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Jaemin’s eyes burned from exhaustion, and his legs dragged beneath him as he trudged across the university courtyard. The sun was too bright, the chatter too loud, and the second year premed student was running on exactly three hours of sleep, three cups of coffee, and pure desperation.
“You’re going to crash,” Jeno warned earlier, casually balancing a wrench in one hand and his textbook in the other. “You’re running on fumes. Just skip that lab and nap somewhere.”
“I can’t skip lab. Dr. Min will skin me alive,” Jaemin groaned.
“Then crash somewhere on campus during your vacancy. College of Music building has private practice rooms. Curtains. AC. No one checks unless you’re loud. You’ll survive.”
Desperate and tempted, Jaemin took his roommate’s advice.
The music building was cooler, quieter, and more peaceful than the rest of the university. He wandered down one of the hallways until he found a small room with the lights off and blackout curtains drawn. Perfect. He dropped his bag near the door, lay on the small couch near the wall, and let the silence swallow him whole.
He was halfway to sleep when he heard it.
A soft hum. Then, a piano key. Followed by another. Gentle, like a ripple over water.
Jaemin blinked one eye open, groggy and annoyed at first until he saw him.
A boy, around his age, sat in front of the piano. His hair was dark and slightly curled, and his skin was a soft honey brown that glowed under the faint fluorescent light. His face was… beautiful. Not the kind of pretty Jaemin was used to seeing in magazines or dramas. No, this boy looked like he belonged in an oil painting. Eyelashes thick, lips slightly pouting as he concentrated on the keys. And that voice,soft, breathy, smooth like the beginning of a lullaby.
He hummed as he played a short melody, then paused to scribble something in a notebook beside him. He played again. Hummed. Scribbled. Over and over.
Jaemin held his breath.
Who is he?
He didn’t know.
And he didn’t dare move in case it broke the moment.
It was the only time in weeks that Jaemin felt… calm.
Eventually, the boy stood up, packed his notebook and pencil case into his bag, and left the room never once noticing the sleepy stranger watching from the shadows.
Jaemin sat up slowly, heart racing.
And then he whispered to the empty room, “What the hell just happened…?”
He stood, walked over to the piano, and sat where the boy had been. His fingers hovered over the keys. They were still warm. He pressed one. A low note echoed in the room.
“He’s probably a music student,” Jaemin murmured to himself. “Maybe a composition major?”
He didn’t know.
But one thing was certain.
He had never believed in love at first sight. But maybe… just maybe… he believed in something like this.
It had been nearly a year since Jaemin stumbled into that dim piano room and had the breath knocked out of him by a stranger’s face, voice, and quiet magic. He never forgot it. Not even as assignments piled up, as sleepless nights blurred together, or as the world shifted forward without pause.
Still, he never found out who the boy was.
Until one rainy Tuesday afternoon during the first few weeks of his third year.
Jaemin was walking through the student center when something caught his eye on the bulletin board. A poster, bright and bold with theater lights and elegant font, was pinned right in the middle.
“UNIVERSITY FALL PLAY: MOZART’S ‘AMADEUS’ STARRING LEE DONGHYUCK AS WOLFGANG AMADEUS MOZART.”
Jaemin froze.
His eyes zeroed in on the promotional photo. It was him.
The piano boy.
Lee Donghyuck.
Now he had a name to the face he’d memorized in secret, the soft voice he heard in his dreams.
“Lee Donghyuck…” Jaemin whispered under his breath. The name felt like a song itself, like something he’d known all along but couldn’t say.
“Hyung?”
Jaemin jumped and turned. His cousin Jisung stood there, clutching two milk teas and a paper bag of fish cakes.
“You okay?” Jisung asked, squinting at the poster Jaemin was still staring at. “Ohhh. You like the theater?”
Jaemin cleared his throat. “Not particularly.”
Jisung raised a brow. “You’ve been looking at that for, like, a full minute.”
“Coincidence,” Jaemin muttered, turning quickly. “Let’s go. I have lab in an hour.”
Jisung didn’t press. But later, Jaemin would find out that fate had a weird sense of humor.
Back in their dorm room Jaemin mentioned about the play he was contemplating to watch.
“Wait, Donghyuck? You mean Hyuck?” Jeno blinked, his mouth full of ramen.
Jaemin almost choked. “Wait. You know him?!”
Jeno nodded casually. “Yeah. He’s my cousin. My mom’s sister’s kid. Why?”
Jaemin blinked rapidly. His mouth opened, then closed. His cousin. The boy he’d been quietly obsessed with for over a year. His roommate’s cousin.
“Nothing,” Jaemin said quickly. “I just saw him on a play poster.”
“Oh, he’s always doing those. Music kid. Theater, vocals, piano. You name it. Kind of a drama queen though.”
Jaemin felt his face heat. “He… seems talented.”
Jeno gave him a weird look. “You good?”
“Fine.”
He wasn’t.
It was weeks later, in one of his general electives, Creative Psychology, a class he took to preserve his last two brain cells, that Jaemin made an interesting discovery.
He was working on a group project with a tall, cheerful student who had a dimpled smile and a loud laugh.
“I’m Mark, by the way,” the guy said, extending a hand.
“Jaemin,” he replied, shaking it.
They hit it off quickly. Mark was easy to talk to, laid back, and for someone majoring in psychology and journalism, surprisingly insightful.
One day during a break, they ended up chatting about family.
“My little brother goes here too,” Mark said casually. “He’s in the music department.”
“Oh?” Jaemin asked, sipping from his iced Americano.
“Yeah, Lee Donghyuck. You might’ve seen him. He doing that college play, Amadeus.”
Jaemin froze mid sip.
His straw made an awkward slurping sound.
“You okay?” Mark asked.
Jaemin nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, just small world.”
Somehow, their world kept shrinking.
Jisung, Jaemin’s younger cousin, was always in his dorm, usually for free food and company. But recently, he started hanging out a lot more with Renjun, Jeno’s boyfriend. And Renjun?
Renjun was Lee Donghyuck’s best friend.
Like, inseparable.
Which meant Jisung, by extension, started spending time around Donghyuck’s circle too and became best friends with Renjun’s younger cousin Chenle.
So now, Jaemin couldn’t even open Instagram without seeing tagged photos of his cousin and Donghyuck at open mic nights, art galleries, or someone’s movie night. It felt like a cosmic joke.
He’d built a neat little wall to admire Donghyuck from a distance and now everyone around him seemed to be dancing right through it.
He heard Donghyuck’s name in passing. Saw glimpses of him in the cafeteria, laughing with Renjun. He overheard stories, dramatic meltdowns before performances, weird songwriting rituals, loud declarations of love for bubble tea with pearls only.
But Jaemin never approached. He couldn’t.
As a third year premed student, his life was a carousel of lectures, labs, sleepless nights, and caffeine laced stress. He didn’t have time for anything but his dream. He wasn’t ready.
So instead… he admired him from afar.
But the universe had a funny way of closing distances.
And sooner or later, Jaemin had a feeling…
he wouldn’t be able to keep watching from the shadows.
“You need to touch grass,” Jeno said, dead serious, as he stood in the doorway holding Jaemin’s sneakers hostage.
“I literally just finished a double lab,” Jaemin groaned from his bed, face half-buried in his pillow. “Let me die in peace.”
“Nope. If you keep going like this, you’re going to end up in the ER as a patient, not a doctor. Come on. Get dressed. You’re coming out tonight.”
Jaemin cracked one eye open. “Out where?”
“House party. Mark’s place. Nothing crazy. Just beer, loud music, good people. You need to remind yourself what life feels like outside of cadaver labs.”
“I haven’t gone out since—”
“Exactly.” Jeno tossed his sneakers at him. “First time for everything. Let’s go.”
Jaemin had forgotten what college parties even felt like.
The buzz of music through walls. The warmth of bodies moving around. The smell of beer, snacks, and too much cologne. A soft hum of laughter, of voices layered over one another like overlapping songs.
The moment they stepped inside, Mark waved them over. “Yo! Took you two long enough!”
Renjun was already lounging on the couch beside Chenle and Jisung, sipping from a plastic cup and laughing at something Chenle said. Jisung grinned the moment he spotted his cousin.
“Hyung! You came?!”
“I was kidnapped,” Jaemin said dryly, nudging his head toward Jeno.
Renjun raised a brow. “You’ve been missing since midterms last semester. We were starting to think you were imaginary.”
Mark handed him a drink. “Rum and Coke. Light. You’re not ready for anything stronger, rookie.”
Jaemin hesitated for a moment, then took it.
As the night unfolded, the sounds melted together. Laughter. Background pop music. Someone attempting to DJ through Bluetooth. People drifting in and out of conversations. It was… warm.
He didn’t realize how much he’d missed this.
Then, the door opened again.
“I’m late, I know,” a familiar voice said, laced with mock annoyance. “Renjun, don’t start with me. I had rehearsal.”
Jaemin froze.
It was him.
Donghyuck strolled in like he owned the air around him, hair tousled from movement, still wearing a black oversized sweatshirt with the name of the university’s theater troupe printed on the sleeve. His presence was bright, like someone had switched the lights just slightly warmer.
Renjun stood and greeted him with a half-hug. “You’re lucky you’re pretty or I’d be mad.”
“I am pretty,” Donghyuck grinned, throwing his arm around Renjun dramatically. “And exhausted. Remind me why I do theater again?”
“Because you need constant validation.”
“Right.”
Chenle snorted. “Hyung, we saved you a drink. And probably half of Jisung’s fries.”
“Bless you, darling,” Donghyuck said, then turned and Jaemin swore time hiccupped.
For a second, their eyes met.
Jaemin’s grip on his cup tightened.
Donghyuck tilted his head slightly, just a flicker of curiosity in his gaze before Renjun dragged him into conversation. And just like that, the moment passed.
But Jaemin couldn’t stop watching.
He saw how easily Donghyuck folded into the group, bantering with Chenle, teasing Jisung, stealing Mark’s seat only to force him to sit on the floor. It was seamless.
And Jaemin realized he was the outsider now.
He’d missed so many hangouts. So many nights like this. And somehow, without him realizing, their separate circles had molded into one.
It was weird.
Not bad.
Just… weird.
Mark sat beside him again, nudging his shoulder. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Jaemin lied. “Just… I didn’t know everyone was this close.”
“You disappeared for a while,” Mark said gently. “But it’s never too late to come back in.”
Jaemin nodded slowly.
And across the room, Donghyuck laughed at something Renjun whispered, eyes crinkling, head thrown back.
Jaemin smiled without meaning to.
Maybe tonight was the first step back in.
The party was loud, but somehow the noise blurred into a comfortable hum the longer Jaemin stayed.
He sipped his drink slowly, letting the ice melt in his cup as the conversations flowed around him. At one point, Jisung got pulled into a dance battle by Chenle, Mark was busy DJing from his phone, and Renjun was trying to stop someone from stealing a lamp.
Jaemin decided to make himself useful and refill the nearly empty chip bowl. He slipped into the kitchen and opened a few cabinets before realizing he had no idea where Mark kept anything.
“Looking for snacks?” a voice called behind him.
Jaemin turned sharply.
Donghyuck leaned against the kitchen doorway, a red Solo cup in his hand, cheeks flushed pink from the heat of the party or the alcohol, maybe both. His eyes were bright, playful, and sharp. He wore a teasing smile like it came naturally to him.
Jaemin straightened a little. “Yeah. The chips are dead.”
Donghyuck walked in slowly, brushing past him as he opened the correct cabinet with no hesitation.
“Mark always hides the good stuff at the back so Chenle doesn’t eat it all in one night,” he said, pulling out a fresh bag of sour cream and onion. “You’re Jeno’s roommate, right?”
Jaemin blinked. “Yeah. Jaemin.”
Donghyuck smiled. “Lee Donghyuck. But I guess you already knew that.”
Jaemin almost choked on air. “What—?”
Donghyuck tilted his head, amused. “Your face when I walked in earlier? You looked like you saw a ghost. Or your long lost soulmate. One or the other.”
Jaemin’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.
“I’m just messing with you,” Donghyuck said quickly, laughing. “Relax. You don’t have to look like I just accused you of a crime.”
“I didn’t realize… you knew who I was.”
“You hang around my best friends. It’d be weird if I didn’t. Plus, Renjun talks about you sometimes. Said you’re the mysterious med student who ghosted the friend group for an entire year.”
Jaemin chuckled awkwardly. “I didn’t ghost. I just… disappeared temporarily for academic survival.”
“Same thing,” Donghyuck smirked. “So, do you always stalk people from the shadows or just me?”
Jaemin groaned softly and rubbed his face. “Can we pretend this conversation isn’t happening?”
Donghyuck leaned closer, grinning. “Nope. I like this. You’re cute when you’re panicking.”
Jaemin looked up sharply, eyes wide.
Donghyuck’s smile softened just slightly. “Kidding. Mostly.”
The room went quiet for a moment.
Jaemin finally spoke, quieter now. “I… actually saw you last year. In one of the music rooms. You were playing piano. Humming.”
Donghyuck blinked. “Seriously?”
Jaemin nodded. “I was half asleep. Thought I was dreaming.”
A beat of silence.
“That’s… kind of romantic,” Donghyuck said, voice a little more careful now. “You never said anything.”
“I didn’t know who you were.”
“And now you do,” Donghyuck said, voice barely above a whisper. “So… what now?”
Jaemin’s heart thudded once, hard. “I have no idea.”
Donghyuck let out a breathy laugh. “Good. Me neither.”
The party hummed on behind them. Music swelled, laughter echoed, and the two of them just stood there bathed in kitchen light, between an unopened bag of chips and a fridge humming in the background.
It wasn’t much.
But it was a start.
After the party, things didn’t go back to normal.
Not really.
Because now Jaemin had a problem.
Lee Donghyuck wasn’t just a boy with a pretty voice and piano fingers. He wasn’t just Jeno’s cousin or Renjun’s best friend. No, now he was a presence. A walking disruption. A bright, chaotic star that had suddenly made Jaemin’s meticulously organized universe tilt just a little off axis.
And worst of all?
Donghyuck knew it.
The first time they ran into each other after the party was in the campus café.
Jaemin was halfway through revising cardiac enzymes when someone pulled out the chair across from him without asking.
“Morning, soulmate.”
Jaemin nearly knocked his coffee over. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”
Donghyuck smiled sweetly. “Nope.”
He didn’t stay long just stole one of Jaemin’s fries, made a comment about his terrible posture, and left with a wink.
Jaemin stared at his half eaten food for a full five minutes after that.
Next, it was the library.
Jaemin was in his usual spot, surrounded by textbooks, highlighters, and a tightly organized Google calendar. He was so focused he didn’t notice someone drop a note onto his open textbook until they were already walking away.
He picked it up.
“Page 176 of your neuro book is ripped. Tragic. Also, drink some water, nerd.”
— D.
He looked up in disbelief.
Donghyuck didn’t turn back, but Jaemin saw his shoulders shake as he laughed his way out the doors.
Then it escalated.
Whenever Jaemin was around the group, Donghyuck was suddenly everywhere.
One time at Mark’s dorm, Donghyuck dropped onto the couch beside Jaemin, close enough that their thighs touched, and asked, “Do you believe in fate, or do I have to keep haunting your dreams until you do?”
Jisung choked on his popcorn.
Another time, at a bubble tea run with Renjun and Chenle, Donghyuck reached over and stole a tapioca pearl from Jaemin’s drink with his straw and declared, “Sharing is caring.”
“You are unhinged,” Jaemin muttered, trying not to smile.
“And yet,” Donghyuck replied smoothly, “you keep showing up.”
Which was fair, he did.
Despite the teasing. Despite the chaos. Despite the racing heart and sweaty palms.
Jaemin kept showing up.
One evening, as they were all gathered in Renjun’s apartment for a movie night, Jaemin was in the kitchen helping Renjun scoop ice cream into bowls.
“Donghyuck’s been annoying you, hasn’t he?” Renjun asked suddenly, glancing over.
Jaemin almost dropped the ice cream scoop. “What?”
Renjun smirked. “He only acts like this when he’s interested.”
Jaemin’s heart skipped.
“I mean he’s always a menace,” Renjun continued, “but this? Notes in textbooks? Sitting shoulder to shoulder for no reason? That’s ‘I have a crush and I’m bad at handling it’ behavior.”
Jaemin stared at the spoonful of ice cream like it might give him answers.
“So,” Renjun said casually, “you gonna do something about it, or should I keep refereeing this middle school slow burn romance you two have going on?”
“I have no idea what I’m doing,” Jaemin admitted quietly.
“Good,” Renjun replied, grabbing two bowls. “Neither does he.”
Later that night, during the movie, Jaemin ended up on the floor, blanket over his lap, back pressed to the couch.
Donghyuck flopped down beside him five minutes in, offering no explanation and no personal space.
“You’re warm,” Donghyuck whispered.
“You’re shameless.”
“I know,” he said with a little smirk, resting his chin on Jaemin’s shoulder. “But you haven’t pushed me away.”
Jaemin didn’t.
He didn’t know what they were.
But he was starting to think maybe the universe didn’t want him to just admire Donghyuck from afar.
Maybe it wanted him to reach back.
Even if Donghyuck made it impossible to think straight.
It started with a text.
Lee Donghyuck 🐻💫:
doing anything tmrw night or are you too busy whispering to your anatomy textbook again?
Jaemin stared at his phone.
Na Jaemin 🐰🩺:
i have a quiz at 9am
but i’m free after 6
Donghyuck replied instantly.
Lee Donghyuck 🐻💫:
cool. wear something comfortable
I’m kidnapping you.
not a date.
promise.
Jaemin stared at that last line for a long time.
He wasn’t sure if he felt disappointed or relieved.
They met outside the music building the next evening. Donghyuck was in black joggers, a cropped hoodie, and sneakers that were slightly too clean to be real. Jaemin wore jeans and a soft gray sweatshirt, feeling strangely underdressed and overprepared at the same time.
“Where are we going?” Jaemin asked as Donghyuck handed him a small paper bag.
“Snack first,” Donghyuck said, leading him toward the back gate where a quiet food truck was parked. “And then… a surprise.”
Jaemin peeked into the bag. Fish cakes and spicy tteokbokki. Still warm.
“Bribery,” Jaemin muttered.
“Obviously,” Donghyuck grinned. “I knew I had to bait you somehow.”
They walked side by side, and Jaemin tried not to think about how easy it felt. Donghyuck talked about rehearsals and Mark’s latest disaster playlist. Jaemin laughed more than he had in weeks.
Eventually, they stopped in front of an old side entrance to one of the smaller auditoriums, one used mostly for music majors’ recitals. Donghyuck pulled a keycard from his sleeve.
“You’re breaking into a building?”
Donghyuck smirked. “I’m breaking into my own department. It’s called privileges.”
Inside, it was dark and cold, but Donghyuck led him up the narrow stairs toward the balcony section. They sat on the floor behind the last row of seats, with a perfect view of the empty stage below.
It was quiet.
Peaceful.
Jaemin leaned back against the wall and looked at Donghyuck. “So… why here?”
Donghyuck shrugged. “Sometimes when things get too loud, I come up here. It’s far enough away that no one finds you, but close enough to still feel like you’re part of the world.”
Jaemin was quiet for a moment. “You don’t strike me as someone who hides.”
“You’d be surprised,” Donghyuck said softly. “Loud people aren’t always fearless, you know.”
Something shifted in Jaemin’s chest.
He turned his gaze to the stage, voice lower now. “I used to think I was doing the right thing by staying focused all the time. By keeping my head down. But lately… I feel like I’ve missed so much. Like the world kept turning without me.”
Donghyuck’s voice came quietly beside him. “You didn’t miss it. You just paused.”
Jaemin looked at him. “And now?”
“Now you’re pressing play again.”
Their eyes met. And for a moment, neither of them looked away.
Donghyuck smiled faintly, tapping his fingers on his cup. “Still not a date, by the way.”
Jaemin huffed a soft laugh. “Sure.”
“But if it was…”
Jaemin raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
Donghyuck tilted his head. “Then I’d probably say something dumb like, you have pretty eyes under stage lights, and it would make things weird.”
Jaemin’s heart stuttered.
“…That’s not dumb,” he said quietly.
Donghyuck blinked.
A beat.
And then, like a reflex, he grinned and nudged Jaemin’s knee with his own. “Okay. Noted. Next time I want to make it weird, I’ll go full poetry.”
Jaemin didn’t move away.
He let their knees stay touching. Let the silence fill in the blanks.
It wasn’t a date.
But it felt like the beginning of something anyway.
At first, Jaemin thought maybe the “not a date” was a one time thing.
A rare blip in the universe. A shared moment of softness and almost confessions that would float quietly between them and never be spoken of again.
But then Donghyuck kept showing up.
And showing up.
And showing up.
It started with the campus café again.
Jaemin had barely opened his laptop when someone dropped a chocolate croissant beside it.
He looked up, Donghyuck, coffee in one hand, smug expression fully intact.
“I know your weak spots,” he said.
“I’m not that predictable.”
“You chose the same seat. Same table. Same drink. Same hoodie,” Donghyuck ticked off with his fingers. “You’re a walking routine.”
Jaemin raised a brow. “You stalking me now?”
“Please,” Donghyuck scoffed. “I’ve been stalking you since last semester. Keep up.”
He winked.
Jaemin shut his laptop just to hide his blush.
Then it was the science building.
Which definitely wasn’t Donghyuck’s territory.
Jaemin walked out of a late night lab review and nearly dropped his notes when he saw Donghyuck sitting on the hallway bench, legs crossed, twirling a pencil like he belonged there.
“What are you…how did you even get in here?”
“Renjun dared me to find you,” Donghyuck said. “He owes me bubble tea now.”
“Did you break in?”
“I flirted with the student assistant. He thinks I’m doing a research survey.”
“…That’s not legal.”
Donghyuck shrugged. “Neither is ignoring me all week.”
Jaemin looked away quickly. “I wasn’t ignoring you.”
“Then you were avoiding me.”
“I was studying.”
“For your whole life?”
Jaemin opened his mouth.
Donghyuck just grinned. “Missed you too, Jaem.”
And Jaemin hated how easily that sentence knocked the breath out of him.
The library came next.
Jaemin had booked a private study room, desperate for silence. He set up, unpacked his things, and leaned back in his chair with a sigh.
A knock on the door.
He opened it.
Donghyuck stood there, holding a smoothie and wearing the most innocent face Jaemin had ever seen.
“I brought emotional support sugar,” he said. “And also myself. Mostly myself.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“I’m also bored and very charming.”
He walked in before Jaemin could stop him.
They studied in silence for twenty minutes.
Donghyuck fell asleep on Jaemin’s extra hoodie.
Jaemin didn’t move him.
Then came the tipping point.
A Friday night, late, and Jaemin had finally finished a grueling round of mock exams. His brain was mush. His limbs were noodles. All he wanted was sleep.
His phone buzzed.
Lee Donghyuck 🐻💫:
come outside. not kidnapping this time. maybe.
Jaemin groaned into his pillow but got up anyway.
Outside, Donghyuck was sitting on the campus bench, a thermos in one hand and a spare one in the other.
“Hot chocolate,” he said when Jaemin sat down. “You look like you need it.”
Jaemin took it without a word.
They drank in silence, the air crisp, the stars faint behind city haze.
Donghyuck turned to him, expression a little too sincere.
“You always look like you’re carrying something heavy.”
Jaemin blinked. “That’s… poetic.”
Donghyuck shrugged. “It’s true. You don’t have to, you know. Carry it alone.”
“I’ve been doing it for so long, I wouldn’t know how not to.”
Donghyuck was quiet for a beat. Then: “Let me help.”
Jaemin turned to him.
Donghyuck’s eyes didn’t flinch. He meant it.
This wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t flirting. It was real.
Jaemin’s heart thudded painfully in his chest.
He looked away before he could say something reckless like okay or please don’t stop showing up.
Instead, he whispered, “It’s not your responsibility.”
Donghyuck smiled sadly. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want to.”
By the time Jaemin went to bed that night, he knew two things:
One, Donghyuck was going to keep showing up, loud and bright and infuriating.
Two…He didn’t want him to stop.
Not anymore.
The auditorium buzzed with energy.
It was opening night of Amadeus, and Jaemin sat between Jeno and Mark, surrounded by their usual chaos, Renjun checking the playbill for typos, Chenle sneak snapping blurry photos, and Jisung whispering excitedly about how they’d definitely cry at least twice.
Jaemin hadn’t said much.
He’d never been to one of Donghyuck’s performances before, not because he wasn’t curious, but because something about it had always felt… too intimate. Like seeing too much of Donghyuck all at once.
Tonight, though, there was no excuse.
Renjun had shoved a ticket into his hand weeks ago and said, “No backing out. If you don’t come, I’m telling him about the fish cake shrine you’ve built in his honor.”
So here he was.
The lights dimmed.
And then, he appeared.
Donghyuck stepped onto the stage and Jaemin forgot how to breathe.
He was unrecognizable but not in the way that made him distant. He was magnetic. Vibrant. Every movement was deliberate, every line delivered like silk and thunder at once. He commanded the room like he owned it, yet carried the role with a sharp vulnerability that made Jaemin ache.
This wasn’t just talent.
It was magic.
Jaemin didn’t realize he was leaning forward until Mark nudged him during the first applause break.
“Looks like someone’s smitten.”
“Shut up.”
After the show, the group made their way backstage with flowers, snacks, and enough noise to get shushed twice by security.
Donghyuck finally emerged, still in costume, still glowing with post performance adrenaline.
“You guys made it!” he beamed, eyes wide and sparkling.
“Made it?” Chenle snorted. “You killed it, hyung!”
“You were amazing,” Jisung added, offering a half crushed bouquet of sunflowers. “I didn’t even blink for the last fifteen minutes.”
Renjun pulled him into a tight hug. “You little star. I’m so proud of you.”
As the others piled in with praise and gifts, Jaemin hung back.
He watched Donghyuck soak in their energy, gracious, bashful, playful and something tugged in his chest. It wasn’t envy. It was something worse. Something quieter.
He wanted to be the one Donghyuck looked for first.
He wanted to be the name that made Donghyuck’s smile shift, just a little more tender, just a little more private.
He wanted to be his person.
And he wasn’t.
Not yet.
“Jaemin!”
Donghyuck finally spotted him. The crowd parted slightly as he walked over, cheeks still flushed.
Jaemin stood awkwardly with a small bag in hand. “I, um… got you this.”
Donghyuck peeked inside. It was a small bottle of hand cream with a note tucked beside it that read: In case stage lights are harsh and rehearsals worse. You were brilliant.
Donghyuck blinked slowly.
“You remembered I hate how dry my hands get after shows.”
Jaemin looked away. “It’s not a big deal.”
“It is.”
A pause.
Donghyuck reached out and squeezed Jaemin’s wrist lightly.
“I was wondering if you’d come.”
“I said I would,” Jaemin replied, too fast, too soft.
“I know.” Donghyuck smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Still didn’t mean you would.”
Jaemin opened his mouth, but before he could say anything else, Renjun shouted, “We’re going out! Celebration at Mark’s dorm, let’s go!”
“Shotgun!” Chenle yelled.
Donghyuck turned back toward the group, letting go of Jaemin’s wrist. The warmth of his touch faded too quickly.
Jaemin swallowed hard and followed behind.
Mark’s place was loud, chaotic, and filled with leftover adrenaline. Music blasted, pizza boxes piled up, and someone had already started pouring celebratory drinks into paper cups.
Donghyuck bounced from person to person, laughing too loud, hugging too hard, glowing with victory.
Jaemin sat in the corner nursing a soda.
He shouldn’t feel like this. Donghyuck wasn’t his. He didn’t owe him his attention.
But then, Donghyuck turned in the middle of the chaos, locked eyes with Jaemin and smiled.
Not the performance smile. Not the friend of amfriend smile.
Just… his.
Donghyuck slipped away from the group and sank into the empty seat beside Jaemin.
“You disappeared.”
“You were busy,” Jaemin said quietly. “Everyone wanted you.”
Donghyuck tilted his head. “And what about you?”
Jaemin looked up, mouth dry. “What about me?”
Donghyuck leaned in slightly, voice low, like a secret.
“I wanted you.”
Jaemin’s breath caught.
“I still do,” Donghyuck added, lips curling softly. “But I won’t chase you tonight. I’ll just… sit here. Until you stop running.”
The music kept playing. The others laughed in the background.
And Jaemin sat frozen, heart a wildfire inside his ribs.
It was subtle at first.
Donghyuck still popped up in Jaemin’s space, still teased him in cafés, still dropped by with random snacks and dry one-liners, still threw him that knowing smirk from across couches and classrooms and common spaces.
But it wasn’t as often.
He didn’t show up at the science building anymore. Didn’t sit next to him automatically. Didn’t text as frequently. And the seat beside Jaemin that used to be filled without question… started staying empty a little longer.
And it wasn’t because Donghyuck had disappeared.
He was still everywhere.
Laughing loudly in group chats. Stealing Renjun’s fries. Singing along off key in Mark’s car. Dancing with Chenle in the kitchen at 1 a.m.
Just not with Jaemin.
Not like before.
The next time the group gathered at Renjun’s apartment, Donghyuck arrived late.
Jaemin didn’t realize he was waiting until he wasn’t.
He kept looking up every time the door creaked. He kept scanning the room, tracking voices, listening for that familiar hum of a laugh that always curled beneath his skin.
But Donghyuck didn’t walk in until the second movie had started, quietly this time, sitting on the floor beside Jeno instead of Jaemin.
Jaemin stared blankly at the screen, not registering the dialogue at all.
When Donghyuck finally did glance over, it was fleeting. Brief.
And Jaemin hated how much he missed being seen.
Later, when the others were busy arguing about snacks, Jaemin walked into the kitchen, hoping.
Donghyuck was there resting against the counter, texting someone with a small smile on his lips.
He looked up when Jaemin entered. “Hey, stranger.”
“Hey,” Jaemin said, voice too soft.
Donghyuck didn’t move closer. He didn’t tease. Just kept one elbow on the counter, thumbs tapping lazily.
“Didn’t see you much tonight,” Jaemin added, trying to keep it casual.
Donghyuck shrugged. “You looked… busy.”
“With what?”
Donghyuck finally met his eyes. “I don’t know. Not me, I guess.”
Jaemin flinched like the words were a slap.
“I didn’t mean—”
“I know,” Donghyuck said, smiling, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s okay.”
It wasn’t.
Because suddenly Jaemin realized:
He missed it.
Missed Donghyuck’s chaos. His glittering presence. His ridiculous jokes and reckless loyalty and quiet moments that made Jaemin’s world tilt in the best, most terrifying way.
He missed Donghyuck like he missed sunlight in winter.
And he hadn’t even realized how warm it’d been until it faded.
That night, Jaemin lay awake in bed, staring at his ceiling.
He thought about the study room where Donghyuck had fallen asleep on his hoodie. The theater balcony. The fish cakes. The laugh that always hit on the off beat.
And he wondered what would happen if he reached out first?
Not just watched from across the room. Not just hoped Donghyuck would come back and fill the silence.
But went to him.
The room was loud, but all Jaemin could hear was the hollow space between them.
Donghyuck was there sprawled on Renjun’s carpet, knees bent, waving his hands as he told some story about a disastrous dress rehearsal. Chenle was cackling. Mark was filming. Renjun kept telling him to shut up and eat before his sugar crash ruined everyone’s mood.
And Jaemin… sat on the couch, half listening, wholly watching.
They were in the same space. Same air. Same group. Same rhythm.
But Donghyuck felt far. Like he’d stepped behind a pane of glass, close enough to see, impossible to reach.
Jaemin laughed where he was supposed to laugh. Answered when he was addressed. Helped Jisung pick the movie. Passed the chips. Stared at his phone. Pretended not to notice when Donghyuck didn’t take the seat beside him, didn’t lean into his shoulder, didn’t nudge his knee like a secret they were sharing.
He kept telling himself it was fine.
People shift. Dynamics change. Gravity moves.
But when Donghyuck stood to grab water and walked past him without a touch, without even a glance, Jaemin felt something inside him tilt, quietly, dangerously, like a stack of papers about to slide off the desk, and he had nothing to catch them with.
When did I lose the right to be the person you looked for first?
He didn’t know.
Maybe he never had it.
The night ran long. The movie ended. Mark fell asleep with a controller still in his hand. Jisung and Chenle started another round of a game no one else had the energy to care about. Renjun yawned and announced he was kicking everyone out in ten minutes.
Jaemin stood and collected cups just to have something to do with his hands. He felt eyes on him once and when he looked up, Donghyuck was already looking away, softly smiling at something Renjun had said.
He left early.
Nobody stopped him.
Except “Get home safe,” Donghyuck said, barely above the hum of the room, not quite looking at him.
Jaemin nodded. “You too.”
It felt wrong. Too formal. Too neat. Like two strangers being polite.
He walked out into the corridor and felt the door click shut behind him like a quiet verdict.
Back in his room, sleep didn’t come.
He lay on his back, phone on his chest, the ceiling a blank canvas for everything he didn’t know how to say.
His chat with Donghyuck was open, old messages lined up like little artifacts of a different timeline:
Lee Donghyuck 🐻💫:
are you alive or did your professor finally eat you
Na Jaemin🐰🩺:
you’re not funny
Lee Donghyuck 🐻💫:
i’m hilarious, you’re sleep deprived
come outside
Na Jaemin🐰🩺:
you’re insane
Lee Donghyuck 🐻💫:
hot chocolate waiting. hurry.
He typed:
Do you hate me?
Deleted it.
Typed:
Did I do something?
Deleted that too.
He tried again:
I miss you.
His thumb hovered over send.
He backspaced until the text box was empty.
He tossed the phone aside and wiped a hand down his face. Coward, something in his chest whispered. Another part said, Protect yourself. Another said, It’s already too late for that.
He closed his eyes and saw stage lights on Donghyuck’s skin. Heard the echo of piano keys from a year ago, when everything was simpler and he didn’t know enough to be scared.
What if I never went to that party?
What if I never let him in?
What if I told him, that night on the balcony, that I wanted it to be a date?
What if I stopped pretending I don’t?
What if he’s waiting for me to say it first?
What if he’s tired of waiting?
What if… this is how it ends? Not with a fight. Not with a confession. Just slowly, silently, like a candle no one remembers to shield from the wind.
And Jaemin, who was good at logic and systems and plans, had never been more lost.
He turned onto his side and pulled the blanket up to his chin, like it could hold him together. The faint sound of the city bled through his window. His phone stayed dark.
He fell asleep finally, not with answers, but with the ache of almosts and a head full of what ifs.
Donghyuck had always known how to fill a room.
It was a skill something between survival instinct and stubborn artistry. He’d been loud because silence meant space, and space meant loneliness. So he filled it. With voice, with laughter, with himself.
And Jaemin had been the one person who made him want to quiet down.
Just to listen. Just to stay.
It started slow like falling into a warm pool. One moment you’re wading in, the next you’re under, and it’s peaceful and terrifying at the same time.
The first time he saw Jaemin, he’d only meant to tease him. The med kid who looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks, with tired eyes and sharp cheekbones and that careful, cautious energy of someone always calculating how much of himself he could afford to show.
But then Jaemin laughed.
Soft, surprised.
And Donghyuck had wanted to hear it again.
He started popping up. Not by accident. Not really. At first it was Renjun’s idea. “He likes you, dumbass.” But then it became his own choice. Over and over. Until it was just what he did.
Stealing fries, sneaking into libraries, crashing labs he had no business being in, anything to make Jaemin look at him.
And for a while… he did.
They had moments. Quiet ones. Sparkling ones. The balcony. The party kitchen. A single smile across the room. Little flickers of something that felt like more than flirting.
Something that might be a beginning.
But Jaemin never reached back.
Not really.
Donghyuck could feel it like trying to hold water in his hands.
Jaemin let him in just enough to stay, but never enough to matter.
And that was the problem.
Because Donghyuck already knew how to be the highlight in someone’s day. The fun one. The warm one. The interruption in a routine.
He didn’t want to be a footnote in Jaemin’s story.
He wanted to be the page Jaemin reread.
But every time he stepped closer, Jaemin froze.
Looked away.
Hesitated.
So Donghyuck did what he never thought he would.
He stepped back.
Just a little.
Just enough to see if Jaemin noticed.
At first, it was self preservation. Then it became heartbreak.
He stayed in the same room. Laughed with the same people. But left the space between them untouched. And when Jaemin didn’t cross it…
Donghyuck learned how to pretend.
That night at Renjun’s, when he’d looked over and seen Jaemin laughing softly at something Mark said, something had tugged deep in his chest.
He wanted to go to him.
Wanted to say, “Do you miss me, or just the way I used to orbit around you?”
But he stayed where he was.
Because you can’t keep chasing someone who keeps waiting for you to leave.
Even when you’d burn for them if they asked.
In his dorm later, Donghyuck sat with the lights off and music playing low from his laptop.
He stared at the last message he sent Jaemin.
It was a dumb meme. Two weeks old. Left on read.
His fingers hovered over the keyboard.
Say something. Ask him. Tell him it hurt.
But he didn’t.
He closed his laptop and laid back on his bed, arm over his eyes, chest full of aching silence.
Maybe Jaemin had already made his choice.
Maybe silence was the answer.
And Donghyuck, who had never been afraid of loudness, realized:
He’d never been more terrified of being quietly forgotten.
Days passed.
Maybe a week.
And still, nothing.
No more surprise visits. No more chocolate croissants. No more playful jabs across the group chat. Donghyuck was still there, technically. Laughing. Posting selfies. Showing up at movie nights and group dinners and birthday plans.
But not for him.
Not anymore.
It was Mark, of all people, who made it click.
They were walking across campus after class, casually talking about nothing. Jaemin was pretending he wasn’t scanning every face in the quad just in case Donghyuck happened to appear.
“You okay?” Mark asked, not unkindly.
“Yeah.”
Mark gave him a look. “Lying’s a sin.”
Jaemin let out a long breath. “I think I messed something up.”
Mark didn’t say anything, just waited.
“I thought… I don’t know. That if I kept things the way they were, I wouldn’t risk anything. But now he’s just… gone. Still there, but not mine.”
“Was he ever yours?” Mark asked gently.
Jaemin looked down. “I don’t know.”
Mark hummed. “Well, I do. He was waiting for you to choose him. And you didn’t.”
It landed like a punch.
He was waiting.
Not asking. Not begging. Not demanding. Just waiting.
And Jaemin hadn’t moved.
That night, Jaemin lay in bed staring at the ceiling again. But this time, he didn’t fill the silence with what ifs. He let himself feel the guilt. The longing. The fear.
Because it wasn’t apathy.
Donghyuck hadn’t stopped caring. He’d just stopped trying alone.
And Jaemin realized: if he didn’t do something now, he’d lose him completely.
You can’t keep standing still and expect people to wait forever.
The next day, he skipped his study block.
Walked across campus to the music building. Pushed through the familiar halls. Stopped outside the small recital room with the scratched door and the blackout curtains and the baby grand piano tucked in the corner.
Donghyuck was inside.
Of course he was.
Headphones on, hunched over the keys, humming softly as he played.
It was exactly how Jaemin had seen him that very first time.
It made his chest ache.
He knocked once.
Donghyuck startled, looked up and for the first time in weeks, their eyes met without a crowd between them.
He pulled off his headphones. “Didn’t know med students were allowed in here.”
“I’m breaking the rules,” Jaemin said quietly. “It’s urgent.”
Donghyuck raised a brow. “Oh? Finally decided to sue me for emotional harassment?”
Jaemin stepped inside, closed the door.
And didn’t smile.
Donghyuck noticed.
He stood slowly. “What’s wrong?”
Jaemin swallowed. “You stopped showing up.”
Donghyuck blinked. “I thought you didn’t mind.”
“I did,” Jaemin said, voice cracking. “I do. I kept waiting for you to come back. To joke. To nudge me. To look at me the way you used to.”
Donghyuck didn’t move.
“I thought it meant you didn’t care anymore,” Jaemin whispered. “But you did, didn’t you? You were just… tired.”
A pause.
Donghyuck’s voice was low. “It’s hard to stay when someone never reaches back.”
Jaemin stepped forward. Just once.
“I didn’t know how,” he admitted. “I’ve never done this before. I didn’t want to ruin it by wanting too much.”
Donghyuck looked at him for a long time, like trying to decide if it was too late to believe him.
Then softly: “What do you want, Jaemin?”
Everything. You. Us. Another chance. Every chance.
“I want you to come back,” he said instead.
Donghyuck’s eyes softened. “And if I do?”
“I’ll meet you halfway this time,” Jaemin promised. “No more waiting.”
Silence stretched.
And then Donghyuck smiled, small, cautious, real.
“Then I guess I’ll stop walking away.”
They stood there, between the piano and the echo of a second chance.
And this time, Jaemin reached first.
There was no dramatic lean in. No sweeping orchestral moment. Just a breath shared in a quiet room and the weight of everything finally being said.
Donghyuck’s smile had faded into something softer now. Not shy, not nervous just… present.
He sat back down on the piano bench, hands resting on the keys, but not playing.
Jaemin joined him, sitting beside him like it was the most natural thing in the world.
For a long time, they didn’t speak.
The only sound was the low hum of the air conditioner and the faint creak of the piano bench beneath them.
And it was enough.
Jaemin glanced over.
Donghyuck was looking forward, not at him, but his pinky finger had drifted just slightly tapping against Jaemin’s.
Jaemin turned his hand palm up.
Donghyuck’s pinky curled into his.
It was so small, so quiet, and yet Jaemin felt his heartbeat stutter like he was falling all over again.
“You okay?” Donghyuck asked after a while, not moving.
“Yeah,” Jaemin whispered. “I feel… like I can breathe again.”
Donghyuck turned then, lips quirking faintly. “That’s good. I’d hate to kiss someone mid asphyxiation.”
Jaemin laughed. “So now you’re going to kiss me?”
Donghyuck shrugged. “Not if you’re going to pass out. Wouldn’t want a lawsuit on my hands.”
Jaemin smiled and leaned just slightly closer. “I’m good. Medically cleared.”
“Oh?” Donghyuck said, eyes flicking down to Jaemin’s lips. “Doctor’s orders?”
“Something like that.”
And then finally Jaemin kissed him.
It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t desperate. It was soft and sure and slow.
Like the kind of thing they’d both been building toward, without realizing it.
Like a held breath finally released.
After, they didn’t speak for a moment.
Donghyuck rested his forehead against Jaemin’s, their hands still loosely joined, and whispered, “I thought I’d have to let go.”
“I wouldn’t have let you,” Jaemin replied.
“Liar,” Donghyuck said, but he was smiling. “You were letting me walk away in real time.”
“I was scared,” Jaemin admitted.
“I was too.”
Jaemin pulled back just enough to look at him. “Are you still?”
Donghyuck held his gaze. “Not when you’re looking at me like that.”
They stayed like that for a long time.
No rush. No pretending. Just Jaemin tracing circles against Donghyuck’s wrist and Donghyuck humming the beginning of a new melody under his breath.
It wasn’t a confession or a promise or a grand gesture.
But it was enough.
It was peace.
It was the beginning.
It wasn’t official.
There were no labels. No declarations. No group announcement that Na Jaemin and Lee Donghyuck are now a thing.
But everyone knew.
Because everything had shifted.
And because for the first time in a long while, Jaemin walked into a room with Donghyuck already waiting for him and not just with his body, but with his full presence. His attention. His eyes that no longer glanced past, but stayed.
Their first quiet date wasn’t planned.
Donghyuck had texted him around 9 p.m.
Lee Donghyuck 🐻💫:
studying alone is scientifically proven to be 87% more depressing.
let me in.
Jaemin hadn’t even hesitated.
His dorm was dimly lit when Donghyuck arrived, desk lamp on, a few pages already highlighted, the soft scent of his detergent clinging to the room like comfort.
Donghyuck toed off his shoes, dropped his bag beside Jaemin’s bed, and flopped face first onto the mattress with a dramatic groan.
“I bring nothing to contribute except chaos and moral support.”
“You’re not here to study?”
“I’m here to exist quietly in your orbit while you study,” Donghyuck mumbled into the sheets. “It’s very romantic.”
Jaemin chuckled and turned back to his notes.
Donghyuck didn’t talk much after that. He just laid there on Jaemin’s bed, scrolling through his phone, sometimes humming under his breath, sometimes watching Jaemin with soft, lazy eyes.
At some point, Jaemin felt the bed shift.
Donghyuck had scooted closer, half sitting now, head tilted.
“You’re frowning,” Donghyuck whispered.
“I always frown when I’m memorizing.”
Donghyuck reached over and gently poked the space between his brows. “You’ll get wrinkles.”
“I’m twenty.”
“Wrinkles don’t care.”
Jaemin looked over, lips twitching. “You gonna help me review or just bully me through medical school?”
Donghyuck stretched like a cat and rolled onto his back. “Can I be your reward system? Like, for every five questions you get right, I kiss you.”
Jaemin raised an eyebrow. “That’s not how the brain consolidates information.”
“Oh, I disagree. I think dopamine is a wonderful study tool.”
Jaemin looked down at his notes, tried not to smile.
“…Fine,” he muttered. “Five questions. And no cheating.”
Donghyuck grinned. “Deal.”
They made it to twelve.
Twelve questions right, two kisses stolen, one almost on the jaw because Jaemin had leaned too far forward and Donghyuck got bold.
Eventually, the book fell closed.
Jaemin turned off the lamp, and Donghyuck laid back against the headboard like he’d always belonged there.
They didn’t speak much.
Just sat in the dim glow of the window light, legs touching, sharing a blanket Jaemin hadn’t realized he’d pulled up over both their laps.
“This is nice,” Donghyuck said softly.
Jaemin turned to look at him. “Yeah.”
“No pressure.”
“None,” Jaemin agreed.
“Just you, me, and extremely poor posture,” Donghyuck added, slouching further.
Jaemin laughed. “You’re ruining the moment.”
Donghyuck bumped their knees together. “I am the moment.”
Jaemin rolled his eyes and leaned his head on Donghyuck’s shoulder.
And Donghyuck didn’t move.
Didn’t tease.
Didn’t say anything clever.
He just let him stay there.
Later, when Donghyuck left past midnight, hoodie pulled over his hair and cheeks flushed from Jaemin’s goodbye kiss at the door, Jaemin stood for a long time at his window, watching the empty sidewalk.
And for the first time in months, there were no what ifs waiting at the edge of his bed.
Just memory.
Just warmth.
Just Donghyuck.
Jaemin didn’t say, “I’m courting you.”
That would’ve been too obvious. Too forward. Too dangerous for someone like him, someone who’d spent so long keeping feelings folded neatly in the back pocket of his heart.
But he was.
In every way that counted.
He was learning how to show up. Not just in Donghyuck’s orbit but in the small, quiet corners of his world.
He started remembering Donghyuck’s rehearsal days. On those afternoons, there’d be a drink waiting on Donghyuck’s seat when he returned from stage. Nothing fancy just whatever he mentioned craving that week.
Sometimes it was iced green tea with too much syrup.
Sometimes it was a banana milk.
Once it was a single can of sparkling water with a sticky note that read: “I googled if this helps with vocal strain. Science says maybe.”
He started walking Donghyuck home after late night hangouts not because Donghyuck couldn’t do it alone, but because Jaemin wanted him to know: you don’t have to anymore.
He started texting first.
Not out of panic or obligation, but because he wanted to know what Donghyuck was thinking about at 2 p.m.
He started listening more.
Even when Donghyuck rambled about things Jaemin didn’t understand, script edits, costume disasters, why bubble tea shops should legally be required to let you mix two toppings, aemin listened.
And he smiled.
And Donghyuck noticed.
It didn’t go unnoticed by their friends either.
“Jaemin’s soft these days,” Chenle observed casually over dinner one night, watching Jaemin quietly push the mushrooms off Donghyuck’s plate without a word.
“He’s whipped,” Renjun replied.
“He’s earning it,” Mark added, glancing at Jaemin with quiet approval.
Jisung leaned over to Jaemin, eyes wide. “Wait… are you, like, courting him?”
Jaemin blinked, startled. “What? No. I mean… maybe. I don’t know.”
Mark smirked. “You bring him snacks. You walk him home. You rearranged your schedule to watch his Thursday recitals. You’re not dating but you’re definitely trying.”
Jaemin’s ears turned pink.
Donghyuck, sitting at the end of the table, blinked slowly.
He hadn’t said anything yet.
But he was watching.
Later that night, when the others had left and the apartment was quiet, Donghyuck turned to him on the couch.
“Are you… doing this on purpose?”
Jaemin looked up from where he was folding an old throw blanket. “Doing what?”
“This,” Donghyuck said softly, eyes unreadable. “The drinks. The walking me home. The checking in. The notes. The way you look at me now.”
Jaemin set the blanket down and took a breath.
“I’m trying to do it right this time.”
Donghyuck stared. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Jaemin said slowly, “I didn’t know how to reach for you before. And you waited anyway. You stayed. And I want to earn that. I want you to know I’m choosing you. Every day. Even in the quiet.”
Donghyuck blinked rapidly, the tip of his tongue peeking out to wet his lips.
“And you weren’t going to tell me?”
“I thought you’d notice,” Jaemin whispered. “But maybe you deserve to hear it too.”
Donghyuck exhaled like he’d been holding that breath for weeks.
“You’re unbelievable.”
Jaemin tensed.
“In a good way,” Donghyuck added, and reached for his hand. “It’s so unfair. I spent months waiting for you. And now you’re, what, romancing me?”
“I can stop,” Jaemin teased gently.
“You better not,” Donghyuck deadpanned.
Jaemin smiled, soft and sure.
Donghyuck shifted closer and rested his head on Jaemin’s shoulder.
“I think I’m going to fall in love with you,” he murmured.
Jaemin kissed the top of his head. “Good. I’m already halfway there.”
The next time they were out with their friends, Donghyuck didn’t sit across from Jaemin.
He sat beside him. Close enough that their knees touched. Close enough that when Jaemin leaned in and said, “You okay?”, Donghyuck replied, “Yeah. Better than ever.”
Close enough that everyone else stopped teasing.
Because it was obvious now.
This wasn’t a chase anymore.
It was a love story.
It wasn’t a grand setup.
No fancy restaurant. No city lights. No roses or signs or flash mobs (which Donghyuck always said he’d hate, but secretly wouldn’t have minded).
It was Jaemin’s dorm, warm with lamplight. The window was cracked open to let in the early spring breeze, and the floor was littered with takeout containers and their socks.
Donghyuck was wearing Jaemin’s hoodie, half swallowed in it, legs curled on the bed, scrolling through Jaemin’s playlist like he was judging his entire personality based on it.
Jaemin was sitting at the desk, watching him like he always did now like he couldn’t believe someone like Donghyuck had ever been close enough to lose.
He stood slowly.
Donghyuck didn’t look up. “If you’ve got a secret K-drama OST playlist, I won’t judge just let me prepare emotionally.”
“Hyuck.”
Donghyuck looked up.
Jaemin’s hands were in his pockets. His expression was calm but his heart was racing in the way it always did when he was about to do something that mattered.
“I’ve been thinking about how to say this,” he said.
Donghyuck raised an eyebrow. “You already confessed. You already kissed me. You already brought me coffee and walked me home and fixed the playlist algorithm so it stops giving me heartbreak ballads. What’s left?”
Jaemin smiled faintly, then stepped forward.
He stood in front of Donghyuck, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off him. Close enough to count the freckles near his nose.
“I want to call you mine,” Jaemin said. “Not in a half way, not yet kind of way. I want it official. I want to be yours. And I want you to be mine.”
Donghyuck blinked.
Then again.
“Jaemin—”
“I know we’ve been dancing around it. I know I’ve made you wait. But I don’t want to keep waiting anymore. So I’m asking.”
A beat.
“Hyuck… will you be my boyfriend?”
There was a pause.
A single heartbeat of silence before Donghyuck let out a breathy, disbelieving laugh.
“You’re so dramatic,” he whispered, voice cracking. “You didn’t even have to ask.”
Jaemin tilted his head. “So that’s a yes?”
Donghyuck nodded, eyes shining glassy with tears he refused to let fall. “Of course it’s a yes, you idiot.”
Jaemin leaned in slowly, arms sliding around his waist as Donghyuck stood to meet him. Their bodies pressed together, familiar, grounding, new all over again.
And then Jaemin kissed him.
Soft. Steady. Certain.
No teasing. No pretense.
Just the kind of kiss that said I’m here.
I’m choosing you.
This is real.
When they pulled apart, Jaemin tucked a strand of hair behind Donghyuck’s ear and pressed their foreheads together.
“I love you,” he whispered, finally. “Without hesitation. Without second guessing.”
Donghyuck’s breath hitched.
“I love you too,” he whispered back. “Even when you’re late replying to texts.”
Jaemin snorted. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I’m yours now,” Donghyuck smiled, brushing his lips against Jaemin’s again. “You better get used to it.”
And Jaemin, whose life had once been all order and schedules and what ifs, finally understood what it meant to feel full.
He wrapped his arms tighter around Donghyuck and held him close.
No more waiting. No more almosts. Just love. Exactly as it is.
From that day on, they stopped pretending to be casual.
Jaemin kissed Donghyuck goodbye in front of their friends, and Donghyuck would loop his arms around his neck and kiss him again, just to be extra.
They held hands walking across campus. Donghyuck sat in Jaemin’s lap during movie nights like it was his throne. Jaemin showed up to rehearsal with cut fruit and a handwritten note that said break legs, love you and blushed like a fool when Donghyuck kissed his cheek in front of the cast.
They said I like you out loud.
Then I missed you.
Then I love you.
Without second guessing. Without hiding.
Because there was nothing left to prove.
Just two of them in love, exactly where they belonged.