. Even if there were slight differences in your respective stories, perhaps the intense hostility that characterized the two of you came from the same place—one that made it rather difficult to see each other as equals or separate people. You didn’t know if Beomgyu felt the same, but the peak of your aggression with him certainly came from a hidden, inner dilemma that came from seeing yourself in Beomgyu’s glassy, beady eyes.

“I actually came down here to explain all that, to be honest—then again, I already feel like I did it pretty well when I talked about my brother and whatnot.”

“Some sort of innate, deep-seated inferiority complex since you were always compared to everyone around you?” You retorted and whistled, prompting Beomgyu to muster a dejected nod in your direction.

“Yeah, that.”

You know, I had the same thing with my own brother too. Crazy, right? You thought but kept those words to yourself. Words weren’t needed between the two of you anymore; you knew him long enough to understand that he could probably guess what was on your mind.

“Can I be honest?” You interrupted, taking your comforter and tossing it between his lap. You shuffled closer until the space between the two of you ceased to exist. Beomgyu reluctantly nodded again and took your blanket in his palms, feeling through its seams as he stared at the setting sun.

“I thought you already were,”

“Well, I mean, really honest.”

“Shoot,”

“I actually knew you were sneaking into our gigs.”

A part of Beomgyu wanted to get up and run out of the basement, but another part of him knew that he should’ve trusted his gut from the start. Though he was aware of socially dense, book-smart academics, he was sure you weren’t of the sort. From managing the law society with impeccable leadership down to being a core member of a band, he knew deep down that adept communication and management skills came with social awareness. Nonetheless, he took the confession with ease, admiring the events at the night bus with a newfound perspective.

“I played dumb because I didn’t wanna ruin things for you, you know? Music is something that brings people together, and I can understand that in some ways, being in this basement was a safe space for you—some sort of escape from all the bullshit that your parents put you through,” You explained, heaving a sigh as you kicked the now empty can of lemon seltzer towards the same corner where the crushed, dented beer can had landed.

“And at first, I thought you weren’t so bad. I mean, you actively came to our shows even if, for whatever reason, you hated me at school. I think my thing about the entire ordeal is how I can’t wrap my head around you being so mean to me.”

He always knew you were honest, but he didn’t think you would be honest in such a raw, authentic way—especially with him.

“Like I’ve said, the Beomgyu three months ago is a different Beomgyu. I didn’t really know how to process the grudges I’d held against my parents since I was kid, so I guess I took it out on the people I’ve been compared to,” He replied, after a few seconds of silent pondering.

“Is that really it?” You asked, repeating his pensiveness with your own rendition of a long, drawn-out pause.

“Yeah, that’s it, I guess,”

“Are you sure?”

“What are you trying to say?”

You grabbed your comforter and tossed it into his face, running behind the drum kit in anticipation of an attack. Instead of seeing your comforter fly across the studio, however, Beomgyu remained still, slowly taking off the cotton blanket and neatly folding it into a pile beside your backpack.

“That you were obsessed with me,” You finally joked. The sun had completely set, and there were no signs of your bandmates coming into the basement anytime soon. Heaving a sigh of relief, you took a seat on the stool that saw the best of your musical abilities, grabbing a thin, 7A drum stick that was worn down in an amalgamation of splinters and cracks. You twirled each stick around your fingers, humming a light, jazzy beat on your head before hitting the ride cymbal and placing your feet on the hi-hat pedal.

“You’re not entirely wrong,” Beomgyu retorted, taking a seat on one of the amplifiers as he watched you perform a small solo that reminded him of the bossa nova records that would often leak out of his maid’s earphones. “I did find you pretty cute, I just wished you didn’t show your cards as a teacher’s pet in our first classes together,”

“Little boy couldn’t handle being bested by a girl?”

“No, more like little boy couldn’t handle being bested by a nepo baby,”

The crash cymbals rang in Beomgyu’s ears, but he didn’t step away from the noise. After hearing your band’s studio sessions on several online music streaming platforms for so long, he couldn’t resist the opportunity of watching you play live in such close proximity. To him, you were surely a one-of-a-kind musician, one that managed to turn senseless beats and fills into a melodic journey.

“Not anymore!” You yelled, tapping your sticks to the side of the snare drum while kicking the bass drum’s pedal to accentuate each rhythmic interval with timed, yet deeply dispersed vibrations.

“Ex-nepo baby,” Beomgyu corrected. He wanted to pick the acoustic guitar beside one of the larger amplifiers in the basement, but he resisted the temptation to play alongside you.

“That’s more like it,” You said with a smile, halting your drum solo and slipping your sticks back into a small, slender bag. Pushing your weight off your stool, you leaned backward until you could reach the hilt of the acoustic guitar, gently handing it over to Beomgyu as you readjusted the towel that lined the entire snare drum. He took it and admired the woodwork, recalling the chords that he had taught himself when he was a teenager that had the ability to dream.

“So, what do you wanna do?” He asked, bitterly scrunching his nose as the dissonance of untuned strings reverberated in his ears. You tilted your head to the side, but Beomgyu took his palm up in the air to stop you from getting up from your stool again.

Thom Yorke was right, everyone can play the guitar.

“Can you sing?” You asked, leaning your chin onto your palm while keeping your elbows leveled onto the cotton surface of the towel on top of the snare drum.

“Sorta?” Beomgyu replied with a shrug.

“Can you set up the mic on your own?”

“I think so?”

“Great, show me what you’ve got. I’m sure being a big fan also means belting out notes like Geonu, right?” Once Beomgyu was confident enough about the tuning of the guitar, he started to strum the chords that lined each stanza to the song you wrote. Instead of playing along, you deepened your trance and kept your eyes on his slouched figure, watching a man that could’ve been a musician with you in a different world. The basement had always been a sanctuary for the two of you, and now, free of all the ills of wealth and familial obligations, you openly shared your secure liberation with him, watching him play a song that was written for him.

EPILOGUE: CARPE DIEM

Wе'll play our love against your hate

Don't you count on us to let you win today

Today

Through the corners of your eyes, you could see Beomgyu in his so-called disguise: bright, long, red hair sprayed on with less than perfect agility and accuracy, torn sleeves that revealed his stick-and-poke tattoos across his arms and chest, ripped jeans to match his long legs, and a pair of combat boots that made his walk turn into awkward waddles between the dance floor and the bar. God forbid you found him attractive in the daylight, but the nighttime brought out a different beast in him. He wasn’t the snobbish, prideful boy that you would bicker with during your law modules; he wasn’t the sharp-tongued asshole you wanted to fight in the middle of the hallways; he wasn’t the man that made you feel less than a woman whenever he unluckily graced you with his presence; he was just Choi Beomgyu—a lost boy under the dark, neon lights of the disco ball of fate that spun the two of you together in a distorted, complicated mosaic of trials and tribulations.

You wouldn’t dare admit it, but you found him rather attractive from the start. That was the reason why you wanted to catch his attention when you first met him in your first-year orientation. Back then, he had sleek, black hair, trimmed to perfection to explicitly embody his status with a single look. While you presented yourself as the exact opposite of who he used to look like, there was no harm in trying, right?

Who knew that your lack of courage to speak to him and befriend him from the start would spur a three—almost four-year—rivalry of academic battles and hurt? You certainly didn’t predict it, but perhaps fate worked in wonderful ways, as he was now doing two-steps to a song that you wrote, composed, and poured all your heart into.

A song about Choi Beomgyu.

We danced and played until the sun came

Writing a story using our names

About a generation not afraid to seize the day

Geonu’s voice was the perfect touch to the lyrical prose and intricacies you communicated through the song. It was sweet, yet packed a pang of pain in each syllable—something that you always applauded him for. What made his performance better was how it made Beomgyu’s wasted presence look like an angel—as if Geonu’s voice was the spell you needed to finally see the man as a divine, untouchable being in your eyes. The test lights of all different colors glowed like a halo on the crown of Beomgyu’s head, and with the last cymbal to end the song, you immediately got up and dove to the crowd, throwing your drum sticks behind as your lips grazed the man you’ve hated for the past three years.

Beomgyu couldn’t tell if he was too drunk or if he’s waited for this moment since he saw you on the edge of the row at an introductory elective he chose to fill his schedule, but he took your arms in his in one, fell swoop, catching you in your fall with the sturdiness of his grip. In an instant, all of the feelings he had for you blended into a single word: love.

Who knew that hate was not the opposite of love? He certainly didn’t. In a sense, he should’ve listened to Heeseung from the start and swallowed his stubborn pride—then again, he also knew that life didn’t work that way. At this moment, he thanked his unyielding nature for allowing him to be with you for three, long years. Even if there was an incessant voice within him that complained about the prospects of being with you earlier had he not been so difficult, there was an equal part of happiness within him that was completely satisfied with the way things were. Chance worked in wonderful, albeit unpredictable ways, and maybe if he didn’t hate you so much, he wouldn’t even know of your existence from the start.

The crowd around the two of you cheered as they watched you engulf Beomgyu in another, languid embrace. Their voices were mere whispers filtered with the booming sound of Geonu’s speech in the microphone and Sungchan’s own guitar solos; all you could see was Beomgyu’s angelic face between your soft, sweaty palms. The rush of adrenaline that usually came with playing shows was now replaced with the gentle hums that echoed across the cages of your chest, aching with a pulsating pain that threatened to implode inside of you.

“You’re such a loser,” Beomgyu whispered, taking the back of your hands in his as he caressed the surface of your knuckles with his thumb. You could feel his rapid pulse quicken by the amount of alcohol he consumed, but that didn’t matter. You didn’t need to be inebriated to feel a certain way.

“Shut up,” You retorted, touching the tip of your nose on his before climbing back up to the stage to finish the song one and for all.

With the band together, arm in arm, the four of you gave the crowd the last bow you’ll ever give them. Salty tears were shed, roaring claps and cries for an encore were heard in the distance, and the only person in your eyes was Beomgyu, who was sober enough to stand still and spill his drink in your face. In return, you blew him a kiss and threw a single drum stick in his direction, watching him effortlessly catch it and twirl it between his fingers. As the chants for an encore grew louder, you stared at each of your sweat-ridden bandmates—all of them nodding at the last request.

“Alright, assholes,” Geonu began, taking the mic stand apart and throwing it to the side. “You asked for it, so we’ll give you one more performance. One more, yeah?”

Sungchan didn’t even need to play the first chord to the song; Jeongin didn’t need to pluck the strings to his bass; you didn’t need to go back to your drum kit to strike the first beat; Geonu didn’t need a microphone to signal the first note of the song. Everyone knew what the next performance was going to be, and they crowded around the stage, forming a circle with Beomgyu at the center.

This one’s for you, prick. You mouthed with a wide, ear-to-ear grin on your face. You took a can of lukewarm beer and pierced it right in the middle with your teeth, watching the crowd gaud you to finish it all in one go. Then, you crushed the empty can in your fingers and threw it to the side, rushing back to your band as they all sat on the edge of the stage.

“You guys know the words to this one, right?” Geonu shouted. The crowd roared with approval and kept their feet still in anticipation despite the hazy inebriation that turned their vision into a mere collection of blurred movements. The alcohol had rushed past your bloodstream and circulated in your head, forming a telescope that pointed to Beomgyu as your one and only North Star.

Look me straight into the eyes,

When I truthfully lie to you

For a graduation gig, this was perhaps one of the best gifts you could ever ask for. No amount of material desire could replicate the sense of community felt within the tiny, decrepit basement that your band has called home. Now that you’ve thought about it, this basement didn’t seem to belong to your band anymore. It belonged to everyone in the room. Those who wanted to escape a life of mundanity and academic pressures, those who wanted to forget about the time they fucked up their jobs, those who wanted to remember their youths with rose-colored lenses and shagadelic sad boy music, and those who just wanted a place where they could be themselves. The basement was a home—no, a sanctuary—that welcomed everyone with open arms—even the likes of Choi Beomgyu.

Dreams are of your taste,

Mornings smell like you

You took control of the chorus and screamed to your heart’s content. Everyone’s voices blended into a harmonious blend of heartfelt solidarity. There were people making out in the corner of the bathroom, those that were too drunk to stand and yet muttered the lyrics in the best way they could, and the strongest soldiers of your long setlist remaining still, arm in arm with each other as they continued to sing the lyrics with you and your band. Beomgyu was still in the middle, eyes glued to your swaying figure as you slowly descended from the stage again with a microphone in your hand.

The compass fails to listen to me,

My lost soul’s wandering,

And searching for the path that leads to you

Geonu, Sungchan, and Jeongin descended the stage too and started interacting with the crowd. You could see Heeseung in the distance waving at you with two joints between his fingers and a girl clad in a bright green apron in his other arm. He gave you a thumbs up and bowed before going to the bar, and you returned his gesture with a fervent scream of gratitude. You then took Beomgyu’s head and ruffled his hair, letting the residue of his red dye stain your palms.

“So that’s what the song meant,” Beomgyu whispered right next to your ears, watching your panting figure gulp down an entire bottle of water in one go. He took the microphone from your hands and sang the last verse to the of his best abilities, letting his mind scavenge through all the times he’s secretly listened to your band’s discography on Soundcloud. There was no use in pretending he didn’t know any of the words when he’s spent every waking moment listening to Joker In on his commute to and from campus.

“Yeah, kind of funny, right?” You replied, tossing the empty bottle to a nearby trash can. Beomgyu tossed the microphone back to Geonu, who was now being nursed back to health by Sungchan. You gave the two a nod and took Beomgyu’s hand to leave the confines of the basement.

Now that the two of you were outside, you breathed in the fresh scent of grass and greeneries that surrounded the abandoned house. The night sky in hues of navy evoked divine iridescence with the hymns of the crickets and fireflies that sparked the outskirts of town into a bright, starlit grove of secrecy. You took another can of beer that you hid inside the pockets of your overalls and crushed it open, offering a sip to Beomgyu once you were finished taking a large gulp. He refused, leaning his tall frame on the unpainted walls of the house. The noise from the basement echoed into the vast, empty skies. Everyone’s voice seemed to repeat the chorus of the song in muffled hums, and you joined their choir with a quiet rendition of your own, humming the song that brought you to Beomgyu in a gentle lullaby.

The compass fails to listen to me,

My lost soul’s wandering

And searching for the path that leads to

You stared at Beomgyu before finishing the last line of the verse, twirling the cool can of beer between your fingers. It was impossible to hate him under the moonlight.

“Do you still think I’m that sexy stranger that you almost took home with you from the bus stop?” He asked, craning his neck to look at you with his glassy eyes.

“Dipshit, we went over this a long time ago. Did you really think I was that stupid?” You replied, returning the rhetoric while fishing for a pack of cigarettes in your pockets. Beomgyu scratched his head and cleared his throat, averting his gaze to meet the destroyed leather of his combat boots.

“Well, you’re still kind of dense…”

“A face like yours is difficult to hide, you know? Even with your dumb excuse of a disguise.”

A light chuckle escaped your lips. Beomgyu always wondered what you’d sound like if you laughed with him instead of laughing without him. Perhaps it was the remnants of alcohol that remained in his bloodstream, or perhaps it was the irresistible, honey-like tone in your voice that made him want to hear you laugh again.

“Can we start over again?” Beomgyu interrupted. This time, he positioned himself at an angle that made him face you regardless of where his neck was aching to go. You gave him a small smile, followed by a middle finger as you let the fizz of beer emulsify within the confines of your mouth.

“Seriously? I thought seeing your dumbass play guitar in the studio was already enough?” You replied, letting the embers from your lighter reflect its yellow flames in Beomgyu’s marble-like eyes.

You were not one to waste a cigarette, but a single puff engulfed you in a woozy feeling of nausea and turbulence. As you stubbed the light out of the long, white stick on the dying grass around it, you turned your attention back on Beomgyu—the most patient he’s been since the two of you first met. Everything with Beomgyu felt long and drawn out, but this time, you didn’t mind. The night was long, and you wanted all the time in the world to start over, even if it meant confessing some of your deepest, dirtiest thoughts to him.

Carpe diem. Seize the day.

And so, you did. Beomgyu’s cheeks felt like satin feathers ruffling and tickling each of your fingertips, electrifying you with a gentleness that lulled you closer to him. There was nothing to be afraid of from the start, and even if it took you three years to overcome that unbridled, irrational fear that is Choi Beomgyu, you were nonetheless glad that it was all over. Another day was about to come, and who knows? Maybe Beomgyu wouldn’t be an enemy anymore.

—CREDITS: @writingmochi @gyvhao @chocorenchin @michipan @hsgwrld (hi meg !! also tagging you on this because this is a eurovision fic lMAOO this is vivian on her txt blog btw !!)

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