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hotdogct · 2 months ago

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whatever, forever | njm

pairing: film major!na jaemin x history major!reader genre: college au, songfic, minor ~angst, the tiniest bit ~suggestive. words: 2.1k a/n: based loosely off the song “rock bottom” by modern baseball. russian cowboy film is real - at home among strangers - mikhalkov . just a lil something written over the course of this week to distract myself from how badly my body hurts. :)

hyuck 🔆 [11:29 pm] is he here?

hyuck 🔆 [11:32 pm] are you making out???

hyuck 🔆 [11:37 pm] i can hear you guys on the couch

hyuck 🔆 [11:41 pm] shut up make out do something already!!!!

hyuck 🔆 [11:41 pm] i'm waiting 😘

After reading those texts from Donghyuck, Jaemin could feel the color drain from his face, confidence diminishing by the millisecond. You had stepped away to the kitchen for another beer, but left your phone behind absentmindedly; buried within the safety of soft, plush blankets the two of you found yourself tangled in that evening on the couch in your apartment. You were supposed to be reviewing films for your ‘Films of the USSR’ course, with midterms right around the corner. Jaemin was never good at studying the traditional way - notes and books, readings and lectures.

He was much more of a visual learner, content to be a spectator; but all he could focus on was you.

Some bizarre Russian take on the traditional ‘western’ from the 70’s was playing on the modest television in the living room. It had lost Jaemin’s attention long ago - the beers and pizza you two had been nursing that evening just some of the many factors making his mind wander. The multiple shots of espresso he consumed earlier in the day left his heartbeat a consistent elevated rhythm. The room was spinning - or maybe it was just him. Knowing you would scold him if caught snoozing, he took this moment of solitude to close his eyes, content smile spreading across his soft features…

When Jaemin felt a device vibrate under his thigh, he didn’t think twice of reaching for it, digging through the blankets absentmindedly. He blinked once, twice; the screen lit up automatically and betrayed your secrets before Jaemin could even comprehend that this wasn’t his phone.

What was no surprise was Donghyuck, your pesky roommate, being nosy as ever. What shocked Jaemin was the content of the messages.

Sure, it was glaringly obvious to everyone with a pulse just how infatuated Jaemin was with you, and had been since you showed up to the foreign film club on campus two years prior. As a film major he had felt obligated (read: pressured by the department chair) to attend, passively paying attention from the back row of the lecture hall on Tuesday nights.

While notoriously bad at remembering dates, Jaemin could clearly recall the weather on the night you first appeared at the club - blustery, the earliest glimpse of Spring bringing warmth during the daylight hours, and a crisp chill to the evenings. He remembered your introduction - you were a history major, but loved cinema; how you joked that you were too broke to travel but that this club satisfied your wanderlust. Practical, he thought to himself - excusing himself during the 10 minute recess post film and ditching discussion, as he always would.

The second week, Jaemin watched from his favorite seat in the back row as you unfurled a blanket out of your bag - a thought that had never once crossed his mind in all of the nights he had spent in the frigid lecture hall. You had waited until the lights were off in the hall, as if prioritizing comfort was somehow a shameful display for you. He hadn’t meant to take notice - he simply was observing what was in front of him - the film, the fidgeting and rustling of his peers, cell phone screens glaring bright like stars, the distant rumble of doors opening and closing, your actions in the dark...

That night, Jaemin stayed for the post film discussion for the first time, hoping you would share your thoughts. Sure enough, Jaemin watched as you engaged in a fiery debate about purposeful dialogue, double meanings. If anyone had asked for his opinion, he wouldn’t have been able to give one. It would be the first of many occasions he was rendered mute by you.

The third week, Jaemin did the impossible and raised his hand to participate in the post film discussion. His comment wasn’t anything groundbreaking - leaves his memory not long after it comes out of his mouth. He couldn’t quite understand this sudden need to share his thoughts with others, the compulsive urge for conversation - how unlike him - and was none the wiser to your lingering eyes from across the room.

Still contemplating all of this on the walk back to his apartment, Jaemin somehow tuned out your clunky, approaching footsteps. Only your voice successfully cuts through the dense fog clouding his brain - causing his entire being to jump.

“I didn’t realize you could talk.”

A startled “YA!” bellows from his throat, an involuntary reflex; but when Jaemin turns around to apprehend whoever caused him such stress, he’s shocked to see it’s you. Feeling his cheeks burn, sensing your need for a response, he clears his throat and shrugs his shoulders.

“Not much of a conversationalist.”

You pause. “Fair enough. How’s that working out for you though…?”

You were quick with the retort - he had nothing to immediately offer, save for his name - that much he could speak aloud, didn’t tell you that he knew yours already. Racking his brain for an answer, this was quickly becoming the most mental fortitude Jaemin had to put into a task since middle school algebra. Most of his friends knew he was no fan of debate; emotionally stone walled. You brashly approached the subject within two minutes of meeting him.

“Jaemin?”

Resuming his walk back home, now accompanied by your energetic frame, Jaemin finally answers:

“I, uh, manage. It’s whatever.”

A giggle, melodical and sweet - he made you laugh. “Whatever?”

“Yeah, you know. It’s all whatever. Doesn’t really bother me.” This is the same speech Jaemin tells himself, day after day. “Just here to learn, soak up everything like a sponge.” His shoe makes rough contact with the gravel of the path, rocks scattering sharply against the still of the night. This time, you were the silent one, until:

“So, you take in everything - but do you ever let it out?”

No.

Jaemin wasn’t about to admit that, though; couldn’t quite comprehend that his infatuation with you was much more rooted than he initially conceived. His answer was the only one he knew how to give, default expression, a blank canvas, yet somehow willing to let you make your mark.

“It’s whatever.”

Hearing approaching footsteps, Jaemin is quick to drop your phone. He exaggerates a yawn upon your return, stretches his arms outward, tries his best to sell the scene fully: He is tired©. He is ready for the midterm. He is sober enough to get home safely. Most of all, he doesn’t want to prove Donghyuck right, can’t believe you two would joke about something like that.

What was he even doing here?

“Well,” Jaemin forces a fake smile, looks straight ahead at the Russian cowboys on television, the floor, anywhere but you; slaps his thighs with both hands. “I’ve had a fantastic night, as always, but I should get going.”

Before he can make any headway on getting up, your hand is gently pressing on top of his own, as you sit back down beside him on the couch with ease. Moments later your weight is gently pressing into Jaemin’s slender frame, as you try to get back in the comfortable, cuddly position you were in before the beer break.

“Noooo, Jaem,” you dig your head deeper into the fabric of his hoodie, words slurred and muffled. “I just opened ‘nother beer and we still have like, 40 minutes of this to get through. Can’t leave now.” You nudge him again once, twice, hoping he would adjust his arms around you - but Jaemin is cold and still.

It hurts him to ignore your gaze when your head pops up from the safety of his chest; focuses on the bright light of the television instead, gestures towards the cowboys having an intense shootout on the screen.

“I think I’ve got the gist of it. It’s getting late.”

“Exactly! ‘snot safe out there,” you start, eyes darting around in search of your phone. “Just stay and finish the movie?”

Another incoming text causes your phone to light up from its location on the armrest. Bingo. You lunge towards it with all the grace of a drunk 20-something (nada), arm not at all able to reach from your current position. It’s as if Jaemin is momentarily invisible, an obstacle in the way. You wriggle your hips closer and closer - not close enough - before throwing one leg over his lap, outright straddling him. Your hands finally grab onto your phone, rolling your eyes seeing it was just texts from Donghyuck; only then does it gradually dawn on you just how intimate your current position was.

Jaemin, Jaem, Nana - the only person you’ve met that you haven’t been able to understand. It drove you crazy, kept you up on nights like these; how he held a wealth of knowledge, locked inside the worlds most sealed lips, wide Bambi eyes. A mature presence in every matter except for his own emotional state. A dam you wanted nothing more than to overflow. Even now, with you literally on top of him, his hands remained limp at his sides, afraid to offend.

You hoped Jaemin realized that you weren’t phrasing your next words as a question, but as a command:

“You sure you gotta go?”

Jaemin wishes he could say no, wishes he could summon the courage to follow through with action for once in his life. Instead he finds his face uncomfortably close to yours, swears his heart could burst out of his chest with how nervous you’re making him. The room continues to spin and he’s vaguely aware that his breath must smell like the most unattractive mixture of garlic, coffee and beer; trying his best to divert his gaze literally-anywhere-but-your-own-ohhhh-fuck-its-too-late…

He wasn’t aware of how shallow his uniquely scented breaths were until he dimly felt a hand move to his chest; both your locked gaze and gentle action grounding him. A simple moment to catch his breath that felt like it spanned infinity itself. And there, nestled amongst the stars, Jaemin finally found his courage.

…fuck it.

Jaemin’s lips are crashing against yours; knows he’ll need to apologize later for his poor aim, awkward pressure, this rusty practice of alcohol and hormonal fueled energy unfolding between the two of you. If the room was spinning before, certainly it was now in astral orbit. Now Jaemin’s hands are frantically grasping for any bit of you he can grab - didn’t come this far to lose you now.

It all comes to a grinding halt before either of you can begin to comprehend the boundaries just crossed, the physical distance closed. Shallow breaths were now shared between you two, foreheads resting against one other; triumphant orchestral soundtrack from the abandoned film making the moment feel much more important than it surely was.

That is, until Jaemin hears faint applause coming from the neighboring room, feels your features harden downward, scowl apparent. His name is not mentioned, but the shared annoyance of Donghyuck could be felt. Seconds later you motion your head towards the direction of your bedroom; despite the frantic grip he held on you only moments prior, Jaemin trusts himself to untangle his body from yours temporarily, familiar footsteps leading to the bedroom.

Door shut with a bang, Jaemin’s wide eyes take in your space for the first time; drunken, heavy legs steering him onto the lumpy mattress you called your bed, knocking a stuffed animal to the side. A multitude of string lights were hung all around, creating your own private galaxy with hundreds of little stars…

But you - when you showed up a moment later with water in one hand, the blankets that had been discarded in the living room in the other - Jaemin swore you somehow shone the brightest of them all. The bed momentarily shifts under your weight as you join Jaemin, your back pressing against his chest, his arms encircling you, safely.

In the privacy of your room, the pace Jaemin sets is much more sluggish; slow, deliberate kisses along the side of your neck, shoulder blade. Featherlight traces of his fingers through your hair, softly hums in tune with whatever music you had put on. Intoxicated no longer by alcohol or caffeine, but by you.

“Jaem?” your sleepy voice weighed down by the sandman’s dust, stomach rumbling and suddenly craving the local deli. “Can we order Marathon tomorrow?”

A lazy kiss is Jaemin’s initial answer. “Whatever you want.”

You snort, before mocking him. “Whatever yourself.” Jaemin doesn’t respond verbally, and you try again.

“Whatever, forever.”

To hell with the spins, to hell with class tomorrow, to hell with your creepy eavesdropping roommate, to hell with the midterm - Jaemin was staying right here - with you - in wonder whateverland.

a special lil dedication to fic writers in general. i was inspired to write because last week in the immediate aftermath of my incident, reading fic was one of the only ways to temporarily distract my brain from how bad my chest hurt lol. this weekend i plan on reblogging the ones i read with some feedback attached as a thank you. please know the silly hobby that we partake in really can have a small effect upon others. it feels silly to acknowledge, but thank you. <3

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