Blue Flag, with doyoung and yedam.

Note: this does follow Ao No Flag, yet there are minor plot changes such as time setting! You don’t have to read Ao No Flag unless you want to! The plot was to be described a bit, Maybe? Hopefully— through my writing!

Dialogue heavy!

• For the first time since third grade, they share a classroom together. It’s Doyoung that shone with genuine appreciation it: smile wide, enough to make Yedam feel something — something other than a sense of guilt, guilt for feeling insecure. Although he shouldn’t be. They’re completely different people, not at all the same— and yet.
• Doyoung’s hands grab his shoulders when he raises his voice, and shouts out his name; Yedam’s body moves on it’s own, jumping toward to Asahi, his face paling, and heart hammering.
• Doyoung laughs, and it does something to Yedam’s heart. Makes his gut churn, and fists tighten.
• “What class are you in, man?” Doyoung asks, his smile is wide— and his eyes are curled, and his face is bright beneath the sun beating down on him, it shone yellow high in the sky. Doyoung looked happy, and Yedam wishes he wasn't— only for a moment.
• “Class A,” He replies, heart calming down from the scare. Palm rubbing over his chest, over his uniform— heart beating under his palm, drumming against bone, hard. Doyoung’s face shifts, into something like surprise, or— Yedam doesn’t know, he really doesn’t.
• Doyoung’s arm wraps around Yedam’s shoulder, pulling him into his side. “Woah! We’re in the same class? That’s crazy! Haven’t been since the third grade!” He says, voice heightened. Laced with appreciation, or maybe, gratefulness. He smiles.
• Then it shifts.
• Voices call out for Doyoung, and he goes. Just as easy as he came, and it makes Yedam stare after him; Doyoung walking into arms, into his friends—
• “‘Sup to you too, Yedam,” A friend of Doyoung’s says, staring down at him. A smile on his face. Yedam’s shoulders bunch up, and he smiles, doesn’t feel right on his face. “… Uh, thanks. You too.”
• He’s unaware of the eyes watching. Burning on Doyoung, then on him.

—

• During lunch, Asahi and Haruto pry. Not that they usually do, it’s just different when it’s about Doyoung, Haruto asks— “Hey… Something’s been bugging me,” A beat of silence, “how are you and Doyoung such good friends?”
• Yedam stops eating, thinking before he speaks, “We’re been best friends since primary school,” and maybe that’s why his heart does something for Doyoung, “but I don’t think we’re that close.”
• Yedam really doesn’t know— maybe they were close before. But they grew out of it, their closeness. Or maybe, it’s a closeness that became one-sided, on Doyoung’s part, or maybe on Yedam’s part,— or maybe they’ve never really been close— his thoughts don’t stick together anymore after that, Haruto speaks up again, “Nah, you both seem to get along well. Even though you are a completely different ‘class’, right”
• “‘Class?’” Yedam’s brow furrows. Face shifting, eyes staring— what did he mean? Class?— Yedam just, he doesn’t know. It makes his heart drop, a bit. “Yeah,” Haruto shrugs, finger pointing out the classroom window, down onto the field outside.
• Doyoung is out there, in his uniform playing soccer. The sleeves rolled up, and beads of sweat formed on his skin, the sun beating down, and other boys chasing after him. His forearm wipes his skin, the people out there cheer him on— Haruto continues, “Because that Doyoung… Has unrivalled skills in the baseball club, and his dexterity is above most, as well. He has great manners and a sense of humor so the girls are always fawning over him–” And it gets Yedam thinking. Really thinking. Heart sinking as he does. “He’s someone who makes the most of life.”
• “And yet he doesn’t have a girlfriend, does he?” Asahi says, slow, curious. But not really caring. Just, curious.
• Haruto jokes, “Maybe he just loves to lead people on,”
• That makes Yedam lose his appetite, shoving his sandwich into his lunchbox, his face scowls. And Asahi pales, leaning toward Yedam, Yedam’s voice lowers, sinks. “Stop it, Haru… Doyoung isn’t that kind of guy.”
• Haruto leans toward him, finger touching his forehead, “Maybe. But he’s on a completely different field than us,” A beat of silence, and Yedam’s heart is sinking so low into his gut, “You are being used.” Yedam wishes Haruto never spoke. His heart sinks as well.
• A boy shouts. And clutter is loud. Echoing everywhere in the classroom.
• “Hey, what the hell are you doing!” A dark-haired boy has a finger pointed at a light-haired boy, voice deep. Irritated, and angered. The light-haired boy points his finger at the dark-haired one, “… He pushed me!” It comes out quick.
• Someone:s voice echoes, “(name) hasn’t even eaten half,”
• Your lunch lays on the floor— scattered, and you’re picking it up, face flushed— burning red, cheeks colored so deep, Yedam begins to think it hurts. Yedam lowers his brows, the side of his mouth raised. He doesn’t really like you.
• Your friend, her voice is low, has a softened edge lingering beneath, “Are you okay, (name)?” You don’t answer, just continue picking up your food. Burning beneath her gaze, and everyone else’s. “Apologize properly to (name).” She says, and the light-haired boy raises his voice, “It’s her fault for always eating so slowly, and always diddy-dallying!”
• And your friend’s face hardens. She’s always been scary, Yedam thinks. And her voice goes even lower, anger lulled low, humming beneath. “Huh? It’s your fault for rampaging through here!”
• A voice perks up, mocking, taunting. “Ah, it’s the gorilla girl run,” And they snicker beneath palms, the boys move. Run toward their desks.
• Asahi asks, quietly, “Was that (name)’s lunch?” And Haruto clicks his tongue, “Looks like it.”
• Yedam stares at you, just watches. The burning of your skin, your blush infectious. “As always, (name) is stupid and slow…” Yedam says, and it makes Asahi stare at him like he’s grown another head, and Haruto calls out Yedam’s name.
• “Yeah?” He turns around. Eyes curious, wondering— “I have another question, why don’t you like (name)?”
• Asahi speaks, easing his way in, “You’re pretty cold to that girl, aren’t you?”
• “I don’t mean to be…” It’s true. That much is very true. And Haruto says something Yedam doesn’t get that quickly, “Even though you like small animals,”
• “Huh?” His hand rubs over the nape of his neck, smoothing down the hairs. “(name) kind of seems like a small animal, doesn’t she? Kind of like a hamster.” Asahi brightens up at that, and looks your way. “Ah. Hamster-ish girls.”
• “Hamster girls?“ He questions. Looks your way too— your hands are clasped together, and your face is still red. “Hamster lady?” That makes Asahi stare Haruto down, Haruto says, “Nah, that’s wrong, right, Asahi?”
• Yedam has so many questions. But he doesn’t ask. He just, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t—

—

• He walks down a hall toward his classroom. Wondering what the problem was— his relationship with Doyoung was the problem. That he hadn’t changed, but was of a different ‘class’.
• Then he thinks of you. How long he’s known you, yet hasn’t really known you— he’s always been in the same classroom as you. Your eyes had met often. You never really spoke to each other— Yedam halts, gazes absentmindedly out the window. His reflection staring back. You’re slow. And always looking down— and it’s exactly like—
• “Whatcha’ looking at?” Doyoung’s face is suddenly too close, and it makes Yedam jump back. Doyoung laughs easily, “You’re such a wimp, Yedam!”
• “You always appear so suddenly!”
• “Ah, really? Sorry.” Yedam wonders why Doyoung’s face softens when he rubs the back of his head. They walk into class together.
• The voices again. They tell him he’s amazing, and he’s good, and they question why he’s so good, and what can’t he do?— and he stutters a bit— “W–well,”
• Yedam just, he doesn’t know. It’s not like he doesn’t like Doyoung, they just don’t get along anymore— Yedam walks toward his desk, without saying anything. Misses the way Doyoung falters, the way he stares after him.
• Your desk is beside Yedam’s.

—

• Yedam finds you.
• At the library near school. Reaching high, on a stepping ladder. Fingers spread outward, touching. But missing the book your reaching for— Yedam turns. Frowning. Wishes this weren’t happening, because he feels like he’d feel bad if he didn’t help you, you look like you desperately need it—
• “Are you okay?”
• You stiffen. Face burning again, “Eh? Eh? I— Yed—” and Yedam moves toward you, “Move.”
• You do, slowly. And you’re burning so much, he feels like he can feel the flames touching his skin, a butterfly-touch, too soft— “Which one? I’ll grab it for you.”
• “Th– there’s no need! You can’t look!” And Yedam looks up toward the shelf where you were reaching— and he immediately wishes he hadn’t tried to help you—
• About romance, about love, about liking, about having crushes— he turns red. And your hands cover your face. Your blush is, infectious. Is all he thinks. And he’s embarassed too.
• He reaches up anyways. And he spreads his fingers out. Missing the book your reaching for too. Fingers grazing against it— he can’t reach either— and when he does reach it, it’s crammed too tightly between the other books. He gives up.
• It’s embarassing for the both of you — you both leave the library, and find yourselves at the intersection outside of the look. Waiting for the light to change color.
• He can feel your gaze, sometimes it burns, and other times it’s too light to even feel— you look like you want to say something.
• You do. “Um… — S–so… Yedam!” And he looks at you. You’re set ablaze, and you’re staring at him. Bright. Radiate. The universe. Silence surrounds you, and the street noise is faded. “… (name)?”
• You jump. Burning even more. “Ah! I— I’m sorry!” The light changes color. And Yedam is desperate to leave, to never try be around you again— he apologizes. “… No, I’m sorry about earlier, I went a little overboard.”
• Your hands clasp together, close to your chest. “That’s completely!—” And Yedam is staring at the light, wishing he could leave— your eyes shut tight, and you burn bright— Yedam begins to speak again, because the light is going to change soon, and he really wants to get to the other side of the street already, he’s embarassed enough— “Well, I won’t tell anyone so it’s fine,” His hand gestures to the other side of the street, and you’re burning up even more, “I’ve been out for a while, so I should probably head back now. Ah, well, I’ll be–” then the light switches and his insides are screaming.
• You don’t mind though, and he thinks, of course you wouldn’t— you fumble with your words, “Um… Yedam… I…— Well, I…”
• “I have something I want to talk about with you!” Your eyes are closed tight when he looks to you, you burn beneath his stare— it must hurt— you’ve just shouted at him, and he thinks about how infectious your blush is— “Talk about? With me?” He questions. You open your eyes, and you nod a bit— “W-what…?”
• “D… Doyoung… He…” Yedam stares. Waits for you. You inhale, before exhaling, the tension in your body leaving, but not entirely. “What kind of person is he?” Your hands come to your face, touching your cheeks— The universe, radiate, bright. “Doyoung?” He echoes, wondering why him, why why why— “Y-you and Doyoung are good friends so…” You reason softly, shyly, words almost tender— Yedam scratches his head, “but that’s not really the case…” Because it isn’t, they aren’t good friends, they aren’t close— “The discussion… It’s about Doyoung? What kind of person is he?” It dawns on him. Softly, brightly— the library, the books, everything else.
• “(name), could it be…” it’s not far-fetched, why wouldn’t you? his hand drops, and the world is still, “you like Doyoung?”
• “E… Eh… Eh?!” You set ablaze. “Wh-why? Why? Wh–” You’re burning, and Yedam just knows. You’re so easy to read. “Well… no reason?” He says, and thinks, (name) and Doyoung, they won’t get on well. It doesn’t look like they have anything in common... But thinks about Doyoung, and remembers how well he gets along with everyone— This is about Doyoung. About you. About romance— crushes, love. “If it’s that kind of conversation then I’m useless!” The light switches again, and he’s moving to the train station, “When it comes to love advice I’ve got nothing!” Yedam says, chest tightening. “And I’m not that good of friends with Doyoung anymore…” You follow after him. Steps slower, softer, “That’s… But you guys chat so easily!” Your hands are clasped tightly in fists, and Yedam— he keeps talking anyways. “We don’t chat that much!” He argues back. Thinks different classes, we’re on completely different fields— “Now, We’re completely… – It’s just that I’ve known Doyoung since primary school.” Different classes, different fields, different— “Our friend groups are different. He’s in the baseball club, and I’m in the ‘go home’ club,” different classes, different fields, different— “Since we entered high school, we’ve been in completely different classes too. So–” Different classes, different fields, completely different— “We’ve been with him since primary school?” You question, making him stop. “Eh. Well–” He begins, before you cut him off.
• “What was he like in primary school?” your eyes brighten, the universe— it does something to him, his chest tightens, a pressure growing in in his chest— sweat forms on his skin. Doyoung? What was he like? — “Doyoung hasn’t changed at all. Same as now, he was everyone’s favorite.” Is? Was? He doesn’t know—
• He thinks, about primary school, about Doyoung— “Whenever he started something new… It would become a fad for the entire class,” Classes, fields— Doyoung is in a class, in a different field— he thinks of primary school, thinks of Doyoung, and then thinks of battle pencils. “Ah, battle pencils.”
• It’s nostalgic thinking about it, reminds him of being a kid. When he was free and at ease to be one— you repeat after him, eyes brightened, searching, curious— “Pencils?” It makes him smile.
• “You roll the pencil then battle with the side you rolled.” Yedam gestures, mimics a pencil rolling— it’s weird, seeing him do it without a pencil, but it’s enough, enough for you— “Back then, they were super popular! Doyoung started that one too.”
• Thinking back, it’s the most friends he’s had— for a moment, it makes him happy, to have had more friends, to have been enough— he turns to you, and you stare at him. Pink embedded in your cheeks, like that’s where it’s supposed to bloom, and he thinks, what the hell am I talking about.
• He doesn’t realize the train is pulling in, and he’s still. Standing there, with you— Yedam panics, “The train is already here,” He turns red. Face heating up. Setting ablaze. “W-well, if that’s the case,” You let out a small noise, confused, curious— “Eh?” and Yedam says, “Bye.” Before he’s running off.
• You watch after him, and on the inside, Yedam is feeling so, embarassed.

—

• “Are these okay?” You’re holding your hands together, staring down at the battle pencils you set on his desk. Yedam stares, “How did you get these?” And you mumble, stutter over your words. “T– they’re my brother’s, but will they be okay?” And Yedam doesn’t understand why you’re asking him. Doesn’t know— “Why?” He asks, he knows he’s mentioned it— of course he does— what will they be okay for? Why?— Why ask him?— “What’s that, Yedam?”
• Doyoung is there. Reaching, and touching the pencils on his desk. Holding one in between his fingers, says, these are nostalgic, and you turn. Just a bit, and stare. You set ablaze, and Yedam swears he feels your cells burning.
• “Where’s this from, Yedam? Is it yours?” He’s staring at you— Yedam is staring at you, and you do look like a hamster— one that’s in trouble, and one that’s shocked, it can’t move— “Nah…” Yedam tells him, and burns too when he realizes how much you like Doyoung— burning so bright, and so hot— bright, radiate, the universe— “Huh? so it’s (name)’s, then?” And you burn even more when Doyoung shifts his attention to you, you shake your head, body vibrating, trembling almost. “Huh? It’s not?” Doyoung questions, uneased— “Apparently, they’re her brother’s,” Yedam says, his face dropping. You lied, and he’s not finding it amusing, it’s getting annoying— “Ah,” Doyoung replies.
• Your brows furrow, and you make a face at Yedam— fists coming up, and you turn to Doyoung, your mouth opens, and Yedam is thinking, you’re about to talk— “Doyoung!” You say the same time Doyoung speaks, “By the way, Yedam!” His voice louder, clearer— Yedam burns a little, “Do you still have them?” Doyoung asks, and Yedam is confused a bit— because what? “The ones you were making!”
• Doyoung holds up a battle pencil. Smiles, bright— “Custom battle pencils!” He says, and his smile is so bright, Yedam’s chest begins to get heavy, “I used to really love those!”
• “Custom?” Quiet, softly, you echo to Doyoung— and he’s quick to look at you, leaning in, “Yeah! Yedam was super good!”
• Yedam begins to burn, everything— from the back of his neck to the whole of his face— “That’s a nice story but! Aren’t these ones better, they look hard to make.” And Doyoung is getting the chair from your desk, and saying, “Let’s do it, let’s do it!”
• Doyoung looks to you, “come on, (name) too!”
• You burn, setting every cell in your aflame. “Eh?” And your face is red, so very red, “But…” Yedam is staring, “The rules…” Doyoung is sitting, staring so brightly at you, “You don’t know them? That’s fine, I’ll teach you!”
• You stare back, burning— bright, radiate, the universe— Doyoung smiles, eyes closing, curling, “Yeah?” And Yedam is thinking, good grief…
• You three okay with the battle pencils, and without even knowing, Yedam ends up helping you with Doyoung, and that’s fine.
• After, when class begins. When he’s sitting, staring ahead, thinking— you place a folded piece of paper on his desk and he looks to you, and unfolds it. The paper scratches against his skin when he opens it, his heart beats in his chest— and he just, doesn’t know. Thank you for earlier.
• Yedam looks at you, and your face is burning— you’re already staring at him, and the book you have in your hands move a bit, away from your mouth, uncovering it. You smile, bright, radiate, the universe— your eyes are closed, and your face is pink, blooming— he burns too.
• Doyoung watches, pencil pressing against his bottom lip.

—

• At lunch, a day later, Doyoung’s friends, the voices call for him— and he goes. You watch after him. Holding your pencil case full of battle pencils, just watching Doyoung— Yedam watches you.
• He stands, “Ah! Yedam…” You say, so softly. Burning. “Today, do you…” He knows, yet he doesn't— “Nah,” he says, you flinch, eyes widening. “With just two people, it’s…” You deflate, even more when Yedam says that. “… You’re right.” A moment of silence, awkward, and too long— Yedam scratches his cheek. “You want to do it with Doyoung, anyway, right?” And you flinch again, burning, setting ablaze. “Then invite him, not me.”
• Yedam stares at you, thinking, it’s not like you’ll do it— you look up at him, determined, “Ok!” And Yedam turns white, paling— you’re going? You stand, and then you sit back down. “What should I say…” You’re thinking aloud. And you look to him, “If it was you, what would you say?” And Yedam— he doesn’t know, why are you asking him— “Eh?! Me?” Why am I apart of this— Yedam thinks aloud, “What would I… Would… Normally, I’d say yo.” There’s a cold sweat forming. And his voice gets louder, “I have absolutely no idea!” He’s annoyed, with himself, with—
• “O… O- of course… I’m sorry…” A breath, soft. It’s timid, and enough— Yedam stills. His annoyance halting completely, “You don’t need to apologize…”
• He stares at you, watching, lingering— your hair is different, tied into braids— puffy, and messy, and so, you— you touch the ends, and Yedam thinks, P.E. is today?
• “Do we have P.E. today?” His head is tilting, staring at you— you straighten up, “Eh? I don’t… Think so.” And you wonder too. He speaks again, gesturing to his hair, “It’s just, tat you’ve tied your hair all up, and I thought you only tie your hair up when we have P.E…” He doesn’t know how he knows— maybe because he’s always shared classes with you— maybe because he—
• You burn. Like always. “W- well. There’s no special reason for it today.” And Yedam hums. And you touch the ends again, wondering. “I wonder… What hairstyles do boys like.” You brightened, burn a bit more. “Doyoung’s prefered style… And stuff.”
• “I don’t really know Doyoung’s preferences, but I don’t think preferences mean anything really.”
• You make a noise, and Yedam continues. “Honestly, when it comes to hair and stuff, guys don’t notice small changes.” And he thinks, and yet he doesn't— “Obviously, if you go and cut it all off. You’d make an impression.” His hand gestures again, shorter this time. And you stare. A boy comes in, “Yedam,” and he turns, “Huh, Asahi?”
• Asahi asks, “Can I borrow your dictionary?” and he sees you, “Are you in the middle of something?” Not anymore— Yedam says, “Nah…” Looks to you, before stepping away, “It’s fine.”
• He takes a glance back. Lingering, let’s himself look— he’s not thinking, when is he ever though?

—

• He knows it’d happen, he should have known— but when he walks into class, he’s surprised— “… (name)?” It’s short, really short— touching your cheeks, it— it suits you. “That…” But he isn’t thinking, not at all. “…Head…” And you smile, hand coming up, touching the ends of your hair, you smile again, just like before, when you handed him that note— thank you for earlier— and you ask, “How… Is it?” And Yedam is frozen.
• Until Doyoung tells him good morning, his attention shifting to you— “Woah, what happened?!” It sets you ablaze, and Doyoung’s tone is, nice, nicer than Yedam’s. Doyoung sounds, impressed. “Amazing! You went and cut it all in one go!” And you don’t burn, but Doyoung’s eyes sparkle— they brighten, like how yours do when you see him— Yedam begins, says Doyoung’s name because it might hurt you— “It looks good. It suits you.”
• You burn this time. There’s hesitation in your voice, a shake— so soft, slow— “I… I-i, it’s not weir–” Your shoulders almost touch your chin, they’re so bunched up— Doyoung cuts you off, “Looks good. It’s great!” And he looks at Yedam, stares right at him, “Right, Yedam?” Smiles, so bright it hurts. Makes Yedam’s chest feel heavy— Yedam looks at look, you’re red and burning and bright and radiate and the universe—
• A voice takes Doyoung away. And It’s just you and Yedam, and Yedam moves. Scratches his head, and tries to sit down— setting his schoolbag down, not turning toward you, you whisper a thank you Yedam!, and he wonders— “What for?” And you repeat after him, slower— like— like him…
• “My hair. You told me, I should cut it short. Thanks to you, he complimented me!” He hates it, he hates this— there’s a heaviness on his shoulders, like responsibility—yet, why would you go so far? why? why—yet… “Thanks to me…? When did I say you should cut it short?” It’s terrifying— feeling this much responsibility— it’s your hair— you make a noise, confused, you’re still smiling, bright, radiate, the universe— “Eh…? Yesterday, you said—”
• And he doesn’t mean it— maybe he does, maybe in the moment he means it, he doesn’t know— when does he know?— He shouts. At you, at himself at everyone— because he wasn’t thinking, when does he ever think?— “I didn’t say… Anything like that!”
• The world stills. And Everything is quiet except for his heart racing rapidly in his chest— he wasn’t thinking— and he’s running, only after seeing everyone, after seeing Doyoung staring at him— you chase after him. Asking him what’s wrong, that you’re sorry, that you didn’t mean to hurt his feelings— he turns abruptly once you’re outside, near a stone wall, lower enough to sit, shouting again, because that heaviness, it won’t leave— “I didn’t say like “you should cut it short” did I?” He heaves, “I take no responsibility!” and you echo the last word. You panic, arms coming to your head, “It… It’s really that strange? It’s weird?!”
• “No! That’s not it at all! It suits you!” His hands come to his head, he feels— he doesn’t know— he wonders why him, why you would go so far, for someone like, someone like Doyoung. And you, you’re so— “So far…? He complimented me, didn’t he?” You’re so you, you’re so slow, and always looking down, and— you ask Yedam it so easily.
• “He complimented you…”” Yedam repeats, echoes it so indifferently. “He complimented you, but.” He’s no longer holding his head, his hands coming together. “(name), what do you want to do with your love for Doyoung,” you make a noise, and he continues, “You want to confess? Do you want to go out?” And you’re burning, making noises, “Um…” And he shouldn’t mean it, but he does. “You’ve got no chance!” And the world is still again. He apologizes, “Sorry, I… I knew Doyoung’s preference… I mean, the person Doyoung likes is… Slim, tall, and older than him. Has a mature girl vibe. She’s sporty and straight to the point. As well as very colorful, and says things clearly.” A heartbeat later, “And also… Has long straight, brown hair.” His chest is tightening, you’re you— bright, radiate, the universe— he continues speaking, “You’re saying that his characteristics are just your type, right? He might be the perfect fit for you, but maybe you’re not the perfect fit for him.” You hand touches your mouth, your heart hurts— “In Doyoung’s case…” Yedam stops.
• “I see… So the complete opposite of me, isn’t it?” And you ask him, “Is Doyoung dating that person right now?” And Yedam looks to you, “No, It’s his unrequited love.”
• You smile, glancing at the ground. Yedam stares. “Well then. I really am thankful. You thought I had no chance, didn’t you?” your hands move, fingers spreading. “But… You told me that straight from the beginning, so…” You smile, eyes closed. Your fists tighten, “I’ll do my best!”
• “Eh?!” Yedam feels, surprised, and— “If Doyoung isn’t dating anyone right now, I still have a change, right? Even though you said I’m not his type, even if just a little he mag start to like me… Just a little.” And your voice is beginning to trembling, beginning to shake— “Even just a little.” Your eyes are glossy, and you’re smiling— your face does something weird, and you’re crying, and Yedam panics. “Are you okay?!” And your voice is trembling, “I’m fine! It’s nothing! It will stop soon!” And your face is still weird, eyes wet and face squished together, red and blotchy— “But your face is…” Yedam is— he doesn’t know. And a slow realization grows, he asks, “are you crying… Because of that?” Because maybe he’ll like you, even just a little? Because, maybe he won’t?
• “I’m not crying!” You say, and your face twists, relaxes. Then you say, “Because I decided to change. I’ll give up. I can’t do it. I thought before doing this, I had no chance. But if I didn’t do it, I would regret it… I won’t like myself if I stay like this.” Yedam feels relieved, even though he had no reason to. Thinks, you won’t have any regrets if you understand yourself and know your place. More than that, this— you won’t have any reason to dislike yourself.
• You’re crying. And Yedam is awkward, heart beating heavy in his chest. “So… Are you going to stop crying?” Your hands cover your face, you burn, set ablaze— he’s unaware of the cells beginning to burn in him— “don’t look!” you say.
• He remembers something, “You know, if you don’t want to cry… Opening your mouth a little helps,” He opens his mouth a bit, staring intently at you, and your uncovering your face, “like this,” he says. His mouth open, “when you open your mouth, you can’t focus on other things,” his mouth closes, and he stares, at the glossiness of your eyes, the sheen of glass, the tears threatening to fall, and the pink blooming in your cheeks— “so you won’t cry.” Yedam opens his mouth, head tilting back. And you copy, slowly. Staring at one another until your tears at gone, and you both laugh— at free, and at ease.
• “Yedam… I’m starting to like this hairstyle.”

—

• Doyoung finds Yedam, Doyoung calls out Yedam’s name, and he walks near, closer— “What was up earlier? You don’t normally raise your voice like that,” Yedam stands, and so do you, “Ah.” Doyoung says. And he leans toward Yedam, quietly asking, “Did I get in the way here?” and Yedam asks, “Of what?”
• “Huh? What was wrong earlier?” And Yedam stiffens, flinches, “Nothing really…” And you and Yedam both say, “It was my fault,” at the same time, it’s enduring. You both argue, back and forth— “Huh? You’re wrong, I said it’s my fault,” Yedam begins, and you mumble, “Eh? That’s not right, it’s my fault!” “I told you, you’re wrong, it’s my fault!” “Why? I selfishly–” “Wrong.” “Why, I–” — Doyoung laughs, smiles. His hands raise, and they touch your heads, ruffling hair.

Life is a series of choices. In your first year of high school, you three, — maybe everyone, was living in ambivalence, choosing careers, taking exams, the future is spread out before you. It was going to be hectic, at this stage… The three of you landed in the same class. Best friends… Lovers… At this time, Yedam doesn’t know how it ends.

The nape of your neck turns vermillion, it makes him wonder, — “There’s no one else I’d rather be with.” [Pacific Rim AU].

Yedam is six years old when a monster emerges from the sea (& he is eighteen when he signs up for the Jaeger program).

—

“We… — We can’t be Drift-compatible, I… — We can’t be.” Your fingers clenched tight into fists, white blooming in skin. Eyes looking at Yedam, tired. Afraid. And there is Yedam, there is his heart. Beating heavy in his chest, against bone. Fast, heart pulling away.

“You don’t have a choice.”

(He doesn’t know you. But you know him, and he thinks that’s all that really matters).

—

You ask to spar with him, your eyes locking. Lingering. Yedam just thinks, yes. And for a split-second Yedam thinks you can hear him, he’s almost convinced you can — “Okay.”

Seeing you in front of him then, in a body that wasn’t Jihoon. He tell himself you’re far too young, far too inexperienced. Just like him.

(He leaves the sparring session with a bruise on his cheek, and a bloody nose. You apologizing, trailing after him.

Yedam realizes he’s the one who is far too young, far too inexperienced).

—

He feels like he knows you. Yet he doesn’t.

It’s not his thoughts. It’s yours. When you first drift together. At first, it’s just flickers of your past growing up — ripples of you, a swing set and one long lonely road. The sky morphs into red, you against the backdrop of the world — then there is screaming. Then there is a Kaiju. Rising from nowhere, the sea.

(After that it’s Yedam — flickers of him, fading black. Spots appearing, then gone).

Yedam looks to you, gaze lingering. The nape of your neck turns vermillion, it makes him wonder. And your eyes glossen, face and ears reddening.

+

It hurt his heart, ached. Pounded against his chest. The Jaeger moved when he did, and so did you (maybe you’ve always moved when he did, trailed behind — he remembers eyes looking at him, tired. Afraid).

Then, he looks at the screen in front of him.

Drift synced.

Yedam doesn’t remember anything after. Just you, and he reels from your memories.

—

The days following after your first drift pass. You still trail after Yedam, and sometimes he finds himself trailing after you.

Yet there is something there, something hardened. Unquiet, and building.

—

Every time you drifted in the Jaeger, he got more flickers of your memories. And Yedam wonders if you get any of his.

He got more of himself out of your memories than he gets of you — like you’re always drawn to him, always wanting— needing to be with him, always wanting to touch him — and it should scare him how much you look up to him— how much your heart loves him. Yet it doesn’t.

+

Yedam asks, just once. And maybe again later. “What do you see in my mind?”

“I… — I don’t see anything.”

(That isn’t how drifting works. This isn’t Drift-compatibility — yet you’re almost perfect for one another).

—

He watches you. Yedam can’t help himself when he stands next to you. Can feel you stiffen, but you still stare at bluish, almost purple machine. You’re alone in the Jaeger hanger.

Yedam stares at you, and thinks maybe if you have to drift again, you won’t hate him.

(He knows he could never hate you).

He can’t explain it but he’s sure he’s always been connected to you.

“Why do I always feel connected to you?”

—

The first memory you see, is of you.

It’s weeks after, and it makes your heart swell. Your body heating up. You stare at him in disbelief, because this isn’t the time — not now, not here, there’s Monsters in front of us—

A part of Yedam whispers, You’re the one. It’s a feeling akin to the universe aligning. Yet it’s not sudden, or a realization, just there. You don't— can’t settle for anything less.

Your nerves prickle, and it feels frightening.

He forces you to help him, you do— but he does everything for you, and for himself. Yedam does everything, and a part of him whispers that he doesn’t need to expect anything in return.

The Jaeger’s limbs move when you move, together. The machine’s limbs all moved by hydraulics and muscle fibers driven by individual motors. The machine rattles, and it makes your heart drop.

(You kill six Kaiju, yet you don’t. Yedam does.

He leaves the machine quick, untangling himself from the wires and never looking back

You’re the one, you don’t like the way he stares at you when you catch his wrist. You don’t like the way he tells you to stop—).

—

You found him where you once stood. In an empty Jaeger hanger, hands curled over the guardrails, you’re the one — he stares down at his hands, knuckles bone-white. Tightening when the length of your body presses against his side, hands curling together over his arm, grounding into flesh like pulp. A sour taste in the back of his throat, “Maybe it’s apart of being drift-compatible… Always feeling connected.”

You stare at him like you know him. And every cell in his body burns, telling him you do.

“What if we drift again? Then… — then what?”

Your fingers tremble over skin, muscle, bone. And the look in your eyes is unbearable, tired. Afraid.

You give him a quiet look. You’re the one, his words etched inside your mind, forever.

“We won’t. Whatever we have… — It’s forever. As long as necessary.”

Yedam looks at you, swallowing. Adam’s apple bobbing. He says, “There’s no one else I’d rather be with.”

(He wonders — what if this was meant to be? The flickers of him in your mind, burning, searing. Heavy in your head, in your heart. If there’s really no one else for him other than you…)

your second kiss is your first real kiss. [or: five times you kissed Jihoon, and the one time he kissed you].

He sits still, feels it first. Let’s it linger.

On the corner of his mouth, resting there on his pale skin and the sliver of pink. Soft and sweet, and fleeting, a breath of warmth stuttering over skin, flesh, past bones, through him. Then gone, setting his nerves to tip over, prickling all over inside of him.

And then he stares, watching as your face sets ablaze, makes his throat dry.

“I… — I like you so much, Jihoon!”

Chest heaving, cheeks tinged pink – and in a heartbeat, your face twitches, eyes glossen, then you’re gone. Steps brisk, almost dashing. There is only Jihoon, and a loneliness once you leave.

Burning, “… Me too.”

He sits still, feels it first. Let’s it linger.

It burns.

—

Your second kiss is your first real kiss.

His palms sweat, together between his knees. Thumb tracing the joints in his fingers, stretched, open-palmed.

“– Color?”

His face twists, frowns. A crease between his brows. “Sorry?”

You smile, knees folding beneath you on your bed, the bed creaks – your head tilting just a bit, “What color?”

Four tubes held up to his face, they all look the same to Jihoon, – he chooses the glittery one, the one you wear, that gets hair stuck to your lips. Light pink, full of sparkles – glossy. And smells of strawberry, or something sweet.

“This one,” You smile at him. Cheeks reddening, eyes brightening. “That one’s my favorite!”

He knows, you’ve told him before. More times than he could count.

You hold it between your faces, twisting the lid off.

Then you’re holding his jaw between gentle fingers, pressing against bone. Brows coming together, face coming close, a warm breath, “Stay still, okay?”

He sucks in a breath, holds still. Stares at the crease between your brows, shifting to the slope of your nose, the pink tinge of your cheeks – then at your lips.

It drags across his bottom lip, and you pull away just a bit. “Go like this,” You rub your lips together, and he does too.

You run a finger at the corner of his mouth, beneath the line of his lips. Hands coming to his cheeks, holding him in place.

Then you see Jihoon.

Face burns, just like his chest.

Then you bring your mouths together, slow. Then fleeting.

Hands coming to your mouth, stammering, “I’m… — I’m sorry!”

Gone again, dashing out of your own room. Into the hall, and into the bathroom, where the door slams shut.

He doesn’t catch his breath, instead sinks into your bed, into the softness of your room – and burning, “… I’m sorry too.”

Jihoon wonders if you know how much he likes you. And the lipgloss sticks to the corners of his mouth, it must be everywhere.

—

In summer, Jihoon licks the side of your face.

“Ew, Jihoon!” You’re grabbing napkins, shoving your ice cream cone into his hands. Your nose is wrinkling, hands rubbing your cheek hard, and a discoloration comes after, red and rubbed raw – “You had ice cream on your face,” He smiles, making you frown.

You scoff, holding out your hand for your ice cream. Fingers brushing when he hands it back. He says, “It didn’t even taste like strawberry anyway.”

And you elbow his side. “Never do that again,”

Jihoon watches as your face reddens, and smiles. Notices just how beautiful you are, wishes he’d noticed before.

You smile again, lean closer into him. Eyes twinkling, “Can I have some of yours? You can have some of mine!”

Jihoon holds his ice cream out, a hand held out at the bottom of your chin, ready to catch any if it leaks out.

“Mint ice cream is just toothpaste,”

“You’re dumb for saying that,”

You sputter, mouth opening and closing – you whine, “But I’m right! It does!”

And the sun sets, sinks lower into the horizon. Jihoon watches, and you watch him.

He looks to you, and you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, soft and sweet. You redden, standing and holding out your hand.

“Walk me home.”

He does, he always does – Jihoon wonders when the burning will stop, that fades, or etches itself somewhere else in his mind when you squeeze his hand.

—

Jihoon stares at your eyebrows, the crease between your brows.

Your hands rub sunscreen on his neck, tilting his head up, neck stretching. Then onto his ears, thumbs gently tracing the shell of his ear, his shoulder comes up, head presses close to it. “It’ll come off,” You say and he’s looking up again, this time at the blue sky. Feet digging into the sand.

“There,” You smile, patting him on the head. And pressing a peck to his mouth. “Go play!”

Jihoon burns, and not from the sun.

Smiles at you, and watches you tinge red.

(You take a bus home after, sitting close together. Hands in his lap, you trace the ridges on his knuckles, his head on your shoulder. You tell him you love him, and he can’t breathe).

—

You’re overthinking, face downcast.

“Jihoon,” It’s a breath, you breathe his name out. Eyes glossed over, looking at his mouth.

“… Jihoon,” He’s staring at you, hand touching your wrist. “Are you –”

It’s just a press of lips, mouth together. Gentle, but it sets ablaze in his chest. Spreading all over his body from the inside.

You pull away, mouth twitching.

You leave again, slower. Face down, eyes glossened. And Jihoon is afraid of the loneliness that comes once you’re out of his room, the door slamming.

Kissing you burns, and it makes him wonder.

—

+ 1.

“I’m in love with you.”

Your brows furrow, “I mean, that’s why we’re together, right?”

His hands come to his hair, tugging, and he paces, “No, like I want to be with you all the time, and… — I don’t know how to be without you,”

You’re sitting still on his bed, listening. Always focused on him, always aware of him – “I can’t be without you. You’re always with me, you’re like a… — A leech.”

“Jihoon, that’s not very nice…” Your hands rubbed your upper arms. Grounding into them like pulp, digging into flesh.

“CanI kiss you?” He’s staring at you. Watching you redden. You say too softly, “But you said you don’t like kissing…”

“When?” His head is tilting, eyebrows knitting deep together. A crease between his brows. You sigh, “Before we started dating… I thought that kissing made you uncomfortable –”

“But that was before. I don’t like kissing, but I like kissing you! There’s a difference…”

You stare at him, nodding soft. Gentle, eyes tender. And face red.

When you barely stand, and Jihoon takes your face into his hands, kissing you.

Your hand takes hold of his wrist, grounding into his pulse. The thrum of his heart in his veins, throughout his body. Heartbeat at his wrist, and the other hand grounds onto his chest, fingers unfurl, spreading open. Pressing into his breastbone, into the soft flesh of his chest – it beats just as fast as yours.

Then the kiss is different, more certain. Different than yours – his tongue drifts across your bottom lip, making you melt into him. Your knees together, sinking.

Jihoon pulls away, and you smile so beautifully at him. Cheeks darkened, flushed.

“I like you so much, Jihoon!”

His chest heaves, burning, searing. He nods.

You & Hyunsuk are strangers, the whole world seems to think otherwise.

In his last year of high school, Hyunsuk makes the mistake of accidentally confessing to the wrong person. That’s where everything goes wrong.

·

“Excuse me,”

Turns to find you. And a boy.

“Do– do you need something?” Your smile is unbearable, the kindness in your eyes bright and blazing on your face. Head tilts, the boy’s head does the same – synced in a way that doesn’t mean friendship, deeper than it looks. More.

“I… Um!” Turns to your locker, stares at it – heart drops, chews on his lip. Bites hard.

“… Ask if he’s okay,”

Hyunsuk feels the burn, your eyes and the boy’s – searing at the back of his neck, seeping into his skin, bones, to his heart. Feels the red bloom of embarrassment grow on his cheeks.

“Are you okay? You look like you’re sick–”

Hyunsuk runs. Wants the ground to open up and swallow him – he made a mistake. Accidentally gives you his love letter for someone else – he makes a mistake, and he doesn’t know what to do.

Hyunsuk makes a mistake and runs.

·

“Maybe it’s a bomb –”

Yoshinori leans close to you, stares over your shoulder at your locker. Steals a glance at your face, before he bumps your shoulder gently with his, says, “– or a very lovely love letter,”

“Or maybe, he made a mistake and accidentally put it, said love letter, in my locker,”

“That only happens in Shoujo manga…” He pouts, bottom lip jutting out. You shrug, looking to him, a smile blooms on your face, “my life could be a work of fiction, you never know, Yoshi.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,”

You begin to taste something bitter in your mouth. Wondering if it is a love letter, or if it’s a mistake, or it’s – you dwell on your thoughts. Feels a hand ground into your shoulder, kneads through the layers of your uniform. Presses soft, too gently on you – “it’s okay to reject people, you know.” Nods his head, brings you back to reality.

You nod, open palm moving to cover his hand, “It’s okay to reject people,” you say back. Repeating his words, more to yourself than to anyone else.

“I’ll go get us milk, you’ll wait here for me, right?” Waits until you hand him over a few coins from your bag, fingers brushing against his. You nod, “obviously,” you say quietly. He smiles before he’s gone.

You stare after him. Feel the heat burning in your gut, you inhale. Swallow the world and feel something heavy on your shoulders.

You open your shoe locker, stare at the letter above your outdoor shoes. Stare and stare, until realization hits.

This could be for you, or it could be for someone who isn’t you – you don’t open it. Not until after lunch, after mouthfuls of rice, after your strawberry milk, after Yoshinori walks you to class, and goes to his.

Once you sit in your desk. Placing the pink envelope in between the folds of your notebook. Tearing it open, and placing out the parchment paper in your schoolbook, in the folds again.

Parchment paper between fingers, scratches against your forefinger. Draws blood, seeps into the corner of the paper.

You whip your fingers against your woollen sweater, red staining brown. Before your heartbeat quickens.

You looked beautiful today. I wanted to talk to you, ask you if you liked the color green – or any colors, you probably like colors. I chickened out, felt like I wasn’t enough to be beside you. But you looked beautiful today. I like the way you look. Your hair, the way the sun catches it – I wonder how your hair will look green. Probably wouldn’t match you, maybe it would. But I like the color green, I wanted to ask if I should dye my hair green. I probably won’t. Too chicken for that. Just like I’m too chicken to talk to you – I want to write poems about you, expect I don’t know how, and my friends think that’s weird because I can’t spell correctly when I’m expressing myself. What do you think? Am I good at writing? Grammar really shouldn’t matter, right? If it does– I’m rambling, can you do that through pen and paper? Anyways. I think you’re beautiful. I like the way you look – I just like you. There’s no one like you. I hope one day you like me just as much as I like you.

Your not-so secret admirer, Hyunsuk.

Then your heart stops. Your knees knock together.

The letter smells like strawberries.

·

Hyunsuk sits with Jihoon. Watches Bang Yedam make his way to them, Asahi following close behind – they’ve been attached by their hips when someone swore that they were too awkward with one another, Yedam’s face grew red and Asahi had said, “we aren’t, you just don’t see us together often,” – let’s Yedam press close to him when he sits beside Hyunsuk. And Asahi stands, stares at students eating their lunches, while popping the joints in his hands.

“I messed up.”

Jihoon is sighing, face twisting in confusion, “in what way? The kind of way that means cleaning up after you, or the kind of way that means–”

Hyunsuk interrupts him, voice barely a voice, “I gave the letter to the wrong person…”

Yedam is leaning up, staring at the side of Hyunsuk’s face, and Asahi has stopped the popping. “Are you alright?” It’s cautious, too low for anyone to hear, Hyunsuk nods before he drops his head, hands coming to curl around the back of his neck. Still feels the burning of your stare there, “I’m just so embarrassed. Like, why would I do that like that? I’m so – oh my god, there’s that guy that was with them!” His voice squeaks, draws attention. And he’s pushing himself behind Jihoon, who stares at the boy with eyes wide.

Asahi says, “That’s Yoshinori.”

And Yedam is humming, nodding along in understanding. “He’s always in the music room with class 1’s [reader],” And suddenly realization hits. “You confessed to [reader], didn’t you?” And Asahi is walking away despite Jihoon calls for him. “There he goes. Our son is growing up,” Jihoon says jokingly, and his smile snaps away when Hyunsuk’s face turns purple, like all the air in his lungs has been pulled away.

Asahi stands behind Yoshinori as he buys two milks from the vending machine, talks to him. Hyunsuk watches as he smiles at Asahi, soft. Pulls the corners of his mouth gently, lightens up his face. Wonders if you two are together – Then Yoshinori is waving awkwardly at them, smile soft. Cheeks reddening. Asahi is shrugging as his mouth moves.

Then Yoshinori is leaving, stealing glances at Hyunsuk. Just Hyunsuk. Only Hyunsuk – and Asahi is coming back.

He says, “he’s in the manga club with me.”

A breathe escapes Hyunsuk’s mouth, “I’m so dumb…”

Yedam hand rubs Hyunsuk’s shoulder awkwardly, “maybe they’ll both forget about it.”

“He wrote about how he wonders what their hair would look like green,” Jihoon says, mouth twitches. Hyunsuk is sighing, “I was just wondering…”

“… Why would you even wonder that?” Asahi questions. Brows narrowing at Hyunsuk, and Jihoon laughs, hand covering his mouth. Makes it muffled.

“I don’t want to be friends with you guys.”

“I’m trying to make you feel better, hyung!”

·

After school, after club practice, after Yoshinori leaves the school early to catch his bus – you’re alone.

Left by your shoe locker switching shoes, White cotton socks on wooden flooring. You shrug off your woollen sweater, folding it before shoving in your bag. A student walks by, nodding his head to you as he leaves, “be safe,” you say quietly. Watching as he leaves. You stare absentmindedly at the sky, before the door closes. You continue to stare once it’s closed.

“Um. Hey.”

A voice startles you. You jump. Knocking your bag over, your things spell out, along with the letter.

Hyunsuk stands. Hands reaching out, unmoving. Still.

“I– I’m so sorry!” He’s bowing. Head hung low.

“You just scared me, it’s alright.”

He’s kneeling, grabbing your stuff. Sliding it across the wooden floor. Toward you. They sit at your feet, before you kneel to. Knees pressing atop the floor. The crevices of wood holding skin. “You shouldn’t do that. I could have punched you,” You smile at him, but he keeps his head low.

Strangely, you don’t like it.

“Can you take a confession back?”

He asks. Your heart begins to hurt.

–No, this is the first boy to ever like you. He’s thinks you’re beautiful, he likes your hair, and you. And you don’t know him, but for the first time – you don’t know.

“I don’t know you. I don’t like you. Like– like that. I think you should dye your hair. I think green is nice, but I like black because it’s ever color. I don’t know you… And I don’t want to know you. I’m not looking for romance. Not now.”

For the first time you look at him. Think you see, see you. And he does.

You hope he does. But you also don’t.

“I… Okay, but can you answer my question.”

You smile, your head tilts and you say thoughtfully, “You can’t, not once you’ve already confessed.”

He nods. Your cheeks begin to burning. Palms becoming sweaty. You swear he’s beautiful. “I’m sorry,” He apologizes, “But I–”

“There you are!” A friend of his appears. Eyes on you and the contents of your bag on the floor. “I was looking for you, you weren’t in class.”

“I was… I was just apologizing to [reader].”

You nod, beginning to grab your things. Hand touching the letter before you slide it to him. “Be careful next time.” You say, because he’s taking his confession back and he nods. Cheeks reddening.

You’re shoving your things in your bag, standing up in a hurry. “See you both,” Grabbing your shoes, and slamming your locker with more force then intended.

Your eyes blur, and you wonder if it means you aren’t enough.

It isn’t that, you just don’t know.

·

“They looked upset.”

Hyunsuk is staring, the letter by his knee. Torn open, pink suddenly doesn’t look like it should. It doesn’t feel like a lovely color anymore.

“They were.”

A realization hits – you wanted the letter to be yours.

(He doesn’t know that there is a girl listening in, hands curling around her books, mind swirling – “[reader] was confessed to by Hyunsuk!” she gushes the next day to a few other girls. “They rejected him! Why would they even do that?!”)

·

#main protagonist: hope you’re home safe and sound, can we have lunch with a friend tomorrow? (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*.✧ [06:48]

#readerchan: i am! and of course, anything you want! ^_____^ [06:50]

You’re changed, pajamas soft your skin. You finish up your homework. Settling in your bed, phone in your hand.

#main protagonist: yeah, a friend from the manga club asked if i wanted to meet his friends, he invited you (´⊙ω⊙`)！[06:53]

#readerchan: that’s weird… [06:53]

#main protagonist: it is weird! i was like !, and then he was like ?, but i said yes [06:54]

#main protagonist: that guy who was by your locker is his friend (๑•﹏•) [06:54]

#main protagonist: i can decline, make up an excuse like i got sea sick and forget about his invitation lol [06:55]

#readerchan: you’re so weird~ [06:59]

Sighing, you lay down and stare at the ceiling. Eyelids closing over irises. You picture a cow jumping over the moon, feeling your heart heavy in your gut.

You sleep and dream of the boy you barely know.

Hyunsuk, Hyunsuk, Hyunsuk, Hyunsuk – you wonder how he’d look with green hair.

·

Hyunsuk is walking to school. Bundled in a coat, the morning air bitter against his skin.

Closing his air as he walks down an emptied street, listens to a song that makes his body ache – pull it together, we could love you, forever and ever – sees you hopping in the bus, coat buttoned up, woollen sweater in your arms along with two bags. A brown paper bag, and aged leather. Watches you fade into bodies on the bus through glass.

Realizes you live down the street from him.

Then he continues walking. Wondering if he should buy Yedam lunch.

·

At school, Yoshinori is waiting patiently by your shoe locker, already talking to someone. You recognize him as the boy from yesterday, the one who isn’t Hyunsuk – “– you heard that? From a freshman? I don’t think that’s true–” Yoshinori stops talking, face turning red at you. And the boy stares, and stares, and stares. Until you redden. “Wh… Um, hello.” You bow, and he smiles. Lifts at corner, before it spreads across his face. And Yoshinori waves. Awkward, like he has something he shouldn’t tell you.

“You’re [reader]?”

You nod, smiling. Shuffling between feet. Standing awkwardly in the hall.

“Uh. There was –”

“There is.” Yoshinori says, low. Quietly. The boy continues, “There is a rumor. It’s about you. And Hyunsuk. And Yoshinori.”

Your face twists. “… Hyunsuk?”

Your voice expressed regret over embarrassment. “Um. I didn’t accept his letter.” You’re looking at Yoshinori. Forgetting about the boy for a moment. “I couldn’t.”

Your heart hurts.

You walk cautiously to your locker. “They should fade, they won’t last – tell Hyunsuk not to worry.” You smile. And it looks bitter on your face.

The boy nods. Smiling, “See you later.”

His hand pats Yoshinori on the back before he’s gone.

“Why didn’t you accept? Hello, Shoujo romance is cheesy, you should have –”

“It’s also cringy, Yoshi.”

He sighs, hand going to his pants pocket, holding a manderine out. An open palm and a smile too soft – you grab it slow, fingertips brushing against his palm.

You don’t see Hyunsuk watching. Feeling the low unsettling burn of something in his gut – eyes on your face, your cheeks, your fingers – realizes you don’t want a letter from him, but from Yoshinori.

·

Hyunsuk walks to class after putting his things away. Thinks of Yoshinori and who he is – and why he doesn’t like you the way he should.

“What are you thinking about?” Yedam is by his side, books in his arms. Face lightening up at him.

“Yoshinori. Do you know him?” Yedam slows, thinking. Brows furrowing, lip going between his teeth. “Only that he’s in the manga club.” Shaking his head softly.

“Manga club…” Hyunsuk stops, sees you walking down the hall with Yoshinori. “What do you know about [reader]?”

Your head turns and you don’t see him. Your cheeks are tinged red, only seeing Yoshinori who doesn’t see you in the way you want – “they’re really nice. I talked to them once,”

Hyunsuk decides, why not – and vows to make Yoshinori jealous. For you. Only you.

That’s his second mistake.

·

You peel the manderine during break. At your desk, atop notebooks and schoolbooks. Fingers pull the skin, tearing the flesh of the manderine.

Your fingers softly ground into the pulp, pulling the piece apart and laying them on your tongue. Chewing slow, feeling the warmth of happiness bloom in your chest.

Until Hyunsuk walks into your class looking at you with a smile.

You begin choking, grabbing your water bottle and chugging.

“Are you okay?” He’s suddenly in front of you, concern written on his face – “I shouldn’t have come, I’m so sorry, I clearly almost killed you–”

And you laugh, because he’s rubbing his chin. Forgetting about you.

It snaps him back into reality, looks at your face, red discoloration seeping into your skin. You look different without Yoshinori.

You look beautiful.

“You almost killed me twice already,”

You say, softly. And you don’t notice eyes watching you both. All you can see is him.

He gestures towards the empty desk beside you. “May I sit with you?” You nod.

“Did I really almost kill you?” He questions. It’s cute, makes your heartbeat quicken. You don’t feel it, you don’t feel the pink crawling up your neck.

You and Hyunsuk talk. You give him a piece of manderine and watch his entire face redden when your fingers brush his palm.

A friendship blooms.

·

“I talked to [reader].” He tells Yedam. Whispers it, like a secret. It is.

Yedam nods, looking at him to continue. “They’re nice.” Yedam is humming, makes Hyunsuk’s gut jump. He agrees, low and quiet. Smiling.

They wait for Jihoon and Asahi. By a bench near the school doors. Yedam’s lunch in plastic containers on his knees, tells Hyunsuk, one is for Jihoon. And Hyunsuk pouts, “None for me?” Yedam is pushing him, softly with his shoulder.

The hair on Hyunsuk’s neck stands when he sees you trailing after Yoshinori. Hair blowing in the breeze that passes, hand pushing it away. The other hand clenched tight around a brown paper bag.

Doesn’t notice his heart burning.

“You look beautiful in the sun.”

He says, and he smiles. Watches you freeze. Face flushing, before you say, “…You too?”

Thinks it’s true. That you look beautiful in the sun.

Doesn’t notice you staring at Yoshinori. Doesn’t notice Yoshinori staring at him.

·

You sit beside Yoshinori and Yedam. Across from Hyunsuk.

You pick at a jelly sandwich, listening to Yoshinori talk about Shoujo manga and the recent adaptation of his favorite manga with Asahi – you think of manderines and if they remind Yoshinori of you, or if he’s just a good friend.

Your gut starts becoming uneasy. Emptying out.

Would Yoshinori ever like me?

You think. Chewing the inside of your cheek until Hyunsuk hands you a strawberry, smiling at you.

Yoshinori stops talking. Stares at you. Stares at Hyunsuk.

You think, but rejection is okay, if Yoshinori doesn’t like me, other people will. And you take it, pretending you are in a Shoujo manga. Just like Yoshinori said.

You smile. And Yoshinori frowns.

And Hyunsuk’s heart burns.

·

Hyunsuk stares at your smile. Feels the burn, remembers that you aren’t the one he likes – remembers that it could change.

His heart begins to burn. Searing against bones.

His breath catches.

This is his third mistake.

·

Hyunsuk asks Yedam about it days later, if it’s okay to move on quickly, and if it’s okay with like you – “people move on differently, it depends on the person, it depends on you. Everyone has their own process.” Smiles at Hyunsuk and continues walking. Meeting Asahi again, this time with Yoshinori.

Yoshinori isn’t Yoshinori without you, that’s what Hyunsuk thinks. Doesn’t realize you and Yoshinori walk different paths in life.

Trails behind.

Until he sees you.

Leaning against Yoshinori’s shoe locker. With two containers in your hand. And two strawberries milks atop them.

Face brightening up at Yoshinori. Heart burning, wishing it were him. You hand Yoshinori the container, fingers pressing tightly around it. Releasing it into his hands.

You give a strawberry milk to Hyunsuk.

You sit between them, and Hyunsuk watches the way the sun catches your hair when it shines bright in the sky. Heart aching, he decides to write you a letter – but this time, it isn’t for someone else. This one is for you.

·

“Do you like Hyunsuk?” Yoshinori asks quietly.

You’re sitting across from him. His eyes are tender, too soft to hurt you. Your hand curls tightly around your pencil, biting the side of your cheek, something bitter tinges your tongue. “W– what do you mean?”

His head tilts, drops to the chest. “You didn’t give me milk today… That sounds childish saying it out loud.”

You smile, but it feels strained. Your gut recoils, and you feel strange.

It’s been weeks since the letter. It’s felt like days – the more you think about the letter, the less you think of Yoshinori.

Instead all that fills your head is the smell of parchment paper that held the scent of strawberries, and Hyunsuk and if he’ll ever dye his hair green.

“I don’t… I don’t know.” It’s quiet. And Yoshinori stares, “you should tell him.”

Your breath hitches. Face twisting, you become upset because – because… You like Yoshinori. You do. You want him to be with you. You do. But Hyunsuk is there, here, he’s everywhere. Hyunsuk makes you feel warm and fuzzy and Yoshinori – “I liked you, Yoshinori.”

His face pales. He stiffens, and you know. Like you’ve always known.

You begin collecting your things. “Don’t say anything, okay? I know. I always knew. I… We were always just friends.”

Your eyes dampen when you walk away.

You think of Hyunsuk and wonder if he’ll ever dye his hair.

You think of Hyunsuk and wonder if he’ll ever hold your hand.

If he’ll ever just make a move.

You think of Hyunsuk. And he’s all you can really think of lately.

·

Hyunsuk writes you a letter.

He feels his heart ache and burn.

Thinks of your hair and your hands and you.

·

You’re almost at the school gates when Jihoon notices you.

You remember parts of him – he likes dancing, drawing, and he’s good at those things. His excitement rolls onto everyone around him, and he can make you smile and anyone else. You remember he’s friend with Hyunsuk and he’s easy to get along with – “Goodmorning!” You bow slightly. And it makes him laugh a bit.

“That felt so formal… Never do that again.”

Your voice stutters. Chin ducking, hitting your chest. “… Am I really that formal?”

“Try extremely reserved,” He jokes, it makes you smile. Face reddening, hands curling around your bags. “What’s for lunch?“ His chin lifts, gesturing to your brown paper bag.

“A sandwich.”

You shuffle between feet, hearing him mumble quietly, “Aw.”

“You should go, the bell will ring soon, don’t want to take up your precious time!” He wraps an arm around your shoulders, pushes you gently through the gates.

You wonder about Hyunsuk.

“Jihoon… Um… Hyunsuk, is – do you think… Do you think he likes me…?”

Your chewing your lip. Staring at the way his head tilts, at the way a smile grows on his face.

“Why don’t you ask him?”

You ‘oh’ softly, taking slow steps backwards. Nodding, before you twist around.

“… Ask him?”

·

He catches a glimpse of you at lunch.

Eating outside, sitting on a bench. Cherry blossoms fall, and it’s heart pounding. Smiles a little at your fingers pulling back the flesh of a manderine.

Opening the door, he walks to you. Maybe too quickly. Too rushed. But his heart is pounding loudly in his ears, his chest burns and wildfire is spreading across his body.

He practically throws the letter at you. It’s in a light green envelope. A sloppy drawn heart at the centre, slanted.

Eyes shut tight. Face tinged pink.

“I love you [reader]!”

That’s his fourth mistake.

Helikes you. But that works too.

Then he’s running. Towards the entrance doors. Pulling it open and letting it slam shut.

You face bursts into flames. Your heart swells and your stomach flutters.

His hair is green. A very bright green.

·

You read the letter during your last period.

There’s an extra layer of timidness in your fingers when they tear open the envelope.

Your whole body seizes. Your heart drums, and your fingers are running over his writing.

You look beautiful every day. My first letter, it wasn’t for you – but I’m glad I gave it to you. You like green. I did it BTW, dyed my hair. You’ll probably see, or have seen? I talked to you, I know you. Or at least, I like to think I do. Here are some things I know – 1. You like fruit, you pull the skin off of manderines slow, and you eat strawberries like they’re too sweet 2. You like the color black, because it’s every color. I think 3. You’re more reserved than anyone I’ve ever met, you remind me of an old person, in the best way 4. You look beautiful, that’s a given. You’ve always been beautiful and I’ve just never noticed 5. You’re everywhere, I’m just blind 6. You might like me. I don’t know. Not yet. I hope you do. If not, that’s okay too. I’ll understand. But. I think you’re beautiful and I think I’m a bad letter writer? See. I don’t know how to write.

You look beautiful every day. I like you. I think we’d go sweetly together. Let me walk you home.

Your not-so secret admirer, Hyunsuk.

Your knees knock together. Your heart bursts and your stomach knots.

He didn’t like you, but he does now. You think that’s okay, and you also think, maybe it isn’t.

Your heart has already decided.

You’re walking home with Hyunsuk.

·

He waits. At the school gates. Starked off in his uniform. Waits and waits. Feels a quiet nervousness swirl in his gut.

Doesn’t notice you walking toward him. Two strawberry milks in your arms and the letter in between your fingers.

“… Hey.”

The world slows down for Hyunsuk.

“Will you walk me home?”

Hyunsuk’s heart pounds and he smiles. Nervousness fading away, ebbing into less.

He nods, watches you hold out a strawberry milk. Takes it, fingertips brushing against your palm.

“Okay… I’ll walk you home,”

What he means is, I like you so much.

·

Hyunsuk walks you home.

Kisses you slow. Tastes like strawberries. Reminds you of Summer.

No – you lean in first. Eyes closed when your lips touch. Your hand twisting at the fabric of his shirt, palm warm over his chest. Pulling away slow.

“… Are you okay?” You ask, hand covering his. “I… Just really like you.” Face flushed red, you smile. Kiss him once more. Tasting of strawberries. Reminds you of Summer.

(#readerchan: i’m sorry :(

#main protagonist: finally, i thought you were never going to apologize

#readerchan: WHY DIDN’T YOU APOLOGIZE THEN

#main protagonist: I didn’t want to <3).

·

In his last year of high school, Hyunsuk makes mistake of accidentally confessing to the wrong person. Everything turns out okay.

Jihoon is more than just your best friend’s older brother—

You & Jihoon through the years.

• Age 6—
• Your knees ground into the sandlot, fingers digging into the grit of the sand. Palms cup, it feels like like velvet on your skin, delicious and empty. You pour it into a bucket, letting it overflow before patting it down gently.
• You shift, knees harshly rubbing on the sand. Stinging on your kneecaps.
• “I don’t really like sand,” A voice says, strange. You don’t turn, a swift nod of your head and it continues. Still strange, she tells you, stumbling over words, “I like snow, um, it feels cool, I– I like the cold, I like how it looks too! Bright and um, –”
• You tilt your head to the side, shyly. Palms moving over your thighs, sweat forming at the top of your brow, “I, I like snow too,” It’s quiet after you tell her that. It’s quiet, long enough for you to burn up under the sunlight, stiffen on your legs. Then the crunch of shoes above sand, she kneels in front of you.
• A smile, “Really? That’s super cool!”
• She gestures towards the pail, her hand opened. You nod, uneased. She turns the pail over, her open palm patting at the bottom of it. She looks to you again, smiling even brighter. Her hands move to the rounded sides, lifting up.
• The sand stands, before it plummets. Crumbling. Crusty and dry.
• It makes you laugh, the way her bottom lip juts out. It’s childish, your eyes crinkle. And she’s smiling again, but this time you’re smiling too, “Maybe we need some water, this–” Her hands gesture to the crumbled sand, “is far toodry,”
• You nod, moving to stand. Dusting the sand off of your knees. You stretch your hand out, opened, inviting. It’s hopeful.
• “I’m [named],” Timid, your pull away quick, eyes searching her face. She smiles, “I’m Youngji,” She holds out her hand, “Want to see my sticker collection? It’s pretty cool! I bet, you’d like it!”
• You take her palm, your skin sticks to hers.
• She’s smiling, it makes you wonder if her cheeks are sore. But it makes you smile too. “I just started today, it’s real hard making friends, but then!” She holds up one finger, her grip on your hand tightening, “I talked to you! We can be friends now, right? I hope so! I like making friends, we’re friends now. I think, I hope?” Her voice is louder now, more confident, more boyant.
• You nod, cheeks reddening. You squeeze her hand, “we can be friends…”
• Wind blows, and she stares at you, eyes bright. “We’ll be the bestest friends!” Your heart swells, it fills. Overflowing, you nod, eyes turning, lips pulling. The bestest friends.

—

• It’s late, after school. The setting sun shines in through the windows of the entrance. Youngji sits beside you, showing you her collection of stickers. Doraemon, and it makes you feel small beside her, when she shows you her newest addition to her collection.
• “Um… My momma doesn’t have enough for that one yet,” or the other ones too. You tell her, Youngji nods, comfort in her shoulder when she presses into yours. “It’s okay, I save up, I try too at least– money goes fast! Especially for those things,” you smile, head tilting curiously, you point to one of the bigger stickers, “did you buy this on your own?” she shakes her head, looking to you, “um… Well, my brother brought it, but he gave it to me, I wanted to buy it on my own but he said I could have it!” You smile, nodding along.
• The entrance door opens, cracking slightly. You and Youngji look, heads turning. “Hey,” She says, her voice getting bored at the sight of a boy. “[name]… this is Jihoon, Jihoon… Is, well, he’s a boy who lives in my house, we’re not related, I swear!” Youngji is gathering her things, her sticker collection and summer hat, putting them in her backpack gently. “Ok. So tomorrow, you’ll wait for me right? By the gates? Or would you rather–” Jihoon’s voice cuts hers off, “Mom’s waiting,” she grunts, “Um. I was talking.” She looks to him, her eyes rolling.
• Your face reddens. Hands tightening at the hem of your shirt, you stare at the slope of his nose. “I– I– I– um…” You stutter. “[name], we don’t talk to boys, remember?” Youngji is sighing, “boys don’t have Doraemon stickers like me,” Jihoon smiles, it’s forced. It makes your stomach drop. “I– hi… Um… I'm– my name is, [name],” His eyes turn to Youngji, leaving you.
• “Wait for me, tomorrow, OK? I’ll wear this hat again so you can see me OK? Oh, and I’ll bring us lunch, cool?” You turn to her, cheeks reddening even more. She’ll pointing to her hat, bright yellow. “L– lunch? Okay! I’ll, um, wait!” She already walking away, her body still turned to you as she walks backward. “Bye, my best friend.” Jihoon waves, and then they’re gone.
• Suddenly you can breathe. Like you were holding your breath. Jihoon Jihoon Jihoon — his name repeats itself in your head, and you think, is this what love is?

—

• Your mom is cutting sweet potatoes at the table when you ask her.
• “Momma,” Her hum is soft, like the rain that patters at the window that evening. You sit across from her, the wooden chair creaking when you sit on it. “Um…” Your forefingers press together, you fidget. “What is, what is love? You know, like real love…” It’s quiet for a moment, before she laughs, asking, “May I ask why?~” You sigh, shoulders dropping. “Well. I met someone. Today, before you came to get me at school. It was a boy. And it’s Youngji’s brother. You remember her, right?” She nods, placing her knife on the cutting board. “Of course, you told me about her.” You smile, “I met her brother. And I was just, wondering. What love was, you know?” You become nervous under her stare despite the tenderness in them.
• “I… I think love is, complex,” She says, you stop her, growing shy, “momma… I don’t know that word yet…” Warmth comes from her when her hand reaches for yours across the table, “Difficult?” You nod, you know that one. “It’s, a strong feeling toward someone, I guess.”
• “Um. What if… Is it, like not being able to breathe?” Your head is downcast, eyes unable to meet hers. “It can be, baby. Was he breathtaking?” You shake your head quickly, “Wha– I, I don’t know! He was… He was weird! Like he, he…”
• She laughs, it comes out in shakes. Her body shakes, and it makes you giggle, when she throws her head back, mouth opening. “I don’t know, momma.”
• “Love is whatever you want it to be baby~” There is teasing in her voice, but her fingers roll over your knuckles, skin moving over bones, and it settles the churn in your gut.
• You decide Jihoon is breathtaking that evening at supper.
• When your father is fixing your bed, you linger behind him. “Dad, for lunch tomorrow, can you make me something good, and pretty? And can you buy me strawberry milk? Two?” He stills, a smile on his face when he turns. He nods, “Sure thing,” it makes you smile, legs moving closer toward him, “but first, you need to get rest, okay? And lots of it! So, you can be happy and healthy tomorrow,” you nod, head bouncing, kneeling into your bed. Your father moving the blankets to tuck you in.
• He presses a kiss to the crown of your head, a shout of your mother’s name, and the soft creak of her steps on wood. She’s there when your father stands, she kneels. “Dream of me, okay?” You nod, teeth showing. Your gut warms, love growing in your heart, gripping at you. “Obviously,” She presses a kiss to your cheek, your father turns the lights off. Moonlight seeping in through translucent curtains. “Goodnight, my baby~” She stands, moving backwards, stepping into your father’s hands.
• You dream of Youngji and her brother. The thought of him still lingers.
• When your father walks you to school, he tells you about the sky – the rising sun and the infinite blue that swallows everything – you listen, staring at the clouds. “It’ll rain today, so I’ll bring an umbrella for us, okay? Do you want your raincoat?” He asks, voice warm. “Yes, papa,” He squeezes your hand.
• As you near your school, “Um, papa? Can we wait at the entrance? I told a friend I would!”
• He stills, “only for a bit…” Then he continues, talking about the sky. When he quiets, you begin talking, about school, about what he talks about, about what your mother talks about. Until arguing grows louder, as well as Youngji’s voice.
• She sounds annoyed, and she looks hurt when you see her. Her hat is still bright, despite the grim look on her face. Your gut twists when you see her brother trailing after her. She’s quick when she sees you. Her pace quickening, and when she’s close enough, she grips your arm, “you actually waited, thank goodness! You see what I have to deal with?” Her chin lifts to point at Jihoon.
• Your breathe is snatched from you. “I– I didn’t know you were coming, I–” you’re grip on your father’s hand tightens. Youngji gives you a funny look, one that goes unnoticed by you as you stare at her brother. Stop staring! He’ll think you're– “Hon, I have to go…” Your father kneels, pulling at your hand. He pats your head when you stare hard at his chest. “Hey, don’t look like that, you’ll get wrinkles,” his thumb moves over your forehead, the creases in your skin, smoothing over. Skin tightening. “I packed your lunch like you said, and this~” He stands suddenly, arms opening, his hand gone from yours. “Youngji!” She smiles, head bobbing up and down. “Nice to meet you, [name] talkes about you all the time~ now… I really have to go,” He says, exaggerating. “Bye mister!” Youngji’s waving, her arm hooking in yours.
• You stare after him, feeling small. He turns to wave, and you wave bye.
• “He… He’s nice,” You say, Youngji hums. Before she sighs, “Bye, Jihoon. Have fun at boring middle school!” She’s pulling you away, and you keep turning back to stare at him. Hand lifting up, waving. Eyes settling on the curve of his mouth, it lifts.
• Jihoon smiles. And you suddenly can’t breathe again. Your heart grips at you.
• When lunch rolls again, Youngji is squealing. Loud among chatter. “Youngji…” It’s threatening, but not enough to stop her from grabbing your arm and dragging you away.
• “So! I don’t know what you like… Yet! But I asked my mom to help pack things for us, OK? Yummy things!” She’s quick on her feet, shifting through bodies, shoulders colliding. You mumble out apologies, head down, face red.
• When you near her locker, she changes her shoes quickly, telling you you’ll be eating outside. “It’s going to rain today,” You say, eyes catching hers. She nods, “I know, but that’s later, like after school later.” Your mouth forms an ‘O’ shape.
• “Let’s change your shoes now, which locker is yours?” She questions, voice thick with curiousity. You begin walking. It isn’t far from hers, five lockers away.
• She tells you it might be fate, you insist it’s pure luck.
• The grass is green, and cherry blossoms bloom in the schoolyard. It’s empty despite the warm weather.
• Youngji is shrugging her bag off. Unzipping it while she walks. You look for a nice place to sit. Deciding on a bench near a cherry blossom tree. “Great eye!” She compliments, sweet.
• When you sit, she places a small container between you both. A pink lid is peeled off, Gyeran mari is sliced neatly, four slices. She places another container, a purple lid is peeled off again, this time with fruits. White peaches and strawberries – cream atop the strawberries.
• “I… I wanted it to be pretty! I even helped make it!” She’s smiling, all teeth. You nod, smiling back. Brighter.
• “I asked my dad to buy us strawberry milk! I’ll show you my lunch now,” You tell her, heartbeating faster. You redden, embarrassment washing over you.
• You unzip your backpack, pulling a lunch bag out, your hands grabbing a container from it, fingers pulling the lid off before you place it beside hers. An egg over rice. She ‘ooh’s softly, mouth forming an ‘O’ shape. You bag another container, smaller. Apple slices are there. You then grab the strawberry milk from your bag.
• “Tada! A dinner between best friends,” She says, brows rising. “Lunch,” You correct, handing her a strawberry milk. A grin smearing on your face.
• Her face falls a bit, it stirs something in your gut. Unease settling in your bones.
• “Um… Are, are you okay? I know it’s not much but–” You begin before being interrupted. She’s staring at you – through you, licking her lips before saying, “I’ve never really had a best friend, I hope we can be best friends forever.” A moment passes.
• “Let’s… Let’s be best friends forever then.” You hold out your pinky, a smile on your face. “Promise?”
• Youngji smiles, her teeth showing, she grips your pinky with hers. Holding on tight. “Promise!”

—

• Age 10 –
• (You follow Youngji to middle school, holding her hand along the way, whispering in her ear – she’s still your best friend when you both drift in different directions.)
• “Guesswhoo~” She says teasingly. Her hands covering your eyes. You giggle, grabbing one of her wrists, “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe, Youngji?” You say, pulling her hand away. You twist, turning to face her in your desk. “Wow! So good!” She smiles, teeth and all. Youngji leans against the desk behind you, her knees pressing into the back of your chair.
• “So! My parents…” She trails off, sucking in air through her teeth. “You know how I’m always like ‘you’re my best friend, yeah yeah’?” You hum, staring at the nervous expression on her face, “Do you… Maybe… I don’t know, want to sleep over?” She asks, her eyes brightening up. “You can meet my parents! They’re always like, ‘bring her over, come one, Youngji-yah!’” She clasps her hands together, smiling at you.
• “Okay. This weekend?” You ask, head tilting.
• She nods, she thrusts her fist in the air, a yay leaving her lips. “Oh my god, our first sleepover! What! This has got to be perfect, I’ll make it the best sleepover, I promise!” She’s leaving the classroom before you can reply, the door sliding open as she rushes away. You smile after her.
• (Jihoon makes your heart full. Overripe in your chest. Fresh and plump, fruit hanging in your ribcage, your heart is achingly sweet.
• You see him in the halls, face reddening when his mouth lifts, mouth curving. You don’t say anything, he doesn’t either, but when you catch his stare, you know – his heart is full too.)
• She walks home with you on Friday for the first time, Jihoon trailing after you both, a friend of his tucked by his shoulder — they’re loud, voices lingering in your ears.
• You grip your handle bars too tight, knuckles bone-white.
• “You live in the city side? Lucky~ I live by the lake,” She tells you, whining a bit. She stops, suddenly. “Do you want me to carry that?” She asks, pointing to your bike. You shake your head a bit, “No! No! It’s okay–” You redden at her stare, now you’re all stopped in the middle of an empty street. “Here,” Jihoon’s voice says, smooth in the wind.
• He’s beside you now, eyes turning, mouth curled.
• His hands cover yours over the bike handles, you stare at him, seeing him – your heart plummets, you think he knows, and he does, fingers tightening over yours before you pull away, slipping away from under his.
• “I– thank… Thank you.” His chin lifts, he nods. He’s walking away, his friend trailing after.
• It’s silent the walk home, but you can’t help stare at the back of his head. Your heart is fresh fruit, hanging in your ribcage, Jihoon’s hands pulling it open. Fingers wrapping around your heart – he eats, he knows.
• “Mom…” You whine. Hands moving all over, you trail after her in a rush, through the kitchen, to the livingroom, to the door. “Please… They’re just waiting for me, I will be gone soon, mom!… Hey don’t show them that!” She’s showing them a photo album, her hands ushering them to follow her, and they do. Smiling at you when they pass you. You groan, your father’s hand landing on your shoulder. He tells you, “let her enjoy for a bit, you hardly bring people over,” You nod.
• “Oh! Honey! Make tea, or juice? Would you like anything?” Her hands clasp together loudly, she’s smiling, her cheeks red. “I… I’ll go get my stuff, you, um, you can wait here, okay?” Your head tilts, your stiff when you walk up the stairs. Mumbling about how your mother never acts like that when your father brings friends over.
• When you enter your room, you try to be quick. Folding your clothes neatly, and then stuffing them in a bag.
• A knock interrupts you, you turn. Eyes widening at Jihoon. “Hey, I don’t know where the bathroom is,” He says, eyes staring at anything but you. He’s rubbing his neck, “It… It’s down the wall, you have to be careful though. The door gets jammed sometimes.” Your hands subsciously pull together, fingers tightening around one another. You smile, nodding.
• He looks to you, catching your eye. Smiling too. Then it’s gone. He doesn’t move, then he opens his mouth, moving then closing. It becomes tense, and he looks pained. Your smile is gone now, taking a step forward, “Are… Are you okay?”
• He stares at you, before closing his eyes. Shut tight, “You can’t like me,” He says. It’s a demand. The room stills. Quiet. Still. Unmoving. He shakes his head, before stalking off. The bathroom door shuts with a thud.
• Something stirs in you, “Oh…” You utter, the quiet becoming unbearable. And the stirring in your gut leaves you uneased, you feel your heart drop. You want to sink into the floor.
• (You still sleep over at Youngji’s house, you pretend you don’t notice Jihoon’s stares. You pretend he didn’t say what he said.)

—

• Age 13 –
• Jihoon joins the basketball team, and when Valentine’s day rolls around. Love notes and chocolates pail up on top of his desk.
• (You don’t talk to him much; when you stay over at Youngji’s house, he leaves. It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, ripping your heart and taking it with him – “Love is whatever you want it to be,” you decide whatever love you have for Jihoon isn’t love.)
• “I wonder if I’ll get any Valentines…” Youngji thinks out loud, stopping in front lf you when she gets closer to you at the school gates. “You will, I’ll make sure of it,” You say, arm locking with hers. She smiles, fingers tightening on your coat.
• “BTW. I heard a rumor~” She teases, finger poking your cheek. You sigh, “I told you not to use abbreviations outside of text, it doesn’t sound right to me, I swear I will–” You glare, voice going hard. “It’s about you, actually!” Youngji interrupts, her eyes sparkling. “Oh… Is, is it mean? I don’t like when people are mean to me, you know I can’t handle–” She laughs, ringing throughout the schoolyard. She stops, leaning close to you, her hand covering her and mouth when she whispers to you, “Yongshik from class A has a crush on you~” she pulls away with a grin on her face. You redden. “Like… Oh, um – like as a joke?” You question.
• She pulls toward the school doors, a girl holding it open for you both, you mumble a thanksand she says, “thank you so much.”
• You have to think about it, because it doesn’t feel right. “I don’t know who Yongshik though…” You mumble. Youngji smiles pitifully before a genuine one appears. “Hey, listen. You don’t have to accept his feelings. It’s okay to reject someone,” It sounds sweet, a little unlike her then she adds. “Better to be the rejecter then to be the rejectee!”
• You glare at her, “Cute, Youngji.” You say. She quickly says she has to be early for class, she tugs you into her arms, squeezing tightly before she runs off.
• You make a beeline for your locker, ignoring the eyes that seem to follow you. When you near it, a boy stands there. His face brightening up at you, hand opening to wave at you. It makes you still, you wave back awkwardly. You walk slower, until you stand in front of him.
• He smiles, and something about his smile makes you feel uneased, like he can see you, through you, like Jihoon – but not really. Jihoon’s eyes are starbursts, shining. Glowing. Vast – “Hello, I– I have something to tell you,” He says, and you can feel eyes on your back again. You nod, a feeling of excitement begins to stir in your gut and you don’t like it, your heart picks up. He pulls out a letter from the pocket of his uniform jacket, he hands it to you. You make sure to grab the edge of it, avoiding his fingers.
• “Thank –” You’re interrupted when an arm wraps around your shoulder, tucking you under their side. Your eyes dart to them, and you’re surprised it’s Jihoon, his smile is different – almost too sweet, sickly sweet. It oozes something you don’t recognize.
• “Hey, [name], been lookin’ everywhere for you,” He says, facing you. You redden under his eyes, mumbling, “I just got here…”
• You forget about the boy, and find yourself boiling over, your stomach erupting.
• “Um… You’ll read it, right?” The boy says, and you jump before nodding quickly, “Of course!” You smile at him and it falls once he leaves, walking to a group of his friends, they clasp their hands on his shoulders.
• “Why’d you do that? He might have needed help with homework or something,” You say naively, shrugging his arm off. “Or he could have a crush on you~” He sings softly, going to lean on the locker beside yours. He stares at you, a smile ghosting on his face. “Also, I seriously doubt he’d need help with homework, he’s one of the top students.” You ‘ah’ at him, he still stares at you. “Stop staring, it’s… It’s making me nervous…” You murmur, quiet enough for only him to hear. He leans closer to you, Jihoon smiles, “Nervous, huh? I know I’m too charming,” He teases, brows raising. You glare, but his smile makes you hide yours. He continues, “I get nervous too, when I wall passed a mirror, I always have to stop and stare,” You sigh, face heating up, “Jihoon,” You begin, daringly, “don’t get ahead of yourself,” he raises his hands.
• The bell rings, shutting your locker, books in your hand, Jihoon takes them from you, “let me walk the reddest girl to class,” it doesn’t make sense, but it makes you redden even more. “I, what– wait… Am I really that red?”
• (You read the letter from the boy, his name is Yongshik, and he thinks you’re smart and pretty and he wants to get to know you – you politely decline, telling him you like someone else. Yongshik’s sweet smile is gone when you leave, and he glares at Jihoon.)
• Age 14—
• Jihoon’s graduation is exactly how he wanted it – quick paced and undemanding. He insists you come –
• (You and Jihoon spend more time together than you should have; he tells you we’re friends now and yet you can’t help but feel like there’s something more to your friendship – there is; Jihoon laughs in your ear, quiet, hushed. Only for you to hear. He lets his arm linger over your arm when Youngji runs off to class, leaning too close to you. And whenever – completely by chance, not by him whining to sit beside you – you sit beside him at lunch, he knocks his knee against yours, and leans too close and talks to you, like you’re the only there. But still. Jihoon insists you’re friends.)
• When it’s over. He drags you away, – “Stealing me away when no one’s looking, clever.” “Please, just… Bear with me.” – his fingers tug at your wrist.
• You’re led to a bench by the school gates. Where he places his hands on your shoulders and pushes you to sit while he paces. People yell their goodbyes at him, and he waves goodbye back to each one.
• “Jihoon, I wanted to ask you something–” Your hands folds over your lap, fingers playing with the hem of your uniform skirt. “Um… Who, who did you give your second button to? I know it’s none of my–” He stills, and then his grabbing one of your hands, placing the button in your open palm before he closes it.
• And it’s quiet, a long deafening silence.
• “Can I kiss you?” He asks, and your eyes widen, face flushing. “Like, as friends?” You ask innocently. And he stammers, “What? No– like, as more than friends. Like in the movies, romance, you know?”
• “It…” You trail off. Your heart is beating, overgrowing in your chest, too ripe, too soft. “It’s okay.”
• When he sits beside you, you don’t know what to do. You stiffen, and he places a hand on your hand, rubbing gently.
• He places a hand over your closed fist, the one with the button. You face him, and this is the closest you’ve been to him, probably. You unstiffen when he smiles, fond.
• He tells you to close your eyes, and you do. Feeling his warm breath over your face, before soft lips press to yours.
• It takes your breath away. The air in your lungs lets out through your nose, and it feels like a secret. The kiss is barely there, light on your lips. But it impacts you so much.
• When he pulls away and you open your eyes, he’s smiling fondly.
• “I still remember when you told me not to like you,” You say, and he groans, leaning back. “Don’t remember me.” His hand stays over yours, and you place your free hand over his.
• You redden. Ribcage open, fruit heart hanging, ripe.
• “What… What does this mean? I mean, you’re graduating and I’m… I’m not. Not yet.”
• “It means, you’ll have to come over often,” He tells you, shifting closer to you. You nod, “I’ll visit over, Jihoon, so take care of me~”
• (Neither you or Jihoon tell Youngji. A part of you falls apart slowly when she asks if you like anyone, you lie. About Jihoon. About everything.)

—

• Age 15 –
• When you get to high school, you drift from Youngji and grow closer to Jihoon. But she remains a constant; hooking her arm in yours, and pulling you in close.
• When you get to high school, you and Jihoon navigate your relationship in gaps of everyone’s eyes, where no one can see – he insists it’s because you’re new to dating, you think of his sister and tell him you’re scared of being hated; he doesn’t understand.
• (He corners you, drags you somewhere eyes won’t see – “Are you getting prettied each day?” “… You need glasses.” “You better be joking, [name]!” – presses his hands on your shoulders, holding on like bicycle handles, before his hands run down your arms, meeting your hands, filling the gaps of your fingers with his – “We’re like puzzle pieces,” he’d say, through teeth and lips, mumbling, you’d look somewhere else – he stands close, staring at you – “Sometimes I think we’re meant to be,” It’d go silent, something will raise over you, you’d open your mouth, moving, but nothing. “Was that too much?” He’d ask, and you’d squeeze his hand, shaking your head – when he kisses you, it’s just a press of lips, soft, tender. Barely there. Like a secret, and it’s you and Jihoon’s secret – “I think we should tell people now… I want to, I hope you understand.” You do. “… Okay. We’ll do it.”)
• When you get to high school, you and Youngji are the type of friends who never get mad at one another – you were.
• (“Hey, Youngji? Can I ask you something…?” You ask, quiet in her room. It’s dark, cold. Her feet are on yours, tangled. Her body pressed close for warmth. “Sure, go for it,” Youngji’s voice is quiet too, full of something nice. Sweet. “What… What would you say if I were dating someone? Someone you know… Someone close…?” You ask, turning to watch her face. The way it lights up understand the screen of her phone. She gets up quick, turning full at you. “Are you dating someone?!” It echoes in her room, and you’re sure it echoes everywhere in her house. “I– I, I am. But you have to promise me you won’t get mad, okay?” You hold out your pinky, waiting for her. She’s quick to lock it with hers. “Tell me!” She smiles, right at you. “It’s… It’s Jihoon.” And Then her smile is gone, slowly falling off her face. “My brother Jihoon? That Jihoon?” It’s not exactly disgust, just a breath of something odium. You nod, and she pulls her hand away, “Why didn’t you tell me?” She asks, and you can see the lines of anger growing on her face. “I… I don’t know… We just started dating, and… And he thought it’d be better if we shouldn’t,” you tell her, a feeling of guilt swimming in your gut. “Well, what did you think?” She asks, voice hard. “I… I didn’t think,” You mumble, head hanging. “Of course you didn’t.” She says. “Right.” You say, voice distant; you both go to sleep, backs turned away.)
• You walk home with Jihoon that day, after listening to her yelling at him for not telling her, he doesn’t yell back, telling her it was his fault – you think it’s yours.
• Youngji stops linking her arm in yours, and starts hanging out with another girl you both went to middle school with. You hold Jihoon’s hand at school, and you feel like you can breath.
• (“I’m sorry you and my sister are fighting…” He whispers in your hair, his body on his side, facing you. “I… We shouldn’t have told anyone, it’s my fault–” His hand is tightening in yours. “It’s no one’s fault, it was the right thing to do. We should have told people first, that we were together. You wanted people to know and that’s okay.” You turn to face him, he sighs. “I… I know, I’m just sorry.” You and Jihoon begin to spend days at your house instead of his, a thick tension between his sister and him – and still, you think it’s your fault.)

—

• Age 16–
• (Jihoon has one unequivocal truth; he loves you).
• “Our anniversary is coming up~” He says, it’s lunch and you’re studying. His fingers brushing your hair away from your face. You hum, “I know. You said you wanted us to do something,” He hums, moving closer to you, body pressing to your side. “I was thinking… Sky diving!” You look at him, “with what money? We’re high school students, Jihoon.” He barks a laugh, quick, loud. “I was joking,” He says, and you hum softly, a sigh leaving your lips. “School’s hard,” You whine. “How about, a date? Let me take you out.” It’s serious. Because he’s staring at you, face void of a smile, but his eyes shine bright, starbursts. “Don’t we go on those all the time?” You question, head tilting. “Those aren’t dates, we usually just stay in your room and talk,” You ‘oh’ softly, before you become shy, cheeks turning red.
• “I’ve never been on a date.” You say, and it makes him smile. He nods. “Let me take you out.” He repeats, and you’re heart flutters.
• When your anniversary comes, you panic.
• [Jihoon]:might b late, can u come over? sorry baby :(
• [name]: its ok, don’t worry ^^
• “Ma!” You yell, pacing in your room. She busts in, looking panicked, “What did I tell you about yelling?… Honey, you look so pretty!” She’s smiling, the lines on her face, fading when her cheeks lift. “It’s not too much? Right?”
• She walks to you, her hands cupping your cheeks. “You’re beautiful,” It’s sincere, making you smile too.
• “Now go. Be home before 7, or I will come find you myself.”
• When you got to his house, your father dropping you off. Youngji answers the door, an awkward silence between you both.
• “Hi… Um, is… Is Jihoon here?” It’s the first time you’ve talked to her since last year, and you feel strange under her stare. She nods, moving to let you in. “I’ll go get him for you.” She begins to walk away, leaving you to stand awkwardly at the door, staring after her. She stops, abruptly. “Youlookpretty!” Before she’s bolting away. You let out a confused noise.
• You smile, a weight lifting off of your shoulders. You stare at your shoes, hands coming together at your chest. She comes back first, standing a distance away from you, you begin, “I’m sorry. I should have told you, I was naive, I didn’t think–” then you’re in her arms, she’s squeezing tightly. “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have gotten so upset.”
• You wrap your arms around her, “You don’t have to be sorry, you were right to be upset. I should have told you,” She sighs, mumbling something.
• “I think I always knew you liked him,” You laugh awkwardly, “was it that obvious?” you ask, and she pulls away, brows raised. “I think so!”
• “I’m ready,” Jihoon says, biting the inside of his cheek after. Youngji hums, “Be home at 7!” She says to Jihoon, looking over her shoulder, her hands rubbing your arms, before she goes to open the door. “Have fun, okay?”
• (That evening, Jihoon tells you he loves you. Your heart hangs open in your chest, growing ripe.)

Extra!

• When you graduate, you move in with Jihoon. A small apartment in the city, he teasingly tell his friends his childhood sweetheart followed him to college. But it was Jihoon who followed you when you told him it was your first option at schools.
• Jihoon is serious about your relationship. Despite never being with anyone else, he prays you never want to break up with him.
• When arguments occur, he never you going to sleep upset at him. He apologizes first, – even if you’re one in the wrong, you own up to your mistakes just as he does. You both always go to bed peaceful with one another.
• Jihoon likes grocery shopping. He picking out foods, and trying out new things. If you don’t like something, he remembers and tries to avoid it. Especially when his friends give him it for leftovers.
• Jihoon is more domestic than he likes to admit, telling everyone you’re the domestic one. by

A Mess of a Prank (Asahi)

• Genre: Fluff, friendship, slice of life
• Word Count: 2,674
• Pairing: Reader, Asahi
• World: Treasure
• Note: Happy April Fool’s day ya fools.

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Today was April Fool’s day, the day of insane pranks and dank memes. You had always been fascinated by the holiday but never got to participate simply because the people around you didn’t handle jokes well and you had no skills to pull them off successfully, either. So, you settled each year for just watching people prank each other online instead, reblogging them as if you were somehow part of the joke. But this year? This year you were determined to prank someone. You spent hours going through your contacts trying to choose a victim, but there was only one that you felt comfortable enough with to prank.

Your best friend, Asahi.

He had put up with a lot of shit since becoming your friend and you felt confident that he wouldn’t get upset over a silly little prank. You also worried that he might see it coming since he was a smart cookie, but you chose to ignore that worry and got to work setting your plan in motion.

You climbed out of the car, looking up at the giant Hobby Logic sign that sat above the store in orange letters. It was early in the morning and the store had only just opened, so there were very few people inside. You stepped in after a woman and her young daughter, glancing around for your friend. You found her near the back of the store, straightening up the wall of pipe cleaners.

You tapped her shoulder. “Excuse me.”

“Yes? How can I he -” she turned around, a customer service smile on her lips. She blinked when she realized it was you. “Y/N? What are you doing here?”

You clicked your tongue. “Is that any way to speak to a customer?”

She rolled her eyes, turning back to the pipe cleaners. “Considering you’re not a morning person and I can’t believe you’re up so early, I don’t think you are a customer. Maybe you’re a ghost or a demon.”

“How rude,” you huffed, smacking her shoulder. “I’ll have you know, I have a really important mission to accomplish today.”

She paused, realizing what day it was and she looked at you suspiciously. “Why? What are you planning?”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to prank you. I do need you to direct me toward the confetti, though.”

“Aisle eight.”

“Brilliant, thank you!” You gave her a wave before heading toward aisle eight. Rows of colorful glitter in plastic tubes lined the shelves, followed by colorful confetti in plastic bags. They started out small, the size of sandwich bags, and they grew all the way into bags that reached your waist. You spent a good five minutes staring at the bags, trying to decide on how much you would need and, more importantly, what color you should choose.

“You’re so indecisive, I swear.”

You glanced at Naomi as she approached you, straightening the apron around her waist with the store’s logo on it. “It’s an important decision. If I choose too little, I’ll have to come back but if I choose too much, I’ll have leftover confetti with no use for it. Then there’s the color which can determine the mood of the prank. If I go for something bright, it might be too noticeable but if I choose something dark, it might make the prank lose some of its humor and seem more serious.”

She deadpanned. “You put way too much thought into this.”

“It’s my first prank since I was a kid, of course, I did.”

“Just choose blue. It’s a fairly neutral color.”

“You don’t think it’ll be too noticeable?”

She hummed, pointing toward a darker blue. “This one here is royal blue. It’s lighter than navy blue but it’s still dark enough to not draw too much attention. I recommend that one.”

You leaned closer to the bag she was pointing at and nodded. “It’s a nice color… but how much should I get?”

“I don’t know what the prank is so I can’t help you there.”

You turned to her but she held her hand up to stop you.

“And I don’t want to know. If you get arrested, I want no part of it.”

“You’re supposed to be my ride or die,” you frowned, earning a look.

“I am, but I draw the line at jail. I’ve got to get to work, hurry up and choose something before people start complaining about the weirdo staring at confetti for twenty minutes.”

You watched her disappear from the aisle before looking at the confetti, a frown on your lips. For the color Naomi had chosen, there were only three options – the tiny sandwich bag size, one that was just a bit bigger, and a giant bag that sat on the top shelf. You did some quick calculations on your phone and realized that it would be more expensive to buy a bunch of tiny bags than it would be to just get the big bag. You got on your tiptoes, leaning on the shelf to try and reach the giant bag at the top but the shelf was too high and the tip of your finger just barely brushed the plastic.

You put your foot on the bottom shelf, testing it to see if it could hold your weight and it seemed somewhat stable. You’d just have to be fast about it, that’s all. In one swift motion, you pulled yourself up the shelves, fingers curling around the plastic but a cry left your lips when your foot slipped and you fell backward, your ass hitting the linoleum floor and the bag of confetti landing on top of you. You winced in pain, rubbing at your hip. ‘Well, that could have gone better… but it also could have gone worse!’

Shaking your head, you pulled yourself to your feet, feeling a sharp pain go up your back when you did so. You were fairly sure it was going to bruise and be sore for a while, but it wasn’t anything serious. The bag was even bigger now that you held it in front of you and, sitting on the ground, it reached your waist. Would you really need this much? You doubted it, but you would be saving money regardless. You grabbed the bag, thankful that confetti wasn’t heavy, and headed for the front of the store to wait in line. Since there were only a few customers, Naomi was the only one at the cash register.

When you placed the large bag on the counter, she looked at you as if you had just murdered an entire family. She took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Y/N…”

“Yes, bestie?”

“Don’t you think this is a bit… excessive?”

“Not really,” you shrugged. “Why? Do you?”

“Yes!”

“Don’t exaggerate,” you waved her off, pulling your wallet out. “This is gonna be epic.”

Once she rang up the item, she sent you a look. “I’m serious, Y/N, don’t call me from prison.”

“You never support me,” you stuck your tongue out at her, taking the bag and carrying it under your under.

She just shook her head, watching you leave the store.

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You stood in the living room, looking up at the ceiling fan with a frown. It was a lot higher than you thought it was and you weren’t sure you’d be able to reach it but not for lack of trying. First, you tried standing on the coffee table but it wasn’t even close. Then you tried using a stool from the kitchen and, despite being taller than the table, you still couldn’t reach it. Your frown deepened as you looked around your apartment, looking for anything that could boost you up enough to reach the fan – the only thing sturdy enough was your dresser.

After clearing the items off the top, you took a breath and pushed your back against the side, pushing it with all your might. It screeched loudly against the wooden floor and it took a lot more effort than you thought it would to get it into the living room, especially since the living room had carpet instead of wood flooring, but you completed your task. You set the bag on the dresser before climbing up and reaching for the fan only to start coughing at the thick layer of dust and cat hair that coated the wood.

‘Jesus, when was the last time this was cleaned?’ you waved your hand in front of you and coughed again. You were sure you had cleaned it at least once in the two years you had been living there but there was so much dust that it seemed as if it hadn’t been cleaned in eight years. With a huff, you climbed back down to get cleaning supplies. Twenty minutes later, the fan was mostly spotless and ready for the confetti. The problem is that the confetti didn’t like to stack up and kept sliding off, fluttering to the ground. Would a thin layer be enough? It would have to be.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket and you paused, tugging it from your pocket. It was a new message from Asahi.

[Asachan || Hey. What are you up to?]

You smiled. [Trying to relax :3 how’s practice?] Putting the last of the confetti on the fan, you slid off the dresser and winced as pain went through your hip. And you still had to move the dresser back. Shaking your head, you put your phone on top of the dresser before beginning to push the dresser, but you got it right in front of the hall before you groaned, out of energy.

[Asachan || It’s going well. I like this choreo.]

Before you could reply, he sent another message.

[Asachan || Are you gonna stop by the studio today?]

You glanced up at the fan. [Sorry, I can’t today.]

[Asachan || Why not?]

You hummed as you looked at the empty message box. What should you say? You needed him to come home for the prank but you doubted he would stop by after practicing all day. Your hip throbbed and it was like a light bulb went off above your head. You could ask him to bring you meds for the pain! [I hurt my hip today When practice ends, can you bring me some pain meds? Please~ Asachan?]

A minute passed, then two, then five, and no reply came through. ‘He must have gone back to practice,’ you shrugged, setting your phone down on the dresser before sealing the confetti bag and placing it in the hallway closet. You tried to move the dresser again but pain shot through your back and you groaned, letting your upper body slump across the dresser. The wood was cool against your cheek which felt good since the room was heating up without the fan turned on. You pulled yourself up until you were lying across the dresser, using your arms as a pillow.

Before you knew it, you were asleep and not even your buzzing phone could wake you as message after message came through from a worried Asahi.

[Asachan || How did you hurt your hip? What happened?]

[Asachan || Y/N? Are you okay?]

[Asachan || This isn’t funny, Y/N. Answer me.]

[Asachan || If this is an April Fool’s prank, I’m deleting your number.]

[Asachan || I’m on my way.]

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Asahi was out of breath by the time he reached your apartment door, his heart hammering with worry. You still hadn’t responded to any of his messages or calls. He wanted to leave practice as soon as you stopped replying but his manager wouldn’t let him and his members convinced him to wait a bit, saying that you might have just gotten busy or distracted but after a few hours passed and you refused to reply, he finally got his manager to agree to let him go.

He knocked on the door, holding himself back because it was getting late and he didn’t want to disturb your neighbors. The sound roused you from your sleep and you lifted your head in confusion, rubbing at your eyes. It took you a minute to realize that the sound was coming from the door and you started to push yourself off the dresser but your back locked up from the terrible sleeping position and the earlier accident and you fell off the dresser, hitting the ground with a soft groan.

When you didn’t answer, he tried the doorknob, finding it unlocked. How many times had he told you to keep the door locked? You never listened to him. With his heart pounding in his ears, he turned the knob and stepped into the apartment. The lights were off, the room dark without the sun to cast light through the window. He flicked the light switch beside the door, bathing the room in light.

You winced at the sudden bright light, peering your head over the top of the dresser to see who had just entered your apartment but you got a face full of confetti as the fan kicked on at its highest speed, sending the little blue pieces of plastic all over the room like a confetti tornado. You sputtered when a piece went into your mouth.

Asahi blinked in confusion, looking up at the fan to try and discover why it was snowing blue in your apartment but then he remembered your message and he frowned, eyes snapping to you. “Y/N.”

Your eyes met his as you slowly pulled yourself up, giving him a sheepish smile. “Hi…”

His eyes raked over your body, searching for any physical sign of injury but he found none. “What’s going on? Why didn’t you reply to my messages? Are you okay?”

“Breathe, Asahi,” you laughed, shaking your head to get rid of the confetti that was still falling from the fan. You held your arms out. “April Fools…!”

His brow furrowed. “So you’re not hurt?”

“I mean, I did hurt my hip when I fell at the store this morning,” you put your hand on your lower back, feeling the ache there like you had just had a bad night’s sleep. “Or maybe it’s my back. I’m not sure, the whole area is kinda sore.”

“Why didn’t you answer me?”

“I waited a bit for your reply and then I fell asleep. I’m sorry!” You put your hands together in front of you and he sighed, running his hand through his blonde hair, sending a mess of confetti to the floor and earning you a confused look. “Yeah… about that. Happy April fool’s day?”

“Was this your plan the whole time?” his lips twitched up.

“Maybe. It would have gone better if I hadn’t fallen asleep…”

“You pranked yourself, Y/N.”

“Eh? How?”

He motioned toward the room and you glanced around, finally noticing just how much of a mess had been made. The confetti had gone everywhere.

“Crap, I have to clean this up.”

“Mhm,” Asahi smiled softly, resting his hand on top of your head. “I’ll help you.”

“That’s not necessary! You practiced all day and I did this to myself like you said.” You took a breath. “I made my bed and now I must lie in it.”

“I can’t let my best friend suffer alone,” he stated, kneeling down so he could start gathering the confetti into a pile.

You smiled warmly, kneeling beside him and throwing your arms around his shoulders. “Thank you, Asachan.”

He picked up a handful of confetti and tossed it at you, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Yah, that’s not cleaning.”

He grabbed another handful, raising a challenging brow.

“Asahi, don’t you dare -“

He tossed it at you again and you let out a battle cry, tackling him to the ground. Your laughter mingled with his as the two of you wrestled, ruining the small pile he had made. Your prank may have failed, but you still considered it to be a good day.

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