#yangyang fic

[wincore]

indelicate | liu yangyang

pairing: yangyang x fem!reader

synopsis: missing the last train out of new shanghai was not on the to-do list. however, your project partner liu yangyang promises fun, dazzling lights, and the warmth of a human connection for this festive weekend. perhaps even in the era of diamond and steel, the human touch means something after all.

genre: oriental cyberpunk, f2l, fluff

warning(s): swearing & several innuendos. also out-of-date jokes sorry guys i wrote this in 2021

words: 11.9k

a/n: this is just a rework of an old fic i posted here with another character! if you find any inconsistencies, it's probably because of that LOL also this is not a wincore revival but i did miss everyone on here !!

i. city plaza

Some idiot, somewhere along in history, decided to renovate a city into something so dazzling that the population shoots up to a hundred and fifty percent of what was before, and the rest of the damage comes along with the people. Promises are made and broken to build this city of extravagance. You have the belief that the more people there are in one place, the more difficult it gets to live there. This dazzling hellscape means colliding into too many people on the streets, too many bright lights outside your dorm room when you’re trying to sleep and the god awful sound of deafening firecrackers at every new year celebration.

Another idiot somehow roped you into his ‘midnight adventure: traditional version’ once he heard you missed the last train ticket out of the city. Liu Yangyang has a terrible way with words—but he has a way.

You were, by some unfortunate gamble of the gods, partners for a project that accounted for sixty percent of the grade. While that affair is over, you still haven't rid yourself of the predicament that is Yangyang. Gorgeous, yes, but too overwhelming. You smack your head against the car window only for him to jump in his seat beside you, hand gently driving over your forehead to check for damage. The neon city lays around you, and festive light projections float across the sky in intricate shapes of the ox and written messages. This is going nowhere. You came to this city sacrificing everything and yet suddenly, everything’s hanging on a string again.

The city lights of New Shanghai are cruel. Everything in this place is cruel.

Which is exactly why you’re in Yangyang’s car, parked by the middle level city plaza on New Year’s Eve. It is, in fact, illegal to hover by the city plaza on New Year’s Eve but Yangyang seems to either not care or simply doesn’t know. You forget the law doesn’t exist for rich kids. Out of all man-made wonders, rules are the most interesting. 

“Shall we go?” he asks, voice bubbly as ever. Every morning, he chirps like the alarm birds outside your window. Yes, it has made you want to sleep forever at times.

“It’s just one night. And I’ll be with you, so you don’t have to be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” you snap. 

“Not afraid of the dark either?”

You pull your jacket closer to you. Here, the cold streets of the techno-jungle make you shiver more often than not. If you dare go out without friends, a city so grand will inevitably drain the life out of you. Your body alone cannot withstand the dazzle. And—you can’t be afraid of the dark after you’ve complained about the lights.

You look at Yangyang and back to the cityscape outside—large conglomerative blocks of buildings, some hosting advertisements with the faces of inhumanly beautiful models and some with the ‘Happy New Year!’ text animation floating about in increasingly complex patterns. You see the revolving top of one of the grandest skyscrapers, a Dior hotel, not the tallest but certainly the most pleasing to look at. It gleams from red to orange like the pulsating heart of a giant metropolitan beast. There are more funky buildings to look at, some not even the shape of austere corporate skyscrapers.

“Do you wanna go there?” Yangyang asks all of a sudden. “I heard the lounge is closed off from eleven. I can call some friends and we can book a room though—”

“No. No way. I’m not going to spend new year’s eve in a Dior suite.”

He grins. “Thank god. It’s so boring there. Only models and businessmen and whatever freak shit they do.”

You sigh. Liu Yangyang is a whole story in itself. He’s rich and popular—a dream of many—but so few are as welcoming as he is. When you’re in that position, you’re bound to have a little metal seep into your heart. Some hidden part of you, however, tells you to loosen up when you’re with him; just let it go and have a good time. There’s no reason why you shouldn't. The economy is on a steep incline, the people are happy and no other city compares to this place. You could learn a thing or two from Yangyang.

He looks at you questioningly, eyes waiting and the curve of his lips still. You notice his platinum blond hair is more styled than usual, you can almost smell the gel on it, and for a moment, you wish you looked as good as he does. A dark leather jacket accentuates his shoulders, the plain T-shirt underneath not of the flashy type. He looks like he’s ready for club-hopping and you, anything but. If you knew earlier that you’d be by the Strip around midnight on New Year’s, you'd have dressed better. 

“If you stay any longer in my car, people are going to assume we’re…y’know,” he states, quirking his eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure it’s illegal, though. Like, who thought fu—”

You were wrong. There is absolutely nothing to learn from Liu Yangyang. 

“I would get out of this car immediately and fall to my death before I let that happen,” you retort, crossing your arms.

“No, hey. What an inauspicious sentence. Besides, and I’m not bragging but you should know I’m really good at using my assets—”

“Don’t say a word.”

The heat of embarrassment flows into your cheeks at his implication. You look out the window, weighing out the pros and cons. The scenery is so bright that sometimes it hurts to look outside. It’s not midnight yet but the main streets are already getting crowded for the processions; the sound of laughter and conversation ring in the air. It makes you somewhat sad to not be home for this. But as they say, living in a big city can only be done if you sell your soul to it.

You’re directly above the level one city plaza, the people below looking unsettling in the way they’re so small and far away—they don’t even seem human at this distance. You wonder if you look like that to the people above this, to the level three elites who sit on top of the whole city..

You look back to your companion, who’s transfixed on the bakery across the road—either that, or just really, really zoned out. Knowing Yangyang, it could be either. When you tilt your head, waiting, you find that he has pretty features—a shaped nose and round, curious eyes, all in perfect alignment with plump, pink lips. His metallic ring earrings shine when the light hits them right. No wonder you get girls asking how close the two of you are often. Even in a world pushing manufactured love, boys like him make others daydream. You wonder why you’re the one he loves to drag in with him.

Yangyang flinches when he finds you staring at him. You clear your throat, looking away and hoping you can sweep this under the rug.

“Are you- are you by any chance mad at me?” he asks, a nervous smile awkwardly tugging at his lips.

“I- what? No. I’m not mad at you.”

“You look like my mother when I don’t clean my room. Or Ten's cats when I try to kiss them.”

A tiny laugh escapes you before you get back your poised demeanor. “I’m- I’m not mad at you.”

He smiles at you wordlessly and you feel a little conscious. You glance outside when the plaza music starts to get loud and look back at him, debating whether you should just give in.

“So… you’ll let me brighten your life now?” he asks in his regular baritone, grinning wider. “The semester’s over and it’s festival time! I bring good luck, I promise.”

Liu Yangyang is not a happy serendipity. He simply cannot be. However, he does make you laugh more often than you’d admit.

“Whatever. Go ahead. I just don’t want to be hungover on a Friday.”

“You don’t- you don’t have to drink to have a good time.” He laughs. “I would know. I’m sort of a lightweight. I don’t know why I told you that. I’m supposed to be cool.”

You giggle, taking a moment to think.

“Fine then. Show me your magical access key to our beloved Mobius Strip, the mightiest, grandest structure in all of New Shanghai.”

“Well, if you put it that way… I am pretty cool, huh?”

His smile is too harmless for you to roll your eyes. He’s too gentle, you realize all of sudden, to be as awful as all the uni frat boys you’ve had the misfortune of talking to. You watch him as he drives; his arm moves with ease and he tries to make conversation but you can only hum and respond in singular words. The closer you are to the Strip the more nervous you get. It’s like visiting all those dark places that your mother explicitly warned you not to visit as a teenager—but you’re an adult now. No one owns you. No one should be able to own you. The determination builds up slowly over neon lights and hazy street shops.

Nights here are the fun part. Everyone says that. Other than the fact that you can barely make out the colour of the sky under the vivid city lights, there’s something very enticing about the streets, the upper streets that wind around the city.

Yangyang drives the car to a level three street, the behemoth structure of the Strip now so close that all you can see beyond your window are its placid, white walls stretching out to infinity. You can see little gardens and shops, peeking out from between each strip and one of the shopkeepers wave at you the moment you pass. Yangyang says something along the lines of “thanks for the free noodles” to the woman, before gliding higher. 

“Grandma makes the best glass noodles here,” he says, excitedly. “I’ll take you sometime. If you like.”

You hum, noting the joy he expresses at the idea of something so simple. 

Level three streets are already thousand and a half feet above the ground. You try not to look down; heights aren’t something you’re very fond of even if you love the sky. You note construction work for street levels four and five, shivering at the idea. The winds of change are fucking cold.

Yangyang swerves the car off-road at one point and you clutch his arm by reflex.

“What the fuck? Don’t do that without warning me,” you say, breathing quicker. You do not do well with: sudden movement, jumpscares and boys with pretty smiles.

“Sorry,” he says, looking at you with concern. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You let go of his arm, more embarrassed at yourself than mad at him. Driving the car closer to the Strip, he brakes carefully by the parking lot. The walls are covered in red wallpaper, a few lanterns attached to drones, floating along the path inside. It looks like a rooftop parking lot, though the mysterious dim lighting makes you walk closer to Yangyang.

“I heard this is gonna be a really cool event—they’ve got the latest AI tech hosting and crap but let me tell you the best part.”

He pauses for dramatic effect. 

“The food!” He says, spreading his arms and grinning. “The food at private events is the best thing you’ll ever taste.”

You open your mouth but close it again in part horror, part confusion. “You’re… taking me to a private event?”

“Ah, don’t look like that. It’s really fun, promise.”

“I’m not even dressed for it,” you blurt, embarrassed.

Yangyang shakes his head. “Don’t worry about that. It’s for rich kids, you know? If I’m being honest, none of them know how to dress.”

His confident statement gets a giggle out of you and you relax a little. You walk with him, further into the square platform and away from the cars. The sky disappears behind the dark roof and for a moment, you feel like you’ve entered a different dimension. It’s like the architecture models that your professors had on display for the Shanghai History class in your freshman year. Old stuff, that is. Before this place even had the first skyscraper.

You turn to your side and narrow your eyes at Yangyang, suddenly wondering how he finagled his way into bringing you here. Your iron-clad will is not so much iron after all. It’s not even steel, you think, once you catch yourself staring at Yangyang a bit too long.

You step forward to find the entrance to the club; it’s a little lonely to look at in the beginning. Then it clicks that it’s probably the back door. The red pillars encase a black door between them, the overhang of the gateway just a little above Yangyang’s head. You can see the hip-and-gable style roof of the larger building behind, looking like a skyscraper instead of the usual historical buildings you’ve seen on the internet. In glowing red letters, it displays a blinking ‘Club 2’ near the top of the door.

The moment you step on the stairs, a bunch of advertisements pop up on the door, bright bubblegum colours hurting your eyes. Yangyang taps at the little x at the corner of the display till it disappears and finally the door is a regular door. The colour is jet black like any other screening platform. 

“I thought the rich were exempted from ads,” you say.

“They’re… more likely to buy things though.”

You make an ‘ah’ sound in contemplation when a whirring makes you jump into him. A little spherical drone flies its way out of an opening in the wall and stops right in front of the two of you. 

“Sicheng-ge!” Yangyang says, waving frantically at the camera.

The little drone circles around Yangyang’s head before stopping right in front of his face. It runs a scan before turning sharply and beeping at you. 

“My plus one!” Yangyang declares, pulling you by the waist. “Or whatever it’s called.”

Your ears feel warm but you don’t push him off. The camera focuses on your face, likely scanning to identify your age and occupation. When it’s done, a beep resounds and the door slides open to reveal a dimly lit pathway. The main entrance is much brighter, Yangyang promises, but for now it’s just the warm glow of the lanterns, Yangyang’s neon red striped jacket and the mechanical whirring of some sort of device in the darkness.

“What’s that sound?” you whisper and Yangyang stops. 

He pauses to think. “Oh, they’re Sicheng-ge’s drones. He’s got like a million of them. I'll introduce you—he’s hosting this club event, by the way.”

He smiles at you reassuringly. If Yangyang’s not bothered by it, you’ll follow his lead. Though, you do take more nimble steps and stay close to him like he’s your lighthouse. (In a way, he is, with all that neon shining on his jacket.)

You’re surprised to find a garden, but then it gets stranger when you see brighter lanterns in the middle area. You see figures and before you can react, Yangyang takes your hand and into the central platform.

ii. orchid club square

Yangyang was right. None of them know how to dress.

The two of you stand in the middle of a crowd, who are in fact dressed either for: a) an impromptu pool party or b) a Sunday morning lecture. You blend in somewhat well given the variety though Yangyang’s painted looks have attracted the attention of quite a few giggling, murmuring onlookers.

You clench your jaw in mild annoyance. 

“This is a tour,” Yangyang whispers to you. “I thought… you’d like to know what everything’s about.”

You feel grateful to him for once. Having some sort of knowledge about what you’re getting into makes you feel better about any situation. A set of mechanical clicking fills the air.

A woman—no, an AI bot is the first to greet you. She has pale white metallic skin and her dark strands of hair are in a traditional updo. Her lips are imperial red, shaped in a way that makes her seem as though she’s smiling but also not at the very same time. She holds an extravagant fan by her face at the perfect right angle, the patterns on it painted to imitate an ancient cherry blossom tree. 

“Good evening, everyone,” she says, her voice pitched up and enthusiastic. It’s a little funny to imagine metal so lively.

You smell oranges and lavender as soon as she flicks her fan once and precise. 

“Welcome to the New Shanghai nightlife!” The bot continues jovially. “The oldest surviving city on planet earth, the birthplace of the human race.”

“You are in virtual space,” she informs. “It might look like a courtyard stretching to infinity but it is only an illusion. However, the club is five hundred and sixty one metres wide and six hundred and twelve metres long. It is large enough to hold twenty-one blue whales in a line. That is, if they still existed of course.”

She giggles algorithmically.

“Where you stand right now,” she says, turning her head in a swift mechanical motion to you and you flinch. “This place is called the orchid club square. As you know, only VIP access lets you in.”

You glance at Yangyang worriedly and he shrugs. There’s no way she could know, right? That was oddly specific. But then she moves her head left to right to address the whole crowd in perfect grace. When her movement starts to get a little too eerie to watch any longer, you fix your eyes on the garden instead. You have no way of telling part real flowers from virtual ones and even so—all of them are beautiful. Maybe reality doesn’t make things any prettier.

However, when you look at Yangyang, the thought gets tossed out. You shake your head, in an attempt to get rid of the image of his face. It’s a little too late to be feeling this way. Either that, or the night is taking its toll on you already. The day was exhausting, considering it was the end of the semester.

The AI guide’s chatter fades into something quieter when you move the club square. It’s a rather empty space, fitting for a rave or just housing large crowds. The decorations are for the new year celebrations, banners of the ox in auspicious colours and a few drones projecting the rest. There’s a garden of evermore orchids lining the area in a perfect square and it’s so precise that it’s pleasing to look at. There’s a door at one edge, similar to the one you encountered before entering the club square.

The music that wafts through the air is so gentle, you almost forget there’s a celebration. The beat makes it livelier and even so, the rhythm of your heartbeat matches it in a soothing sort of way. Turning around, you spot the musical ensemble. It’s another AI, peering over a guqin with trained habit.

She looks the same, except she wears an electronic mask over the lower half of her face. It displays a blue musical note made up of noticeable pixels. She has no fan—instead, her fingers strum the guqin rhythmically, programmed with precision and grace. The sound is accompanied by the woodwind notes of a flute, though you’re not sure where that sound emanates from. There’s also a soft drumbeat which seems to come from the guqin bot herself.

You gasp when a few painted goldfish float through the air, almost real to look at if it weren’t for the glitch effect of holograms. One of them swims closer to you, opening and closing its mouth in rhythm and you giggle at its face.

Yangyang laughs, long finger pointing at the critter in amusement. “That’s adorable.”

He looks like a little kid and you giggle at his expression, with wide, delighted eyes and mouth open in focused mirth. He pokes at the goldfish and it makes a bubbling sound, gears shifting in ticking time before suddenly biting at his index finger. Yangyang lets out a low yelp, retracting his hand before clearing his throat in embarrassment.

“You’re like a cartoon,” you tell him, in between laughs. “No way are you real.”

He grins, in that same way he always looks at you and you look away, feeling hot in the face. It’s too enamored a way to look at someone. But of course, that couldn’t be true—he’s Liu Yangyang and you’re you. Parallel lines do not meet, even if they’re headed in the same direction.

“I think you’re unreal,” he mumbles.

iii. club 2

The doors open to a rather spacious arrangement, with several tables one one side and a sort of dance arena on the other where people are trying to out-dance each other. The intensity makes you move further away from it. It seems a little too festive and you can feel the energy slinking away from you. The music is more upbeat but you suppose the DJ tried to make it sound more eastern; the result is pleasing. He wears a smooth black helmet with a neon red beat visualizer on it, with written SFX appearing from time to time. Two pulsing golden horns glow at the sides of his head. You stare at it for longer than you’d like before composing yourself. You’re very impressionable when it comes to parties. 

There are two floors to the club, above the bottom floor itself. The other two floors mostly seem to consist of private booths, however, covered with gossamer silk that glow iridescent. A few floating lanterns sway by the upper floors. The ceiling is open to a midnight blue sky and the stars look much larger than you’ve ever seen them—you suspect it’s an AR mesh over the ceiling. A few light shows project little dancing dragons and coins over the sky and you find them too cute to not stare at.

“Wow,” Yangyang says, right after walking in. “Why is Dejun on the table?”

You look where his eyes are focused on, though it’s difficult through the crowd of people, and find Dejun and Kunhang in some sort of old anime transformation pose atop one of the tables. It’s surprising that they’re not the weirdest pair here. 

“Now, bear with me, it’s going to be boring as hell till the countdown and the fireworks,” he explains, waving his hands around. “But it’s a good place to have fun and make friends. You know?”

“Friends?” you ask, a little nervous. You’re not very proficient at making friends and it makes you anxious.

“Yeah! Don’t worry. ” He makes a strange gesture, bordering between posing for a beer ad campaign and looking like a motivational speaker for the army, before furrowing his eyebrows. “You just have to be confident! I’m learning too!”

He lets out a sweet laugh and it makes you laugh in turn, hand covering your mouth so you don’t embarrass yourself too much. You don’t believe the words much, but the glow over his cheeks makes you reconsider.

“You look really nice when you laugh,” he comments, a bright glint in his eyes.

“Whatever,” you reply, punching his shoulder lightly.

Just then, you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder to find Lana from your ethical AI class, smiling at you warmly. She looks a little tired, of people more than the time. Like you, she is also a scholarship student—and not a day has gone when she hasn’t soothed your anxiety about your classes. In stark contrast with Yangyang, you would trust her over him for most tasks. Even if you weren’t partners, you’re okay with the outcome. You glance at Yangyang.

“(name)! Oh my god, I didn’t know you were coming here,” she says. “Did Yangyang kidnap you?” 

“I mean, sort of.”

“Hey.” Yangyang looks at you with betrayal.

“And how did you even manage to do that cool ass project with him as your partner?” she continues, squinting at him.

“Honestly, I don’t know either. He can be surprisingly helpful though.”

Yangyang looks from Lana to you in exasperation. “I’m literally right here,” he grumbles. 

Lana laughs at his expression, patting his shoulder sympathetically. 

“I just can’t believe you let him kidnap you and not me,” she says in mock indignance. “I’m a much better chauffeur, you know?”

“Do you even have a driving license?” Yangyang asks, laughing.

“I got mine before you, rat. Anyway, (name), I’m playing the guzheng. Do you wanna come see?”

“No,” Yangyang interrupts, suddenly grabbing your hand. “I… I mean you guys can go, of course. It's just the countdown’s close, so we have to go to the viewpoint.”

“That’s exactly where—ah. I see.”

"We'll join you another time, Lana," he says quietly, a cute grin on his face like a little boy would make to an older sister for more shares of chocolate. 

"No, no. I actually remembered I left my friends in the corner. See you!"

She leaves her epiphany unsaid, offering you a smile and taking her leave abruptly.

“I thought you told me to socialize,” you complain to Yangyang. 

“Yes, I’m so proud of you for that.”

“Yangyang, I swear if you treat me like a kid—”

“I’m not, I’m not. Sorry,” he says, scratching the back of his head. “I just need to borrow you for tonight. After all, I promised you, didn’t I?”

You sigh. “Fine then, what’s this viewpoint you’re talking about?”

“Oh, we’ll get there.”

Someone’s watching you. You turn around a full three-sixty but find only the same crowd of college-age kids. No one sticks out much, apart from Dejun, Kunhang and Ten, who are at this point performing some sort of strange ritual unbeknownst to any new year tradition, with a hell load of yelling.

“Oh my god, you’re dancing too?” Yangyang says, grinning ear to ear. “I didn’t know I’d have that much of a positive influence. Wow.”

“I’m- I’m not- never mind.”

Yangyang furrows his eyebrows. “What did I tell you? More confidence! See—”

He takes your hands in his, pulling you further onto the dance floor. You feel a rising panic but swallow it. There’s a beat of silence in which the two of you look at each other. Yangyang proceeds to perform the stupidest sequence of movements you have ever seen, certainly too awkward for his body to accept as natural but it doesn’t seem like he cares. He’s having fun.

You find yourself laughing. Taking timid steps, you try to loosen up although the inevitable embarrassment arrives in flushes of heat across your face. There are stars in Yangyang’s eyes when you join him—not the artificial jewels in observatories but the real kind that you used to see in your hometown.

You take a wobbly step back. It’s starting to get disorienting. If it were the real sky above you, you might even have felt better. Perhaps the purpose is to get dizzy.

“I’m a little thirsty,” Yangyang says, motioning to the table with food and drinks at a corner. “I’ll head over and be back.”

Unsure what to do, you follow him like a lost lamb and though it would be embarrassing at any other time, any other place, now and here are not part of that.

The red and golden lights of the neon patterning the walls don’t seem as harsh anymore and you let your eyes rest on the boyish figure of Yangyang. You haven’t figured him out yet. Something tells you he’s more than a shallow image of the party-loving rich kids of Shanghai. In fact, in quiet, personal moments, he looks more out of place than you do—despite all that bright neon. You open your mouth to ask something when you’re interrupted by a dizzy Yangyang spinning into you. 

“Sorry, (name),” he says, rubbing the base of his palm against his forehead. “I genuinely thought I was going to win that game.”

You shake your head, letting him get back to whatever spinning game they were at. He smells like wine and something tells you he’s poor at holding his liquor. The stakes must be high for that game, you figure, because you see Yangyang set aside his beloved shoe on the floor. To be the only scholarship student here suddenly feels scary and awkward.

Yangyang once again tugs at your arm, the touch reassuring as though he understands how you feel. But it isn’t true. There’s no way someone like him can understand someone like you.

“Yangyang,” you call. “Do you come here every year?”

“No, no. I do come for drinks though. I’m only here right now because a friend is hosting this.”

You shrug.

“And you,” he adds and you feel a hot flush rise to your face. “New years are the only time this place is PG-13.”

“I’m not a child,” you snap.

“My mom says childish people say that.”

“Then it's very rich coming from you, Liu Yangyang.”

He laughs heartily, leaning away. A creeping thought grows in your head that you missed out on a lot. But then again, you’ll always miss out on things if you’re not rich enough for them.

Yangyang flinches suddenly, almost knocking a plate off the table. He moves quickly, turning so that his side leans against the wall and the other arm cages you between him and the wall. His frame covers your view from whatever, or whoever arrived at the entrance that made him react so obnoxiously.

However, his lips hovering just a little over yours makes your breath hitch in your throat. This is the worst possible position you could've gotten into. The smell of mint interrupts your thoughts and you look at him with as annoyed an expression as you can muster over the heat of your face.

"Yangyang, what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

“I am… admiring the wall. Ooh, it’s got velvet over it, did you notice?”

 “You’re going to have your head in it too if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”

"Just… sorry. Let’s stay like this for a few moments."

He flashes you an apologetic smile, his face close enough to make yours grow even hotter. A nervous chuckle erupts from his lips. 

"Oh my god, get off. People are going to think we’re making out."

"We could do it for real." 

"I'm going to scratch your eyes out."

"Sorry, sorry."

“Who are you even hiding from?”

“I’m not hiding… okay, forget that. Bodyguard-watcher-dude. It’s kind of hard to explain.”

“You have a bodyguard?”

“More like a babysitter.”

You try not to laugh, considering the proximity between your faces. “How come you have a babysitter? Actually, wait, I think I know.”

He huffs over your face and you restrain yourself from landing a swift uppercut to his jaw. Now you know the minty smell comes from mouth freshener.

“He’s a prosecutor. It’s weird that he stalks me in his free time. Even- even if… my parents are paying him.”

“They think you’re doing something illegal?”

“No. I don’t think I am.”

You rest your head back against the wall, rolling your eyes. “Really? That’s your answer? God, your brain cells rotted somewhere along the way, didn’t they? It’s all those parties.”

“I’m starting to feel like my mom hired you too.”

He looks back, and noting the absence of his so-called babysitter, he pulls back from you. You didn’t realize you were holding your breath and you let it out in a shallow effort.

“Your babysitter’s gone?”

“Not a babysit—I regret saying that. Look, I really don’t think they appointed him because they think I’m doing something illegal. I have never done anything illegal. Except that one street race but that’s because Lucas told me it was perfectly legal.”

“The what?”

“Anyway, the point is, let’s look forward to good fortune for this year, hm? Leave all the burdens to last year.”

“Fortune doesn’t favour fools.”

“I’m not stupid,” he complains, spreading his arms to express it further. “Mostly.”

 You laugh, turning your attention to  the food table.

“Ooh, pineapple tarts,” he exclaims, hand reaching out to grab one when you smack it.

“You’ve had, like, fifteen already.”

“Mhm,” he says, with a few more stuffed in his mouth.

There’s a pause.

“It’s me, isn't it?” you ask quietly. “I’m not supposed to be here.”

He gulps, lips parting and closing. “I brought you here. So you don’t worry about it.”

Rich people suck. You believe that strongly. But sometimes, just sometimes, when you have everything you can ever want, you start to want the same for everyone around you. Some people are special. You find Yangyang genuinely fascinating for being someone who makes friends when he’s supposed to be making more connections. You find him fascinating. 

It makes sense for someone like him to be the way he is.

iv. fireworks viewpoint

“That’s the old Shanghai Tower,” Yangyang points to a building in the distance. “It used to be the tallest building once but… well, it looks like the little guy now.”

Lunar New Year’s celebrations are a big, big deal in New Shanghai. It means a break from university, work and every other affair to have as many priorities sorted in anticipation of the new year. And the impact is evident from this height, when you can see the city in its golden glory. It looks warm out there for once—although you’re not very sure if it’s because of the warmth that comes from right beside you. The little wooden boats float by on the river a little far off, various images blooming as holograms above them. You giggle at the large animated fishes swimming above the river with blank expressions and painted button eyes. 

The golden clock shines bright in the sky, its holographic hands ticking down to midnight. It looks like something out of a fantasy movie, scattering golden pixels everywhere with each minute passing. The size of it alone reminds you of the scale of this city.

This is an empire. It's owned by the kings and queens who built it over the bones left from sacrifices. It's going to be owned by heirs and heiresses. You feel a looming sense of dread come over you. It's so beautiful and it can never belong to itself. It must always belong to someone. It’s the terms and conditions of human creation.

"Hey." Yangyang taps you on the shoulder and you try not to flinch. "What are you thinking?"

You hum. "Stuff."

"This place is pretty cool, huh?"

That, you can agree with. "It is. It's so amazing that I can't believe I'm here sometimes."

Yangyang laughs slowly. "I hope more people can live here. Not in level one. You know. No one should live in desperation."

You hold back a scoff, though you end up frowning. What does a rich kid know of desperation? He might as well be prince, and princes do not know how to beg. It must be something of a saviour complex. You shrink away from him. The new year music is starting to ring a little too loud in your ears.

"That would be difficult," you mutter.

"Not if you lower the cost of living conditions—ah. Sorry." He pauses and you feel a flicker of surprise in you. “It’s not appropriate to discuss. Or so my parents tell me…”

The expression comes from empathy. You’re sure of it. There’s some sort of passion and not the kind of coloured fire that flames up in parties, but a different one. The kind that says, if you can’t bear the heat then you can’t learn how to forge. You scoff. Which prince has possibly known heat?

“I- I get angry too,” you say quietly. “I think it’s something to be angry about.”

He smiles at you, leaning against the balcony railing. 

You’re interrupted by a man in the attire of a waiter and it causes the two of you to jump away from each other. It’s not like you were very close in the first place but the proximity of shared words can play tricks on people. The man offers the two of you a screen and Yangyang’s face lights up almost immediately.

“We can order food with this,” he says. “Or book a table. The top strips are all reserved for members of the club. That’s the big daddy restaurants.”

“That’s… pretty cool,” you say, leaning in to glance over the browsing menu. “But don’t say that phrase to me again.”

“I can. And I will.”

“Ugh. Move on.”

“Okay, so we should drop by the convenience store for some ramen. I heard they taste better in the middle of the night,” Yangyang suggests all of a sudden, leaning in further.

It gets difficult sometimes to not be bothered by him, especially when there is a lack of distance. You look at him, pause and then sigh. “Sure. I guess. Are those free too?”

He opens his mouth in sudden realization and grins sheepishly at you. You roll your eyes.

“Do you have money then?”

“Uh.”

“How do you not have money? It’s the New Year!”

“I… uh—”

“Okay, you don’t have to answer that. But I’m not paying for you,” you complain. “You could always ask your parents for some money. What’s the point of being a party kid?”

‘Party kids’—it makes you laugh in amusement—is the colloquial term given to the children of businesspeople who had a direct hand in the economic progress of New Shanghai. You would sell your kidneys to be one and it still wouldn’t be enough.

His smile wavers at your statement but he shakes his head. “If I call my mom, she’ll start scolding me again about how my apartment room needs to be cleaner. Blah, blah, blah. You know.”

“She’s right- wait, you don’t clean your room?”

“Don’t take her side, (name).” 

You bite down a smile and he offers you his biggest one. 

“Oh, that place looks new,” Yangyang exclaims, a long index finger pointing to the preview of a sushi restaurant. You glare at him, his face nearer to yours than you would prefer but his eyes are fixed like a child ogling halloween candy.

“Let’s go,” he urges, looking directly at you. 

You furrow your eyebrows, shaking your head vehemently. “We don’t have money. Or bit-credits.”

He sighs, deflating as though you just snatched the candy right from his hands. “But… I haven’t been there before.”

“So?” You exhale, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You don’t have to try every food place in the city.”

“I need to eat,” he says as though it’s a very reasonable response. “I’m still growing!”

“Not mentally.”

He drops his smile, looking at you blankly. “You don’t have to get so smart with me, let me tell you.”

You snicker at the ‘offended’ expression on his face.

In the next moment, your attention shifts to the sudden crowd of people rushing to the balcony. Yangyang pulls you closer to avoid getting pushed by them, and you look around confused. It all makes sense when they start chanting the numbers, counting down from ten. You can only stare in awe at the clock and the otherworldly glee in the rhythmic chants. It’s like they don’t feel anything but joy at this moment. You let yourself smile.

The clock strikes twelve. The sound of the bell resounds throughout the city and the firecrackers burst into a thousand shades of red and gold across the sky. There’s moving images of animals, floating text and other animations which make the night sky seem like a screen. The sparks of the fireworks look like golden snow, or even happy little pixels.

You point your finger to the sky excitedly but when you turn, Yangyang’s eyes aren’t on the sky but on your hand outstretched towards it. He faces you, rather hesitantly as though caught red-handed.

“You’re- you’re… so pretty,” he says, softly and shrugging as if answering a question.

You wish he wouldn’t look at you like that. It’s the lonely speaking, right? The euphoria of human connection in this time and age—it can make you believe anything. There’s a myriad of colours blooming in the sky behind you, a city dazzling with diamond and ruby lights, people with much more stories to tell than you do. This city, this city, this city. This city will break your heart. 

“It’s kind of crappy,” you mutter, to which Yangyang quirks an ear.

“Wh-what is?”

“This city. It’s got bright lights and fun and all those promises of success. But all I see are people desperately trying to survive. All I see are the same faces at the top and—I’m sorry. I’m getting carried away.”

“No, no.” He makes a vague gesture. “I’m listening.”

“We’re at their mercy,” you whisper. “My life is not my own. That’s crappy.”

Yangyang hums in response. “You're right. What’s the point of living a life that’s not your own?”

Looking at him again, you see the entire figure of his being against the fireworks and all the beautiful creations of the human race. His almost silver hair falls perfectly by his forehead, the contact lenses looking like glazed frost over his eyes. Just as vibrant and excessive as the city itself, Yangyang belongs here. This is his kingdom. 

No, that’s not quite right perhaps. Yangyang belongs anywhere because he brings warmth. You're suddenly grateful he's with you because no one you know would possibly go out of their way to make you feel comfortable like this. You know Yangyang loves people and crowds. No one would do that for you at the expense of their own enjoyment. You smile at the prospect of solving the blinding mystery that he is.

"We… should leave," Yangyang says, all of a sudden. He eyes a man at the corner of the balcony, dressed in a business suit and looking blank. He sticks out like a sore thumb. You're not sure why he's in that getup.

"Okay," you say, not sure why you're so agreeable tonight.

Maybe it's the night. Sometimes all you can do is drag your feet over the asphalt and hope it'll be sunnier tomorrow.

v. two-four-seven convenience store

College boys are the most god-awful creatures on earth.

“Hey, do you always reach class on time?” Yangyang asks, eyes curious. He keeps asking a question every five minutes or so, trying to keep up conversation. You've already told him he doesn't have to. However, it makes you strangely comfortable to hear the sound of his voice periodically. You won't tell him that.

You nod, returning your gaze to the window, though the advertisements block your view. You can always try skipping the ad every five goddamn seconds. 

It's your first time riding the train that travels through the Mobius Strip, and certainly the first time in a luxury cabin. Since it’s free for members of the new year club, you can heave a sigh of relief. You will never in your life, even if it’s genetically elongated, ever be able to afford a luxury cabin.

"Oh, that looks so good," Yangyang says, large hand smacking against the window to get rid of the colourful advertisements. 

"It's a convenience store, Yangyang," you say. "It's got everyday ramen."

"No, look. It's a different brand. And they're giving a burger for free with two ramen cups!"

You furrow your eyebrows at him. "Well, I guess it's cheaper too."

"Oh, we can go to one of the upper restaurants too. They're free, remember?"

"I like convenience stores," you mumble. There's something about the lack of even lighting and crowds that made them a comfort spot for you.

“Quick,” he says, pulling you off the seat when the train stops.

“Yangyang!” you warn. He's so easily excitable that you find it hard to believe he's real sometimes.

However, when he turns around with his big puppy-dog eyes, you curse at yourself before you curse at him. Sighing, you follow him down the steps, his hand tenderly holding yours. Sometimes, you wonder if the human touch means anything at all in this diamond and steel era. Yangyang’s palm is warm against yours.

The ramen tastes awfully delicious on stolen time, and you would complain more if it weren’t for Yangyang looking at you with so serene a look. It annoys you and you try to grab his attention by waving your chopsticks in front of him. When it doesn’t work, you resort to swearing. You’ve never seen anyone respond with a smiling hum after being told to “eat shit”.

“Oh, this tastes so good,” he states, cheeks puffed with food. “I think I’m going to cry.”

“I- I think you’re crying because it’s spicy.”

“Oh.”

As usual, Yangyang pokes and prods at you with questions about your daily life, like you’re the most interesting thing in a city full of blinding lights, world-class robots and cyber-enhanced technology. You don’t understand how he doesn’t just grow tired of asking every single detail about you.

Apart from the fact that Liu Yangyang is most certainly an environmental hazard, some part of you cannot believe that he's truly terrible. There's something innocent about him, but all at once, something quiet and mysterious. 

“Why are you always so curious, Yangyang?” you ask finally. “Why are you always running off to different places?”

“Because experiences never come twice,” he answers after some thinking. It seems to be a little difficult for him to articulate, deep contemplation over his features when he continues. “This city… all the lights and clubs and arenas, all of it will be gone someday. Like we don’t have telephones or those big computers anymore.”

You rest your chin on your palm, leaning in.

“This moment, right here with you… I’ll never experience it again,” he tells you. “We can have more midnight convenience store ramen sometime later but… each time will be different. I’d rather live now.”

You smile softly. “That’s a funny thought to live by.”

“Yours isn’t any better,” he says, patting your head. “Also, I’m like hot and young and popular and not a cyborg—how can I miss parties?”

You shake your head, laughing. He’s ridiculous. He’s completely ridiculous. In that moment, when you look at him, Yangyang seems to be smiling in a daze, eyes on your face.

“You look nice when you smile,” he says quietly.

"Thanks," you respond. "I should keep it a secret then, huh?"

"Not from me," he says, smiling. 

Somehow, the extra minutes you have at the convenience store turn to a few multiplayer games and then, ditching technology, to an arm wrestling match.

"I feel like this game is kind of unfair," you say after losing almost immediately. He's clearly got stronger muscles. Does he work out? Probably against his will, you bet.

“My right arm’s a lot stronger than my left arm,” he says, before looking a little horrified. “That wasn’t a masturbation joke, by the way. I am so sorry.”

You roll your eyes. "Give me your left hand then- wait. You're right-handed?"

"That's not the- uh." He thinks for a moment, trying to gather words. “That’s not the reason.”

“I, uh, I heavily damaged this arm when I was a kid—don’t look like that, there’s a fun part to this. It’s made of titanium! And some other things. The names are too complicated.”

You drive your fingers over the arm, so warm and real and flushed red, anything but metal and code. You find curiosity blooming in you more than ever before.

“You know why I’m not with family,” you say, straightening. “But why aren’t you celebrating with your family?” 

He gets quiet, thinking to himself for a few more moments. You almost regret asking when he answers, a hesitant sound leaving him first.

“None of us, uh… none of our parents can spare more than three hours. They’ll come in the afternoon tomorr—today.”

You can’t exactly respond to that very well.

“So all of us go hang out at the New Year’s Club.”

You frown. "But it's not a celebration without family!"

"We have new year lunches. And… it's the future. Traditions die. Very few grieve them for fear of being stuck in the past."

You feel partly horrified and partly dismal. "I… You could come with me next year, if you like."

You're not sure where the offer comes from but Yangyang lights up at the idea.

"I can? Oh, we'll have so much fun!"

"Slow down. There's a year to go."

Yangyang laughs. It's surprising the way he turned out. He must have gotten tired of waiting by the door. And now you know all the things about him that his parents don’t.

You smile at him, warming up to the idea of you and him as friends before scoffing at it again.

Right in the next moment, Yangyang dips suddenly to the ground, crouching below the table. You look around in surprise and fall to your knees with a yelp at the tug on our wrist from Yangyang.

“What the hell?” you hiss. “You’re starting to act really weird.”

“I- Sorry. It’s an emergency,” he says, but there’s no sign of distress in his voice. He simply smiles at you. Perhaps he’s never heard of the emotion as of yet.

“Your babysitter?”

“I say that once and on accident—yes, it’s my babysitter.”

You chuckle. He’s simply too cute at times. 

“We have to be discreet now, okay? It’s like—what’s the movie called? Oh, Mission Impossible.”

“I’ve never seen that.”

“What? How can you not? It’s a classic! It’s got so many cool—ah, I’ll show you another time.”

You hum, staring at Yangyang’s facial features tense up and relax again as he scans the vicinity outside the window of the convenience store. It’s full of people, even at this hour so you can’t possibly know who’s looking at you from there.

Yangyang turns back to you. “Have you ever been to blue moon station?”

“The one with the pretty walls? No. No, I’ve never even gone beyond Strip Two.”

Yangyang smiles at you and right then, you feel like you’re about to resent whatever’s going to happen next. It’s in the ebb and flow of tonight’s itinerary, however, and you relax your shoulders just as he does a roll across the floor, looking back at you with a grin for executing it flawlessly. 

“You’re so silly,” you mutter. 

“I heard that,” he whisper-shouts back.

You’re not as afraid as before, you realize. The lights are absolutely mesmerizing.

vi. blue moon station

It drops a few degrees in temperature once you step foot onto the platform. You can see a bunch of scattered tourists, cameras hanging around their neck and a look of awe over their faces. 

Yangyang takes off his jacket, shivering immediately but offering it to you nonetheless. When you refuse, he places it gingerly over your shoulders.

"Is that a…?"

"A tourist bot, yes."

"Oh my god, it's so cute," you say, crouching by the little red robot, a teal-colored smiley face popping up on its monitor.

"A lot of tourists in this station," you note.

"Yeah. It's very… visually pleasing."

That's true. The walls are screens with three dimensional graphics, immersive enough to catch one's eye. A single tree grows through the middle of the station, evergreen and alive with holographic flora and fauna. The sun shines eternally over the tree. It's so beautiful that you had trouble taking your eyes off it at first.

The walls next to you are currently displaying a walk through a fantasy forest, crafted by a visionary artist, no doubt. A blue butterfly flies past you and you stare at it before zoning out.

Sometimes, the lights are too disorienting. You start to feel dizzy, massaging your forehead when Yangyang brushes the tips of his fingers against your shoulder.

“You good?”

Yangyang crouches beside you with watchful eyes.

You nod, turning your attention to the tourist bot. It displays a plethora of information about the architecture of this place which you're sure no tourist will bother to read beyond the first two lines. 

“You can make it do cool tricks too,” Yangyang says. “Watch.”

Yangyang pokes at it with his index finger, drawing a pattern over the screen. The bot proceeds to do an old internet dance, waving about its arms and hips. You laugh at it and Yangyang looks at you with the pride of a third grader with first place on their science project.

The colours on the walls change and you see the animation of a man and a fox, furrowing your eyebrows as you try to recall that image. They seem to be broadcasting fables through the holograms. You can’t deny that they’re pretty—glowing with auspicious colours and as animated as the real world itself. As if by compulsion, you hold Yangyang’s hand. It’s nice to feel the human touch real once in a while, especially in the overwhelming loneliness of city nights.

Yangyang looks at you brightly and right then, you feel less inclined to leave him.

“You know, I could teach you better ways to flirt than just grab my hand,” he says, grinning like an idiot.

“What?” 

You move your hand. “I’m not flirting.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean that,” he responds quickly. “Can I please have your hand back?”

You shake your head, laughing. He worries you. Some part of you says you shouldn’t be worried. It’s not like you’re close friends. (Friends, maybe. Close, not yet.)

The night has a different opinion.

—

“Found you,” a voice declares, and the two of you jump into each other with a scream.

The man in the suit looks at you with a fatigued look in his eyes, hair somehow still neat though he breathes like his lungs are on fire. 

“Care to tell me why you’ve been skipping my calls?” he asks after catching his breath. “It’s not like I wanted to follow you—you just needed to tell me.”

“I… I was busy?” Yangyang flashes a smile. “Kun-ge, I honestly had no idea you called. I don’t even have my phone.”

The man shakes his head. “Fine. Just head over to Jasmine for the night. And you can bring your date too.”

He gestures at you and you want to deny it as quick as you can. You do not, however. It’s almost like you’ve warmed up to the idea of it rather well.

“Okay,” Yangyang answers quietly. 

vii. jasmine private lounge

You enter a lounge with the capacity of around a hundred people. Despite that, there are hardly five present. The walls are black with neon jasmines pulsating from blue to red. A grand piano lies still in all its elegance in the middle of the lounge, played by a plain white AI. It feels like an expensive place to be, and more so, it feels like someplace you’re not supposed to step foot into. There's a bar table at one side, opposite to the entrance which glows a hypnotizing purple. A flat lettering on the wall declares the time to be 3 A.M.

You and Yangyang sit a little too close on the artificially warmed couch, waiting for Kun to return. Yangyang reassures you that you haven't done anything wrong but the illicit outing of yours certainly says otherwise. You contemplate tasting the cocktail Yangyang ordered before finally giving in and find it pleasantly warm to taste. You take another sip.

“It’s a little strong,” Yangyang warns. “Don’t have all of—you had all of it.”

You shrug. Your throat certainly feels better now. This lounge is fucking cold.

"You know, Yangyang," you say with the warmth of confidence on your face. "You're a really nice guy."

He smiles incredulously. "Thanks. You're really nice too."

"And you're pretty decent-looking—"

"I know that."

"—and also popular. So why are you always hanging around me?"

"Uh, that's your question?"

You nod. Placing your cheek against your palm, you try not to sink into the couch.

"Because you're really cool!" He answers before clearing his throat. "I mean. I think you're fun to be around. You make me see things clearer."

"And what exactly are you wanting to see clearer?'

"You."

You blink aside your astoundment, straightening. "What?"

Your question is left unanswered because a man enters and sits across the two of you, a loud huff of annoyance leaving his mouth. It's not just his disposition but the architecture of his face that grabs your attention. He looks like an AI robot so perfectly crafted with coloured lips and flawless skin that you end up staring till Yangyang elbows you.

“He’s not an AI,” Yangyang whispers.

You furrow your brows and notice it is, in fact, true that he's not an AI. There are no ridges over the joints or hollowness in the eyes. He wears the same frost-patterned smart lenses as Yangyang does. However, it doesn't change the fact that the man is beautiful to look at.

“I’m never hosting a new year party again,” he mutters, sinking into the couch.

“It actually sounds kind of fun,” Yangyang interjects. “I can’t wait for my turn.”

“I’m sorry. Good luck standing at Longhua temple for three hours till midnight just to make sure nothing goes wrong. Without dinner.”

Yangyang makes a face at that.

"That's Sicheng-ge," he says, turning to you. 

"Ah," you say in response, remembering the name vaguely. 

"He let us into Club 2," Yangyang says, noticing your lost expression.

"I think Kun's looking for you," Sicheng says, eyes trained at the back. 

His hands fidget with the dim blue buttons at the edge of the table, till a small compartment reveals itself under the glass. An old world-style cigarette is slowly pushed up and Sicheng picks it up. He offers the next one to Yangyang, who accepts it hesitantly. No one smokes tobacco anymore when nicotine is so readily available. Alas, human nature is to want things deadly and out of reach.

“So how’s Cat?” Yangyang asks, fumbling with the plasma lighter he picked from a compartment on the side.

Sicheng smiles a little, the smoke from his cigarette snaking around him as he raises a hand to dissipate it.

“She’s doing fine. Running everything as usual.”

“Of course. Boss lady.” Yangyang does an awkward salute.

“Oh, a new hair color too. As pretty as flower fields in the spring of ‘22.”

Sicheng’s lovesick rambling is interrupted by Yangyang hacking his lungs out. You turn to him and he avoids your gaze, reaching for a crystal blue  glass of water one of the helper bots offer. So, he’s not even a smoker? Why did he think you would care? 

“Anyway, Kun is glaring daggers at me now. You better get out of here.” Sicheng grimaces.

You turn around to see Kun by the bar table, gesturing towards Yangyang to come. You're not sure why but either of those men make you nervous. 

"I'll be right back," Yangyang says, scrambling up and leaving you in a long awkward silence with Sicheng.

“So, uh, I’m assuming you’re oblivious to that lovestruck puppy following you around?” Sicheng asks, raising an eyebrow. “Or is this some game you guys are into? I’m not judging you for that.”

Your face heats up and you fidget with your collar. “The- A what? Game? Uh? I- huh?”

Sicheng tries to press down his smile but it’s evident enough for you to see. Did you say something funny? Did Yangyang say something funny about you? Oh, you’re going to kill him.

“For all that he talks, he’s kind of terrible at pulling together his own love life.” 

“I- I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

It still unnerves you to look at him. He certainly looks more android than human when he’s not making any particular expression.

“Don’t mind me,” he says, offering you a reassuring smile. “You should find Yangyang before he lands the two of you in trouble.”

You turn to look at Yangyang through the glass and turn back nodding. Sicheng offers you a parting smile and you hesitantly make your way to the bar table.

"This isn't in my job description," Kun tells Yangyang just before you arrive. "I didn't know being a lawyer included babysitting."

The tips of Yangyang's ears heat up when he notices you.

"It's not babysitting," he murmurs. “Also, you’re not my mom.”

"You, Ten, Kunhang, all of you give me such a hard time," he continues but pauses right when he notices you. 

"Oh, hello. (Name), isn't it?" He says, smiling politely. He's quite young and handsome for a lawyer. "Yangyang talks about you a lot."

"Oh," you respond. "Really?"

Yangyang glares at the older man. "You don't have to say everything, Kun-ge."

"You interested in law?" Kun asks, offering you a seat between him and Yangyang.

You make a face. The law is a tool for the rich and powerful. But then again, what isn’t? The world is in your hands when you have billions to spare. However, you still can’t imagine being a rich man's guard dog your whole life.

Kun chuckles. "You kids are interested in tech more, aren't you?"

Yangyang interrupts, "You talk like you're fifty years old."

Kun grimaces, resting his face against his hand. Shooting a glare at Yangyang, he finishes the rest of his wine.

You're not exactly interested in tech or engineering or the big kid jobs either. You just want a way to survive this man-made food chain. Rich eats the world till there’s nothing left on the plate. Then again, you'd rather be a pet than get eaten.

"Anyway," Kun turns to Yangyang. "If you see Ten, give me a call."

Yangyang signals with a thumbs up gesture, watching as Kun’s figure slowly makes its way out of the gate. It’s the two of you again and suddenly, you feel a strange sort of feeling overcome you. Leaning your throbbing forehead against Yangyang’s shoulder, you take some soft breaths and skip the part where you question your actions. It’s pleasant, at the very least. He shifts his chair closer, extending his arm around you so that your head rests against his shoulder more comfortably.

“You must be tired,” he mutters.

“You didn’t answer me,” you say. “Answer in a way I understood, at least.”

“Hm?”

“Why do you hang around me?”

“Do you not… want me to?”

“No. I like your company, actually. I can’t believe I said that out loud.”

Yangyang laughs. “You’re… you’re really perfect. As a person. At least to me, you seem that way.”

You scoff. “You’re a long way off there.”

“No. No, you felt like clockwork,” he continues. “When I first met you. I couldn’t believe you were real.”

You do work like a delirious robot on clockwork steroids. But you’re not very proud of it. You don’t think overworking is a good personality trait to have—even if it’s for survival. However, the faraway look in Yangyang’s eyes suggests that’s not what he means.

“I felt like I understood you,” he continues after a short pause.

You find it unbelievable. That’s the one sentence you could never imagine coming from him to you, much less agree with. But right then, as his warmth seeps into you, you want to agree desperately.

Yangyang feels an unexpected trickle of doubt down his throat. No matter how many times he’s practised in front of the mirror, the words don’t come out right when you’re with him. With everything you do, he feels more drawn in. There’s something familiar and something honest. And if he’s honest himself, he just likes you. What sort of a hypocrite should he be categorized as, to tell his friends to ‘just confess’ to their crushes when he’s a complete idiot when it comes to you? It can’t be that little voice from his childhood that tells him to stay in order.

Yangyang understands that there are rules to this world but he doesn’t get what those have got to do with him. He sighs, the sound somewhat grim when it comes from him.

"I've seen it before," he says, "People come from all over the country with hopes and dreams, and they get their hearts broken by capitalism."

You frown.

"I don't want you to go anywhere," he mumbles. "I hope you'll stay… even if- even if you feel like that, you know? If you're feeling lonely, I could—"

"Yangyang." You smile. "I’m quite comfortable here."

When you bury your nose into the crook of his neck, Yangyang thinks this is it. This is how he ends the sorry excuse of flirting he’s been trying with you and says something he regrets. It was never this difficult with the other crushes he’s had. He’s always left opening his mouth and then promptly closing it like a goldfish out of water every single time he wants to bring up dating with you. He’s always honest. So, what’s the big deal this time? This is so horrendously not cool of him.

You straighten. “We should get back home.”

“Can you- Can you not move so far from me, please?” Yangyang murmurs, hands gripping yours.

You smile, to yourself more to him but that’s one he likes the most.

“You’re a really interesting person, Yangyang.”

“I am?” He clears his throat and repeats the question. 

“How are you so nice to people?”

“I think people are nice.”

“Why do you like parties?”

“They’re fun.”

“When the party’s over, who do you go to?” you ask, words mushing into each other.

“Home,” he answers, gulping down what seems like more words. “Like always.”

A hush falls between the two of you. You’re asking quite the questions.

“I’m sweaty,” you mutter. “I hate being sweaty.”

“You look wonderful though,” Yangyang mumbles, more to himself than to you. “Not that being sweaty makes you wonderful. You’re just nice.”

There’s another hush, the notes of the piano playing a faraway, romantic tune. He turns away and looks back at you again, but right in that moment, you lean forward to press your lips against his. It’s so sudden that he almost falls over backwards, his feet planted firmly on the ground the only thing preventing that from happening. The next thing he thinks is that your lips are on fire and it’s the most comfortable feeling he’s ever experienced. 

The two of you fit into each other like clockwork, Yangyang thinks. It’s the one thing in his life that feels whole. Not that he isn’t whole by himself—he just loves your warmth. For a moment he feels like he’s on cloud nine and the next, his heart plummets when he feels you go limp in his arms. 

It breaks his heart a little but he doesn’t—can’t bring himself to say much. He’s not this bad when he’s drunk, is he? Pulling you up by the waist, he texts Kunhang to bring his car down to the lounge.

This is going to be a long night.

viii. home 

You wake up to the sun in your eyes and immediately know you're someplace you shouldn't be. This isn't your bed. The sun doesn't reach your bed in the morning. This isn’t the dormitory. You see a cubical alarm clock, a pixelated smiley face on it as it displays 10 A.M.

You get up and immediately shriek. You’re not wearing any clothes. Pulling the blanket up to your chin, you look around the room. It’s huge; the walls are multicolored with a little section opposite the bed reserved for photographs. There’s a lot of junk all over the floor that you don’t pay mind to when you notice Yangyang.

“Yangyang?!”

He rouses blinking slowly, hair going every which way and his eyes still unfocused. He looks like he’s had a difficult night.

“Why are you on the floor?” you ask, shrinking further into the ridiculously soft bed when he gets up. Massaging the back of his neck, he looks like he's looking at a mirage instead of a real live person. Unfortunately, he’s not wearing a shirt and you look away after a prolonged minute of staring. This is getting ridiculous. What are you doing here?

“Yangyang!”

“Huh? Oh!”

He seems to be finally awake. You should pop the question before it eats you alive.

"Did- Did we…?"

Yangyang blinks at you in confusion before a loud "oh" erupts from his mouth.

"No!" He says in between laughter. "No, we didn't. Oh my god, you’re so funny. You took off your clothes saying it's too hot and smacked me with them. I didn’t look, by the way.”

Your jaw drops. You can’t even form words through the pulsing headache.

“Your clothes are on the chair. And I didn’t touch your underwear. Out of respect."

You avoid eye contact in embarrassment. 

“And… well, you did kiss me once. Twice.”

You look up alarmed and he raises his arms in defense. 

“You- you were drunk so I had to push you off. You cried a little after that. Sorry.”

“Oh god.” You cover your face with your hands, sitting down on the bed. That has to be the most embarrassing thing you could have done.

“You- Don’t worry about that. You’re a good kisser. I was kind of surprised,” he offers in an attempt to make you feel better but you only grow hotter in the face.

“And- And I liked it,” he adds in a panic. “Wait, I don’t mean it in a creepy way.”

“I’m glad it wasn’t anyone else.”

“What?”

“You. It’s okay if it’s you.”

You give him a weak smile, still not over the embarrassment.

Yangyang laughs. “I… I think I should’ve said this before but… can I take you out on a date?”

“What were we doing last night then?”

“Well, that was- ah. You’re teasing me. Motherfucker.”

You giggle into your palm. When he takes a seat on the bed, you make a distressed sound and he jumps up immediately.

“My clothes,” you hiss. “Get out of the room so I can wear them.”

“Right,” he says, pointing an index finger at you.

He turns around right then. "By the way…"

You shriek, pulling the cover up all the way to your nose.

"Sorry," he says, averting his eyes immediately. "If- if that was a date, did you like it? Do you wanna go on another one?"

You can see him practically sweat bullets and you laugh at the innocuous questions. He’s too cute. You can’t believe you made yourself shake off the thought every time it crossed you. However indelicate his touch is, you welcome it nonetheless.

"Yes. Yes, I'll go on a date with you. You annoying, stupid, bratty idiot." 

“Okay, that was mean.”

Watching his figure leave through the door, you relax your shoulders. In the end, people will always be people. No matter what shiny new toy you give them to play with, people will always search for happiness, and they will laugh and cry and fall in love with people and places and things over and over again. It's lovely to be human in an era of diamond and steel.

#yangyang x reader #nct x reader #wayv x reader #yangyang scenarios #nct scenarios #wayv scenarios #yangyang fluff #nct fluff #wayv fluff #yangyang fanfic #nct fanfic #yangyang fic #moonwrites #dawg idk what im doing imma be honest here

[00127am]

@ barkingatthemoon best friend! liu yangyang x gn! reader, about sickeningly sweet love confessions, friends to lovers, kissing, lower-case intended word count 2k

💿 now playing ... harvey by hers

"wanna date?"

it's a question poised in the lull of your favorite song, asked within half of a beat before it's drowned out by the rhythmic thrum of the lyrics and consumed by the canary-esque tone of the vocalist. a tone which has nothing on you, voice sweet and even, every word framed with the melodic waver in your pitch. and when you propose this question, head dangling off the edge of your mattress, that ever-so-pretty voice of yours is nothing but nonchalant. as if you had just asked the time.

from your upside down world, there's a tingling feeling which races from the stretch of your abdomen to your nostrils, forcing you to blink fast and swallow hard. your nose twitches, scrunching and relaxing in a poor attempt to relieve itself of the buzzing sensation. but it doesn't seem to make any semblance of a difference. instead, it begins to throb in the top of your temple, pressing down against the walls of your cranium as if they might very well break down. you're not quite sure if it's the silence from your best friend or your position that's making it hard to swallow, but you don't think that the cause exactly matters at the end all be all.

you watch him with doe eyes, lashes fluttering against your cheeks only to be stuck in the arch of your brows as you blink back at him. you can feel your face getting hot, a blush burning at your cheeks and searing the tips of your ears. this reaction, without a doubt, is from him. not being upside down. not the silence. just yangyang, puffy lips parted and eyes wide.

he blinks obliviously at you, tongue hesitating at the back of his teeth, and you begin to wonder if he had ever heard you in the first place. so you open your mouth to say it again, lips just barely pursed in into the beginnings of a consonant before he's waving you off. "i heard you the first time,"

unlike the songbird singer of your favorite song and unlike you, yangyang's voice is caught in between something strained (tone low and rough as if it has been dragged upon gravel) and hesitant (yet you're not quite sure if you could describe it as that, not with the way that each ending syllable seemed to rush after one another). in all iterations of his voice, this is one that you like least of all. it tells of an oncoming rejection, the thought process of finding just the right words to let you down.

"ah," you're less casual this time, words stuck in the back of your throat, "is that a no?"

"what?"

"i'm asking if you're rejecting me," you clarify, finally unable to take the rush to your head as you sit upright, "my confession,"

he leans forward and if you weren't so preoccupied with picking yourself up, perhaps you would have been flustered by the lack of distance (though you guess that personal space has never been a forte of yangyangs). he raises a finger in the air, gesturing in circles as if to rewind to your previous words. "that was a confession?"

"what else would it be?" the sudden surge of movement forces you to clench your eyes shut, pressure mounting up behind them as if it might spill out with tears. it takes a couple moments of blinking before your vision returns to normal, accompanied by a faint ringing in your ears. "anyway, i thought you knew,"

yangyang sputters for words, blonde hair falling onto his face in a manner that really doesn't help you keep your composure. he shoots you an incredulous look, eyebrows arched and jaw nearly touching the floor. he brings a hand to his chest, tapping as he speaks, as if he couldn't believe that he's the crush in mention. "knew that you're into me?"

"yes," your tone is bordering the line between a twinge of embarrassment and the foundation of irritation that's bubbling at the back of your throat, "i've been making it pretty obvious,"

"not obvious enough," he grumbles, spoken under his breath as he brings a hand to scratch at the bridge of his nose--looking everywhere but your eyes, narrowed in on him with something more akin to a glare than a glance.

you huff, rolling your eyes as you lean onto your arms, flicking him on the forehead with a force much to harsh to be anything lesser than aggravation. "next time i'll make sure to get on one knee to propose so it's obvious enough for you,"

he swats your hand away, pouting as he nurses his forehead. his discomfort evokes a laugh on your part, lips twitching upwards from their previous position held in the beginnings of a sneer. you can never stay annoyed at him, not when he looks like that. an expression that screams pathetic in every way but overt words as he looks up at you. his bottom lip is caught in his teeth and his next words are spoken within a silver of a breathe--desperate and urgent.

"yes, i do. so, so badly"

it's a statement spoken in the middle of one of your songs, tone so gentle that it was almost drowned out by the steady beat of the instrumental. so quiet, that you're tempted to ask him to repeat it--partially to make sure that you really did hear him correctly but mostly because you just want to hear him say it one more time. there's no question about what he's responding too, voice completely consumed by a honey, lovesick lilt. one that you find far superior to any intonation used by your songbird singer or any emphasis that falls from your own throat. an inflection that you will revisit, over and over and over again until any and all accuracy of the memory is lost.

"ok,"

"ok?"

"ok," you repeat, lips quirking into a teasing smile (one he knows all too well, one that sticks to his skin and haunts him with every waking moment--god, he can't get you out of his mind), "what? you disappointed or something?"

he's quick to clarify, rebutting with a dirty look, "no. i just...i don't know. not very romantic was it?"

"ouch," you wince back in faux pain, holding a hand to your heart with a dramatic drawl, "should i have bought flowers?"

"yes, sure, whatever," he acknowledges your quip only to ignore it, spitting out an agreement as quick as he can in order to get to his next phrase. so rushed that you're fifty percent positive that he didn't even hear what you said, "can i kiss you?"

his question makes you reel, feeling dizzy as the words are punctuated with a look from him that's a hair away from begging. and oh god, you feel like you're going to faint. maybe you're still feeling the aftereffects of your head rush. one look at him says otherwise.

"do you even have to ask?" your lips curve into a smile as you answer. a smile that makes his hands curl into tight fists, knuckles burning a bleach white. he's one hundred percent sure that if he doesn't kiss you right now, then he'll explode. though, it doesn't exactly matter in the grand scheme of things as he thinks that he'll reach the same end when he actually does.

and that's certainly what it feels like as yangyang leans forward, pressing a chaste kiss on your lips. one that he ends only to begin another, more assured and slightly less gentle, less featherlight. he sighs when he kisses you, as if he's been holding back that same sigh since he met you. one only to be relieved by a kiss he has always so desperately craved. he kisses you urgently, like he's making up for lost time. a pacing and utter adoration that makes your head spin, butterflies fluttering in your stomach only to emerge from your throat in the form of a quiet whine. a noise that has yangyang practically lunging on top of you, hands coming up to hold your face. slender fingers sliding up your cheekbones and resting before your ears, fingernails knotted in the edges of your hair. and then he's pulling away, smushing messy, lingering kisses all over your face.

his lips are everywhere, on the full of your cheeks and the space beneath the arch of your brow. the corner of your mouth and your chin, your forehead and eyelid. chest against chest, his heartbeat hammering so loudly that you wouldn't be surprised if it leapt straight out.

"maybe we should have skipped the confession part and went straight to this," your words are hummed against his face, eyes fluttering somewhere between open and shut as he lines kisses down the angle of your jaw. your arms coming to hang around his shoulders, "might have saved you from my unromantic confession,"

you can feel him grin against you and you know a teasing comment isn't too far behind. "i wish we did. that was the worst confession i've ever received,"

he makes his way back to your lips, pressing soft kisses to the corners before capturing your lips once more. this time, you lead, pulling him ever-so-slightly closer as you take his bottom lip in between your teeth. you nip playfully, soothing over your bite with a passive, lazy drag of your tongue. a feeling that evokes a groan from your counterpart, fingertips digging into the flesh of your face.

"should i take it back then?" it's muttered against his lips, each word spoken between kisses that have his knees buckling, "the worst confession you've ever received, that is,"

yangyang scoffs, words slurred and spoken in the middle of a kiss. "you can't take it back,"

you laugh, a pretty sound that has his ears ringing. one that starts in the back of your throat and ends up bubbling in his, before it's interrupted with a whiny whimper as you pull away. a reaction that nearly has all the blood in your body rushing to your head. you're not sure that sitting up could fix the sensations this time.

instead, you bring a finger to trace along the expanse of his neck. fingernail grazing against his adams apple (which bobs when he swallows, hard, at the feeling of your touch--an action accompanied a slight shiver and unsteady inhale). you continue your journey upwards until you're skimming the curve where his throat meets his chin. and there you hesitate, before flicking your finger harshly upwards. "can't i?"

despite the way in which his face is forced upwards by the motion of your hand, yangyang's eyes never leave yours. they're half-lidded, eyelids drooping down like he's drunk. lips are a vermillion red, puffy and swollen. a small line of spit stuck between the top and bottom and you can't be sure whether that's his or yours. all you do know is that if he keeps looking at you like that, you might just drop dead. they say looks can kill, after all.

"no," he replies, voice hoarse and eyes drawn in soft crescents "it's too late. we're dating, aren't we? you said ok,"

you huff out a whisper of a laugh, expression darting into a grin that you just can't hold back. one that practically threatens to split your face in two as you undertake a teasing lilt. "only because you looked so pathetic when you agreed,"

he wrinkles his nose at your words, toying with a lopsided smile that makes your heart flip. "if that's what it takes for you to date me then i'll look pathetic all you want,"

"i don't think you'll have to try any harder than usual in that endeavor," you remark, shutting your eyes as you lean back onto your palms, "in fact, i'd say that--"

but you're cut off with a kiss, then another, and another, and another. until you've all but forgotten about rescinding your confession, or what you were going to say about him. and the only thing you can think about is him. not that that is anything out of the norm.

taglist. @evilsailorsenshi @222brainrot @yangasm thank you for all your support and love! <3

🗯️ i love yangyang so much guys TᴖT i don't even think this is written well because i wrote it so rushed, all in one sitting, because i just needed to get this out of my system. there's something so lovely to me about mundane, realistic confessions and banter that i can't help but think about them all the time. writing this made me all fuzzy and i hope it does the same for you all! ♡

#⏱ wake up! it's 00127AM! #liu yangyang #yangyang #liu yangyang x reader #yangyang x reader #wayv x reader #wayv scenarios #wayv imagines #nct wayv #nct fluff #wayv fanfic #wayv fluff #nct x reader #nct imagines #nct fanfic #nct scenarios #best friends to lovers #yangyang fluff #yangyang fic #love confessions #gender neutral reader #gender neutral y/n

[galacticseonghwa]

Nothing Matters in Paris - Liu Yang Yang (profiles)

INCLUDES: fem!reader x "teacher"!yang yang, swearing, age gap, yang yang is like 10 years older than he actually is, fluff, smut, angst(?), somnophilia, fingering, katoptronophilia, degrading, name-calling, cockwarming, idk if i got everything so just lmk what i've forgotten

wc: n/a

a/n: please DNI if you're not comfortable with the "teacher" x student dynamic, however the dynamic WILL be explained better throughout the profiles, this post will let you in on the characters and how they got to where they are in their relationships.

IMPORTANT NOTICE: this story will NOT have a schedule and will be posted whenever i have the free time to, which at the moment is only mondays and sundays. thank you for understanding and being patient🫶🏼 if you happen to not like the fact that i won’t be able to post consistently please leave either this series or my blog quietly🫶🏼

LIU YANG YANG thirtyfour, teacher's 'help', tsundere personality, falls first.

Y/N Y/LN twentytwo, student, sunshine personality, falls harder for yang yang.

QIAN KUN thirtyeight, yang yang's best friend, calm personality, questioning y/n's motives.

SHOTARO OSAKI twentythree, y/n's best friend, shy personality, very protective over y/n.

yang yang isn't a "proper" teacher for a lack of better words, he's just a temporary sub who doesn't work for the school itself but rather the education system. so in theory, he's not a teacher but rather a "teacher's help" and as you have read in the character profiles ALL of them ARE of age in other words yang yang isn't breaking any laws in any sense but a few people still frown upon the relationship.

#galacticseonghwa #wayv #nct #yang yang #liu yangyang #nct yangyang #nctzen #yangyang fic #yang yang smut #yangyang fluff #liu yangyang smut

[haechanhues]

THE SERIAL LOVER

in which a girl farewells every boy she’s ever loved (or at least had romantic feelings for) in order to prove that her feelings for one particular boy are very real and unwavering. 

chapter nineteen : liu yangyang

masterlist | prev | next

taglist: @matchahyuck @haisuken @dinonuguaegi @replayenthusiast @90s-belladonna @ahnneyong @liliansun

#kflixnet #k-labels #nct social au #wayv social au #nct fic #wayv fic #yangyang fic #nct scenarios #wayv scenarios #yangyang scenarios #nct imagines #wayv imagines #yangyang imagines #nct fluff #wayv fluff #yangyang fluff #nct x reader #wayv x reader #yangyang x reader #nct smau #wayv yangyang x reader

[rrxnjun]

I'm not angry anymore (well, sometimes I am) ;; lyy

pairing: liu yangyang x fem!reader starring: singer! lee jeno, drummer! wong hendery, bassist! zhong chenle, huang renjun, lee donghyuck, na jaemin, mark lee, aeri uchinaga genre: band au, guitar teacher au, strangers to friends to not-really-lovers, college au | angst, fluff, slice of life, coming of age wc: 20k (20.481) warnings: the main characters smoke, one mention of drugs, swearing, alcohol, the whole thing is kind of corny, jeno is a bad guy, a mention of sexual intercourse, a lot of pining, unrequited love tagging: @jaynaur bc she asked me to and also because i want to thank her for the support and excitement she shared for this fic<3 playlist: funeral grey - waterparks ; the only exception - paramore ; tantrum - waterparks ; 21 questions - waterparks ; sex sells - lovejoy ; freaks - surf course ; it follows - waterparks ; gloom boys - waterparks ; perfume - lovejoy ; high definition - waterparks ; i'm not angry anymore - paramore

living the rockstar life is not as easy and exciting as it seems-with a frontman that cares more about clubbing than the band, unrequited love for the girl that's, sadly, in love with the said frontman and a huge inferiority complex, liu yangyang finds himself tangled up in the mess of being the guitarist of the next rising local punk band.

FLOAT MY WAY, I’M MELTING FOR YOU

���Are you sure they’re coming?” Yangyang asks, illuminated by the subtle light of the lamp post shining at the end of the neighbourhood. The spot he’s standing in right now is the exact border between the calm, sleeping streets of the place he grew up in, and the rowdy nightlife of the centre of the town. Only a few steps across the road and he’s in the middle of it all– bars scattered all across the corners of the town square, havoc caused by teenagers at the early stages of the evening erupting through your eardrums with a lively sense of freedom. 

Liu Yangyang is standing at the border, quite metaphorically, but also quite literally as well. A few steps back into his neighbourhood and he’s back in his parents’ house, ready to go to sleep and waste another evening watching a few more episodes of Netflix Unsolved Mysteries before bed. A few steps back into his bed and he wasted another day of his youth– doing nothing, meeting no new people, having no memories he can tell to his children once he’s 45 and too old for the party life. A few steps to the other side of the street, though, and he’s walking straight to the excitement, straight to a new life, perhaps. The choice is his, and he could turn either way at any moment. There’s only one thing keeping him from walking away from the stoic place at the edge of the neighbourhood, though, and that’s his best friend Huang Renjun and his promising offer. 

The thing is, he and Renjun have known each other since middle school. They’ve been through thick and thin together, skipping through their high school years together, and finally, graduating on the same day, in the same class. They’re quite the best friends, and everyone knows that. While everyone thought that no one could ever break these two apart, there was one thing that wasn’t a constant in both of their lives, and that was the fact that while Renjun went to university, Yangyang never even applied. He had bigger dreams, ones that didn’t require a degree, and even though his mother wasn’t happy with his life choices, he insisted on making them anyway. 

But with Renjun attending university, there comes a bigger issue that Liu Yangyang didn’t expect to face, and that is the issue of his introverted, short bestie being more sociable than he ever was in high school. Soon enough, the older one had more university friends than Yangyang could count on the fingers of one hand, and while he was happy for him, cheering him on with both his studies and his social skills, he can’t lie, he still feels a bit threatened in the place of Huang Renjun’s best friend.

And that’s exactly why he’s now standing in the same spot at the edge of the neighbourhood for the last 25 minutes– Renjun is going out with all his university friends, and being the nice and considerate pal he is, he invited Yangyang to come with him. And Yangyang, known to have a big fear of missing out mixed with a hint of jealousy whenever his friend had more fun with other people that weren’t him, couldn’t find any other answer in him than to agree and head out with him.

“Of course they are coming! Just… let’s wait for a little more-” the boy cuts himself off when he hears a loud yell somewhere in the distance, making him turn his head around and stare into the space, looking for the source of it, because he’s very familiar with the tones of the voice and the ruckus that’s following each and every one of his friends’ step. 

There’s a group of five that arrive, diverse and interesting to look at. Yangyang assumes he’d be intimidated by them if he was to walk past them in the mall, but when he thinks again, he feels like that in this very moment as well– their gazes are sharp and every person looks like cut-out from a magazine or a coming-of-age movie he’d watch with Renjun when they were fifteen and figuring everything out. 

Looking at the small crowd, Yangyang wonders how Renjun even managed to be friends with them. They don’t seem like the kind that would be easy to approach, and they for sure don’t seem like they share interests with the young male. When he looks at the fairly tall man wearing a leather jacket that came towards the two of them first, it doesn’t seem like he enjoys art or reading in the quiet of his room at dawn like Renjun does. The other one, even taller and more muscular, seems like he enjoys racing more than he enjoys going to university, and so do the other ones– each one of the crowd is unique, but more intimidating than the other. 

Or maybe Yangyang just isn’t used to making friends anymore. Who knows.

“Hi! You must be Yangyang!” one of them announces, smiling and cheerful. His smile makes the ice break, the panic Yangyang felt on his insides stalling for just a minute, before he nods and smiles at him.

“Yeah, it’s me. And you are…?” he trails off, eager to hear the person’s introduction. There’s still faint hesitance in every move he makes, but he figures that he might as well start speaking to the little crowd soon, or he might embarrass himself in front of the cool university kids, and he really doesn’t want that. Three guys and two girls– must be easy. Let’s get it over with.

“Na Jaemin! It’s nice meeting you,” he says, politely smiling at him again and turning around, looking at the rest of the group. The seven of them start walking, the destination not known to the boy, but he follows them nonetheless, okay with not even knowing the rest of their names yet.

“I heard a lot about you,” Jaemin snickers, “Renjun can’t stop mentioning you in conversations. Every time us two are in a Chemistry class, he can’t stop chuckling and saying how you would absolutely despise it.”

Laughing, Yangyang nods. “That’s probably why I didn’t go to university.”

“Good. I regret going, but oh well…” Jaemin shrugs, already getting more comfortable with the conversation. “Anyways, since the rest of the group is totally unhinged and didn’t introduce themselves, I’ll be the nice guy and do it for them,” he grins, pointing to the guy that approached him and Renjun at first, “that is Hyuck. I promise he’s less intimidating than he looks, he just really desperately wants to be cool.”

“Got it,” Yangyang laughs airly, nodding.

“There next to him is Renjun, but I figure you know him… That bloke behind him is Lee Jeno. He’s what Hyuck desires to be, but isn’t. Next to him we have our ladies– to the left, Aeri, and hanging off his right shoulder, finally, Y/N.”

Grateful for the friendly introduction, Yangyang nods with a smile. “Great. Any idea where we’re going?”

Jaemin shrugs, pointing to the convenience store that’s magically appearing in front of them. “My best guess would be there, and then we head off to the skate ramp. It’s empty at this hour of the day, and there's plenty of room for all of us there.”

Yangyang tries his best to pay attention to everything that’s going on around him on his way in and out of the convenience store. He bought himself some Gatorade and Pringles, tagging along with Renjun and Jaemin, yet, he can’t help but ask himself why the rest of the group hasn’t paid any attention to his presence. Perhaps he’s too invisible– not interesting enough to spark a conversation with them, not cool enough to hang out with the rest of the group. 

He’s not quite sure if it’s the insecurities getting to him, or if he’s just right about his assumptions. Sometimes, it’s better to not know, though– reality might make him more hurt in the long run.

Finally getting to the skate park, Yangyang makes sure to stay close to the only people he knows how to talk to. Offering chips to Jaemin and Renjun, he manages to listen to the conversation just enough to know that Hyuck and Jeno are talking about some concert they’re going to over the weekend and that Aeri and you are talking about the project that’s due on Tuesday. Quite normal topics for teenagers to talk about, he thinks– the intimidation seeping off them must be a facade, or maybe his lack of judgement. Maybe he should reach out first and talk to someone, he thinks, but as soon as this thought creeps into his mind, it’s taken out of his head when a girl walks into his point of vision and offers him chewing gum. 

Seeing him turning the offer down with a smile, you shrug at him and kick the rocks under your feet. “You’re Yangyang, right?” 

For the second time that night, he finds himself nodding. The whole scenario looks like it’s cut-out  from a teenage drama, the scenery reminding him of an Avril Lavigne music video that he spent his childhood watching religiously. “Yeah.”

“I’m Y/N,” you say, offering him a hand to shake.

“Nice to meet you,” he replies, wanting to be as polite and as approachable as possible.

Looking at you, he finds himself getting intimidated again. He feels like a kid hanging out with upperclassmen in high school– like someone who’s desperately trying to fit in and be mature about everything, waiting anxiously to be made fun of by the cooler kids around. You’re wearing dark clothing, long black pants and a grey hoodie thrown over your upper body, even though the heat of the summer makes Yangyang sweat in every crevice of his adulting figure. You look bold, not in your appearance, but in your aura– and something about you is dangerously pulling him in, leaving him wanting to get to know you better.

You only hum, seating yourself next to him on the tiny bench. Your thighs are touching as you stretch your legs in front of you, leaning back and supporting your body with your hands pressed into the surface you’re sitting on. “So, Yangyang,” you start, “what do you do in your spare time?”

Surprised by your question, and also acknowledging the way his name rolls off your tongue in a way he likes it the best, he shrugs. What does one reply to a stranger asking about their interests? It sounds like a trick question, when in reality, it truly isn’t. There are no wrong or right answers, yet, Yangyang feels like if he doesn’t choose the right one, he failed, and he can no longer hang out with Renjun’s friends and see you ever again.

“Oh,” he hums, “well, I used to babysit, but I realised that I swear too much to be around children,” he replies, earning himself a chuckle from your side.

“I asked what you do in your spare time, not what you used to do for work,” you repeat, catching the boy off-guard with your insistence. 

“I- well-” he stutters, suddenly ashamed of each and every interest he has, for he thinks they’re not cool enough, or that they’re not interesting enough to mention to someone like you. Short in time, with his imagination not as good to think of something unique, he spills the truth. “I like music, I guess? I play the guitar and I’m actually teaching guitar lessons to get some money so I can start a band one day, or something…” he explains, bashful.

He feels the heat slowly arriving to his cheeks, a pinch of shame behind his teenage dreams, when he’s met with a hum and a pleased tone of your voice when you reply.

“That’s cool,” you say, “Jeno has a band, actually, but they’re kind of shit,” you giggle. “I bet yours would be better, when you’re good enough to teach guitar, you know.”

“Well, I don’t know about that…” he mutters, not wanting to offend anyone.

“Jeno’s in uni as well, so he can’t really focus on music. You gotta show me how you play one day,” you say, the lightness in your tone making him feel like he’s imagining everything. He wasn’t expecting this outcome, and he for sure didn’t think you wouldn’t find him embarrassing. With your proposition to show you how he plays, even though it might be just a nice gesture from a stranger, he feels on cloud 9.

“And what do you like doing?” he asks, eager to get to know you better.

Shrugging, you point your gaze towards your shoes. “I dunno. I like art,” you say, reminding him of his best friend. Perhaps you’re the one that attends the art class with him, perhaps you’re the one he met first before he was introduced to the rest of the group. In the light-hearted conversation, Yangyang doesn’t find you as intimidating as before, but looks at you as rather approachable, the least scary of them all.

“Well, if I gotta show you how I play, you gotta show me your art sometimes, then,” he says, throwing the ball back to your side of the court. Smiling at his proposition, you only nod as you search the pockets of your jacket, seemingly looking for something.

“Sure,” you say. Yangyang dares to say he hears a spark of interest in you, a glint in your tone from the way your conversation went. He doesn’t want the moment to disappear, desperately needing you to find him cool, to be his friend, because you interest him so much– but at the same time, he fears that with one bad move, he might ruin everything. Talking with you felt like walking on a shattered glass, just waiting to get pricked by the sharp pieces scattered all over the floor.

When you finally find what you’ve been looking for– a pack of cigarettes and a lighter– you open the box and take out one of them, slipping it in between your lips. “Do you want one?” you ask, offering him the box.

Now, Yangyang wants to fit in– of course he does– but at the same time, he has his boundaries. Shaking his head in disapproval, he smiles at you with tight lips. “No, thanks. I don’t smoke.”

Shrugging, you light the cigarette and breathe in the nicotine, letting the smoke captivate your lungs. Blowing out a steady stream of greyish clouds, Yangyang watches you with fascination. He won’t go as far as saying he found you attractive like that– you were still damaging your health– but in his mind, he can’t imagine you without that pack of cigarettes in your hand and without the smoke blowing out of your lungs. It’s like you were completed by that small addictive box, like you two fit together, even though he wishes you didn’t have to. He likes you like that, though, he figures– he might need to throw it all just onto the aesthetics, though.

“That shit’s gonna kill you,” he mumbles, seeing you peek out at him from under your eyelashes. 

Smiling, you lean into him, your face dangerously close to someone who you just met a few minutes ago, he feels like he’s melting under your gaze. Shrugging, you blow the smoke into his face, white clouds floating his way in slow motion, a snicker escaping your lips before you move to your initial place, once again putting the cigarette between your plump lips and inhaling.

“Well, now you gotta die too.”

Looking at you, trying to come up with a better comeback, desperately needing to find out when he’s gotten so smitten with you, when you’ve engraved himself into his mind; trying to get you out and forget about you, he finds out, although a little shamefully,

that he’s willing to let you be his best mistake that he’s ever going to make.

AND I’M ON MY WAY TO BELIEVING 

Running his hand through his hair, he stops at the doorway of one of the houses in his neighbourhood. It’s only three streets away from his home, and he’s sure his mother would know who lives there, if he managed to ask before leaving, but to him, the people he’s going to meet are a mystery for now. Sighing heavily, he notes that he should get a haircut, since the hair he managed to push out of his face is now back in his eyes, prickling his eyeballs in the most annoying way possible, before he rings the doorbell and waits for someone to open the door for him.

It’s an ordinary Tuesday afternoon, the clock reads 4:25pm– he’s 5 minutes early, just to be sure– and he’s going to one of his paid guitar lessons. 

Usually, he has fun in these. Mothers all across the town reply to his insert that he posted on Facebook Marketplace, and some grandmas even send him letters, replying to the advertisement they saw in the local newspaper. The kids he teaches are almost always very polite and easy to work with. 

When he arrives, he asks them what they know already, and he progresses from there. He’s not trying to act like he’s a licenced music teacher, because he’s not– everything he knows is all self-taught anyway, from watching youtube videos and playing the same songs with the same simple chords over and over again, desperately wanting to get his favourite songs right, until he progressed up to the point when there’s pretty much no song he couldn’t play after hearing it a few times and taking a look at the chords online. To the local neighbourhood kids, that’s enough– he’s an affordable teacher, and much more approachable one than the elderly men Yangyang’s parents wanted to hire when he was a kid. He refused back then, and he can’t say he regrets it.

Waiting at the doorway, he wonders who will wait for him behind the dark-wooded entrance. Perhaps a little boy– these are always the easiest to work with. They choose the rock, sometimes punk songs they heard on the radio or saw randomly pop out on the recommended page on youtube. Yangyang is happy with that, because that’s what he’s familiar with anyway. It brings him joy to see their faces light up when they get the chords right and when the strumming is similar to the one in the original song, and when he sings along, although a little silly, they even laugh at him and show gratitude with gummy smiles. 

He won’t lie. He likes his job. 

When the door finally opens, his eyes catch the sock-clothed feet of the person behind it. Eyes going up, noticing that the figure in front of him seems oddly familiar, his breathing catches in his throat and he feels his palms getting sweaty.

“Y/N?” he asks, a little taken aback.

You offer him a tight-lipped smile, an expression you pull when you see another teenager in the mall with their parents, both of you shopping for groceries. It’s the awkward smile that says that you recognise their torture, for you are experiencing the same; that awkward smile that reads don’t laugh at me, because you’re in the same position. 

“Hello,” you greet, taking a step to the side so he can get inside. 

Yangyang freezes in his spot. His legs don’t move, too hesitant to enter the house you live in, and he suddenly regrets not asking his mum about the residents of this house before he left. Not that he would know that it’s you anyway, for his mum always provides him with the last name and the occupation of the parents, but at least a hint would be nice, perhaps a mention of a daughter his age, even; both of these would let him prepare for the rush of heat in his cheeks and the awkwardness in his visit. 

“Um…” he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck, “am I… am I in the right house?” he asks suddenly, embarrassment creeping into his veins. Mentally going back to the address in the text message he got three days ago, checking the house number only a few metres to the right of the front door, it’s as clear as daylight– he’s at the right place, at the right time. 

“Yeah,” you nod, furrowing your brows in confusion. “Will you get inside already, or are you going to stand there all day?”

Eyes wide, Yangyang nods hurriedly, finally stepping inside of the house. Taking off his shoes, making sure he takes his sweet time so he can calm his racing heart, he thinks of every possible thing he could say to you to make the whole encounter less awkward. Or is he the only one that feels awkward at this moment? Are you alright with everything that’s going on? You don’t even seem to be surprised, to be fair. Maybe you expected to see him at the door.

“So,” he starts as he finally straightens his back and meets eyes with you, “um… I came to teach guitar, so… where’s your sibling?” he asks, cracking his knuckles in the process.

“Sibling?” you repeat.

Feeling like he’s said something wrong, but continuing in his interrogation, Yangyang furrows his brows. “Yeah. To… teach guitar to?” he says, feeling more confused than ever.

“I don’t have a sibling,” you simply reply, spinning in your place and taking the stairs up, making Yangyang freeze in his spot in hesitance once again. This whole thing feels like a fever dream, and he doesn’t think he can wake up that soon. 

A few seconds pass in complete silence, the uncomfortness of it all making Yangyang’s ears ring, when footsteps march through the space and make him swing his head up, seeing you standing at the top of the stairs. “Are you coming? I thought I was paying you for teaching me the guitar, and not for standing around,” you mutter.

Teaching you the guitar? Now, every other person would comply and run upstairs, apologise for being all over the place, maybe even mumble a poor excuse of how they haven’t slept well and that’s why they’re not in their right place today. But this is Liu Yangyang– and you’re Y/N, the girl he met almost a week ago and hasn't been able to stop thinking about since. And that’s why Yangyang only simply stumbles over his own legs and drags himself upstairs, still trying to make his mind comprehend the whole situation and let himself process what’s happening. 

He appears in your room in a moment. The journey there has no memory in his brain, for he thinks he acted on auto-pilot, too lost in his thoughts. When the smell of you lingers all around him and punches him somewhere deep in his gut, that’s when he finally wakes up and proceeds to do what he’s supposed to.

The room looks just like he’d imagine it to look. It looks so, so definitely yours; with posters of bands hung all across the walls, stitched between with artwork and polaroid pictures, not one spot left empty in the whole room. The rug in the middle of the space is white and fluffy, the long bristles reminding him of the dog he used to have when he was a kid. There’s not much furniture in your room, and it’s also fairly small, but there’s everything a university student would need in a room at their parents’ house: a big bed, a closet, a bookshelf filled with literature and a desk that’s a little too messy, but still looks oddly organised. The last detail that completes the aroma of you in the room is the easel set in the corner of the room, right next to the guitar stand, like a little pair of necessities that belong together, never to be seperated.

He finds you sitting on the bed, the black acoustic guitar already nestled in your lap, glancing up at him through your eyelashes. The look you give him is unreadable– or he doesn’t know you well enough to read in your expressions yet. Taking a mental note of the urge to get to know you enough to know what you want to say even from a simple look thrown his way, he sits next to you and clears his throat. 

“Shall we start, then?” he asks, hearing you snicker.

“I’m waiting until you finally get a grip, you know,” you say, “I’m ready when you are.”

Your words make him feel the heatness in his cheeks again, embarrassment a familiar emotion to feel whenever he’s in your presence. He once again recognises that he feels strangely intimidated by you in this setting, suddenly scared that he forgot all the chords and he doesn’t know how to play anymore, even though the thought of that is ridiculous and unbelievable, since before, he was sure he could play Smells like teen spirit even in his sleep.

“Okay, so…” he starts, “let’s start with what you already know, and then we can progress from there, I guess?” he chooses the tactic he always does when he teaches the neighbourhood kids, but at this moment, everything about the guitar lesson is making him unsure in his skills. This is the first time he’s working with someone his age, and to find you being the one replying to his insert, it makes it all even harder for him.

“I mean… I know the basic chords, but that’s about it,” you shrug, averting your eyes off him. 

This is the first time Yangyang notices you shying away from his glance. He doesn’t dare to pin much importance to it, for he thinks it must be nothing, but something deep inside of him makes an assumption already and the air is suddenly lighter to breathe for him. He’s in charge now– he’s the one that knows everything, and you’re the one that wants to listen to him and learn from him. He’s not about power dynamics at all, since it would feel strange to pay importance to that, but suddenly, he no longer feels like he’s less from you, but rather on the same level, only a little more skilled, and that makes him feel more sure in his conversation and more strong in his moves.

“Okay, great,” he muses, “that’s a good start. Do you have a particular song that you would like to learn how to play? That’s usually the best way to learn, I think,” he suggests, glancing at you with curious eyes.

If he tried hard enough, he could maybe make out the song you’d choose by looking around your room and paying more attention to the posters on your walls. He’s quite sure he’ll be familiar with it, your music taste overlapping with his, although there are a few bands he’s not familiar with on the pictures on your walls and he suddenly wants to ask you all about them and let you recommend your favourite songs to him. He’d listen to them all afternoon, making sure to get every detail and search for everything that makes you enjoy them so much, trying to get to know you through your favourite melodies. He knows it’s too soon for a step like that, but he makes sure to keep it in his mind for later, when you two are closer; if that moment ever comes, of course.

“Hmm,” you hum. Suddenly, you stand up with the guitar still in your right hand, searching for something in the mess on your desk. There’s your phone in the grip of your left hand now, and with a few taps to the screen, you offer it to Yangyang, a site with the chords to the song you chose now shining on full display. “This one,” you mumble.

Now it’s your turn to look bashful. Yangyang notices the sudden shift in the atmosphere, liking how the awkwardness is suddenly out of his blood system but rather entering yours. Scrolling through the page, his eyes scan the chord progressions, nodding to himself as he recognises the tune, already playing in his head.

“Great! Let’s get to it, then,” he says.

Nodding, you stay glued in your place at the other end of the bed. Your guitar is still placed neatly on your right thigh, resting against it, waiting to be played. “Maybe try playing it so I can see what you need helping with?” 

The suggestion makes you nod, a nervous lick to your lips is made as you take the guitar pick into your right hand and nestle a little in your seat, trying to relax. Not wanting to make you more nervous, Yangyang makes himself not look at you while you play, resulting in letting his eyes roam all across your room, trying to remember the details just in case he’s never invited over ever again. 

You start playing in no time. Even a complete beginner could hear that you’re not used to the instrument yet– your strumming is inconsistent, the changing of chords slow and not all strings play when you press them– too weak for the note to ring. It’s okay, though; everyone starts somewhere and this was a good effort. The G chord is played wonderfully, as Yangyang recognises that this one in particular is not an issue amongst his students, but when you get to the D minor, Yangyang suddenly hears a sigh full of frustration as the strums don’t ring and you seemingly get a cramp into your left palm.

The melody, although a little chopped up and wonky, suddenly stops. You look over at your guitar teacher sitting to your right, trying to find help in him. 

“Your hand got cramped up?” he asks, voice full of consideration he uses when he teaches the small children. He let it slip unknowingly, but now that he recognised it, he prays you don’t make fun of him for the endearing tone of it.

“Yeah,” you nod, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

“I see,” he nods, shifting closer to you. He tries to be full of confidence, because then, it’s easier for him to mask the effect you have on him and the growing aspect of it the closer you physically are to him. Taking the guitar softly from your hold, he presses down the strings in the right order, three fingers used for the simple chord, strumming to let you hear the chord out loud. 

“What you’re doing wrong is keeping your thumb too far up on the back of the neck,” he says, showing you the way you were playing the chord before, “this way, you have to make more pressure to hold the strings down, and the uncomfortable position makes your hand cramp up. Try moving your thumb a little lower,” he explains, once again showing you.

You hum, taking the guitar back from his hold when he offers it to you. You try to hold the strings down in the way Yangyang’s shown you, but your fingers just won’t comply, too used to the way you were playing the chord before. Watching you with amusement, Yangyang chuckles to himself and unconsciously moves to you, reaching for your hand from behind, and manually moving your thumb closer to the bottom of the neck of the guitar. 

The contact of your skin on his burns him a little, even though he was the one that initiated it and touched you first, and he suddenly feels like a teenager once again, hating that the way he feels about you reminds him of the silly crushes he used to get on his classmates and never acted up on them in the fear of being rejected.

Moving back to his initial place, he sees you bite down on your lower lip as you strum down the strings, hearing the chord loud and clear, your hand in a way more comfortable position now. Humming again, perhaps in understatement, perhaps in satisfaction, you look up at Yangyang again, smiling a little. “Thanks.”

He shrugs. “It’s okay. That’s what I’m paid for,” he snickers.

You roll your eyes at him, but your lips mirror a cunning smile. He teases you back with the words you used when he first arrived, making him wonder if you find him more fun now, when he’s relaxed. 

Sitting quietly, you try playing the song again, now a little more smoothly. Yangyang finds himself humming along, not daring to sing the lyrics just yet, since he’s not that eager to embarrass himself in front of you with his singing as he is when he teaches the kids. But when you look up at him and grin in amusement, he knows he did the right thing– the atmosphere is lighter now, the weight falling off his shoulders.

“You didn’t mention wanting guitar lessons when we last talked,” he says, going back in time just a week ago. 

“Yeah, well,” you stop playing, “I wasn’t really set on it back then yet.”

“I see,” he hums, “what made you change your mind, then?”

Chewing on your bottom lip, you laugh to yourself. Putting the guitar down, between your bodies sprawled out on the bed, you fold your hands on your stomach. “If I tell you, promise you won’t laugh.”

Surprised by your request, for Yangyang thought there’s not anything in the whole world that could ever make you ashamed, he nods and agrees. “I won’t laugh. I promise.”

Squinting at him, as if to see if he’s truly honest with his promise, you breathe in heavily, getting ready to speak. “Well… remember how I told you that Jeno’s in a band?”

“Yeah,” he nods. How could he forget? That dude has everything Yangyang ever wished to be.

“So… his guitarist is kind of a dick,” you start, “he doesn’t go to practices, skips the gigs, shows up high sometimes… so Jeno wanted to kick him out and find someone better. And I kind of wanted to be the replacement, but…” you trail off, not daring to look at Yangyang in fear of hearing his laughter.

“Yeah, well, you’ll have to pay me for way more lessons to be the next lead guitarist of an underground band,” Yangyang notes, not trying to make fun of you– rather just tease you, to lighten up the atmosphere.

“Yeah,” you giggle, “you’re right. But maybe you could join them.”

“Me?”

“You said you wanted to have a band,” you mumble, shrugging, “this comes close, at least.”

Grinning to himself at the proposition, Yangyang shakes his head in disbelief. “You haven’t even heard me play. For all you know, I could be a total fraud.”

You turn your head to look at him, eyes squinting in examination once again. “You’re right, dude,” you mutter to yourself, “play me something, then. I’ll be the judge if you’re the one suitable to be the next lead guitarist of an underground band,” you say, throwing his own words back at him, trying to act out his voice in a teasing manner.

Singing, Yangyang shakes his head at your proposition. You must believe him– otherwise, you wouldn’t have texted him to give you guitar lessons, after all. To fulfil the promise he’s given you back in the skate park, though, he takes the guitar laying between your bodies, straightening his back and sitting in a more comfortable position, he presses down the chords you so desperately wanted to learn just a few minutes ago, before you two got lost in the conversation.

A simple G, D minor, a C major 7. Repeating over and over, a strumming pattern so easy and comforting, it’s forever engraved into his brain. He remembers hearing the song for the first time when he was younger, too embarrassed to admit to Renjun that he likes it, since he was always posing as the emo kid in the town. The band might suit the genre, but the lyrics are as sweet as sugar, so romantic it makes his heart clench. 

Caught somewhere in between it all, in the midst of the moment, hearing you silently hum the lyrics to the song you’ve shown him, Yangyang foolishly finds himself dedicating the song to you. This is the second time you two have met, but your whole presence, the way you scrunch up your nose when you laugh, the way you are so genuine and straight-forward, with nothing to hide, he finds himself pulled towards you, wanting to know you deeper, desiring to explore every last crevice of your inside.

He never wanted to be in someone else’s band. He always wanted his own, so he can be in charge of everything, so he can be the leader everyone follows. But if being in Jeno’s band meant meeting you more often, he figures he could try it out. Who knows, he might even like it.

He’s never tried so hard for a girl before. He never really had the urge. Spending his days with blissful carelessness, wasting away his youth by doing nothing, he never really found anyone to yearn for as hard. He swore he was content with loneliness, but perhaps, no one before was ever worth the risk.

Just like in the song he’s playing, you are the only exception.

SO EXCUSE MY TANTRUM, CAN’T YOU SEE I’VE GOT MY HANDS FULL?

Leg nervously bumping up and down, Yangyang chews on his bottom lip as the buildings behind the windows of the car blur into themselves and motion him forward. Hearing a low beep coming from his lap, where he threw his phone after aimlessly checking Instagram for the seventh time today, he reaches for the device and unlocks it.

y/n: are you close yet

Looking around, trying to find out where the hell he’s even going, he turns to his best friend on the driver’s seat. “Are we close?” he asks.

“Who’s asking?” Renjun mumbles, turning on the left blinker and taking a turn towards that direction, pulling up to a street Yangyang’s never seen before in his whole life. 

“Y/N,” he answers, checking all the houses, as if to try to see if you show up at the doorstep of one of them, awaiting their arrival. 

“We’re quite literally 15 metres away from Jeno’s house,” Renjun mutters, turning down the music playing on the radio. Yangyang hums in understatement, quickly looking back over to his phone and typing a swift reply.

yangyang: we’re here 

As the car comes to a halt, parking at the edge of the sidewalk in front of one of the houses on the street– each and every single one of them looking the same, with white walls and a brown roof, creating a homely atmosphere– Yangyang finds his nerves rise even more. It’s not like he’s meeting Renjun’s friends for the first time, after all, so he really doesn’t get the sudden rise in adrenaline. Sure, he only saw Jeno, Jaemin and Hyuck once, but at least him and you are pretty acquainted by now, considering that he gave you guitar lessons three more times since the last time, before he finally agreed on meeting Jeno and his bandmates for a band practice; just to see if he’s fit, nothing more.

Maybe he just really wants to impress everyone. The rest of the band is filled with strangers, so maybe that’s where his anxiety is coming from. 

He almost opens his mouth and tries to talk about it to Renjun, since the boy always gets his emotions and tries to help him calm down whenever his overthinking is getting too irrational, but when he jumps out of the car and closes the door behind him, there’s a screech coming from the small gate leading to the property, making his eyes drift towards the source of the sound. 

You wave at the two, standing in the open gate, a shining grin plastered onto your face. After Yangyang gets out his guitar from the backseat– the electric one, as you specified in your texts last night– you run up to him and envelope him in a quick, yet, comforting hug.

He didn’t realise you’ve gotten this close, but he welcomes the embrace with open arms. He catches a sniff of your perfume– a mix of roses and vanilla, sweet, but also light. It travels from his nose all the way up to his brain, numbing his senses. If this was the only smell he could feel until the end of his life, he wouldn’t complain.

“Finally! They’re all waiting for you in the garage,” you say, leading the pair towards the house. The gate to the garage is open, revealing a group of people clammered in the small space, leaving Yangyang at least some time to prepare for all of them.

Going up to the make-shift practice room in Lee Jeno’s garage, Yangyang puts on his best charming smile, hoping to seem at ease and not at all awkward. Adjusting the guitar in his hold, he comes up to the group and greets them with undeniable ease.

“Hello,” he says, watching Renjun as he fist-bumps the rest of his friend group and sitting at the old, orange couch in the corner of the garage.

“What’s up, man,” Jeno says as he comes up to him, once again, with a handshake. Yangyang begins to wonder why he always looks so cool– even when he’s wearing simple sweatpants and a Nirvana shirt enveloping his torso, he looks like he’s cut-out from a Rolling Stone magazine. He doesn’t even need that bloody leather jacket to look good. Life truly is unfair.

After greeting everyone, Yangyang finds himself awkwardly leaning against the arm of the couch. There wasn’t much space for him to sit, but that was okay– he was here to play the guitar anyway, he could stand. The garage was filled with people he knew, and also didn’t. It felt weird to have such a big audience. He felt like that time when he applied for the school’s talent show; he almost pulled out the minute he saw the tens of people sitting on the folding chairs in the school’s auditorium, waiting for him to begin playing. 

He recognised Jaemin– who warmly smiled at him when he went up to him and greeted him with a rehearsed fist bump– and he also recognised Hyuck, Jeno and you. There was a guy sitting in the corner of the room, who he was told was Mark and he was here to ‘hang out’, and the other two were Hendery and Chenle, the band’s drummer and bassist.

“Want some beer?” you ask, looking at him brightly from your spot next to him. He shakes his head in disapproval– he didn’t really like the taste of it, and much to everyone’s dismay, he was a light-weight and he really didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of everyone sitting in the garage, watching him perform. 

Yangyang’s left feeling lonely even in the full room of people. It’s somehow alarming, but also understandable. He’s not close to any of the people here, except from Renjun, and he’s been with him for the last few hours, so it’s only natural for his friend to drift towards someone else now. Looking around the garage, he spots a sign in the corner of the room, a long, white fabric spray-painted with red. 

Chucky Tribute, it reads. Finding himself chuckling under his breath, you look over to him, raising your eyebrows to find out what he’s laughing about. Pointing towards the sign, you only roll your eyes with a grin.

“That’s the band’s name,” you whisper sincerely into his ear, “Jeno’s a fan of the Chucky movies.”

Upon hearing this, Yangyang already knows he signed up for a wild ride.

After some more catching up between Renjun and his friends, and some awkward conversation that sparked between Mark and Yangyang after he recognised the anime on his shirt, Jeno turns to him with the true reason for his visit today.

“Okay, so,” he starts, “we could try to play something together, so we can see if you’re the fit to be in the band,” he says. Something about his sentences makes Yangyang feel like he’s looked down upon– as if Jeno was the master of everything, not believing that someone like Yangyang could be good enough to be in his band, however small and underground it might be. Looking over at you in the corner of the room, seeing that you’re a regular at the band practices, gazing at him with a hopeful smile, he complies, though.

“Not that we have any doubts about you, though,” Chenle, the bassist chirps from the other side of the room, “our last guitarist was a stinker anyway, so there’s no way you could be worse than that, really.”

“What they’re trying to say, essentially, is that their standards are low in the first place, so there’s nothing to be afraid of,” Renjun teases from his spot next to Jaemin, earning a laugh and a playful bump to his shoulder from Hyuck sitting on his other side.

“Right,” Jeno rolls his eyes, trying to organise the whole evening at least a little, “anyway. Back to what I was saying… maybe you can try playing something and then we’ll see, I guess… I don’t really know how to go about this anyway,” he shrugs, watching Yangyang with curious eyes.

Yangyang feels his palms sweat, but he gets up from his spot nonetheless, getting his trusty, beloved guitar he got from his mother for Christmas out of its case and plugging it into the speaker. Strumming the strums a few times, as if to practice, he nervously clears his throat and points his gaze towards the neck of the guitar– even though he’s certain he could play it even if he went blind– just so he doesn’t have to look anyone in the eye.

Putting his fingers into their right places, he starts improvising. No one really told him what to play, so he assumes they don’t really want to hear any song in particular, so he doesn’t even try to imitate something or fish for chord progressions to anything in his mind in the first place. Moving fast across the guitar’s neck, he masters a melodic play, something he himself is kind of impressed with, something he doesn’t feel ashamed to play. He gets really into it, momentarily forgetting all about his surroundings, as he often does when he plays the guitar, when a low rhythm of drums flows into his ears and makes him look up, seeing Hendery grinning at him from his place behind the drumming kit.

Not a moment passes before Chenle gets to his bass guitar, completing the rhythmic section of the band. The melody flows through the walls of the garage, making Yangyang smile in joy, because only now does he truly feel in his element, when Jeno picks up another guitar and the whole make-shift symphony makes the audience cheer and yell in amazement.

When the players get tired and the song is done, Yangyang finds everyone clapping, making euphoria run through his veins. Perhaps this is what he was always destined to do– and even the slightest hint of the cheering of an audience, all because of his song, is like a gas fueling an engine, a spark that creates the fire in his soul. 

His eyes subconsciously find your figure, standing up from your seat. Your eyes light up and your lips are tugged into the brightest smile he’s ever seen on you, running up to him with much force, arms only dangling by your sides,

before you pass him and he finds himself turning around, watching you envelope Lee Jeno in a fierce embrace.

“That was so good! You did so well, oh my god!” you cheer.

The euphoria fades. Yangyang’s smile drops only a little.

I WISH THERE WAS A SITUATION TO BE MAD AT, OR A PERSON I COULD BLAME

Sitting cross-legged at the edge of your bed, strumming your guitar softly, the sun starts setting and the orange hue makes the features of your face soften. Your room turns into a quiet abode, only filled with the sound of the guitar, mindless chords blending together beautifully as Yangyang continues playing, staring at your face.

“You know you still have to pay me if you call this a guitar lesson, right?” he says, watching you as you lay on your bed, legs pressed against the wall and your head hanging off the edge of the mattrace.

“Yeah,” you reply, “it is a lesson, just so you know.”

“You haven’t picked up the guitar the whole time I’m here,” Yangyang notes, laughing.

“I’m practising listening today,” you mumble, looking at him with eyes squinted from your teasing grin. 

“Didn’t realise I was your personal jukebox.”

“Shut up and continue serenading me, won’t you?” 

Snickering at your comment, Yangyang continues to mindlessly strum the guitar, wondering how and when exactly he got into this situation. A few weeks ago, he didn’t even know about your existence, and now, he’s locked up with you in your bedroom multiple times a week, giving you guitar lessons and sharing small-talk with you when you invite him for dinner to your parents’ kitchen and feed him dry cereal instead.

He’s not confident enough to sing in front of you just yet, but humming the lyrics in his brain is enough for him in this situation, for they fit the whole scenery with a 100% accuracy; I think I've lost my mind/ blurring the fact and the fiction/whilst simultaneously fixing/myself up with a girl named Panadol.

“Have you ever written a song?” you ask suddenly, not once initiating eye contact with him as your head is still hung down the edge of the bed.

“Not really,” he replies, but if the two of us continue meeting this often, I might start, he thinks. “You?”

Humming, you take a few seconds before you reply to him. “I have.”

Your words surprise him, making him halt in his movements. “No shit,” he blurts out in awe, “show me!”

Awkwardly laughing to yourself, you finally plop yourself up on the bed and sit opposite of him, shaking your head in disapproval. “No. Not a chance.”

“Come on!” he insists. “You can’t expect me to not be curious about it, now that you mentioned it.”

“We don’t know each other well enough for me to show it to you,” you mumble, “not even Aeri knows about it.”

“We meet up multiple times a week, and since I’m your trusted guitar teacher, I think I deserve to hear your music progress,” Yangyang pouts, trying very desperately to get you to show him what you’ve written. 

“There’s no use in trying, you won’t convince me,” you laugh, set on your decision.

“What do I gotta do, then?” he snickers. “Play 21 questions with you?”

“Maybe,” you shrug, “maybe I’ll show you after that.”

Knowing damn well that you won’t– because Yangyang knows that it’s not as easy to show someone you don’t know that well something that you treasure so close to your heart– he nods and sets the guitar aside, getting ready to play the stupid game with you, just so he can finally know more about you. Sure, he might just learn some trivia about you; things that barely matter in the bigger picture that is life, but he will get anything he can, because you’re basically his biggest interest in life at the moment, right behind music.

“Okay,” you nudge him with your foot, “shoot.”

“Why do I always gotta start?” he gasps, a little offended.

“Because!”

“Okay, alright,” he rolls his eyes, “what’s your favourite colour?”

Sighing at his generic question, you shrug and point towards your torso, hugged in a grey hoodie. Realising it’s the same one you were wearing when you two first met, Yangyang smiles a little, but resolves into teasing you again. “That’s not a colour, that’s a shade.”

“Don’t disagree with me,” you snap back, furrowing your brows. “It’s a colour.”

“It’s a shade of black, actually, so it can’t be your favourite colour-”

“Fuck, okay,” you roll your eyes at him again, irritated, “fine. When did you start playing the guitar?” you ask, changing the subject.

Searching through his mind for an answer, Yangyang hums, lost in thought. “I think I was like eleven, or something?” he says, sounding more unsure than in his final exams, when he forgot what the topic was about. 

“Eleven?” 

“Yeah. My mum got me my first guitar for my eleventh birthday. I kind of sucked, but I enjoyed it anyway,” he says, smiling to himself.

“When did you first want to be in a band?” you ask again.

“If you ask now, that means you’ve wasted another one of your questions and I can go twice in the row next time-”

“Just answer the damn question, Yang!” you curse at him, playfully hitting his knee.

“Jeez, alright,” he mutters, “chill out.”

“I can’t chill out if you take the rules of 21 questions this literally!” 

“Okay, okay!” he puts his hands up in a defending motion, grinning at the annoyance in your face. Something about pushing you over the edge, making you completely annoyed with his antics, makes a spark of joy illuminate his insides. It’s like he’s doing his job right– getting on your nerves, but still being the tiniest bit endearing with it. “It’s actually kind of funny, you know.”

“Is it?” 

“Yeah,” he nods, “I was in surgery when I was like… nine? Maybe ten, I’m not entirely sure. And when I was in a coma, I had this dream where I was on the stage performing my most favourite song, and I had the best time ever. So that’s kind of when I decided that this is what I wanna do when I grow up.”

Looking at him with endearance, you laugh at his story. The noise makes Yangyang feel like he’s on cloud 9 again, the state of euphoria you bring him into once again swimming through his veins like he’s on drugs. 

“No way!” you giggle.

“I’m serious!” 

Laying on the bed, getting more and more comfortable in his presence, you plop your feet into Yangyang’s lap and rest your head in your crossed hands. The sight of you like this, making physical contact with him, comfy and snuggled up in the blanket, Yangyang almost makes his imagination run too far. It almost feels like he’s in your personal space, the only person you let in, it’s like he’s your boyfriend, sitting in your room and chatting about everything and nothing at all at the same time, just enjoying your time together.

“Your turn now,” you say,  waiting for his question.

Humming in response, he carelessly rests his hands on your ankles, finding their place there as if they were made to be there from the very start. “What is your song about?” 

“Yangyang.”

“What? I didn’t ask you to sing it to me, or to show it to me. I’m simply just asking about it, that’s different,” he explains, a voice of a know-it-all that always got on everyone’s nerves.

“Still! Can’t you ask something else, then? I’ll answer everything, but that.”

“Okay. What’s the name of the song?” he asks, grinning teasingly.

“Okay, that’s it. We’re not playing anymore-”

“Fine!” he stops you, tugging you back to your place by your ankles when you dare to move away, as if you wanted to escape him altogether. “I have another one.”

“I swear to god that if you mention my song again, I will physically-”

“When did you start liking Lee Jeno?” he asks.

Your voice cuts out, the whole moment freezes. He feels like he’s in a youtube video, put on pause, stood in the same motion, holding the same expression. In reality, he’s trying to stay stone cold, expression stale, so you don’t realise just how much he cares about your feelings towards the boy. 

You’re shocked, he can see it in your face. Maybe no one’s ever noticed before. Maybe he’s the first one; but the truth is, it’s not that difficult to see when you get so cheerful whenever he’s around, subtly touching him and sending compliments and light-hearted teasing his way whenever you get the chance. 

Or maybe it’s not that obvious at all. Maybe Liu Yangyang just pays too much attention to who’s the object of your interest.

Strange, isn’t it?

PILLOWS PRESSED UNDER YOUR KNEES

Grinning to himself, playing the last few notes of the song Jeno and his friends wrote a few months ago, Yangyang finds you sitting at the old couch in front of him, your phone pointed towards the little show. The video of him playing the guitar will soon hit your Instagram stories, and Yangyang will widely grin as he realises it’s him that you’re showing to the whole world on your social media, and not Lee Jeno, as one would expect.

Once the song is done and over, you clap with much excitement and Yangyang smiles at you. The band practice is now over and he moves to the guitar case he left next to you on the floor, hiding his guitar in it so it doesn’t get damaged.

“That was good,” Jeno says, sitting at the armchair in the far right of the garage, getting out a pack of cigarettes from somewhere and lighting one between his lips, “we’re gonna rock that show. It’s good you got the songs so fast, Yangyang, or else we would be fucked.”

“I’m a professional,” he shrugs with a grin, earning himself a laugh from Chenle. 

Sitting on the couch next to you, he finds himself enveloped in a weird sense of euphoria and excitement. In a week, he’ll be playing his first ever concert– Jeno said not a lot of people will attend, since they’re not known as much in the town, but it’s still something. A first step towards something, if you will. And Yangyang is happy with taking things slow this time around. Sure, he’d be happier if the band wasn’t called Chucky Tribute, and yes, admittedly, he’d be glad if the songs he played were his and the lyrics were more thought-out and not as surface-level as they are, but he’s happy with what he’s got. Better than nothing, right?

“I better head home soon,” Yangyang mumbles, standing up from his spot on the orange couch. Being around all those people without Renjun still feels kind of awkward, but he concludes that he can work on it some other day. 

“We’ll just pack our things and go as well,” Hendery nods, “this was a good one, guys!”

“Man, I would do anything for a spicy McChicken right now,” you mutter, looking around at Jeno, “wanna order and watch Netflix?” you ask him, the question feeling like a knife in Yangyang’s back. 

The thing is, you two established that Jeno is the guy you like a few weeks ago, back in your room. Yangyang promised to himself that he’ll try to get over you, but it’s not as easy as it seems when you’re everywhere he goes; your presence is enough to make him like you even more and more, and that’s a fact that feels more like a curse than a blessing.

“Nah, I’m not really feeling it today,” Jeno mutters, not even meeting your eyes as he scrolls through his phone and takes another drag of his cigarette, letting the ash fall to the dirty floor.

“Oh,” you say, the hint of disappointment in your voice is too noticeable, breaking Yangyang’s heart a little. He wonders how Jeno could be so blind, and mentally curses at him for turning you down, because god knows that if he was in his place, he’d never say no to you. “ I- I better go as well, then…”

Paying your goodbyes to the rest of the band, Yangyang finds himself outside of Lee Jeno’s garage, hesitantly scratching his neck with the offer he’s about to propose. “Still up for that spicy McChicken?”

“Hm?” you hum in question, looking at him with big eyes.

“We can drive to Maccies together, if you wanna. I’m starving,” he proposes, seeing something behind your eyes shift– perhaps relief, or hope, from seeing that someone is still up for hanging out with you, even though you’ve been turned down from the object of your desire.

Kicking the rocks under your feet, you shrug. “I mean… I’m down, I guess.”

“Okay, sweet,” he nods, striding towards his little Volkswagen Golf that he got from his father when he decided to buy a new car, “let’s go.”

Your body drags itself into his white car, slumping into the passenger’s seat. The disappointment in you is still very much seen in the slouching of your shoulders and the frown that is ever-so delicately written into your face, but Yangyang makes it his quest to make you feel better. Turning the engine on and turning up the music in the radio, being quite satisfied with himself that he put the Paramore CD in before he left, he drives off Jeno’s driveway and strolls through the city, into the McDonald’s at the edge of the town. The one in the centre is closer, but that one doesn’t have a parking lot– that’s why he’s opting for the safer choice. 

When he finally gets there and parks in one of the vacant parking spots with much struggle, to be fair, since this was the part where he almost didn’t make his driving test when he was getting his licence, you follow him outside of the car, a little more stride in your step than before. When you get into the McDonald’s and find your place in the line of people wanting to order, Yangyang’s body situates itself right behind you, looking through the menu. He usually gets the chicken wrap, but just to be fancy, he will get it with fries and a coke today as well.

“One spicy McChicken,” you order, smiling at the cashier behind the pult. 

“Coming right at you. Anything else?” 

“No-”

“And one chicken wrap with fries. And two cokes, please,” Yangyang orders, catching a glimpse of your confused expression, “it’s on me,” he mentions, seeing you roll your eyes.

“You know, in any other circumstance, I don’t let men pay for me,” you say, “but I also could not care less today, so go ahead. I’ll pay next time,” you promise, seeing him get his card out and paying for your meal. 

Once the order is ready and you two take a seat in one of the ugly red booths in the corner of the room, you unwrap your burger and get right to it. Yangyang watches you with undeniable adoration. Everything about you is full of amazement for him– the way you manage to not get the sauce all over your face, the way you don’t bat an eye over the spice in the burger. He studies your face, grateful that you don’t look at him, but rather watch the world behind the window, making him not caught. 

“Want some fries?” he asks, offering you the pack and glancing at you. Turning your head to him, you sigh.

“I really wanna get over him, you know,” you start, putting the burger down and pulling at your hair in frustration, “I hate that I’m still so caught up with him. I despise it. But he’s so sweet, and he’s so charming, and I’ve known him since forever! It’s just so hard to let go of him, but I know that I should, because none of this is good for me in the first place…”

“I mean… that’s not what I was asking, but go ahead,” Yangyang mumbles, seeing you crumble in front of him, all frustrated and heartbroken because of his bandmate. 

“It would be easier for me to move on if he was a complete dick, you know,” you mutter, pouting a little from the sadness in your heart. The expression is kind of adorable in Yangyang’s eyes, but a little heartbreaking nonetheless, for he knows the frown is genuine and there’s nothing he can really do about it.

“Give it some time, Y/N,” Yangyang finds himself saying, “time heals everything. Don’t push yourself into anything, because that’s only gonna make you feel worse in the long run. Let yourself feel things, you know,” he shrugs, seeing you watching him with eyes big, resembling pools full of emotion he’s not even going to try to decipher.

Taking a bite from your burger, you smile at him with a full mouth, an expression that would look disgusting coming from anyone else, but you. “Wow,” you say, “didn’t think I’d get actual, useful advice from you, you know.”

Gasping, Yangyang acts hurt. “So you’re saying my advice is useless? Haven't heard you saying that when I teach you the guitar.”

“We could argue and say that that’s not really advice,” you grin, kicking his leg under the table, “but no, I’m serious. Thanks. I guess I really needed to hear that right now.”

Smiling at you, grateful that he was able to help you at least a bit, Yangyang offers you the fries again, watching you take one and plop it into your mouth. “I’m glad you understand me, though. Aeri doesn’t help much, since every time I talk about Jeno, she keeps bad-mouthing him and telling me how I’m blind if I like him that much. You should have heard her what she said when she found out that we-”

Raising his eyebrows at you in question, Yangyang hums. “You?”

“We…” you nervously laugh, trailing off.

“You what?” 

“I- well… Promise not to tell anyone? I wouldn’t be telling you this at all, but I already started and you seem like a person that I can trust with this, but please, swear to god that this will stay between you and I only,” you say, quite sincerely, looking at him with pleading eyes.

“Yeah, of course,” he nods, “what is it, then?”

“We… me and Jeno hooked up once,” you say, chewing on the inside of your cheek, eyes drifting away from Yangyang’s, “it… it was a while ago, after one of their shows back in July, and I thought it was getting somewhere after that, but Jeno… Jeno didn’t really seem like he wanted something more, so I just never talked about it with him after that.”

Blinking a few times at you, feeling like someone’s just suddenly unplugged his brain, leaving him with no power to gather his thoughts, he stays silent, trying to process everything. His blood goes cold and the food in his mouth suddenly tastes like dirt, his mood dropping instantly, for Lee Jeno had more of you than Yangyang ever will, and all of that while not caring for you near as much as he does.

“Don’t judge me,” you say, awkwardly laughing to yourself.

“I’m not judging.”

“Yes, you are, I can see it on your face!” 

“I’m not judging!” he insists, finishing the last bite of his chicken wrap. 

“What is it, then?” you push him, stomping your feet under your table. “Your face changed. You’re judging.”

“Yeah, maybe I am,” he blurts out, “not you, though.”

Looking at Yangyang for a few seconds, your eyes soften. Pulling your lips into a tight line, an expression only vaguely reminding him of a smile, you nod and sigh in understatement. 

“Yeah. That’s why I’m getting over him.”

I DREAM OF YOU ALMOST EVERY NIGHT, HOPEFULLY, I WON’T WAKE UP THIS TIME

The drums ring all the way from his feet towards his heart, making it bump quicker and quicker as the rhythm changes and Hendery starts playing the opening melody of their last song of the night. Yangyang scans the crowd once more, trying to engrave it into his brain forever, trying to remember all the faces and all of their expressions, their outfits and haircuts, their lively smiles and cheers coming out of their mouths at each song they perform. This is the first time Yangyang is playing for a crowd that seems to be enjoying itself– he never knew that Chucky Tribute could have this many fans.

According to Chenle and Renjun, Jeno is kind of a big deal at their local university. He can only imagine that half of the crowd are his admirers; each girl in a prettier outfit than the other, screaming louder than the other in a non-spoken competition over his heart. 

The view of the crowd enjoying the music is a lovely one, for sure. But when Yangyang’s eyes finally land to the very middle of the crowd, the spot he was saving for last, he realises that the sight of you in the crowd, holding your hands high as you jump around to the familiar songs, occasionally taking a picture of the band or recording a short video, that this sight– the sight of you, is for sure his absolute favourite.

“Are you ready to jump? Let’s go!” Jeno cheers into the microphone, the whole crowd that is currently packed in one of the medium-sized bars in the centre of the town listening to him and doing as he pleases– going absolutely crazy, jumping around and screaming when the chorus hits and some of them recognise the lyrics. 

A doll with red hair lands on stage, thrown there by a grinning girl in the first row, making Jeno chuckle and take it from its spot on the floor. Yangyang soon realises it’s Chucky– Jeno’s most favourite fictional character, the one he named his band after. It’s kind of funny, the sight of the rockstar running around with the doll in his hands, screaming the lyrics to his song, and he almost lets out a loud laugh when the frontman gets to his new guitarist and makes the doll rest at his biceps, like a newborn baby. The crowd laughs at that, followed by a loud cheer, as they like the sight of their new guitarist and find it funny.

The sense of euphoria that comes with the last chorus is something Yangyang never knew he could feel. Lost in the music, enjoying the melody of a song he didn’t know a few weeks ago, he feels at home. He’s not good with crowds of people, for he always feels like he is watched and judged, examined by a microscope, but right now, he feels like he is in one unity with everyone present– music connects them all, no barriers left.

“Thank you so much everyone, this was Chucky Tribute! Make sure to stream our music on Spotify and Soundcloud, we’ll see you again soon!” Jeno says, moving to the edge of the podum and bowing, leaving the band to follow his lead and wave at everyone as the group leaves the stage.

Running off the stage, still grinning, Yangyang chugs some water in the backroom and once again, packs his guitar. If anyone would see him right now, they’d surely think he won a lottery or something, with how cheerful and genuinely happy the boy looks. 

“The best part of playing at bars is the thing that comes after,” Jeno laughs, making Yangyang furrow his brows in confusion.

“Now, we party,” Hendery concludes, shooting a serious look at the newbie. 

Once they’ve wiped their sweat off and drank some more water, the small group is heading towards the door to the bar. Now, Yangyang is not usually the one up for a party, but today is a special day. Of course he won’t miss out on the first afterparty with his new band. 

You find him at the entrance. Your smile mirrors his, and your eyes only leave him for a second, as Jeno passes by and you greet him with a strange sense of politeness. Once Yangyang is close enough to run towards, you envelope him in a bear hug, jumping around in excitement. He takes notice of your perfume– this is not the first time he’s smelled it, but the light aroma of roses and vanilla always manages to make him feel a strange sense of bliss. 

“You did so well! Oh my god, I’m so proud of you!” you yell encouraging words into his ear, making him jump a little from the loudness of your voice.

“Thank you!” he says, jumping around with you and squeezing you harder for a mere second. Something about you being the first one to congratulate him on the first step towards his big goal makes his heart swell, the sight of the light behind your eyes making him feel a tad emotional.

“Now let’s go party! Renjun and Jaemin are waiting at the bar,” you say as you move from him, “Jun ordered you a beer, he insisted that you liked it. If that’s not the case, blame him, not me.”

Laughing as you two disappear deeper into the bar, you quickly find the two at the bar, accompanied with Hendery, Chenle, and who he remembered was Mark, even though he’s only met him once. “Where’s Jeno?”

“Most likely somewhere with his groupies,” Renjun shrugs, sliding the beer closer to his best friend. “You did well, by the way. You looked like a rockstar,” he says, a teasing tone sent his way with a grin on the older one’s face. 

“Oh, shut the fuck up-”

“I mean it! Now, have your beer so we can get some shots,” he says, making Yangyang roll his eyes and chug the beer, although not in one go– he’s not a monster. Or an alcoholic. Yet.

Once he’s done with his drink, the group moves to one of the booths in the corner of the bar. It was full just a moment ago, but the group that was sitting there before left, so they were free to take their spot. It was more comfortable to sit on the royal-blue sofas than the tall, lanky barstools, and Yangyang was happy for the support of the cushions under his bottom, if he was about to drink more. His centre of gravity is always a little messed up once he has something to drink, so a tall barstool wouldn’t really help him in this case.

Glancing at you, sitting right next to him, you don’t seem as unhappy with Jeno’s lack of presence. It makes him feel a bit relieved, especially after the talk you two had at McDonald’s a week ago. He knows that one can’t just get over someone in a week, but the idea of you still yearning after someone who was so out of reach was making Yangyang’s head hurt, so he was happy to see that you’re not running after him, or trying to look for him in the crowded bar.

You take your phone out of your pocket, yelling over the loud music as you read out the text shining on the screen of your phone. “Hyuck should arrive here any minute! He says he’s sorry for missing the gig, but he had to watch his baby sister, so there was nothing he could do.”

“It’s okay!” Chenle yells back, taking another sip of one of the cocktails you ordered for him when he was still in the back. He complained about it looking too girly for his current look, but he liked the taste nonetheless, so the argument was quickly settled.

“Yeah!” Yangyang chimes in, “family comes first. And babysitting,” he adds.

“Wait! Didn’t you use to babysit too?” Jaemin asks over the music, pointing his eyes at Yangyang.

“He did!” Renjun agrees with a laugh.

“But they kicked him out because the girl he was babysitting learned the word fuck from him,” you add, laughing as you remember the story he told you once when he was over at your flat.

“That’s not why they fired me-”

“It was! You told me!”

“It really wasn’t, you’re just-”

“Listen. We all know that’s why, every other word that comes out of your mouth is a swear word,” you say, grinning at him as he gets worked up over the small argument.

“I don’t fucking swear-” he tries to argue, when it hits him. He… he just did. Right there.

“Anyways!” Jaemin chimes in to lighten the mood, “I believe it’s time for shots!”

“I-”

“No, Hendery, you can’t skip this round and no, we don’t care that sambuca makes you sick. Now, let’s get to it, lads!” 

The shot glasses with the clear liquid are distributed amongst everyone in the circle, all of them taking the shot. Once the glass is pressed against Yangyang’s lips, he catches a telling look from Renjun on the opposite side of the table; a one that asks what is going on between you and the girl you were too shy to talk to when you first met her, but he ignores it and just lets the sambuca shot hit his throat, swallowing. No one is brave enough to not make that disgusted face after taking a shot, but at least no one gets made fun of. Just yet. 

With Yangyang’s low alcohol tolerance, he can sense that the teasing is only yet to come.

More and more shots in, he can feel his head spinning and all jokes shared along the group get only funnier. Somewhere along the way, Hyuck arrives, squishing himself next to Mark at the edge of the seat, greeting everyone and congratulating Yangyang on his first ever gig. When there’s a promise to drink to that with him, Yangyang is suddenly tugged by his hand, making him almost fall over as you try to make him stand up from his place.

“No, pretty boy, you’ve had enough for now,” you say, “let’s dance it out, shall we?”

“Probably not the best idea, Y/N,” Renjun notes from the other side of the table.

“We’ll be fine.”

“No, you don’t understand, like, he will fall over. It will happen,” Renjun explains once more, the sureness in his voice not making you even bat an eye.

Yangyang doesn’t even try to advocate himself. There’s no use– Renjun is most likely right, and he will fall over. But he also doesn’t really pay attention to the conversation you’re having anyway, when your hand is still in his, fingers intertwined, and the nickname you used for him, although a little mockingly, is still ringing in his head.

Dragged across the dance floor, you two find your place in the corner, where there’s not that many people around. It’s getting late and the bar is only getting more crowded, leading towards the rush of the night, but Yangyang doesn’t find himself minding as you hug him loosely around his neck and swing with him to the music playing through the speakers.

“Are you alright?” you ask, looking at him with honest concern.

“Yeah,” he nods.

“Do you feel sick? Do you want water?” you ask him questions, all caring and making his heart swell. No one’s ever made sure he was okay when drinking before, so the sight of the frown on your face is making him feel content in your hold, as he dances with you– although not really catching the rhythm, since balance is the thing he’s trying to catch at this very moment. 

“I’m fine,” he says, smiling at you, “just a little drunk.”

“I can see that,” you laugh, “are you having a good time?”

He nods. “Are you?”

“I am,” you agree, smiling at him.

Yangyang finds himself pressed closer to you, but it really might just be because of the alcohol, when he talks closer to your ear. He doesn’t have to yell as much this way, and he finds it more comfortable, considering that he would still like to have his voice when he wakes up in the morning.

“Thanks,” he says.

“For what?”

“For… watching me play, I guess,” he shrugs, “and for staying here after.”

“I think you’re forgetting that all those other people are my friends as well, Yang,” you tease him, the tone of your voice making him shake his head in disbelief and roll his eyes at you.

“Okay, well, that’s true. But… I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I do. I just don’t know how to articulate myself.”

You laugh at the simple honesty behind his drunken slurs, finding the tired boy endearing. “It’s okay,” you don’t push him.

“It’s just… if it wasn’t for you, I probably wouldn’t be here tonight, that’s all,” he says, finally, not knowing that he secretly articulated everything he wanted and more, making you smile at him. 

One of the hands that was previously clasped with your other one around his neck moves up towards his face, brushing the hair that’s falling into his eyes out of his face. The boy watches you with big eyes, mouth a little agape in shock. This action feels intimate to him, only treasured between you two, tugged secretly in the corner of the club. He feels weak in his knees, and although he manages to hold himself up, he knows that it’s no longer the effect that alcohol has on him, but yours.

“Don’t thank me. You were made for this,” you say, “you shined out there, you know? Give it a few more gigs and you’ll have even more groupies than Jeno,” you giggle, pressing your forehead against his for a brief second, just to be close to him, allowing yourself to be sincere even in the loud atmosphere of the night.

Swallowing hard, Yangyang chuckles airly, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “You should probably stop looking at me like that.”

“What? Why?” you ask, confused.

“Because it’s making it really hard for me to act like I don’t like you,” he confesses, watching your expression shift– the wrinkle between your eyebrows appearing for a second before your palm moves away from his hair and briefly touches his cheek and you move away from him, shaking your head.

“You’re drunk, Yang.”

He is. But even being sober can’t make his feelings for you go away.

“Yeah. I am.”

KISS ME LIKE NOBODY WOULD WHEN I WAS SIXTEEN

When you and Yangyang meet, it’s usually either at your place, in your little room covered by posters and artwork, or in town with all your other friends; going to the skate park, or having boba at the local mall. You rarely have time for just each other alone, and the only times when Yangyang has you all for himself is in your quiet room, where you learn to play the guitar, and he stares at you with fondness when he casually plays you love songs just for the sake of playing something, not wanting you to see the intentions behind his song choices.

Today, though, you’re nestled at Yangyang’s place– at his little balcony, to be exact. His parents were going out to the theatre, they said, so you only met them briefly, but Yangyang is glad for that fact, because he’s almost certain they’d embarrass him in front of you with childhood stories or prying questions, assuming you two were together, and he’s not entirely ready to face that yet. 

Alone in the whole house, you tucked yourselves into the small space of the balcony, sat at the floor with pillows under your bottoms, looking out to the hills. Yangyang used to complain to his parents about the placement of the balcony– when he was little, he didn’t understand why someone would want to look outside and see nature, only metres and metres covered in tall trees, when they could look out and see the busy street, people living their lives, laughing and screaming in joy. The older he gets, though, the more he understands why this is so much better; the sight of nature calms him down, creating the balcony into a humble abode, a relaxing spot for him to watch the trees move with the wind. If he’s lucky, sometimes, he can even spot a stray deer, looking out of the forest, tasting the city on its tongue. He subliminaly tells it to come back where it came from, for it’s safer for the animal to be kept in the woods, but he feels like the sight of it makes him appreciate what he has even more.

It’s early November, the leaves of the trees in front of you are starting to turn all the pretty colours of the rainbow, orange hues making the place look ethereally beautiful. You sit next to him, legs crossed, your outfit the most casual he’s ever seen you wear. The sight of sweatpants and the loose hoodie on your frame makes him unconditionally happy, for it means that you’re comfortable with him to the point of not even needing to dress up. 

“Why is your guitar so different to mine?” you ask him, furrowing your brows in question.

“Mine’s an acoustic, yours is the classical one. The strings are different,” he notes, seeing you nod in understatement.

Your guitar lessons are not as frequent as they used to be– truth be told, you only paid for an actual lesson a few times. The other times, when you two just laid in your bed and talked about everything, only sometimes taking your guitar into your hands and playing a song or two, Yangyang refused to take any money from you. It would be like paying him for hanging out with you, and that’s not the case here. Sure, he helps you with playing, he shares advice, but it’s not the regular guitar class he gives to the kids in the neighbourhood, and that’s why he’d feel bad to make you pay for them. 

“They hurt my fingers,” you scowl, making Yangyang giggle at your hurt expression.

“They’re harder to play, ‘cause they’re steel,” he says, “want me to play instead?” 

“No,” you say, shaking your head, “I wanna show you something.”

Opening his eyes wide in surprise, Yangyang only nods, becoming you to start. When you came over into your room, you didn’t say much. Your eyes travelled around the walls, adoring the few posters he hung up above his bed, squinting at the collection of energy drink cans at the top of his wardrobe. There’s a bowl full of guitar picks on his table, which you scanned over faintly, and a hoodie, the only thing he forgot to clean up before you arrived, draped over his chair. When your eyes found one of his guitars– the acoustic one– in the corner of his room, you asked to borrow it, taking him by surprise.

Strumming the guitar a few times, testing it, trying to get to the rhythm and the sound of the new thing, you clear your throat and look at him again one last time before you start. “I practised some more, since your guitar lessons are pretty much useless now, when you won’t shut up for one minute-”

“That’s entirely your fault!”

“Whatever,” you mumble, “but, basically, I think I finally learned that song.”

Smiling faintly, perhaps a little nervously, you start playing the song you requested him to teach you in your first guitar lesson. The chords fall smoothly from your hand now, the strumming rhythmical and exactly like the original, everything falling into its place nicely.

You even start singing, and although your voice is not the prettiest one when you sing, the notes sounding flat and the high-notes a little shaky, although your voice isn’t like from the movies and you’re not a princess that’s good at everything, something about this moment feels truly special to Yangyang. When you notice the seriousness of the whole thing, his examining eyes and the lost expression, your singing turns more silly, purposefully not hitting the right notes towards the end of the song, dragging the lines for longer than you should, making Yangyang laugh.

He thinks that perhaps, he’ll remember this moment forever. When he’s old and the memory of you fades, his brain no longer able to make out the sound of your voice, he’ll go back to this day, to the strumming of the guitar, and he’ll have you back, for at least a second. He’ll remember the way your hair reflected in the golden hour, he’ll remember the sound of your voice when you sang the chorus of the song, he’ll remember the way you smiled at him after, a little proud, but still shy, and he’ll feel the same things he does today, looking at you in real time.

“How was it?” you ask, a hopeful glint in your tone.

“Wonderful,” he replies, and he means it– it’s an easy song to learn, sure, but he knows how much you’ve tried, how much work you truly put in. To work on something so hard and finally get to the goal, must feel fulfilling. He’s proud of you, in a way.

The grin that appears on your face is wider than he’d ever seen, as you put the guitar down next to you and try to battle it, as if you were afraid to show him just how much this moment meant to you.

“Thank you.”

“For what? This was all you, as you said, because I can’t shut up for one minute in our guitar lessons, so…”

“Fuck off, you know I was only joking,” you say, “we both know that I wouldn’t have done this without you. It’s a small victory, but it’s still important to me nonetheless.”

Your body shifts closer to him, a hesitant look on your face flashing for a second before you wipe it off and hug your companion from the side, both of your hands enveloping around his torso. Warmness spreads all through Yangyang’s body, making him wonder that perhaps, it’s the appreciation you are trying to convey, sending it to him through your touch. Your head rests on his shoulder, staying in your position for a few more minutes, just listening to the silence that’s only occasionally ruined by the chirping of birds or the shuffling of the wind in the trees.

Yangyang doesn’t dare to break the silence. He only lets you do as you please, when you pry your hands off him and move so you’re more comfortable, with your head still resting on his shoulder. It’s a simple act, but it means a lot to him– a subtle hint of affection, perhaps, which he treasures close to his heart.

Your hand silently finds his, resting in his lap. Taking it into your hold and playing with his fingers, Yangyang finds it hard to not think about just how much he’d like to kiss you right now. The smell of your shampoo mixed with the hint of your perfume hits his nose, lullying him to sleep. 

A little naive, perhaps, he thinks of the paradox– you started playing the guitar for someone you were chasing after, and proceeded with it for someone that was chasing after you. 

Or maybe, it was all because of yourself. You just needed someone that would support your little dreams. And with the dreams treasured somewhere deep in Yangyang’s insides, some that no one else but you knows, perhaps you two are a great duo. Nobody else would hold you up just as much as he does.

SO SPIN THE BOTTLE IN YOUR BRAIN AND MATCH THE WEAKNESS WITH A NAME

“If I knew that you’d just be doing your homework, I wouldn’t have come,” Yangyang mumbles as he lays on your bed, looking at his phone. His screen shifts with Tiktoks– the social media is almost embarrassingly too addictive for him not to check up on it once in a while, and now, when he has nothing better to do, he naturally gravitates towards it. 

Also, just for the record, that’s a lie. And he knows it– he just won’t admit it. Of course he would come anyway. Even if you told him that today’s activity is staring at the ceiling for three hours straight, he’d come. He’d come for any event you invite him to, because it means that he can spend time with you, stay in your presence. And that’s enough for him.

“Shut up,” you mumble, “I already pushed this assignment back too much, because you wanted to go get boba the other day.”

“So it’s my fault you’re late on assignments?” he gasps, offended, as he puts his phone down to put his whole attention towards you. 

“Yeah,” you nod, a little absently, “of course it is. You were distracting me from my studies.”

Scoffing, Yangyang shakes his head in disbelief. Truth be told, he’s happy to be your distraction. That means you gravitate towards him whenever you need to get your mind off things– that means he’s your safe space, in a way. The realisation warms his heart a little as he proceeds to climb off your bed, joining you on the floor.

You’re sprawled out on your white fluffy carpet, with a plastic white tablecloth thrown over the surface, a canvas plopped in the middle of it all, tubs of acrylic paint carelessly situated all over the floor. As an art major, your homework is different to the usual. You don’t write lengthy essays, although the time for them comes every once in a while when you take your Art History class. Your assignments mostly include doing art itself, not only studying it, but experiencing the beauty of creating on your own skin.

“What are you painting?” he asks, eyes scanning the canvas. 

It’s not a big one, it’s just the right size to fit on the plastic covering under it, making sure your pure white carpet doesn’t get paint stains on it. He notices the brushes all over the place– one is even thrown under the bed, making Yangyang chuckle as he remembers your sudden outburst of frustration a few minutes ago, huffing through the silence and throwing something to the other side of the room. 

“Don’t look. I hate when people look.”

“Why?” he asks, confused.

“It makes me feel watched. I don’t like it,” you mourn, stopping in your process and finding his eyes for a split second, truth mirroring in them.

“I’m not watching you,” he mutters, “I’m just looking. I’m appreciating the art, if you will.”

“You’re gonna judge it. I hate when people judge my art,” you say as you get back to painting, mixing the shades on your pallet and then moving back to the canvas, plopping them on there, creating all sorts of images in the small space, “it makes me wanna cry when they say it’s bad.”

“Isn’t that like… the whole point of art school?” he asks, confused.

“Yeah. Exactly,” you nod, making the boy hum in understatement. “Makes me feel fucking miserable, to be honest.”

Yangyang chuckles. The room falls into silence again, as you let him watch you paint. He feels special, for you said you don’t let people watch you, but even with his eyes plastered on the whole scene– your art, but mostly you, scanning your focused face– you don’t glare at him, you don’t curse him off, you just let him peacefully sit next to you, appreciating you.

After a while, you start to hum a song, seemingly happy with your progress on the painting. Your eyebrows relax and your face doesn’t look as tense, and when Yangyang takes a look at your painting, it seems like you’re almost finished; not a blank space left on the canvas, your hand taking the smallest, tiniest brushes, adding small details to the whole thing.

“What did you paint?” he asks again, making you chuckle.

“Don’t you have eyes?” you ask, making him roll his eyes at your question.

“I do,” he replies, “but I wanna know what it symbolises, you know. Like.. What was the theme you were supposed to paint and shit, that’s what I’m interested in.”

Your eyes meet his for a brief second, smiling. Perhaps no one’s ever asked you about your art in such depth before. “It’s a William Oliver replica. It’s a scene from Much Ado about Nothing,” you say, finally done with your piece, stretching back to straighten your neck.

The painting is a beautiful scenery, Yangyang would even go as far as saying it looks like the original, although he’s never seen it before. It’s a picture of two women sitting on a bench in the woods, one of them looking past her shoulder at a couple walking by, her expression distraught. He wonders why you chose the piece, but before he has time to ask, you’re already giving him the reply.

“We were supposed to replicate a painting that resembles one of our deepest emotions and… I chose this one,” you add, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

Taking one last look at the saddened woman, her expression dark and solemn with the sight of the couple passing by, Yangyang suddenly understands it all, he no longer has the need to ask you what the deepest emotion you have is, because it’s clear as day, right there in front of him, served on a golden plate.

And you might try to mask it, try to hide it from him as hard as you can; perhaps that’s why you haven’t told him the original name of the painting, after all, but he can see it in your eyes, he can sense it in the way you speak about him when he comes to your mind. 

Perhaps Yangyang understands your art so well because he deeply resonates. He too feels the way you do, he too looks at a pair passing by, the sight of them together making his heart clench with the feeling you can only describe as Unrequited Love.

I CAN STILL SMELL HER PERFUME, DID IT RUB OFF ON YOU?

“And…” Jeno’s singing suddenly trails off, his eyes shooting towards the ceiling as he searches for the next lyrics in his head, sighing when they don’t come to him as naturally as they always do. The band practice isn’t going well today, and frankly speaking, it’s getting on everyone’s nerves.

Hendery slams the drums with much furiosity, cutting the rhythm off abruptly. Yangyang finds himself following him, his strumming coming to a halt as an angry figure appears from behind him, screaming close to his ear.

“What the fuck, man?” Chenle yells at the leader of the band, sighing. “We have a gig in three days and you can’t even focus on a single band practice?” 

Jeno shrugs, pacing around. The frustration smeared all over his face is enough to make the whole group even more annoyed, the tense atmosphere making the air in the old garage feel particularly heavy. 

“You come to the practice late,” Chenle starts his little rant again, counting all the reasons why he’s annoyed with his bandmate on his fingers, “and mind you, the practice is at your fucking place. You live here and you’re half an hour late. Then, you’re all over the place; not paying attention to anything we have to say, forgetting the lyrics, playing the chords wrong in the few little songs where you actually have to play the guitar-”

“Are you done?” Jeno cuts him off, the tone of his voice stern and cold.

“I mean, I could go on, but it seems like you don’t really wanna hear it,” Chenle says, pacing towards the sofa and taking a seat on it.

“Glad you caught that,” he scoffs, not meeting anyone’s eye. 

Yangyang doesn’t say a word; he’s not the one for verbal or physical fights. Sure, he does have some pent-up anger inside of him, most of it aimed towards Jeno, but he won’t dare to show it. It’s not his place to say anything. He hasn’t been in the band for long, and for all he knows, the frustration he feels towards the boy may as well be because of the unreciprocated feelings you have for him. And now, that wouldn’t really be fair of Yangyang to act on, would it?

So instead, he wanders over to the corner of the room, figuring that it’s time for a break, sitting on one of the old, dusty armchairs. 

“What’s gotten into you?” Hendery asks, making the other boy frown.

“I don’t know, man,” he shrugs, indifferent, “I’ve got a headache.”

“Hangover again?” Chenle asks, the tone of his voice ironical and snappy, snickering to himself when the boy doesn’t reply and instead just looks ahead of him, too shameful to answer the simple question. “Of course. I could’ve guessed that.”

“Look, it’s not my fault that you don’t take the opportunities you’re getting into your hands,” Jeno shrugs, grinning to himself. Leaning over to the small coffee table in the middle of the garage, he takes the can of Redbull into his hands and takes a sip from it.

“What opportunities, you say?” Hendery asks.

“Well,” he starts, “the parties, the invitations, the attention…” he trails off, before a snarky look falls to place onto his face, “the girls…”

Chenle scoffs in response, putting his legs up onto the table. “Maybe if you gave more attention to responsibilities, the music and the band, we wouldn’t be still stuck in this fucking garage,” he shrugs and Hendery only hesitantly locks his eyes with him, nodding to show him that he agrees with his point.

“Well, it’s still my fucking garage, isn’t it?” Jeno grins, meeting the others’ eyes. 

After another set of sighs, nothing being able to loosen up the atmosphere and make the air lighter, Hendery moves from his spot on the sofa and takes the bag from the floor. “You should probably get some sleep. We’ll practise tomorrow, since you’re pretty much useless today.”

Chenle follows his actions, feet pacing around the garage to gather his things and hide his treasured bass guitar into the case, taking it with him. “See you tomorrow,” he says, turning around to wave at Yangyang, still sitting soundly in the corner of the garage.

With only the two of them left in the dusty practice room, Yangyang feels himself get awkward. The truth is, it’s easier to get on with Hendery and Chenle. He finds them to be more approachable, less intimidating and also more friendly. Yangyang doesn’t recall ever hearing Jeno speak to him with the niceness they always use, and he also doesn’t remember the prideful boy to ever look at him with eyes that would show that he finds him equal. Something about their relationship is always based on a feeling of superiority and however hard Yangyang tries, there’s nothing he can do to make the feeling go away.

Figuring that it’s his time to leave, he stands up and moves towards the sofa, where his bag is. 

“I hope you’re in better shape tomorrow,” he mutters, getting closer to where Jeno’s sitting.

“What, you’re gonna give me another lecture? I’ve heard enough, trust me,” he snaps back, making Yangyang furrow his brows in confusion and shock, sighing to himself. Leaning closer towards his bag on the sofa, something lingers in the air, and it’s not the awkwardness or the unsaid rivalry between the two.

It’s the smell of roses and vanilla, the faint aroma of it hitting his nose and making his stomach twist in anger. Suddenly, everything clicks into place– the hangover, him being late and all over the place, the smell of your perfume lingering on him wherever he goes.

“Were you with Y/N?” he asks.

“What?” he furrows his brows, pointing them onto the other boy as he scoffs. “You’re jealous?”

“Jealous?” 

“Yeah. Because I can get her whenever I want, and you can’t?” he says, cocky and full of confidence. “Don’t worry, I caught the way you feel about her long ago. Too bad she’ll never be yours, man.”

Gathering his things, hands trembling and his whole body lighting on fire, he finds himself walking off towards the exit. Turning around only once, he finally gets out what he’s been thinking of for the past few weeks. 

“You know what? Fuck you, Jeno. You can look for a new guitarist for your next gig now. I hope you find someone that doesn’t find you absolutely fucking insufferable.”

You might be completely his, magically under the rockstar’s spell, but the truth is, sadly, that Lee Jeno can never be truly yours. You’re always gonna have to share him with every single girl at the club, with all his crazy fans that post about him on Facebook. You’re always just gonna be his second choice, the girl he turns to when no one else is around, the girl he uses for his pleasure when there’s no other person willing to get on with him.

And that makes Yangyang perhaps even more furious than if you were dating. 

This might be his deepest dream, the thing he’s felt the most happy and excited about in a long while, but still, he can’t find it in him to continue in a band with someone that only finds you when they feel like it, stripping you off of everything, using you to their best and then throwing you out like a piece of trash, not satisfied with you anymore.

He could never go on with someone like that.

IT’S 3:45, THE TAXI’S NOT ARRIVED, I DON’T THINK THAT HE’S COMING

The rain hitting the asphalt does nothing to make Yangyang feel better about everything– truthfully, it makes him feel even worse, as expected with the gloomy weather, as he walks down the street towards the bus stop at the edge of the neighbourhood, the one that is the furthest away from his house, away in the crevices of the roads that he doesn’t know that well, despite living there his whole life.

It’s a little past eleven and he’s gotten your text just about ten minutes ago. The contents of it were simple, just a single sentence asking him to meet you at the bus stop at the edge of the neighbourhood, far away even from your house alone. 

You two haven’t spoken in a little over three days. After quitting the band, he’s pretty much sheltered himself from everyone. Even Renjun’s calls were getting ignored, and while the rest of the group just figured to leave the poor boy alone, his best friend made it his quest to walk down to his house and scream at him in person, for the little angry human was worried that his friend was six feet under a long time ago.

Nearing the little glass box, acting as a bus stop, Yangyang already sees your figure sitting at one of the benches, knees up and pressed towards your chest, hugging yourself. The sight of you makes Yangyang’s heart break just the slightest, for he already knows what’s going on just by reading your text message. It would be healthier for him to stay at home and leave you to deal with everything on your own, but he was never the one for good life choices. Somehow, he always has to fuck himself over. His own sweet self-sabotage.

Drenched in rain, droplets of water falling off the tip of his nose, he finally makes his way towards you and sits on the bench next to you. Sniffling a little, presumably from the cold, he waits for you to talk first. It’s hard for him to find words to say to you at this moment. No conflict happened between the two of you, but he’s sure you already know about what happened between him and Jeno, and he doesn’t have it in him to talk about it. He doesn’t know what you think about the whole thing; he also doesn’t know how Jeno explained it to everyone. All he knows is that the uncomfort he felt whenever he was around him is not something he should be putting up with, and that the decision he made was final, and also good for him, in the end.

“Why didn’t you take an umbrella with you?” you ask him, your voice faint in the silence of the night.

Shrugging, he snickers. “Dunno.”

The truth is, Yangyang doesn’t like umbrellas. Walking anywhere with them feels awkward and embarrassing, and he’d rather die than to feel humiliated. It’s a habit of his, to walk everywhere without an umbrella, even when it’s storming outside. The struggle of getting his wet clothes off before he hops into a hot shower is not really worth it, if he really thinks about it, but old habits are hard to break.

Taking the hood off his head, Yangyang runs his hands through his hair, shaking the water out. You lean away from him for just a second, trying to shield yourself from the droplets of water flying everywhere, but there’s no use– you end up getting a little wet anyway.

Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he finally breaks off the awkward silence. “There are no buses coming at this hour.”

You nod. “I know.”

“So… why are you here, then?” he asks. 

Shrugging, you sniffle from the cold as well, making Yangyang notice the lightness of your clothes. The fabric looks thin, the mesh long-sleeve doing nothing to shield you from the cold, and he suddenly regrets not bringing another jacket with him to keep you warm. 

“You already know why, Yangyang,” you mumble, “you already know.”

“What happened?” he asks. 

The truth is, Yangyang has a faint idea. He may have quit the band, but he hasn’t forgotten the schedule yet– today is the day of the gig. It’s a special one, presumably, because it’s away from the town. A big bar somewhere in a big city called Chucky Tribute to play on the opening night, so there must be a lot of people there, leading the band to getting more recognition than ever before. Everyone went– the whole friend group, including Renjun and Donghyuck, although the latter always seems to be late everywhere. Everyone went… except for you two.

“Jeno was supposed to drive me,” you say, “but he never showed up. I called him numerous times, sent him lots of texts, but he just wouldn’t reply.”

“Have you tried reaching the others?” he asks.

“I have. They arrived safely, had a great show…. Jeno didn’t mention me… you know, it’s funny,” you chuckle ironically, bitterness behind your tone, “Jaemin thought I just didn’t feel like coming today. They’re all there and now I look like a douchebag that doesn’t want to support their friends. It’s ridiculous.”

“That makes two of us,” Yangyang scoffs, trying to lighten the situation.

Humming, you only resolve to nod. “Then, Jeno texted me saying he’ll send a taxi for me and that I should wait here.”

“He did?”

“Yeah,” you faintly reply, shuddering from the cold. “So I’m… waiting, I guess.”

Yangyang smiles to himself. Everything about you screams devastation– the way your eyes don’t meet his, the way you refuse to change your position into another one, hugging yourself to comfort. The makeup under your eyes is a little smeared, but he won’t mention it. You look devastatingly lonely, and something about you texting Yangyang just to battle the feeling makes him feel at least a little valued by you. It’s a sign of something– a sign of your trust, perhaps.

You’re waiting for Jeno’s taxi. It should make him seep in envy, but it doesn’t. Strange.

“You know, I finished my song the other day. I could show it to you sometime,” you say, starting a conversation, “it had a lot to fix and I wasn’t quite happy with it, but I think you’d like it. It’s… it means a lot to me.”

“Sure,” Yangyang nods, scooping himself closer to you. Seeing you shudder from the cold once again, he bites on his lower lip, hesitating on his next question, but saying it out-loud nonetheless. “I know this might sound a bit out of place and as if I’m being stingy by not offering it to you, but I’m really cold as well, so do you wanna share my jacket?” 

Looking at him for the first time since he got there, you shake your head in disbelief and break out into a grin. “You’re unbelievable,” you say, “but yeah, sure. Thanks.”

Moving closer, Yangyang takes off one of the sleeves on his jacket, pressing his side flush to yours, watching you as you take his jacket and drape it over your right side. Soon enough, taking the boy by surprise, your left arm moves under the jacket and hugs him around the waist, making yourself more comfortable in the awkward position. 

“Thank god for your ridiculously oversized clothing,” you mumble as you sigh in warmness, making him snicker.

Sitting in silence, the time passing without either of you knowing or noticing, the intimacy and closeness of you two occupying both of your minds, Yangyang wonders how he ended up in this mess. Living his teenage dream for a little over a month, playing one show, getting to know you and falling for you harder than he’s ever fallen for anyone before. He thinks he’d rather be unaware of his growing feelings for you. It’s not like they hurt him, it’s not like the idea of not being loved back by you makes his heart break or anything, but he feels like slowly, it’s ripping on his edges and making him feel a little worn-out. 

He wonders why your actions towards him haven’t changed since he drunkenly told you that he liked you. You showed no signs of discomfort with him, no awkwardness. It’s like somewhere in the depths of your soul, you were content with the idea of Liu Yangyang being in love with you. What that says about you, he doesn’t know, but it’s sure that it has to mean something.

Your head slowly falls onto his shoulder. The steady rhythm of the rain falling on top of the roof of the glassy bus stop acts like a lullaby, the darkness, only lightly discarded with the yellow hue of the lamppost a few metres away providing you a shield of some sort. The neighbourhood is almost scarily silent, but it’s no wonder due to the late hours of the day.

“I’m glad you came,” you mumble.

“Of course I came,” he replies. The choice of his words is quite obvious– there’s nothing else he could do, but to help you ease the pain of being thrown away to the side by Lee Jeno once again. After some time, it almost looks like he’s getting used to it.

“Sometimes, I wish I loved someone else. Sometimes, I wish that someone was…” you trail off, not finishing your sentence, but rather choosing to start a new one instead, “Jeno doesn’t deserve it. I’m done with him now. For good.”

Yangyang doesn’t reply, leaving your words to sink in. Noticing the familiarity of your sentences, the things you’ve already said to him multiple times ago, he only snickers in half-amusement, half-pain. “Are you?”

Thinking, you shrug. “Most likely.”

“I mean… it’s okay. You can’t really make your emotions go away like that,” Yangyang says. He knows what he’s talking about, after all– he tried.

“Yeah,” you agree, “but I think it doesn’t hurt to try.”

Remaining silent, Yangyang pays attention to the rhythm of the raindrops falling to the ground. Your body hangs off his, holding on to his clothing as if to keep yourself afloat. Somewhere along the way, his arm found its way around your waist, but he doesn’t really remember when it happened. All he registers is the faint movement of his fingers against your skin, trying to calm down the storm you refuse to show him, but he knows too well is going on inside of you at this very moment.

Eyes travelling towards the red neon sign outside of the bus stop, Yangyang finds that it’s 3:45am already and the time he spent with you passed by without him even noticing.

“It’s getting late,” he says.

“It’s been late for at least a few hours now, Yang,” you mumble, the nickname rolling off your tongue soundly.

“Yeah, but I mean… I don’t think the taxi’s coming,” he explains, a bit of hesitance in his voice, trying not to break your illusion.

“Oh, I know,” you muse, “I know. I knew it the very moment he sent the text that he’s gonna call it for me.”

Your statement confuses him, makes him furrow his brows and search for an answer. When you don’t explain further, he gets it, somehow, and the realisation both breaks him and makes him feel content all at once, as most things about you always do.

You already knew you could never trust a word that comes out of Lee Jeno’s mouth. And in times where you most need comfort, you call Yangyang. 

You always call Yangyang. 

“Let’s go home then, shall we? I’ll walk you.”

I’D LOVE TO BE IN LOVE WITH YOU ENOUGH TO WRITE A LOVE SONG

Looking at you plucking the strings of your jet-black guitar, sitting in your room, Yangyang is enveloped with a strange sense of nostalgia that cuts right through his bones and sits inside of his stomach. You’re sitting at the opposite edge of the bed, not looking him in the eye as you strum an unfamiliar melody.

Nothing much changed since the two of you met for the first time. You’re still the same you that surprised him with a sharp remark as he entered your house for the first time, the same you that he silently adores and watches, paying attention to all details; the freckles on your skin, the calluses on your fingers, the hesitant smile you flash him as you start singing the lyrics to your song almost absent-mindedly. And he’s still the same person you met in the park; the boy with a dream, only waiting to be fulfilled, the boy that tries so hard to find his place in the world. The boy that quietly supports you with each step you take, the boy that fell for you fast and hard, without knowing how to control it.

Your room is still the same shade of white, splashed with colour on the edges, where the posters reach. The comfort and the easiness of the atmosphere is still the same as well. 

The truth is, everything stays the same. Time passed, but nothing happened. Ignoring the mess in the middle, it’s like you’ve come full circle, stayed exactly the same, stuck in motion, but progressing nowhere. Yangyang can’t choose if it’s scary or comforting. 

But when your eyes meet and you sing the lyric, your voice unsteady, but absolutely, 100% raw and honest, Yangyang thinks that perhaps something changes over time. His feelings for you don’t disappear, not at all, but they progressively grow. They deepen and he starts to understand them, getting in touch with them, welcoming them despite knowing they will never get received and reciprocated.

“I’d love to be in love with you enough to write a love song,” you sing, the easy chords forming a melody, the lyrics hitting the boy in the stomach. 

It’s like they’re addressed to him the same way they were addressed to yourself. A silent confession, opening yourself up to him completely, because after all this time, he’s the only one you can get yourself to fully trust and let see everything. The truth is, he deserves it. After being so patient; after being so calm and caring with you and your emotions. 

When you’re finished with the song, putting the guitar aside, Yangyang can’t help but grin at you.

“Us two could make a band, you know,” he smiles, seeing you roll your eyes at him.

“Don’t think the rockstar life is for me, dude,” you say, moving closer to him, but still keeping your distance. That’s how it works between the two of you all the time, in a way; you always somehow get closer, but the pit between the two of you never really disappears. Maybe, it never will. But that’s okay. 

Yangyang is okay with that. 

He’s not angry about it anymore. The truth is, some situations can make him truly furious; seeping with jealousy, cursing at his fate for making him feel the things he does, asking himself all the what ifs and why me questions. But after taking a step back, Liu Yangyang can finally recognise what he found and what he learned, and appreciate the anger for being there, for it’s an emotion as well and he has to let himself feel it, and finally let it go.

Maybe, he’ll never have a band. Maybe, he’ll never be the same as Lee Jeno. Maybe, he’ll never have you.

But he’s not angry about it anymore.

Your body slowly shuffles next to him, putting your head on his shoulder. Something about the gesture makes him feel all warm inside, a slight smile creeping up his lips at the sight of you curled up to his side.

And once again, he thinks that perhaps, he’ll remember this moment forever. When he’s old and the memory of you fades, his brain no longer able to make out the sound of your voice, he’ll go back to this day, to the strumming of the guitar, and he’ll have you back, for at least a second. He’ll remember the way your hair reflected in the golden hour, he’ll remember the sound of your voice when you sang the chorus of your song, he’ll remember the way you smiled at him after, a little proud, but still shy, and he’ll feel the same things he does today, while looking at you in real time.

And that’s okay for him. Sometimes, even a glimpse of someone is enough.

When you cuddle up with him in the bed later that day, watching Netflix like the old times; when a kiss lands into his hair and makes him shy away from your touch, he wonders if he’ll ever live up to Lee Jeno and if he’ll ever get loved by you the same way you loved him before.

He’s not angry anymore. 

Well, sometimes, he is.

#nct #wayv #yangyang #liu yangyang #nct x reader #wayv x reader #yangyang x reader #nct fluff #wayv fluff #yangyang fluff #nct angst #wayv angst #yangyang angst #nct fic #wayv fic #yangyang fic #nct imagine #yangyang imagine #wayv imagine #nct scenario #wayv scenario #yangyang scenario

[000ceanus]

That Pretty Smile of His

Pairing: Liu Yangyang x socially anxious!gn!reader

Genre/s: Fluff

TW: alcohol (if there is more, please let me know.)

Masterlist

✧༝┉˚❋ ❋˚┉༝✧

You step inside the party, drinks flowing, lights strobing, and people dancing around. There is a lot of people, which is anxiety inducing. However, you promised him you would be here. So you sucked it up and trudged onwards.

After a few steps in, you see Yangyang, staring at you with his mouth agape. You see him mouth a few words to the people he’s with—which you then realize are his roommates—and slowly stalk towards you, never breaking eye contact.

“You look pretty,” he says, in a quiet tone you almost didn’t hear, were it not for his soft, pretty lips mouthing them. Then, a bit louder, “You know, I didn’t think you would come when I invited you.”

“Is that a bad thing?” You ask meekly.

“No, not at all. I hoped you would come,” he says, “Do you want a drink?”

You nod.

“The kitchen is this way,” he gestures towards a doorway, “Unless you want to go around and say hi? I can bring your drink to you.”

You quickly shake your head. “No, I want to stay with you.”

He then flashes that pretty smile of his.

“If that’s okay,” you say.

“It’s alright; I got you.” His grin was not going away one bit. He turns towards where he gestured earlier and places his hand on your back. “This way,” he says, and he leads you towards the kitchen.

(If you just strain your ear a little more, over the noise, you would be able to hear whoops from where Yangyang came and, “Our baobei is making moves on his crush!”)

“What drink do you want?” He asks.

“Do you have (alcoholic drink of choice)?”

“Woooow, you know exactly what you want, huh? I thought you didn’t drink?” He teases you, opening the fridge.

“That’s only what you assumed.” Then, “I drink with my family, It’s my first time drinking in a party—or being in a party like this.”

“I hope I’m being a good host, then?” He opens for you your drink, hands it to you, then pours his own drink.

“The best,” you tell him.

He smiles at that. “What do you want to do, or where do you want to go?”

You pause for a while. Noticing your anxiousness about the party, he says, “Do you want to go to the balcony?”

You release a breath you didn’t know you were holding and say, “Sure.”

Once more, he places his hand on your back and leads you to a glass door.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” he says, once he opens the door.

“Even though I’m taking you away from your party? You can go back there, if you want.”

“It’s okay, I don’t even like parties anyways.”

“Liar.”

He laughs and takes a swig of his drink while leaning on the railing. “I’m really glad you’re here,” he says.

“Don’t you want to go with your friends?” You’re trying to give him a way out again.

“But you are my friend.”

After that, you spend the time away in a comfortable mix of silence and conversation.

“…Do you know, we went to Jeju on a vacation? But it was so cold and cloudy during those days, we couldn’t enjoy it that much.”

“Poor Renjun,” you say.

“Hey, and what about me?”

Mustering up your liquid courage, you lean closer, comb your free hand through his hair, and say, “Poor Yangyang,” with a smile.

He looks at you for a while and swallows, his eyes flickering their gaze from your eyes and your lips.

He raises your chin with his fingers and asks, quietly, shakily, “Can I kiss you?”

This is one of the few times you feel brave. You lean in, and the kiss feels electrifying. It feels as if fireworks are going off all around you, celebrating your long-awaited kiss.

Once you both lean away, he flashes that pretty smile of his at you. You can’t help but smile back at him.

#liu yangyang x reader #liu yangyang fluff #liu yangyang #wayv x reader #wayv scenarios #wayv yangyang #wayv fluff #wayv yangyang fluff #nct wayv #wayv fanfic #yangyang scenarios #yangyang fluff #yangyang #nct x reader #nct imagines #nct fluff #nct scenarios #nct fanfic #nct #yangyang fic #liu yangyang fic #wayv fic #nct fic #wayv oneshot #yangyang oneshot #liu yangyang oneshot #nct oneshot #yangyang imagines #yangyang x reader

[oceanlix]

Day 16: Yangyang + Car sex

Pairing: Yangyang x female reader

Genre: Smut

Word Count: 1414

Warnings: Breast play, nipple play, car sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, slight degradation

Kinktober 2022 Masterlist

Yangyang knows the universe is unfair to everyone, but it seems like this situation is just flat out cruel. As he glances at you in the rear view mirror, adjusting your skirt and blouse, he can’t help but think whatever higher powers are out there just want him to have blue balls forever.

He’s had his eye on you from your first day at the company, even before Ten had snatched you up for himself. But you had never given him the time of day, something he hadn’t been all that used to before you came along. Dozens of women in the office flirted with and tried to bed him regularly, but he had become uninterested since he’d laid eyes on you. And now that your divorce from Ten was finalized, Yangyang felt like he had to finally try and shoot his shot.

Unfortunately for him, you were working on yourself now. Or at least, that was the line you’d feed the countless men that had approached you in the last few months. You’d turned down everyone from CEOs to waiters; Yangyang knew he wouldn’t be the first guy you went for, not even for a rebound. He had no major self esteem or body image issues, but he also wasn’t delusional.

Yangyang glances in the rear view mirror again, just in time to see you unbuttoning a button on your blouse that changes your appearance from ‘questionably professional’ to ‘definitely pushing company dress code guidelines’. His mouth goes dry as he catches a peek of your bra, the black lace hugging your chest just right before it disappears again from his view.

“My meeting will only take 30 minutes,” you inform him, meeting his eyes with a small smirk. “When I get back, we can go to lunch.”

He nods, not quite trusting his voice to cooperate with him at this moment.

You get out of the car, hips swaying as you walk into the hotel you’re meeting your colleague at. Yangyang’s pants tighten as he keeps his eyes on your ass, knowing he’s a total goner. He’s more determined now than ever to get you under him, a plan beginning to form in his head.

—-

It’s obvious what you’ve been doing when you return to the car, this time sitting up front in the passenger seat next to your chief of staff. Or at least, it’s obvious to him. Your blouse is buttoned up wrong, your hair is just a little bit out of place, and your lips are swollen where you’ve been kissed over and over. Yangyang licks his lips as he gestures to your blouse, waving his hand abstractedly.

“Oh,” you giggle, quickly unbuttoning your shirt. “Thanks.” He can’t help his jaw going slack, not expecting you to just expose yourself to him in that way. But before he even has a chance to appreciate the way your lingerie compliments your skin tone, you’re buttoned back up properly. You glance over at him with a curious expression, wondering why he’s so quiet.

Yangyang feels like he’s going to go crazy if he doesn't do something. Before he can stop himself, his hand is coming up to cup your cheek. Judging by the surprise in your expression, you hadn’t been expecting it. But you also weren’t shoving his hand away, so Yangyang thinks he could maybe take it a little bit further.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispers, bringing his face closer to yours as he leans over the console of the car. You stay silent, eyes fluttering shut just as he presses his lips to yours. You aren’t going to stop him; how could you say no to your extremely hot chief of staff? To be honest, you’re surprised to find out he has any interest in you at all with the way the women in the office fawn over him.

With a little growl, Yangyang grabs your ass, pulling your body over the console and into his lap while his kisses get more and more insistent. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he confesses against your mouth.

“Yeah?” You find yourself breathless as he makes quick work of unbuttoning your shirt, tossing it into the back seat. “How often have you thought about this?”

“Since your first day in the office,” he breathes. He unhooks your bra and pushes the straps off, immediately rolling a nipple between his fingers as he litters your chest with kisses. “You walked in like you already owned the place, and when you bent over your desk...I knew right then that I wanted to fuck you.”

You moan as his lips attach to your other breast, sucking and flicking over the nipple to give it the same treatment as the other. “That long?”

“Yeah, even before you met Ten. I’ve dreamed of taking you late at night in the office, after everyone’s left for the day and it’s just the two of us. I always thought you’d look so good under me, crying for me while I fuck you into next week. But you never even gave me the time of day.” Yangyang reaches between the two of you and under your skirt, pressing his hand flat against your soaking wet panties. “Seems like you’re thinking about me now, though.”

Your hips jerk towards his hand, though the cramped space doesn’t allow for much movement. “You talk awfully dirty, Mr. Liu,” you groan. “Can you prove it?”

Thank god for tinted windows, Yangyang thinks as he grabs your ass and grinds you down into his lap. “Sit up for a second,” he tells you. As soon as you’re up, he unbuttons his slacks and shoves them down to his knees along with his underwear. His cock slaps against his stomach as he reaches between your legs again, pulling your panties to the side. Then he’s guiding you onto his dick, dragging his tip back and forth across the wetness of your folds before pushing inside slowly.

“Oh, that feels so good,” you moan, clutching at his shoulders. You’re still sensitive from your earlier romp, so you try to stay still as long as possible. Yangyang doesn’t seem to be the type to go easy on you.

“Yeah? Tell me how good my cock feels. Is it filling you up enough?” Yangyang nibbles on your earlobe, his hands roaming all over your ass and breasts. “Tell me when I can move.”

You don’t answer him, instead rolling your hips against his experimentally. “Fuck me already, would you?”

Your chief of staff looks at you with darkened eyes, and before you can make another teasing remark, he’s lifting you off his cock. He drops you back down right away, the tip hitting deep inside your core as you moan wildly.

Yangyang grips your hips and begins thrusting up into you at a rapid pace, the wet squelching sound making him groan. “You’re so hot,” he grunts, leaning forward to kiss your chest. “Such a tight little pussy even though you just got fucked.”

“Yangyang,” you whine, digging your nails into his shoulders.

“I bet that other guy only lasted one round,” he hisses. “I can promise you I’ll last longer than that, if you can keep up.”

Your head falls forwards onto his shoulder, your breasts bouncing against his chest as he continues to fuck you at a brutal pace. Your orgasm is building quickly, and it’s all you can do just to mouth helplessly at his neck. He sees this and reaches between you, pinching your clit with his fingers.

“Come for me,” he commands roughly, and you find yourself creaming his cock right after. The pulsing of your walls has him groaning, but he grabs the base of his dick and squeezes. He isn't done with you just yet, and while he’s sure you could get him back to full hardness rather quickly, he doesn’t want to waste any of his time with you. You still have several afternoon meetings to attend, after all.

When you’re done, you slump against him, wiping your sweaty hair away from your forehead as you try to catch your breath.

“So, do you still wanna go get lunch?” Yangyang teases, reaching over to squeeze your thigh.

You shoot him a glare, letting out a huff. “No,” you answer, rolling your eyes. “In fact, please cancel all my meetings for the rest of the day. I have a rather big bone to pick with my chief of staff.”

#nct smut #wayv smut #yangyang smut #yangyang x reader #yangyang fic #kinktober 2022 #my fics #300

[saturnznct]

getting your daughter ready for her first day of pre-school | l.yy

➸ request from yellow anon; hi sadie! i hope you're doing wonderful these days <3 i miss yangyang and julia content sooooo can you maybe do yangyang getting emotional sending julia off to her first day of pre-school? you can do this request whenever you want to, no rush! -yellow anon

➸ note; hi thank u so much yellow anon bestie!! i had so much fun writing this and i can’t wait to get back into writing now!

➸ word count; 1404 words

➸ julia; aged 3

nct masterlist

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

‘I don’t think I can do this,’ Yangyang declares, back flat against the mattress as he stares up at your bedroom ceiling. 

You’ve only just silenced your alarm, groggily stretching your legs and shifting around in his arms, getting comfortable, but he’s wide awake, dreading the thought of having to send his baby girl off to school for the first time. 

‘I just hope she makes friends,’ you ruminate, several scenarios running through your mind all at once. Julia was a sociable and friendly girl, already having a best friend in Ten’s oldest, Charlie, who was a year younger than her in school, and thus won’t be joining her today. Visions of Julia potentially not fitting in or struggling to talk to the other children make your heart split in two. 

‘I just hope she makes friends,’ you ruminate, several scenarios running through your mind all at once. Julia was a sociable and friendly girl, already having a best friend in Ten’s oldest, Charlie, who was a year younger than her in school, and thus won’t be joining her today. Visions of Julia potentially not fitting in or struggling to talk to the other children make your heart split in two. 

‘I just hope she makes friends,’ you ruminate, several scenarios running through your mind all at once. Julia was a sociable and friendly girl, already having a best friend in Ten’s oldest, Charlie, who was a year younger than her in school, and thus won’t be joining her today. Visions of Julia potentially not fitting in or struggling to talk to the other children make your heart split in two. 

‘See, you’re worrying too,’ Yangyang gives you a lukewarm smile, slightly teasing but also mirroring your worry, ‘to be honest, my stomach hurts. I feel sick.’

‘My chest hurts,’ you admit, ‘mix of worry for her but also it hurts how old she’s getting. She’s so big and independent, I remember when she was just our little baby girl, just born in her crib.’

‘I miss it too,’ Yangyang smiles, thinking back on the fond memories, ‘maybe we should make another one.’

‘No, not yet,’ you dismiss the suggestion immediately, ‘maybe in a few more years, when I’ve caught up on some sleep.’

‘Fair point,’ Yangyang mumbles sleepily, ‘speaking of which, we should probably wake the sleeping lion up. Make her some breakfast.’

‘We have the right stuff for pancakes?’ You check, knowing Julia’s favourite.

‘Yeah, I checked last night. I knew she’d probably ask.’

The two of you sleepily toddle into your toddler’s bedroom, which is illuminated only by a small pink nightlight. 

Julia herself is fast asleep, bundled in a heap of blankets and stuffed animals, notably her Jellycat sheep bought by her uncle Kun. 

‘Jules,’ Yangyang lightly shakes her awake. She grunts in protest, squirming around and chasing the warmth that has been made as she’s slept.

‘Julia,’ he tries again, and this time her eyes flutter open, meeting her fathers own identical ones. 

‘Wha-‘ she mutters, tiny hands starting to rub at her eyes.

‘It’s a really exciting day today Jules,’ Yangyang smiles, ‘it’s school today, remember what I told you about? I’m going to make you special pancakes, ok?’

Julia nods sleepily, approving of this plan, and and you lift her up by her armpits, setting her down in the middle of the room so you can start getting her dressed. 

In the Liu household, ‘special pancakes’ are characterised by blueberries being mixed into the batter, as well as seven different shades of food colouring so that the pancake stack forms a rainbow. Naturally, Julia only eats two or three of the toddler-sized pancakes, so you and Yangyang gorge on the rest. Julia just appreciates the visuals. 

Yangyang takes his place in the kitchen while you set out Julia’s outfit for the day, which you had meticulously chosen the day before. 

You wanted something she could play comfortably in, something she could get messy with paint or pens or dirt if needed, so you chose a plain lilac shirt and some dark blue cotton trousers. 

‘I don’t know if I should dress her now or not,’ you say, ‘cause if she eats pancakes she’s just going to get muck all over them before we even leave.’

‘Good point,’ Yangyang has just served the last pancake of the stack, ‘i’ll get her ready once she’s finished.’

‘But you’ve already done her breakfa-‘

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Yangyang hums, kissing your cheek, ‘just get her packed lunch out the fridge and make sure her bag is all packed and we’re golden.’ 

‘Okay,’ you nod, swallowing the lump in your throat and taking a seat at the table. 

The three of you happily chow down on your pancakes - Yangyang really makes great pancakes - and as there’s no time to waste, dishes are quickly thrown into the dishwasher. 

Yangyang takes Julia to get dressed in her bedroom, as you rifle through her little backpack, double checking everything that should be there is there. 

‘Change of clothes, sun hat, rain hat, empty bottle- lunchbox.’ 

You head over to the fridge and pull it out. It’s cute, light pink with her favourite Kakao friends character on. 

You and Yangyang had already made up her lunch and packed the bag the night before to save yourself time this morning. You had both had throughly enjoyed making the food for her, cutting up ham sandwiches with a star shaped cookie cutter and making little fruit kebabs with grapes and apples. 

You’re just slipping the lunch bag into the backpack when Yangyang appears in the doorway, Julia on his hip. 

‘Oh, are we ready to go?’ You smile, ‘I love your outfit Jules.’ 

She looked so cute, Yangyang had tied her thin hair into a tiny ponytail. 

‘Mummy/mommy, I don’t want to go,’ Julia sniffles, small hands balled into fists, ‘I want to stay and play with you all day.’

You feel your heart split into two, and judging by Yangyang’s expression, he’s feeling the same way. 

‘Aww, Jules,’ you try to remain strong and reassuring to her, ‘you’ll have so much fun! There will be so many nice people and cool toys to play with. And mummy/mommy and daddy have made you star sandwiches that you can have while you’re there.’

She seems a bit less apprehensive, but still a bit nervous.

‘And you’ve met your teacher,’ Yangyang points out, ‘Miss Choi was really nice wasn’t she? She’ll take good care of you.’ 

Julia nods, remembering the settling in session she’d been to. 

‘And you’ll have so much fun all day, that before you know it, mummy/mommy and daddy will be back to pick you up.’ 

‘Really?’

‘Yeah sweetheart. It’ll go so fast.’

‘Ok, I’ll go.’

‘That’s my girl,’ Yangyang grins, ‘let’s go get our shoes on.’

A few minutes of velcro straps and putting on coats one arm at a time later, you’re walking to the car. 

You can sense Yangyang’s emotions even without seeing his face; he doesn’t want to let her go. Regardless, he hides it well in front of his daughter, strapping her safely into her car seat. 

‘I’ll drive,’ you hold up the keys, ‘I don’t think you’re in a fit state to do it yourself.’

He laughs weakly at this, ‘you’re not wrong.’

The drive is filled with mostly Disney music (specifically Encanto and Frozen, Julia’s favourites) which has become a regular daily occurrence for your drives. You worry for your Spotify wrapped. 

Eventually you make it to the pre-school, where several teary parents and small children are descending on the entrance. 

Yangyang takes a deep breath before unloading Julia and her bag from the car, holding her little hand as the three of you walk across the car park. 

‘Mr and Mrs Liu, it’s so nice to see you both, and Julia!’ Miss Choi smiles, ‘I know you’re probably both a bit emotional today, but before you both know it it’ll be home time.’

You squeeze Yangyang’s hand. 

‘Are you ready to go Jules?’

She nods her head shyly, taking her backpack from your hands. 

‘You can put that on your peg over there Julia,’ Miss Choi motions towards the lines of pegs for the children. 

Julia realises this means she’ll have to venture off without either you or Yangyang, so she turns back to the two of you, brown eyes wide in worry. 

You both crouch down to her level. 

‘There’s nothing to worry about Jules,’ you reassure her, ‘we’ll be back very soon, ok?’

‘Bye bye mummy/mommy.’

‘Bye angel,’ you hug her, ‘love you.’

‘Love you too. Bye daddy.’

‘Bye bye Jules,’ Yangyang hugs her too, I love you.’

‘I love you too daddy.’

‘I know sweetheart. You wanna go put your bag on your peg?’

She nods, waving one last time before rushing over to her peg, before disappearing out of sight into the toddler room of the pre-school. 

‘Can I cry now?’ Yangyang breaks the sad silence. 

‘In the car,’ you answer simply. 

#dad!yangyang #yangyang dad au #yangyang x reader #liu yangyang x reader #nct x reader #wayv x reader #yangyang fluff #yangyang fic #yangyang scenarios #yangyang fanfic #yangyang blurbs #yangyang drabbles #yangyang soft hours #yangyang timestamp #yangyang x y/n #yangyang imagines #yangyang au #yangyang #liu yangyang #wayv fanfic #wayv fic #wayv fluff #dad!nct #dad!wayv #nct fluff #nct dad au #wayv dad au #julia liu

[karatficrecs]

yangyang special :)

hey guys! anyone notice there’s a shortage in yangyang fics? i’ve compiled my favourites , so please enjoy them !

(also happy late birthday yangyang :D )

iced matcha by @nsheetee - college student!yangyang x barista!reader, coffee shop au, fluff

yangyang is a regular at the cade, but the first time you meat him, you accidentally mess up his order. yangyang is too flustered to form words whenever he looks at you, so he doesn’t say anything about your mistake. but when you remember his incorrect drink every time he comes into the cafe, he can’t help but speak up.

royal!au by @nsheetee - [wc: 4.4k] prince!yangyang x princess!reader, fluff, angst

yangyang is not pleased about being forced to marry you, the princess from the kingdom over who is widely unliked. yangyang never expected to fall in love at first sight, and never expected to fight to the death for you either.

troublemaker by @wincore - [wc: 6.9k] yangyang x reader, badboy!au, fluff [warnings: language, mentions of juvenile things, possible character inaccuracies]

your first mistake was to assume liu yangyang was shy.

the lab partner by @princekunge - [27 parts] smau, college!au, yangyang x reader

just a girl who loves plants and a self proclaimed menace to society...

speedometer by @starlightkun - [wc: 14.1k] fluff, racer!yangyang x reader, college!au

you make my heart race.

#yangyang #lee yangyang #yangyang x reader #nct #wayv #wayv x reader #yangyang fluff #yangyang angst #yangyang fic #wayv fics #nct fic rec #wayv fit recs

[sherwees]

Yizhuo swallowed hard once the handkerchief was pulled from her mouth; her horrored eyes desperately plead with Clementine's. “Well, I-I don't wanna die..” Her voice was barely above a whisper, her eyes became glassy as her lips trembled. “Can't you choose for us?” Yizhuo asserted but they both already knew the outcome, Kunhang would just take Clem for himself; Yangyang left the room with a disappointed scoff.

“Well then, come on..” Kunhang offered his hand for Clementine but just to grab her wrist once she took too long for his liking. He quickly ushered her out of his room, “Why don't we play a game of our own? Maybe, wonders and efforts?” Kunhang asks, giving Clementine a preying smile.

Clem just guessed that he meant questions and tasks because that was the sophisticated way of saying it. But something about this made Clementine realize.. where were the other girls? It's been hours and last time she looked out the window, it was sunset. She didn't want to pester Kunhang about it, maybe they were already found and hopefully they went home. The room he brought Clementine to reeked of incense and iron, not the actual element but old blood iron.

“I promise, this isn't for my amusement.. it determines much more.” He declared and glanced at Clementine before shutting the door behind her; leaving her alone. The only things that illuminated the room was the fireplace adorned around it were white bricks and a silver candelabra. “Aren't you going to come in?” Clementine asked, her voice had a tremble to it once she realized how truly dark the room was.

“You didn't ask for the rules..” He sounded too far for her liking, her heart started to pound an teetering rhythm. Her fist banged and pounded on the door, her other hand jiggles the doorknob frantically as if it'll magically open; her breathing ragged. But there was only silence.

“Don't abandon me here, have you gone mad?!” Clementine's yell came out as a screech instead because of the strain of her voice. “Or should I say coo-coo since you're so stupid..” She muttered before giving the knob another series of tugs and yanks before flailing her arms when the door actually opened. Clem fell right on her face, muttering a small curse at the fact that she felt a light ache on her injured side; setting as a painful reminder.

“That's how you'll learn patience.” Clementine gasped at his adrupt appearance before Kunhang brought her up by her arm, straining her side again. “I pray that you'll stop lifting me by my right..” Clementine hissed, he reluctantly obliged before switching to holding her left instead. “Ask me a wonder or an effort.” Kunhang said whilst swinging another door open. The room was small but it was still bigger than your own back home, “Where are the other girls?” Clementine sat down on a teal chaise.

“Threw them in the gardens for the beasts here” Clementine's eyes widened at his nonchalance and he giggled. “I'm joking, dear..” there was an incline beside her in the cushion before Kunhang's hand was placed on her thigh.

“Wonder or effort?”

“Wonder.” Clementine's hands rested on her lap as she relaxed on the couch.

“Why'd you come here?” Clementine's eyebrows scrunched at his question, I mean it was obvious?!

“Because of the invite your mother sent everyone.” Kunhang sighed like he expected something more interesting, desperate or whatever would put some sugar in his tea.

“Well that's fair..” Kunhang gave a hum.

“But that isn't direct.” His voice hung in the air for an unbearably long time. “What in the hell am I supposed to say?!” Clementine baffled with a laugh, just hoping that he was joking.

“No stalling, sweetheart.” Kunhang lilted creepily, his fist to his jaw as if he was bored.

“You're fucking joking— you have to!” Clementine bellowed back, he narrowed his eyes at her for a second; scrutinizing her.

“I asked why WE requested your presence here..”

“You didn't ask me that earlier?!”

“Well, I'm asking you now, aren't I?” Kunhang retorted immediately, giving her a teasing smile. “Well I don't know why you did all this?!” Clementine stood adruptly and splayed her hands in frustration. “Next time you try to lie, I won't bother to hurt you.” Kunhang deadpanned and stood up also, his eyes bored into Clementine's teary ones. Clementine nearly shriveled up into a ball of nothing at the height indifference, she sat down slowly and he followed.

“Now, I have a simpler wonder for you: What's the most painful thing you've experienced?” Clementine clicked her tongue, “When I quite literally got impaled earlier.” Clementine's finger ghosted her side, Kunhang tilted his head and shrugged, “Well I guess that's reasonable. Now, ask away..”

“I can't continue this.” Clementine stated sternly, her eyes filled with disdain. “Are you scared?” Kunhang queried seductively and moved closer. “I'm just not interested.” Clementine hastly said before scooting away slightly, she cringed internally at the panic in her voice. “You're not interesting.” Kunhang spat back childishly, letting his hand fall to his knee. Clementine couldn't help but feel discomfort in Kunhang's eyes, blinking all slow and weirdly seductively.

“Tell me how to make it more interesting then?” Clementine meant to match his energy but it came out as an snarky flirt. Kunhang seemed to notice based off the way that his eyes lit up, placing a dramatic hand on his heart. “Oh my! Clementine?!” He said comically, the corners of his lips curling a bit. “My heart..” Kunhang snorted, she sworn that his eyes became a playful hazel from it's usual amber. There was then a faint touch at her collarbone, it was his finger, tracing the bone with his nail. In that moment, Clem sworn that she never realized how low the neckline of her gown was. She felt practically naked in front of him, it brought shame to her; especially since they weren't even courted or was she even his berothed.

But wait, how did he know her name? He didn't mention it once himself and the letter he sent out was from his mother?

“How did you know that?” Kunhang only stared at her.

“Hello?” He continued but this time he gave her doe eyes.

“Stop doing that!” Clementine moved away until her hip nudged against the edge of the couch.

“I'll stop doing it when you stop looking at me like that.”

“Stop looking at you like wha–” There was 3 subtle knocks at the door, they both turned in unison. “Come in!” Clem noticed the click of Kunhang's jaw illuminated from the candle light. The knock was familiar to him so there was no point of getting up.

“My, my.. Aren't you two having fun?” Yangyang purred, creeping in, a hand on the doorway with some sort of swagger. He wore a doublet and breeches that matched it, similar to the one in his family portrait; Clementine felt a sense of jealousy at the fact that his waist seemed smaller than hers. Kunhang sneered at his intrusion but Clementine couldn't help but shrink into the couch once the prince gave her a wolfish smile.

“Don't worry, I brought something for you, princess.” right then, he yanked Yizhuo from the corner; her plaits were unraveling and he didn't even bother to clean her up, he just put her in a flavorless gown. At least, her bounds were gone.

“We heard the game you two were playing and..” Yangyang side eyed Yizhuo whilst his hand slid to her shoulder; she trembled and leaned away. “We wanted to join in on the whim..” Yangyang only leaned closer with a predatory gaze before pushing her alongside him and finding a spot on the front of the bed to Clementine's right.

The game summed up again but the whole time, Yangyang just kept choosing efforts. Kunhang's eyes wouldn't leave Clementine's and her body and the same was for Yangyang and Yizhuo. She tried, I mean she tried to sit through this all but she just couldn't, she just fucking couldn't. The whole time, their voices even including her own just became a cacophony of distorted sounds. There was just too much, too much eyes, too much stares, too much touches, too much dying, bleeding and just everything. It felt as if she was being strangled by a rope and death came slowly.. just creeping up, leaving you to suffer until you just—

“I can't! I just can't!” Clementine's voice cracked but it didn't even matter because now she found herself storming through the castle like a fool. Tears stung her eyes as she yanked at her neckline nervously, there wasn't enough light for her to find solace at all. Clementine checked her surroundings, dark and dark, behind her and in front of her and all around her.

Clementine bit her lip, no she couldn't cry. She had no one, absolutely no one. She couldn't call out to anyone for help, not even her mother who stuck beside her for the past 2 decades. She wasn't a girl anymore. A sob slipped from her lips before she noticed a room that particularly caught her eye, not appearance wise but her conscience just yearned for it.

Clementine busted through the door before leaning against it with a deep sigh, her knees nearly gave out but she used the absolute last of her strength to keep herself up and at least steady for the while. Clem observed the room for any dangerous anomalies the best she could with only the moonlight illuminating the chilling room. There was then an ice-cold gust of wind that tingled Clem's bare shoulders, the view of the Cerlandian Bay from this height gave her another chill.

Wind? Her head snapped back to the window before she pounced towards it, nearly falling from her rising enthusiasm. An open window but at what cost? Leaning against a desk, she realized, yeah.. she was high up.

Just when she stepped back and turned, something collided with the side of her head and it all went black.

masterlist

#nct drabbles #nct series #nct scenarios #nct #wayv #wayv scenarios #wayv x reader #wayv fanfic #hendery x reader #hendery fic #yangyang x reader #yangyang fic #aespa scenarios #aespa fic #nct smut #wayv smut

[mklvibes]

the blues and then purple pink skies | liu yangyang

masterlist | main blog 

send me an ask if you’d like to be added to my taglist! 

PAIRINGS. idol!liu yangyang (nct, wayv) x reader 

GENRE. canon-compliant. established relationship. fluff. 

WC. 3000+

WARNINGS. food (?), v self-indulgent lol (lmk if you found others!) 

PLAYLIST: passenger seat (stephen speaks) & invisible string (taylor swift)

NOTES. this has been in my drafts for too long lol. not beta-ed. hope you enjoy<3 lmk what you think! 

Crisp afternoon air greeted you as you went down the steps of your building - done with your finals. You couldn’t help but take a deep breath as you clutched your bag tighter in your hands, relief and exhaustion clouding your thoughts. All you wanted to do was lay down on your bed and call him. 

It’s been days since the last time the two of you talked - him, busy with his schedules for work, while you were busy with your finals. It’s understandable, really. The longest you haven’t talked was a month when he went to the States for the promotion of his new album. But that doesn’t mean you don’t miss him. You do. So much. 

“Bye, Y/N!” Your friend called your attention as you reached the middle of the stairs. She was already down below on the pavement, holding open the car door as she waved goodbye to you. You waved back with a “See you later!” as she climbed inside the car, leaving you by yourself as you went down the last few steps. 

As your eyes scanned what was in front of you - the sunken garden, and joggers, as well as fellow students taking a stroll this afternoon - you noticed a familiar black car parked down below and him leaning on it. He was wearing his gray hoodie, hands tucked in its front pocket, as he watched you walk down the steps. You couldn’t exactly see his smile as he was wearing a black face mask, but you saw the way his eyes lit up when he met your surprised ones. 

He met you halfway down, taking your hand in his and pulling you down the last few steps. As soon as you reached the side of his car, he leaned once again on the door, pulling you in for a tight hug. You buried your face on the crook of his neck, his familiar Jo Malone scent bringing you home after months of being apart. 

“Tiring day?” Yangyang asked you softly, his hands combing through your shoulder-length hair. 

“Missed you,” you murmured, planting a soft kiss on the side of his neck. “So much.” 

“Missed you too, love,” he said, kissing the top of your head for a moment before putting some distance between the two of you. Your hands now hang loosely on the sides of his neck, while his hands still held your waist. “So, where do you want to go?” 

“Anywhere with you.” 

“Okay.” He nodded. 

Yangyang pulled you in again for a quick hug, before standing up and pulling you to the passenger side of his car. There, he opened the door for you. “For you, my lady.” 

“Thanks, kind sir,” you said as you climbed into the passenger seat of the car. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” you told him as he climbed on the driver’s seat. 

“I wanted to,” he shrugged, pulling down his mask and letting you see his gummy smile. ‘Before we go -.”

Yangyang held your chin, looking into your eyes for confirmation. You nodded. He smiled as he pulled you in for a kiss. No matter how many times the two of you have already done this, it always felt like the first time. Like the two of you were once again teenagers figuring things out for the first time. God, his kisses still felt like magic making you weak in the knees as his hands went to cup your face, and yours went to tangle itself into his hair. 

You pulled away breathlessly, breathing deeply as you leaned back into your seat. 

“Let’s do that again!” Yangyang grinned, leaning to your side. 

You pushed him away with a laugh, your hand coming into contact with his lips, pushing him back to the driver's side of the car. “You’ll get to do that again when we reached our destination.” 

“But it’s so far away,” he complained, pouting. 

“Told you it could be anywhere,” you shrugged. “We could just drive by the nearby McDonald’s and go home to cuddle.” 

“Sounds tempting,” Yangyang grinned at you while starting the car. “But no, I have a better place in mind.” 

“Where?” 

“I’ll tell you when we get there,” he smirked, glancing at you before he started driving. “Now, sleep.” 

“Why?” You asked him. “Is it far?”

He nodded. “Kinda.” 

You sat sideways, facing him as he drove, leaning your head on the headrest. “I won’t sleep. I’ll just stare at you as you drive.”

“Sounds creepy,” he scrunched his nose, before softly smiling at you. “But okay.” 

“So, how’s your day?”

You smiled as Yangyang started talking about his day, telling you how Ten brought Leon and Louis to work, and how Dejun also brought Bella. He told you how easy it was to shoot with the pets; them staying still as cameras flashed around them. He told you how Bella got annoyed at the cameras and barked at the cameraman, making you giggle. 

You told him about the things he missed out on during the months he was away. You told him how Jeno broke a restaurant’s spoon because he was eating quickly, earning a snort from Yangyang.

“I could have given him one for free, you know?” He comments as you told him the time Haechan fought someone on Twitter over a Ten photocard. 

“That’s what I told him, but he answered me with a ‘where’s the fun in that?’” You told him, raising your voice a bit as you got excited over the story. 

“And what happened after? Did he get the photocard?” 

“He did,” you grumbled, crossing your arms as you leaned back. “The poor high schooler only wanted the photocard.” 

“Don’t worry,” Yangyang held your hand as he stopped at a red light, bringing it up to his lips to kiss it. “That high schooler probably already got one from another seller.” 

“Did you know I saw one of your signed polaroids go on sale for about the price of my tuition?” You remembered the time you were scrolling through Twitter and saw his fans fighting over the polaroid, much messier than Haechan and the high schooler fighting over the Ten photocard. The fight went on for three days that for two days, you and your friends spent lunchtime reading through the tweets. 

“Really?” 

“Yeah,” you nodded, placing your hands on your lap as you closed your eyes. “The fight on Twitter took up my timeline for about a week.” 

“Let me guess,” Yangyang started. 

You hummed, letting him continue.

“Jaemin and Haechan went over to your room with popcorn to read you the tweets,” he guessed, to which you nodded. 

“Yeah, for two nights, and we’d spend lunchtime with Renjun, Sungchan, and Chenle talking about it,” you added. You wondered how it would be like with Mark, Jeno, and Jisung there. Mark and Jeno would probably provide more snacks and drinks while Jisung would be on his phone, catching up on the fight. “Haechan would always tell me how I’m lucky that I could just ask for a polaroid with your signature and how you’d probably give it to me for free.” 

“I wouldn’t give it to you for free,” he shook his head as he turned right on the road. 

“Why not?” You opened your eyes to look at him. 

“You’d have to pay me with a kiss,” he answered smugly. 

“In your dreams,” you rolled your eyes. “I have many at home anyway. My mom would always take one on our birthdays, right? And there was this one time on your seventh birthday she took a picture of you right after I dunked your face on your cake.” 

“I remember that!” He exclaimed. “You told me to make a wish, and right after I blew the candle you pushed my face into the cake.”

You laughed at the memory. “You cried so much right after because I ruined your Thomas and Friends cake. I had to buy you a popsicle just so you’d talk to me after.” 

“Your mom was furious,” he laughed. “She made you buy that popsicle with your own money, and you went around the guests asking for change.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, yawning. 

“You know, you should sleep,” he glanced at you again. “You’ve been up since 6 am. We still have a long drive.” 

“I don’t want to,” you told him, yet you let your eyes flutter shut as Yangyang opened his Spotify and played his road trip playlist. The playlist was a combination of yours and his music taste. It had Cigarettes After Sex, NIKI, Ed Sheeran, even with a bit of Ariana Grande in it. You fell asleep as the verses of ‘Sunsetz’ lull you to sleep as Yangyang drove on the highway. 

Yangyang looked at you as you sleep, the setting sun’s light directly on your face. Soft snores filled the silence as the music stopped for a second before the starting notes of lowkey by NIKI filled the car. He took your hand in his as he stopped by a red light, playing with your fingers and watching your face intently for any reaction, but all you did was squeeze his hand a bit, making him smile. 

He felt so lucky to have you, and he can’t wait to show you where you’re going. 

You woke as you felt the car make a full stop. You looked around, realizing you were in a car with Yangyang, and relaxed as you felt his hand squeeze yours on your lap. 

“We’re here,” he told you, turning off the engine. He quickly climbed out of the car, going to your side to open the door. 

“Thank you, kind sir,” you told him, slinging your backpack to your shoulders. 

“Here, let me carry it,” Yangyang offered, grabbing the bag off your shoulder. 

“I can do it,” you declined. 

“I insist,” he said, pulling on the straps from behind you. 

“No.”

“Yes,” he tugged on the straps. 

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“No.”

“Yes.” 

You sighed as he let out a triumphant ‘whoop!’, letting your backpack drop into his hands. 

“Now, where are we, exactly?” You asked him as the two of you neared the entrance after walking in the parking lot for a few minutes. 

“You’ll know when we get there,” is what he answered, pushing the door open with his free hand, the other one holding your hand. 

“Good evening, Mr. Liu,” the security guard greeted him, and you wondered why Yagyang didn’t bother to put on his mask and why the guard knew him by name. 

You certainly weren’t at a mall, but you also weren’t inside a familiar building. You’ve been in his workplace - this was nothing like it. While his workplace had bright lighting, this one had a much more inviting one with warm lighting. You were in basement parking, so you couldn’t see any indicators of where you are. You just had to trust your boyfriend in this one.  

‘Here,” Yangyang pulled you into an elevator, pressing the numbers for the 16th floor (the highest one). You looked around the elevator, seeing the announcements on one side. You let go of his hand as you went to look a bit closer to the sign, seeing the name ‘Capitol Suites’ on the top. 

“Why are we here?” You asked him, as you went back beside him on the elevator, leaning back on the mirror and leaning your head on his shoulder. 

“Just want to show you something,” he answered you. You hummed. You were still sleepy from the ride, so you let your eyes close for a few moments on his shoulders before the elevator's doors opened to the 16th floor. 

Yangyang excitedly grabbed your hand, a smile on his face as he led the way. His smile only faded a bit when he saw Ten in front of the door. “Why are you here?”

“Hi, Y/N,” Ten greeted you with a hug, nudging you out of your sleepy state as you hugged him back. “I haven’t seen you since forever!”

“Me too,” you answered him, making Ten hug you tighter before letting you go to a frowning Yangyang. 

“Why are you here?” Yangyang asked again. 

“Is that really how you greet a friend?” Ten rolled his eyes throwing a teasing slap on Yangyang’s arm. “Anywhoo, I’ll get going. You kids enjoy your time together and don’t forget to use protection, okay?”

You felt your face grow hot as Yangyang protested beside you. “We’re not kids.” 

“Right,” Ten only laughed as he opened another door on the far end of the hallway. “Bye, babies!” 

“We’re not babies!” Yangyang’s protests were only answered by the door closing. 

“Are we going inside?” You asked him as silence filled the two of you after Ten closed the door. 

“Right,” Yangyang blushed, fishing a set of keys from his pocket. He fiddled for the right key, before muttering out a quick ‘aha!’ when he found the right one. With a huge smile, he asked you, “Are you ready?” 

“For what?” you asked him. 

“This,” He grinned at you as he opened the door to an apartment. 

The apartment was already filled with furniture; the kitchen was fully stocked, and the A/C was turned on, making the place chilly. You shivered as the cold air hit you, making Yangyang let out a chuckle when he saw you. 

“So, is this yours?” You asked him when he plopped down on the sofa. 

“Yep,” He answered you with a smile. “Do you like it?” 

“Yeah,” you answered. “It’s cozy.” 

And it is. There were bean bags around the place and the sofa was half-fille with throw pillows. There was even a humidifier, probably turned on by Ten, that made the place smell more at home. 

Yangyang smiled at you before he stood up and led you to his bedroom, specifically his closet. “Here, pick out what you like to wear from my hoodies. And there, that cabinet on your right, it has some of your clothes that you left at the dorm before.” 

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” he tipped his head at you. 

You quickly picked out a black hoodie of his before opening the cabinet on your right. There, you saw it was empty except for some of your clothes, which you thought were missing. You changed as quickly as you can, not noticing the small velvet box on Yangyang’s bedside table. 

After you finished changing, you met Yangyang back at his couch, plopping back down on it with a smile. 

“Are you hungry?” He asked you. 

“Kinda,” you answered him, checking your watch for the first time since you saw him back at your university. It was already past eight at night, making you realize that the last time you ate was lunch. 

“Okay,” he nodded, standing up. “Let’s go.” 

“Where?” 

“The rooftop,” he answered, grabbing your hand and leading you out the door. 

“Okay,” you agreed, following him to the elevator. 

The rooftop was a restaurant. You expected something small, like the ones you had back at your dorm. The rooftop of this building is big, the main highlight of it being the rooftop pool. Chairs and tables surround the pool, and a bar was in front, and beside it was a small stage for bands and performers. The rooftop also has an overlooking view of the city, although you knew you were far from the bustling city of the capital, which made it quiet around you. You could count the customers by hand and it made you feel at ease knowing there’s a low chance of Yangyang being recognized. 

“Table for two?” A server asked the two of you. 

Yangyang nodded, and the server led the two of you to a table tucked in the back of the rooftop, beside the railings. 

“So what do you think?” He asked you after you finished ordering. 

“Does Ten seriously live down the hall from you?” That was the first thought that came to your mind. 

Yangyang laughed. “Yeah, they all do.” 

“They?” Your eyes widened. “You mean Dejun and the guys, too?” 

“Yeah,” Yangyang nodded as he laughed. 

“You guys never tire of each other’s faces?” You asked him. 

“They don’t get tired of mine,” Yangyang answered. “I was the first one who bought a unit here, and when they saw this. They bought the ones beside me behind my back. I didn’t even know about it until they moved in!” 

“So everything was a surprise to you?” 

“Yeah!” 

“Let me guess, Dejun’s the one right beside you.” 

“Nope.” 

“Yuta?” 

“Nope. His is the one across mine.” 

“Doyoung?” 

“Yeah,” He rolled his eyes. “Told me he had to be beside me to babysit me or something.” 

“Aww, you baby,” you reached over to pinch his cheeks. 

“I’m not a baby,” he pouted as you pinched his cheeks. 

“You’re my baby,” you told him, sitting back down on your seat. 

“I am,” he replied with a proud smile. 

“Okay, let’s not do that.” You shook your head as you cringed. 

The server arrived with your food and drinks, making you and Yangyang stop for a while to eat in silence, not even bothering to continue the conversation. The silence lasted for only a few moments, though, as a live acoustic started their set soon after. 

“This feels nice,” you commented after the band finished your first song. 

“What feels nice?”

“This.” You motioned around you. “The band, the music, the peace. It’s quiet here. I like it.” 

“Think you could get used to this?” He asked you. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Move in with me after graduation?” He asked you, taking you by surprise. You felt the world stop for a second as the two of you got lost in each other’s eyes. You knew Yangyang was good at reading people, that’s why he was staring at you. Looking for any reaction. A thousand thoughts were running through your mind, barely giving you a straight answer. “Did I catch you by surprise? You can still think about it. I’m not in any rush, love. Take your time, okay?” 

“Yes,” you told him firmly. This time, he was the one who was caught by surprise. “Yes. I’ll move in with you.” 

“I love you,” Yangyang told you as he grinned before getting back to his food. 

“Yeah, I love you too,” you answered him back with a laugh. 

As soon as you finished your food, the familiar strum of Invisible String by Taylor Swift filled your ears while you were waiting for Yangyang to finish your food. Your mind ran through everything you and him have been through. Ever since childhood, you and Yangyang have been inseparable. And now, you’re here - in your 20s, and out on a rooftop date. Him, being in a famous group, and you finish up your college course. The two of you have nothing but ups to go to. 

After all, you’ve been through -  the sleepless nights you waited for him to call, all the dating rumors he had, and the distance - you were glad everything led you here. 

“Hey, Yang,” you called him when you entered the elevator to go back to his unit. “Love you.” 

“Love you too,” he replied. “Now, can I claim that kiss now?” 

“Yeah, you can,” you answered, pulling him in for a deep kiss. 

BONUS:

“Okay, so what do you want for our bedroom?” Yangyang asked you while the two of you were brushing your teeth. 

You spat out the toothpaste in your mouth before replying. “I like it the way it is.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah,” you nodded as you wiped your face when you finished brushing your teeth. You walked back to your shared bedroom before laying down on the bed. “Why did you ask?” 

Yangyang laid beside you, pulling you in for a cuddle. Your head was on his chest while his arms wrapped around you. “I just wanted to make sure our place is up to your liking.” 

Butterflies erupted in your stomach with his words. Our place. 

“It is,” you answered. 

“Okay.” You could hear the smile in his voice as you felt him nod. 

“You know, I had you on my mind when I saw this place,” he mumbled after a few moments, his fingers playing with the strands of your hair. “I knew I wanted to move in with you as soon as you finish up uni. And when I saw this place, all I hoped for was an available unit for us. I even had to consult both Jaehyun and Ten to make sure this place suited our taste.” 

“You consulted my brother?” You sat up to face him. 

“Yeah,” Yangyang nodded, pulling you down so he could continue what he was doing. “Sent him pics of furniture and stuff.” 

“So that was why you had that lavender scent in your humidifier.” 

“Yup.” 

“And the empty cabinet on the right side of your closet.” 

“Yep.” Yangyang answered. “And you know, you could invite Hyuck and the others too next weekend here for a hangout.” 

“Oh, shit,” Realization dawned on you as you realized you haven’t opened your phone since the final exam started and have informed no one of your whereabouts. You quickly scrambled to get your phone out of your backpack. “Hyuck and Jaem didn’t know where I went.” 

Yangyang pulled you back down. “They know. They called you a thousand times while you were sleeping - told them you’d spend the night with me.” 

“Okay,” you relaxed in his arms. “Thanks. Love you.”

“Love you too,” he kissed the top of your head. “Now, let’s sleep.”

With the lights down low, all you wanted was for the moment to stop and let you stay there forever in his arms. 

#hiraya-m #yangyang liu #nct yangyang #wayv #yangyang fic #yangyang x reader #yangyang x you #wayv fic #yangyang fluff #yangyang liu fluff

[theficblog]

Prompts 25, 9 and 31 with yangyang pls :) yk something like when yangs and reader have an argument but make up in the end :DDD

“When was the last time we had a real conversation.”

“Being in love with you is scary… not that you’re scary, of course, but that I’d fuck this thing up,”

“If this is your way of flirting, you’re doing a terrible job at it.”

OHH YES I'M GONNA LOVE THIS ONE! ARGUMENT AND THEN A HAPPY ENDING! :D (the fact that :D always reminds me of his gummy smile)

Thank you so much for this request! Stay tuned for the fic! <3

#yangyang fic #yangyang angst #kpop fic request #nct fic #yangyang fluff #anon

[galacticseonghwa]

Can you (if you want to of course hshs) do the pretty boy text you did with dream but with WayV? Pls?

Thank you.

i can do that my love! i hope you like it <3

WAYV reactions to you calling them pretty boy for the first time

INCLUDES: wayv being whipped, expressing my delusions for them tbh, yang yang not escaping the daddy live, this is my first time doing wayv texts so I'm trying to find the right personalities for them over text so it'll be a little bit awkward

#galacticseonghwa #nct #nctzen #wayv #wayv smut #wayv fic #wayv fake texts #qian kun #chittaphon leechaiyapornkul #dong sicheng #xiao dejun #hendery wong #liu yangyang

[rainbowhao]

spilled secrets ♡ yangyang

genre: fluff ⭒ word count: 0.5k

[ “are you serious?” he asks a moment later, taking another hesitant sip of his drink—for all yangyang knows, you’ll be telling him xiaojun’s in love with him next; that’ll really make him snort it out his nose. ]

                           ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

“how come you’re always hugging him?” 

yangyang’s comment takes you by surprise. he raises his eyebrows in question, pink lips pursed as he sips his milk tea. you glance toward the entrance of the cafe; you can see ten’s retreating figure through the window, heading back to practice after a quick lunch.

“are you jealous?” you joke.

he responds all too casually, “yeah.”

your eyes widen. “you like ten?”

yangyang chokes, boba nearly getting stuck in his throat at your ridiculous words. he lets out several loud coughs, cheeks turning red before eventually catching his breath. his hand slams down on the small table while looking up at you, eyes nearly covered by his overgrown bangs.

“what did you just say?” he says incredulously. you’re getting ready to repeat yourself when he bursts into laughter, mouth widening to reveal the gummy smile you adore. “are you serious?” he asks a moment later, taking another hesitant sip of his drink—for all yangyang knows, you’ll be telling him xiaojun’s in love with him next; that’ll really make him snort it out his nose.

you lean back in your seat, head tilting. “i’m confused. didn’t you say you’re jealous? wait—were you just being sarcastic?” you mentally face-palm. you should have figured he was messing around. for all the years you’d known each other, the word sincerity had never been in your best friend’s vocabulary.

this only has yangyang giggling harder. “you’re really dumb, huh?” his tone is gentler than you expect. now he’s insulting you? in a cute way? what the hell were you missing?

the next several minutes are spent in deep contemplation while the two of you finish your drinks. he leads you out the building with his arm wrapped around your shoulder, muttering about you owing him compensation for nearly choking to death.

“don’t talk like that around ten.” he brings a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun. “he’ll lose his shit.” he’s grown out his hair at your request, blonde strands matching the pastel shirt he wears today. you reach into your jean pocket, pulling out your sunglasses before offering them to him with a smile.

“weren’t you the one who insinuated it?”

“nope.” he shakes his head. “i’m jealous of you, babe. get it now?” he bites his lip, glancing at you nervously. his arm still hangs on your shoulder, fingers brushing your skin as you walk. your glasses now rest on the tip of his nose. subtlety doesn’t work on you—that much is clear—so screw it. he was tired of dancing around the fact he likes you anyway.

“you’re kind of hugging me right now though, aren’t you?”

he hums, lips tugging in amusement. “i want more than this, though.”

“like what?” your gently push your elbow into his side, directing him further to the side when you hear a car approaching from behind. 

“how about we go on a date?” any cheekiness is gone now. his fingertips graze your collarbone. he continues when you don’t immediately respond. “i’m being serious. let me take you out.” 

this is a plot twist you're not expecting; somehow the idea of yangyang liking his group mate was more believable than him secretly crushing on you. the unexpected revelation of his true feelings has your heart racing, but even so, you still can't help but ask, “are you paying?”

#yangyang #wayv #nct #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct x reader #nct fluff #nct drabbles #nct fanfic #yangyang imagines #yangyang scenarios #yangyang fluff #liu yangyang #wayv imagines #wayv scenarios #wayv fluff #nct fic

[rrxnjun]

just saying ;; lyy

pairing: liu yangyang x fem!reader genre: college au | comedy, fluff, angst wc: 11.6k (11.602) playlist: just saying - 5 seconds of summer ; 21 questions - waterparks ; maniac - conan gray ; perfume - lovejoy ; i want u bad - r5 ; gloom boys - waterparks warnings: swearing, a mention of cheating

you got a new boyfriend. in yangyang’s eyes, he’s a total loser, and all your friends tell you that he’s got no future. they all like him, though... and so in a desperate plan, jealousy takes over and liu yangyang executes his masterplan: he has to make you two break up. all because he could treat you better than him. just saying though...

i. you got a boyfriend and he's a total loser

Slurping on his banana flavored boba, while making a noise that has successfully annoyed everyone at the table– Renjun the most, it seems, by the way he glares and kicks the other boy under the table with much force– Yangyang looks around the sprously-crowded study room and clears his throat, as if his presence wasn’t well-known already. 

“So,” he starts, making sure at least someone’s eyes are on him before he proceeds and asks the crucial question– the question that’s still keeping him at this place, the question that’s been burning at the tip of his tongue for the past 20-or-so minutes. “Is Y/N not coming?” 

Your best friend looks up from her textbook, the same one she’s been aimlessly staring into for the past 20 minutes, rolling her eyes at him and heaving out a heavy sigh. Yangyang doesn’t know if the sigh is addressed to the stupidity of his question or not, but he’s willing to find out as he only jabs more and raises up his eyebrows in question, making Ryujin answer his question faster. 

The answer is a simple ‘No’, followed by a tight-lipped smile sent his way as the girl looks back to her textbook again and furrows her brows with much despair. Yangyang doesn’t blame her, because from the look of it, it looks like Ryujin is trying to cramp some Physics into that bleached head of hers, and even though Yangyang is a linguistics major, he can only imagine how annoying and difficult all those numbers mixed with letters can be to memorize. 

The reply he was given is not enough for him, though. Don’t get me wrong, it would be more than enough for anyone else– for anyone normal, it seems– but Yangyang doesn’t even want to attend the study group he’s sitting with right now. The truth is, he’s only going because you’re there. And if you’re not there, then the whole purpose of sitting in the small room at the very end of the college campus is a waste of time for him– a waste of time he’s not willing to spend when he has one more season of Tokyo Ghoul to rewatch now that he has Netflix. Yes, it’s the account he stole from Dejun. But still. A free Netflix account is a free Netflix account…

Liu Yangyang knows you as the resident smart girl. That’s not all, though– it’s simply the way he got to know you, and it’s hard to peel that sticker off now. You were the only person that replied to him in the class group chat when he asked if someone could tutor him on the last topic of his Math exam last year– he quickly dropped the class the next semester, but he really needed the extra credit back then. Since then, you two have been meeting every Wednesday in the same small room at the end of the plain-white corridor in the Biology building– the only one that’s free at this time. Yangyang quickly fell into liking you. It wasn’t hard at all, if you ask him; you’re lively and confident, you always have something to say, and most of all, you always laugh at his jokes. Yangyang just can’t not like someone that laughs at his jokes. It strokes his ego just right, since the amount of disses he gets for his jokes from his roommate Dejun is just the right amount to keep him humble. 

Yangyang likes to think he lured you in with the weekly dose of strawberry chocolate he always brought you as a payment for your tutoring services; because as soon as he dropped the class and told you he didn’t need the tutoring anymore, you brought up the idea of him attending your small study group– which, essentially, is just your group of friends hanging out every Wednesday with textbooks in their hands, pretending to study for the exams together. 

Yangyang doesn’t know your friends and he’s sure as hell that he won’t be able to learn anything if you’re sitting in the seat next to him, but it’s you who we’re talking about. 

Of course he said yes.

And so when on one Wednesday, when he’s sitting with all your friends, that are somehow now his distant friends (he wouldn’t really call them his friends, still. He hasn’t embarrassed himself in front of them that many times just yet), and you’re not there to be his eye candy, he doesn’t see the purpose of it all anymore. He’s a curious guy by nature, though; and he’s always curious about you.

“Why?”

Now it’s Renjun’s time to sigh and roll his eyes. Yangyang is starting to think that it’s at him, but when Lia snickers from the other side of the table and mumbles something under her nose, he’s enlightened with an information that hits him right in the gut and makes him want to throw up and scream.

“She’s with her new boyfriend,” Ryujin replies, making all of them murmur in agreement– or is it disagreement? Yangyang isn’t quite sure anymore.

“...boyfriend?” Yangyang repeats, as if he wasn’t sure if he heard your friends right.

“Yeah,” Renjun nods, “he’s a total loser, though. I can’t believe she passed on her stupid study group on Wednesday just because he insisted on a date today.”

“Just for the record, I wouldn’t even be coming if I didn’t have a test tomorrow, that’s now disgusted with her actions I am,” Lia mutters, making Yangyang widen his eyes in surprise. 

“Who even is he?” Yangyang asks. 

“I dunno,” Ryujin shrugs, closing her textbook shut– a sign that she’s fully immersed in talking about your boyfriend behind his back now, “he dropped out, apparently? He’s got no future. I think she met him like three weeks ago and they’re already dating, can you believe that? I don’t like him at all. The last time I saw him, he didn’t even say hi back to me. Like I wasn’t even there!” 

Yangyang gasps, shaking his head in disbelief. Why would you date anyone like that? Where did that guy even come from? As far as he knew, he was one of your closest friends– why wasn’t he notified about a new guy in your circle? 

“That’s ridiculous, dude,” he mumbles, furrowing his brows.

“Yeah, I don’t get it,” Lia shrugs, “and to think that we all literally had a bet that she’s gonna date you in a few…” 

“Huh?” Yangyang opens his eyes wide, gulping down his built-up saliva. Did he hear her right? Dating? You two?

“Yeah,” Ryujin shrugs, “you just randomly appeared! We totally thought she had a crush on you, and don’t get me wrong, we were all for it, but it seems like we… were wrong.”

Yangyang hums, nodding. He didn’t know that everyone thought this about you two… Well, he can’t say he doesn’t like it, no– he very much adores the fact that your friends thought you had a crush on him, but it stings even more now when he realizes that your friends liked him enough to accept him into their circle, while your new boyfriend hasn’t even tried. 

He’ll ignore the bet part for now. 

“Yeah, seems like it,” Yangyang agrees, “what’s that guy’s name anyway?”

“Hyunho, or something?” Renjun replies, a look of disgust written on his face, “we stalked his Insta for a bit. He’s got a profile full of cringey gym pics and pics from when he went fishing.”

“Fishing,” Yangyang repeats.

“Yeah man, we told you it’s bad.”

Shaking his head in disbelief and putting his head into his hands, Yangyang lets out one of many sighs shared around the table, biting his bottom lip. He’ll make sure to stalk that guy when he comes home– just to see if there’s anything your friends didn’t mention that is a walking red flag. Who knows, maybe… maybe he still has time to talk you out of it. 

Maybe.

ii. he barely takes you out and if he does he's late

Trying to catch his breath as the crowd finally leaves the café he works at– the time period between 2 and 2:35pm is always the busiest– he hangs his head low and curses under his breath. Only god knows just how much Yangyang despises his job as a barista in the campus café; and that’s only because he won’t admit it to anyone that dares to laugh at him and make jokes about it. Yes, he comes to work every day with disgust coating his senses, but at least he gets paid. And he really needs that money.

A cheerful voice breaks him out of his slumber, a voice he would, on regular circumstances, want to strangle to death, making him look up again and switch the glare for a fake smile. 

A fake smile that quickly shifts into an honest one, when he realizes who’s standing in front of him in their full glory.

“Can I get the usual?” you grin, making him shake his head in disbelief.

“Y/N, you don’t have an usual, this is like the second time you’ve been here,” he notes, battling the grin that’s wanting to settle onto his lips. It’s easy to smile for him when you’re around, but he caught his jaw being in pain the last time you two hung out, and he’s not willing to live through that experience again, since it sure was humbling.

“Well, I’m making my last order my usual, then. That’s how it works, doesn’t it?” you smile, making him mockingly roll his eyes at you.

“Sure, whatever you say.”

Yangyang could lie and tell you that he doesn’t remember what you ordered the first time you were here– it was right after his exams and you were too impatient to wait for him to tell you if he passed them or not, since, and this is an indirect quotation, you have to be there for him just in case he failed and needs mental support. He passed his exams and your visit only added to his euphoria, as he chatted away with you until he had to close the café and walked you home. So, Yangyang could lie and tell you that he doesn’t vividly remember that day up to the smallest detail, but he’s not that much of a good liar, after all, so he won’t even try.

He remembers your order down to the chocolate shavings on top of the whipped cream that’s decorating your favorite iced caramel macchiato, and so he wastes no time in turning around and preparing your drink as you sit at the tall bar stool and wait for him to get it ready for you.

“You always work. I had to run over here just so I could hang out with you,” you mumble, a teasing pout sitting at your lips that Yangyang catches when he briefly turns around to peek at your face. 

“Yeah, well, my rent is not gonna get paid by itself, so,” he shrugs, swirling the whipped cream on top of your drink, getting ready to sprinkle the chocolate shavings delicately to the peak of the white, cloudy mess. He briefly imagines putting a cherry on top, just because you distantly remind him of cherries, in a way, before he mentally cringes at his thoughts and shoos them out of his lovesick brain.

“I get that,” you note, “but do you even have time for yourself?” 

“Of course I do,” Yangyang snickers, finished with your drink now, bringing it to you. He does have time for himself, of course– and so what if it’s in the deadly hours of night and on Wednesdays. If he’s lucky, he’s free on every other Friday too, depending on if Chaeryeong is free to cover his shift. And he’s free on weekends! That’s plenty of time.

“You’re always locked up here.”

Yangyang rolls his eyes at you. “It has its privileges.”

“Like what?”

“Like… if I wasn’t here as often, Johnny would kick my ass if he saw me chatting away with our customers,” he shrugs, seeing you snicker. That, and he also gets to study when the café isn’t as busy. They take turns with Hendery when he’s around, but he mostly just slacks off in the back, pretending to ‘stack up on coffee beans’. 

“Okay, then,” you absently nod, taking a sip of your drink. A blissful expression overtakes your features, hinting that Yangyang did his job right and your caramel macchiato is surely one of the best things you’ve ever tasted. He wonders if it’s addicting enough to make you visit him at work more often– he wouldn’t be opposed to it even on the busiest days of them all. 

“What brings you here?” he asks, leaning on the counter. His legs are starting to hurt from walking around so much– damn Mondays; they’re always the busiest. 

“What, I can’t visit my friend at work?” you gasp, acting offended by his question.

“You can, you can,” he brings up his hands into the air in a defensive act, “you’ve just never done it before.”

Taking another sip of your drink, you look almost guilty as you nod and sigh. “That’s true,” you nod, “but… I’m kind of… waiting for someone?”

Already preparing for the impact of your answer, Yangyang curls his toes in anticipation. “For who?”

“Hyunho,” you smile, “my boyfriend. We’re going on a date, and I figured that we could stop by to get some coffee first, and since I know this café is famous for its good coffee,” you note as you point towards Yangyang, as if to praise the boy for doing his job right, “I invited him here.”

“Oh,” Yangyang nods, subconsciously pulling away from you, “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”

A knowing look is sent his way, making shivers run down his spine as you snicker. “You were with Ryujin and Renjun on Wednesday. Don’t try to tell me you didn’t know.”

“Okay, so maybe I did know, but all I’m saying is that I didn’t know before. It’s… kind of sudden, you know,” he mumbles, trying to sound the least suspicious he can. It’s not every day that you talk to your crush about their new boyfriend; Yangyang never thought he’d live to the day when this happens (not that you’re not pretty or interesting enough to get a boyfriend. He just somehow always assumed that you’re gonna be single and free for him to simp over forever), but here we are.

“Yeah, well,” you mumble sheepishly, “it just kind of… happened.”

Yangyang hums in response, nodding. What else is there for him to say? He feels like all the vocabulary in his head– in all 5 languages he knows– escaped his brain and is standing somewhere in the corner of this café, laughing at him and pointing their fingers at just how embarrassing the whole situation is. 

“How did you two even meet?” he asks, playing with the stack of plastic cups to his left, as if the action was meant to mask his over-interest in the topic that is your new boyfriend.

“At a party,” you say.

His eyes scan you up and down. By the way your eyes avert to the side when your eyes meet, you look a little ashamed of your answer. Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing bad about going to parties, and Yangyang would never judge you for getting loose and letting your inner party animal shine, but you and parties just… don’t go together. And you know that, by the way you quickly jump into self-defense.

“You know Mark, right?” you start blabbering, not even sparing a second to let Yangyang absently nod in agreement, “well, it was his party. And Hendery was invited, and you know my friend Yuna is into him, right? And since she didn’t want to go alone– and I don’t blame her, parties are fucking scary for adolescent girls– I, as her good friend, offered that I’ll go with her! It was only a one-time occurrence. But as I was there, this guy talked to me in the kitchen as I was waiting for Yuna to come back from the toilet, which, just by the way, she didn’t– she met Hendery on the way back and they made out in one of the rooms on the second floor– and I was so bored and it was still too early for me to come home and I was supposed to drive Yuna home, so I flirted with him,, and… and… here we are,” you complete your little storytime with an overly-exaggerated hand movement. 

Quickly taking your drink into your own hands, as if to occupy yourself as you wait for your friend’s answer, you peek at him from under your eyelashes and blink a few times in anticipation. 

“Hendery made out with Yuna?” Yangyang repeats, mouth slightly agape in shock.

“That’s all you got from this conversation?” 

“I- I mean that’s… that’s really great for you, yeah, but Hendery and Yuna? In what universe do these two belong together?” 

Hendery and Yuna just… aren’t the best combination. It’s the one Yangyang wouldn’t even think of creating. It’s like chocolate and pickles. Where Yuna is the sweet chocolate and Hendery is the weird, crunchy pickle. And even though Yangyang has tried this combination before, he for sure didn’t like it– just another sign that these two do not belong together under any circumstances.

“This universe, apparently,” you shrug, sighing, “anyways, it all happened really quickly. I didn’t even have time to tell you that I was seeing someone, I’m sorry.”

Yangyang only hums. Well, what else is he going to do? Be mad at you? For… what, exactly? For not telling him about your new find? For not telling him about going to a party? That would be stupid. The only person he has every right to be mad at is himself, because even after hearing your story and seeing the stars in your eyes light up at the mention of your boyfriend’s name, Yangyang just can’t seem to feel bitter in his chest and just a little bit envious of the position that Hyunho is in after 2 weeks, while Yangyang has been pining over you for at least the last 6 months. It’s not fair. 

“It’s okay,” he mumbles, “I’m happy for you.”

The smile that overtakes your features is one that would make even the shittiest of days feel like a fairytale. The slight tug of your lips upwards and the little scrunch you do with your nose is a sight Yangyang’s seen multiple times since getting to know you, but even after all this time, he feels like even a baseball bat could not hit him harder than this. 

No, he can’t be bitter that you got a new boyfriend that’s not him. At least not in front of you. 

“Thanks,” you grin, “you’re actually the first one to say that, so… it means a lot to me.”

He freezes. It hasn’t occurred to him before just how much the words of others could affect your relationship. In the bottom of his heart, he thought that just being in love with the person is enough to be happy– but it seems like the opinion of your friends and family matters too. 

So Yangyang decides to support you, even if he might be the only one in your circle to do so. 

“Where is he? He’s like 15 minutes late,” you mumble. Yangyang furrows his eyebrows at you, shrugging.

“There’s a lot of traffic around this time.”

You purse your lips, looking at the time on your phone screen– which, just by the way, is still decorated by a picture of your friend group all out on the fare, which makes Yangyang happy to see– and finish your drink. Yangyang assumed you were going to take it with you to your date, since you rarely drink more than one coffee a day. 

“Do you want another one?” he asks, still.

“No, I’m just gonna wait for Hyunho to arrive,” you tightly smile. 

Minutes slowly pass as Yangyang cleans the counter and throws out the plastic cup that was used to hold your drink, making coffee for the lonely couple that came a few minutes after you ordering two iced americanos. He doesn’t want to pay much attention to it, he really doesn’t, but the clock sitting right above his head as he scoops the ice into the two cups reminds him of time passing.

Three minutes, five… seven… fifteen. 

Another fifteen minutes pass before the door opens with a subtle hum of a ring, revealing a man in a leather jacket passing through the entrance without a single word, nearing the tall barstool you’re sitting at. Yangyang can only assume it’s your boyfriend by the way he wraps a protective arm around your waist and greets you as silently as he can, as if he didn’t want to disturb the other customers.

“Where were you all this time?” you ask, and Yangyang can only faintly hear the subtle disappointment in your voice before you’re cut off by your boyfriend’s low voice. 

“Traffic.”

“Okay,” Yangyang sees you sadly smile from the corner of his eye, a cheerful grin overtaking your features when your eyes meet, “do you want to order anything? This is my friend-”

“No, I’m fine. Let’s go somewhere else,” he says, not even meeting eyes with who you meant to introduce to him, tugging you off the barstool instead. 

Yangyang doesn’t have much time to say goodbye to you before you disappear behind the entrance, only earning himself a wave as you hop by your boyfriend’s side and attentively listen to what he has to say. 

Yangyang thinks that it might be harder to pretend that he’s happy for you now. And it’s only getting started.

iii. all your friends tell you that he's got no future, but they like me

“Can you believe that? He literally dragged her out of the café! I legit wanted to run after him and throw an americano down his back,” he rambles, aggressively wiping the counter with a smelly cloth that should have been washed like a week ago, “and when I asked her the other day after class how the date went, she went oddly quiet. If that’s not suspicious, then I don’t know what is.”

Throwing the damp cloth down to the floor– to the right corner, far enough to not make anyone trip over it behind the counter– Yangyang looks up to find Dejun and Renjun, the two Juns of his nightmares, as he likes to call them, staring at him with blank eyes and disbelief written all over their faces. 

Sure, no one liked your new boyfriend. No one’s gotten as violent with their thoughts about him just yet, and Yangyang fears that he might just have gone too far.

“Okay, well, I can see why you’re so furious about it, but… it’s her relationship,” Dejun shrugs, taking a sip of his coffee, “why do you care so much?”

“Because she’s my friend!” Yangyang gasps, mouth hanging slightly agape from shock. 

“Yeah, and? We’re friends, but I wouldn’t give two fucks if your new girl was toxic or some shit. That’s all your decision, mate,” Dejun shrugs and fully enjoys the taste of the hot beverage on his tongue. Dejun is the only person Yangyang knows that likes their coffee hot, even if it feels like a sauna outside. He never really grasped why he’s like that, he figures Dejun might just be a psychopath of some sort; but seeing him now with his blank white cup steaming into his face, Yangyang feels the utter masculine urge of splashing the contents right into his face. Or his own. Either one works.

“Well, thanks for looking out for me, I guess,” Yangyang furrows his brows and rolls his eyes in irony, “Renjun, can I get any support in this topic? You care about Y/N just as much as I do.”

“Well, I don’t know about that-” Renjun mutters under his breath, making the younger boy (even though it’s only a few months; Renjun likes to mention their ‘age difference’ every time he wants to take the upper hand, though, so it’s now kind of fixated in Yangyang’s brain as well) scrunch up his face in question.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” he peeps, “but yeah, that dude’s a lost case. I overheard  Y/N telling Ryujin that he invited her to sleep over at his house on Friday,” Renjun mutters, making Yangyang fume even harder with built-up frustration. 

“Who does that after a month of dating!” 

The brutal gaze he is sent by Renjun is one that could make anyone’s back shiver with terror. The little one can get scary sometimes, it seems. “Oh, so you’re conservative,” he sings, voice almost imitating Kris Jenner in a conversation with her dearest daughter Khloé about the wearingness of thongs in public.

“Excuse you, I’m not,” Yangyang defends himself, putting his hands to his hips in a stance quite similar to his mother’s back when she used to nag him for not washing his dishes after eating when he was younger.

Dejun’s eyes drift slowly from one person to the other, enjoying his friends’ heated debate over a man he’s never once seen in his whole entire life, feeling very much like in an episode of Keeping up with the Kardashians. 

“Well, I think it’s reasonable. They’re dating,” Dejun mumbles, testing the waters with his remark.

Like a sleeping volcano, Yangyang suddenly erupts, arms waving in the air and all, looking almost comical with his animated screeches. “That means they’re gonna fuck! And what if the condom breaks? Oh no. Worse. What if they don’t wear it at all and he doesn’t pull out fast enough and then she has to carry his babies?!” 

The shriek of horror is followed by a fit of laughter coming from the other side of the communication canal; the only one not finding the whole situation funny is Yangyang, though, heavily thinking of how even your pretty genes won’t outlaw the weird asymmetry in your boyfriend’s face. He quickly catches himself and rolls his eyes on his own snarky comment, forcing it out of his own head– he has no right to judge a man that’s, admittedly, a few heads taller than him and broader in the shoulders. 

“You’re overthinking it.”

“Well, you have to be prepared for every possible outcome!” Yangyang mumbles, noticing new customers arriving through the glass door of the café. 

One last glare is sent to his friends’ direction as he spills out his last comment, the discomfort he feels with the whole situation very much apparent on his face. “You’ll stop laughing when the day comes and I’ll be the only one that can say ‘told you so’, you fuckers.”

The smile he offers the customers standing behind the counter is so different to the expression he had before, one would think there was a shift in reality. 

Thank god Yangyang is a good actor.

iv. got a big house, he says he lives alone

Liu Yangyang is not a stalker. He’s not stalking your boyfriend. That’s not at all what’s happening when he sees him at the grocery store one day and eyes him the whole journey to his car, silently following him with the bag of groceries buckled in to his passenger seat, driving down the block and praying to god that your boyfriend doesn’t see him in the rear window, or worse– notice that it’s him that’s, coincidentally, following his every turn. 

That’s not stalking… right?

He doesn’t even know what he’s trying to prove here– surely, he can’t know much about your boyfriend just by simply staring at him from his car window. He can’t tell what he’s listening to on the radio– although, he can tell it’s not Nicki Minaj, for he’s not vibing as hard as Yangyang is when he almost forgets to take a turn left when your boyfriend’s car disappears out of his view for a split second. He can’t tell if your boyfriend is worth trusting behind the wheel either; Yangyang isn’t even worth trusting behind the wheel anyway. He’s got his driver’s license recently and already forgot what some of the road signs mean. He’s no judge in that.

Yangyang doesn’t know what he’s trying to prove– to anyone, but mostly to himself– when he follows your boyfriend home one day, but you could say there’s something in the universe that desperately wants him to win, in some way. A silent hint of intuition running through his bones, a spark of hope that lights him up as he feels tingling in the tips of his fingers, anticipation finally reaching the top as he sees your boyfriend park in the driveway, slowing down and waiting at the end of the street.

He goes unnoticed. Your new boyfriend must be blind, Yangyang wonders, silently chuckling to himself as he silently spectates and watches the scene in front of him unravel.

Hyunho walks out of the car– seemingly, an innocent act. The man himself walks over to the trunk, taking out the bag of groceries he’s bought at the store not too long ago, smashing the car door shut with such force that it makes Yangyang wince in terror. He surely hopes he’s not this harsh when he operates with your body, though, he doesn’t like to think about his touch on you, so he bats that thought away with a blink of his eyelashes and focuses on his investigation.

Angels, spirit guides, god… someone must be on his side today. He’s not crazy. He doesn’t usually follow people home. He’s not saying that it’s not fun, of course– it’s just something he’s never picked up before, preferring to focus his time on other, much more interesting hobbies. There must be a reason why he’s here– and the reason is unleashing right in front of his eyes.

The eureka moment suddenly hits him with much force, his lips parting, as if to scream a winning “Ha!” at the top of his lungs. 

He is a good listener. Well, most times, that is– when it’s you he’s listening to, though, he’s quite sure his memory is writing down each and every single word that comes out of your mouth, paying attention to detail and punctuation. He’s your number one fan, after all. 

And with that in mind, he remembers you telling him trivial facts about your boyfriend. 

That he’s strong (Yangyang’s definitely stronger), that he doesn’t like his coffee hot (one of the only normal things about him, it seems), that he’s super sweet, honest and loyal. You’ve also told him that he lives alone– in a small house with a brown roof, identical to the one he’s standing in front of right now, with the bag of groceries in his hold. 

Here he goes– the thing he’s been sent here for, the fact that he was supposed to acquire in this quest. 

Out of the house, a middle-aged woman strides her way forward, hair an identical shade of brown to Hyunho, who is only pointing an annoyed look at her through his dark eyes, the shape similar to the woman’s. She takes the groceries inside as your boyfriend locks the car, both of them disappearing in the comfy-looking house.

The ending seems anti-climactic, sure. Yangyang’s learned something about your boyfriend right now, though– something he’s sure he can use against him, if he really wanted to. 

“Hyunho lives alone, in like, a super pretty house just a few blocks away. Can you believe that?” your voice rings in his head, making him dryly chuckle and shake his head in disbelief.

That’s not true– his mum was home– and your boyfriend is a cheeky, little liar.

v. you should leave him, 'cause it really makes me sick

In another one of many meetings with his only friends– Renjun and Dejun– Yangyang complains. It’s the thing he likes the most, and it’s also the thing he’s the best at, so no one can really blame him for taking the time off his day to add every single, most unnecessary comment to each thing that’s just slightly annoyed him for the last week. It’s his second nature. A human instinct, even. 

Most of the topics he brings up when he complains, though, include your boyfriend, in some way. It’s been a few months since you two started dating, and everyone’s gotten used to it by now, it seems, but Liu Yangyang is a one pretentious fucker– he can’t let things go as easily. 

Not when you’re still, pretty much the only topic of his interest.

He should really get some new hobbies.

“And so- And so I drove past his house, and his mum was home! He’s a total liar. Can’t believe how Y/N can stand him-”

“You stalked Hyunho?” Renjun cuts him off, pointing a concerned look towards his friend, eyebrows all furrowed and bottom lip trapped between his teeth. He surely knows how to make someone feel bad about their actions– Yangyang should learn how to make that look the next time Renjun’s over, to be honest.

“I didn’t stalk him, come on. I just happened to see where he was going, and I just so happened to follow him and see his mum walk out of the house where he supposedly lives alone!” Yangyang rages, throwing his hands up into the air.

“She could have been there for a visit, for all we know…” Dejun mutters, opening a can of coke and sitting with them at the kitchen table. He chooses to sit opposite Renjun, because with how furiously Yangyang operates with the chopsticks in between his fingers, there’s a high chance that the take-out might end up in Dejun’s hair. And he really doesn’t want that. He washed it yesterday.

“Nah, bro, I’m telling you. He’s a bastard.”

With a roll of his eyes, Renjun sighs. “Just because he lives with his mum? It’s okay to live with your mum.”

“Do you live with your mum?” Yangyang argues, raising up his eyebrows.

“I don’t, but I’m just saying that if I did, it wouldn’t be such a problem-”

“It’s not just that, though! There’s so much that goes beyond the surface. One, he lies about who he lives with. Two, he always makes Y/N wait. Trust me, she’s been to the café at least 3 times now, waiting for him, and every single time, he arrived at least 30 minutes late. Three, he always makes her pay at the restaurant-”

“How would you know?”

“Ryujin told me. Y/N told her after she promised not to tell anyone, but I got it out of her,” Yangyang quickly answers, seeing Dejun widen his eyes in surprise and disbelief.

“So much for girl code…”

“Four! He hasn’t hung out with us once in these months they’ve been together. Five. I don’t like his eyebrows. He looks like a prick-”

“That’s not a valid reason,” Renjun sighs, making Yangyang roll his eyes.

“Okay, sure,” he admits, chewing on the last bite of the take-out he brought home after ending his shift at the café, swallowing before he starts talking again, desperate to prove his point, “all I’m saying is that Y/N doesn’t seem happy with him. Think about it! When was the last time she’s hung out with us? When was the last time she laughed so hard she cried? Huh? The last time I checked, it’s been a few months, and before that, it was an everyday occurance,” Yangyang shrugs, proving that  he’s right– he always is.

“And neither of you like him anyway, so I don’t get why I’m the only one getting crucified for voicing my opinion!” 

“Well, just speaking about it with us won’t do anything. What do you even want from this? You want them to break up?” Renjun barks, pointing his chopsticks towards Yangyang, an annoyed expression sitting at the top of his face. 

“I mean…” Yangyang mumbles, averting his gaze from them.

He won’t admit to it. No, never in a million years– it’s enough that his friends still haven’t noticed the clear obsession in his eyes whenever he speaks about you. He truly cares about you, he does! And he means everything he’s saying about your new boyfriend. It’s not just jealousy shining through; even though he feels his blood boiling every time he sees you two together and his heart breaks a little every time you smile at him with just the right amount of lovesickness.

He can’t admit that he’d be much happier if you were single again– because that would mean that he could at least have a little bit of faith in himself, the smallest hint of hope that maybe, maybe if he tried hard enough, maybe if you suddenly woke up one day and magically liked him back, you could be his. 

This way, though, he knows he’s hopeless.

And he feels like a played-out love song every time he sees you with Hyunho (where you laugh at his unfunny jokes and he doesn’t meet your eye contact), but Yangyang knows that he could treat you so much better than your current boyfriend ever has.

“You know, if you really want them to break up, maybe you should do something about it,” Dejun shrugs, meeting Yangyang’s eye.

Something clicks inside of his brain, gears finally finding their right place in his pea-sized brain; magically looking like a squirrel high on caffeine when he chuckles under his breath, Liu Yangyang has a masterplan he needs to execute. 

Only if he knew that his actions have consequences– much bigger than he’d ever imagined. 

That’s a problem for another evening, though.

vi. you don't need him, I'll help you get over it

Yangyang despises hipster cafés. Not only are they much different to the cafés he is used to– the one he works at, in particular– but the amount of plants surrounding him while indie music plays in the background surely can’t be enough to match the prices in the cheaply-made menu sitting at the top of the table. 

There’s no rush. No screaming of the orders. No weird smell coming from the back. This is not the campus café he is employed at, and even though he should be glad he is enjoying coffee somewhere else just because he simply can, there’s something inside of him yearning for the comfort of something he knows so dearly. 

You’re sitting in front of him, a sad face painted on your features. Of course you’re here– he wouldn’t be coming into a stupid hipster café if it wasn’t for you inviting him. The plants hanging above your head decorate your aura perfectly, though, and Yangyang simply can’t imagine spending his time with you in the half-empty, half-assed café at the very edge of your college campus anymore. This is where you belong, truly.

“What’s with the frown?” he asks almost a little too hesitantly, kicking you lightly in the shin under the table. You look up through your eyelashes, pointing your gaze towards him, a sad smile finding its way onto your face. Yangyang desperately wants to kick it away from its place– in his head, you’re only supposed to be smiling. There’s no place for a frown. 

“It’s… it’s nothing,” you chuckle, though the sound doesn’t seem as light-hearted as you meant it out to be. 

If there’s one thing about Yangyang, it’s that he’s annoying. Not in the bad way– he’s just that type of friend that constantly calls you when he wants to hang out, or endearingly keeps poking your sides when he wants your attention in a crowded place. He’s the one that keeps teasing you even though you’ve had enough. That can get a little overwhelming at times, sure, but in times like these, Yangyang chooses to put his annoyingness for a good cause. 

He keeps lightly kicking you under the table, a childish pout sitting at his lips. “Tell me.”

“I’m alright,” you roll your eyes, shaking your head in disbelief.

“I promise I won’t tell anyone. Come on! We’re practically best friends at this point, and we all need someone to listen to us at times. Spill it out,” he keeps nagging, adding a victorious poke to your hand sitting at the top of the table as well, as a bonus. 

Your eyes point towards one of the many plants in the café, the nervousness making you slowly crack the knuckles of your hands. “Fine,” you sigh, looking him dead in the eye, “but promise me you won’t tell anyone else, because god knows what they would tell me if they knew. I trust you with this, so don’t be a dick about it, okay?” 

A quick nod of his head and a fast nestle in his seat after, you’re taking a deep breath in and biting on the inside of your cheek as you open your mouth to speak. 

“So… There’s something worrying me… about Hyunho.”

Yangyang almost hears a siren ring inside of his ears, red flashing in front of his eyes as he nods, trying to gain his composure. Of course the problem is your boyfriend. If there wasn’t a problem with your boyfriend, Yangyang wouldn’t be here right now, sitting with you in a café. That’s the thing– you’re slowly starting to lose time for anyone else. Not that Yangyang’s salty about it… 

“What is it?”

“We were supposed to hang out yesterday,” you peep, averting your gaze from him, “and sometimes he comes late, that’s fine… I’ve gotten used to it by now, but… yesterday, he didn’t come at all. I tried texting him, ringing him, I tried everything, but he’s just ignoring me,” you ramble, a worried undertone coating your words as you chew on your bottom lip and look for comfort in Yangyang’s eyes, “and I know he’s fine because he sent out a stupid Snapchat streak this morning.”

Yangyang finds it hard to look for words that would comfort you right now. 

Sure, he hates that guy with everything he has in him, he hates his new haircut and he hates his voice when he hears him call you baby, but even with coming late, dropping out of college, lying about living alone and being ignorant to your friends, Yangyang never thought it would go this far.

All this time, he just thought he was blowing it out of proportion because of his teenage jealousy. 

But now, when you’re clearly distressed because of his actions, he feels like the stupid plan he had in his mind back when he hung out with Renjun and Dejun isn’t as crazy anymore. If it’s gonna help you in the long run, he’s gonna do it– and not think about the consequences.

“I’m so sorry,” he mumbles, chewing on his bottom lip, “I- I don’t really know what to say…”

“It’s fine,” you nod, “maybe I’m just too dramatic-”

“Oh don’t you dare say that,” Yangyang cuts you off. There’s no way he would let you think that your emotions aren’t valid. “Actually, there’s- there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

Panic flashes in front of your eyes. He would even say it’s okay for you to panic– with what he has to say next, he can only prepare for the worst outcome. You’re already becoming him to talk with a hesitant nod of your head, and he can’t back out now, can he? 

“I… He’s cheating on you, Y/N.”

The world falls silent after his words. Your lips part in shock, your eyes get glossy. Yangyang can’t believe a word that came out of his mouth. Did he really get this desperate? Is he really such a dick?

Surely, he can’t be worse than the guy that left you hanging for a whole day… right?

“Are you- are you joking? Is this serious? Don’t prank me right now, Yangyang,” you mourn out, your bottom lip trembling. 

What else is there to say? With just an ever-so-honest nod of his head, Yangyang confirms the lie he made up in his sick, twisted mind– all because he can’t stand to look at you with someone else that isn’t him. 

What’s even worse is that even though you’re in pain, he secretly enjoys the way you curl into his chest when you cross the distance between the two of you and sit next to him in the booth, quietly sobbing into his shirt. 

He really fucked up, didn’t he?

vii. he says he loves you, but it's all an act

“You did what?” Dejun stares at him in disbelief, mouth apart in shock. 

The thing is, Yangyang can’t deal with his emotions alone. Also, when he does something bad, like, really really bad, there’s no way he can deal with the despair that comes with the unbelievably heavy weight of guilt alone. Liu Yangyang also loves to overshare and complain. He won’t miss his once-in-a-lifetime chance now. 

His first victim? His own roommate– Xiao Dejun. He could go to Renjun, but he figures that might be too dangerous. Dejun doesn’t know you too well, so he’s not that interested in the whole case, and Yangyang’s quite sure that the fierce short boy would ignite like a match if he told him what he did, and even though he’s tiny, he can do a lot of damage. Yangyang can’t afford to get a black eye from Renjun. God knows, he might get it from Hyunho instead.

“Yeah, well-”

“Are you out of your mind? Why the fuck did you think this was a good idea?” Dejun bursts out, even forgetting to pause the TV show he’d been watching when Yangyang came into his room. 

“I didn’t think it was a good idea, per se, I just thought… I-” he mumbles, shooting his arms into the air in defeat, “I was just trying to do the good thing!”

Dejun looks at him with stone cold eyes. The laughing track coming out of the laptop’s speakers does nothing to lighten up the situation; Yangyang feels chills run down his spine as the reality of everything slowly sinks and his hands turn ice cold with misery.

“No, Yangyang,” Dejun shakes his head.

Raising up his eyebrows, Yangyang blinks at his roommate. “...what, no?”

“You weren’t trying to do the good thing here, you were just doing it for yourself,” Dejun mutters, sighing. There’s disappointment coating his words and Yangyang can’t believe how scolded and defeated he feels under the weight of his roommate’s words. He doesn’t take them seriously most of the time, so this argument only proves that he should really reflect on his actions. 

“How could I be doing it for myself? It’s not my relationship we’re talking about,” Yangyang rambles, shaking his head in disapproval.

“Yeah, and that’s the thing. It’s not your relationship, so why are you acting like it is? It’s not your place to lie about someone, however shitty they might be as a person, just to get them to break up! Again, you didn’t do this for her, you did this for yourself!” Dejun says, finally closing the laptop shut so the background noises don’t disturb the seriousness of the conversation. 

Yangyang feels as if he is being scolded by his teacher for cheating on his exam. It feels even worse, to be exact– and he didn’t think there could be a bigger humiliation than that.

“What do I gain from this, then? If I’m doing it for myself, as you keep repeating,” Yangyang rolls his eyes in irony, chuckling at the whole situation. If it’s getting to him, he won’t let it show to Dejun. For all he knows, he didn’t care until now, so what’s changed?

Shaking his head, the older boy rolls his eyes. “You don’t have to see them together anymore, and that’s enough for you. At least your little, jealous heart will be happy now.”

“I’m not-”

“Yangyang,” Dejun cuts him off, like many times before, “do you really think nobody noticed by now?”

viii. 'cause I'm better than him, just saying

Sitting around in the park, his friends chatter away as he’s lost in thought and picks at the skin of his cuticles. Ryujin and Lia try to get his attention by talking about the new anime they’ve been watching, but there’s no use as his unfocused eyes only go through them and the smile he offers them is nowhere near an honest one. Renjun tries to drag him into a conversation by gossipping about Hendery and Yuna’s strange, but blossoming relationship, but he only chuckles at the news as his eyes drift away into the distance.

You’re not around– much like many times before, hidden away in the shade with Hyunho– but this time, Yangyang feels as if he’s the reason why you didn’t pay them a visit. It only takes a few days, hell– maybe even hours– to find out that he’s been lying, and the moment you get ahold of this information, it’s all going to get even harder for him. 

Pointing his gaze towards his beaten-up converse, he plucks the grass from its place under his body and twirls the stems between his fingers, head lost in all the possible scenarios that could occur when he sees you next.

You could slap him. He would even dare to say that he deserves it; he doubts he’d be mad at you if you tried to beat him up and curse at him in front of everyone. Maybe the shame would outdo the great mistake he’s made.

You could scream at him. Truth be told, most of the possible outcomes include you screaming or cursing at him. You’re not even a violent person, but he guesses there’s no other reaction that could be the outcome of this whole situation, and he doesn’t even blame you for that.

Because Dejun is right. He did it for himself. 

There was no way he could help you with this, in any way, shape or form. All he did was cause you pain. 

“Yangyang?” a voice above him calls his name, causing him to look up. His heart beats wildly in his chest, heat rising to his face in anxiety; you look at him with stern eyes and lips pursed into a thin line. “Can we talk?”

Nodding, he stands up and follows you a few meters away from your group of friends, ignoring their excited waves and questions of how you’ve been and what’s up. Yangyang feels like he’s nearing his death– and from how fast his heart is beating, it could very well mean he’s close to the end by a heart attack– you stand in the shade of another tree (the one you always hang out under with your boyfriend), crossing your hands at your chest.

“What’s up?” he asks, voice low and full of shame. Even if you had no idea, now is the time you’d find out– he would gladly tell you everything, if it meant you wouldn’t get mad at him for it. That’s not how the world works, though, and so he awaits your outburst, looking like a scared dog with its tail hidden in guilt.

“Why did you lie to me?” you ask. Your voice is steady. He would even go as far as saying that you practiced this conversation with yourself in front of the mirror– you’re not a coward though, he is, and the reality must be miles away from this statement. You’ve always been good at getting your point across– no circling around the topic, edging towards the point. You go straight for it, ready for the battle. That’s what Yangyang’s liked about you perhaps the most.

“I can explain-”

“Well, that’s why I’m asking, isn’t it?” you chuckle under your breath, the bossy attitude very much in its place. 

“I- I kind of panicked? In a way? All I tried was to protect you,” he desperately gets out, sweating under your gaze. 

“Panicked?” you repeat, disbelief shining in the tone of your voice. “You lied to me about my boyfriend cheating on me because you panicked? Yangyang, I’m so sorry, but I’m afraid I’m not quite following,” you furrow your brows at him, your sentences worthy of a lawyer’s degree.

“Look,” Yangyang sighs, pinching the skin at the bridge of his nose in hopelessness, “I couldn’t stand looking at you two together. He’s not being a good boyfriend to you, Y/N, and it hurts me to see how you get treated, when you deserve so much more!” 

“That’s not for you to say!” you argue back, the scene already nearing the images he had in his brain. 

“Well, who else was supposed to say it! No one cares as much as I do!”

“Yangyang!”

“That guy keeps lying to you, he keeps arriving late! Hell, he makes you pay all the time. You didn’t even know him well before you started dating him. Did he remember your anniversary?” he asks, the empty look in your eyes being enough of an answer to him, “See? Thought so. You never hang out with us anymore, he always ignores us… He stood you up and ignored you for multiple days, Y/N, for god’s sake!”

He feels the eyes of everyone on his back right now, the tone of his voice louder than he intended it to be. There’s no time to feel embarrassed, though– not when he’s trying to save his relationship with you. 

“And so what, Yangyang? That’s not your shit to worry about,” you shake your head, “you hurt me. You really hurt me with your words, you know that?” 

“It was necessary!” he grunts, helplessly shaking his head at your stance.

“You hate to see me with him that bad? That’s not what a good friend does, Yang,” you chew on the inside of your cheek, waiting for the last arguments that could come out of his mouth.

His heart shakes in his throat, palms sweating as his brain turns into autopilot. Fuck it, he thinks; he can’t save this anymore, so he might as well go all out. Maybe then, you’ll understand where he’s coming from better. Maybe you won’t hate him as much.

“Fuck, Y/N, that’s because I don’t want to be your friend! I could treat you so much better than he ever did.”

He doesn’t know what he expected with his words. He doesn’t know what reaction he wanted to get after his unprompted confession. Truth is, he didn’t think this far– even his wildest imaginations and scenarios he made up in his head never got to the point of him breaking and telling you how he feels. 

Also, he never wanted it to sound as ‘second lead in a cliche, overplayed drama’ as it did. What is he, a Shawn Mendes song?

The reaction you give him kicks him in his gut, slaps him across the face, hits him with a full fist right into his nose. This is where a fragment of his imagination comes true. He could even be a psychic, who knows.

“Fuck you,” you spit, tongue poking the side of your cheek in pure anger, “you’re so, so unbelievably selfish.”

ix. when you change your mind, I'll be waiting

Days that come after are not much different from the weeks before. You still don’t talk to him or his friends, but the reason behind your silence is completely different now. It’s not you being busy; you no longer send an incoherent train of messages into the group chat with apologies of not knowing about the hang-outs sooner. Now, it’s because Yangyang stabbed you in the back and when he goes down, all your friends go down together. Not willingly, of course– you just knew all along that no one is happy with your new boyfriend. And that is enough of a reason for you to stay mad. 

Yangyang feels numb. Drifting apart from your friends is natural. You can’t really do anything against it– bending yourself over for something that is no longer beneficial for both of the parties is never an okay thing to do. Sometimes, you just have to watch that person slowly disappear out of the reach, walk away from your life forever. 

Drifting apart from your friends is natural, but that doesn’t mean that it won’t hurt. 

It hurts. It hurts so much that Yangyang chooses not to think about it any longer, because the truth is, you weren’t just his friend– you were his first love, as silly as it might sound.

Sure, he had crushes before– like on that girl in kindergarten or on that girl in middle school; the small devil that set his hair on fire in Chemistry class. It was never quite the same as the feelings he had for you, though. The nervousness and anxiety disappeared out of his body, the butterflies in his stomach not as panicky as with other girls in his life before. You made him feel calm. He didn’t have to worry about what you’d think of him when he was truly himself around you. He didn’t have to pretend to be someone he’s not– he knew you liked him as he is, and that always made him so, so uncontrollably happy. He would even say he was your favorite; over time, you started acting so– but when that place in your life was suddenly taken out of his hands, with no time to prepare, he was left empty-handed and confused.

He was so, so fond of you. At times, it looked even simple– that’s how he knew he was in love with you. Love was supposed to be simple, after all, wasn’t it?

He spends his days at the café. It’s been a few weeks since you appeared at the door with your boyfriend, getting iced coffee together and then disappearing once again, on another one of your usual dates. He does his work on autopilot, his head somewhere completely else. 

Exams pass as fast as they come. He is surprised with himself to still get a decent grade– although he thinks he would’ve done better if you studied with him instead. The trip to the McDonald’s with your friends and Dejun to celebrate the semester ending seems empty without your cheerful voice filling the room and he can’t get himself to focus on a single word that comes out of his friends’ mouths. 

The last day of school is filled with emptiness in his stomach. It’s not that he’s not excited for summer break, but something tells him that it won’t be as exciting if you’re not there to drag him to the beach, or watch him skate around the town and fall down and scrape his knees. He was the main character of your Instagram stories last summer, and he was proud of being so. Not that he gained any new followers out of it, no– he just enjoyed the world seeing that he spends a lot of time with you.

Poking the food around on his plate, his head is hung low and his brows are furrowed into a worried expression. He doesn’t like sitting alone at lunch in the cafeteria, for it’s always filled to the brim with people and it makes him feel lonely, but all his friends are in class or at home, still, waiting for the last class of their semester to start after lunch break. He’s left alone– he’s quite getting used to it, though, so when the sound of a plate hitting the table across from him startles him from his slumber, he’s more shocked than ever before.

Looking up, he’s met with the state of you. It’s a sight that shakes him down to his core. Truth is, he wasn’t used to seeing you face to face anymore; not saying that he forgot what you looked like. He spent countless hours stalking you on social media, after all. Now, though, you look different than before– your hair looks less taken care of and your outfit looks like you put less effort into, resulting in wearing oversized clothing rather than carefully matched pieces completed with accessories. Today, you look simple, yet, even that was enough to make Yangyang’s eyes wide and lick his lips in anticipation. 

“Can I sit here?” you ask. Yangyang feels himself eagerly nod, putting the fork in his hand away, as if to brace himself for the impact of your words. 

Your body slungs itself into the seat in front of him, placing your arms onto the table and nestling a little in your place. Yangyang would even go as far as calling you nervous, from how your eyes hesitantly meet his figure and kick your leg up and down under the table. 

“What’s up?” he breaks the silence, because he thinks that if you sit with him without a word much longer, he’s going to explode.

Shrugging, you tightly smile. “Not much. How did your exams go?” 

The question catches him off guard. He surely didn’t expect such causality from you, after everything that’s happened between the two of you. “They went well,” he shrugs, “yours?” 

You nod, the smile on your face growing even tighter. “Yeah, they went okay, I guess…” you mumble, “could have gone better, but… given the circumstances I was in, I’m glad I could even focus on writing the answers down, to be honest.”

Yangyang wants to ask you what happened. Surely, the fight you had couldn’t be the reason why you couldn’t focus on your exams. You were the top of the class, the best student; you never had any problems with studying. There must have been something else going on that made you be out of it. He almost opens his mouth to ask you about it, when you cut him off and ask another question, desperately wanting to keep up with the conversation. 

“Do you have any plans for the summer?” your eyes light up when you finally open your mouth and take a bite of the food sitting on your plate, waiting for your friend to answer as you chew on the sandwich. 

“...not really,” he shrugs. He had plans before; he wanted to take you to the beach again, but this time, you’ll have a sandcastle contest. He also wanted to go camping, and there was this latino party scheduled for the fourth week of the break he wanted to take you to. He also wanted to invite you to his hometown, because his mother wanted to see you. And somewhere along the way, he wanted to confess to you… but that plan clearly failed. 

“Hm,” you hum, swallowing before you speak again, “I was wondering if you wouldn’t teach me how to skate this summer. You know, since I was too scared to try last year.” 

Yangyang hesitantly meets your eyes again, licking his lips with nerves. What is it with you suddenly having plans for the summer with him? For all he knew, you never wanted to see him again after his blatant lie a few weeks ago. 

“But that’s gonna have to wait a few weeks. I… I have to go home to visit my mum. She’s been on and on about how I never come home nowadays, and that I should just spend the summer break at home this time and that I need to get out of this town, but I…” you trail off, shaking your head, “all I’m saying is, I’ll meet you in three weeks. And then, we can do whatever you want.”

He stays quiet. The whole conversation is strange, the situation making his stomach twist and anxiety sit in his bones. This is not how he’s used to feeling next to you, so it’s all new to him, but just the fact that you’re talking to him, seemingly not mad anymore, is making him fill with courage as he moves closer to the edge of the seat and cracks his knuckles, preparing himself. 

“Y/N…” he trails off, in a sudden loss for words.

“You were right,” you get out, a tight smile plastered on your face, “I broke up with him,” you say, nodding to prove your point. 

Nothing in the world could prepare him for the words that came out of your mouth. He’s not even sure how he should feel– does he get happy? Does he feel sorry for your failed relationship? How does a man, who’s coincidentally, still kind of in love with someone, feel when that someone breaks up with their toxic boyfriend? 

Is it relief? Joy? He’s not quite sure. 

Perhaps he hasn’t grown enough as a person to feel worry for you at first. After a few heartbeats, though, it settles in, and he finds himself uttering out the words.

“I’m… I’m sorry to hear that, Y/N.”

“Yeah, it’s- it’s okay. I should have listened a long time ago. But that’s not important right now-”

“What happened?” he asks. The change is sudden, for sure. You seemed like you would never break up with that dude, no matter how many valid arguments you got from your friends. So what changed your mind? 

“He cheated on me,” you say, chuckling a little in irony, “maybe you should be a psychic, or something, because with how accurate your predictions are, you would have a secure place on the market. Maybe I’ll get you tarot cards for your birthday, so we have more to work with-” you ramble on and on, until he doesn’t compose himself and cut you off, saving you from your misery.

“I’m sorry Y/N. You didn’t deserve that.”

You bite on your cheek, nodding. He must admit, you look down. Yes, he did want you to break up with Hyunho, but never in a million years would he really want you to hurt as much as actually finding out that he cheated on you. 

“Thanks, Yangyang,” you mutter, smiling– except this time, the smile looks genuine, “so… we don’t have to talk about all of that. Let’s just… leave it in the past,” you giggle, taking another bite of your sandwich.

Your friend nods, suddenly feeling lighter. The weight of shattering the friendship you two had is no longer sitting on his shoulders, and although it’s shitty, he’s glad he has you back. He never knew just how much you could miss someone until he didn’t get to the point of missing the one person he claimed to be the most important to him. 

“I had a few plans for summer, actually,” he says, smiling, “we could do them all after you arrive.”

“Really?” you light up, kicking him lightly under the table. 

“Yeah! I wanted to go to the beach, since you like it that much.”

“You don’t even have to plan that, you already know I’m dragging your ass over there every third day of the summer,” you laugh.

“And we could go camping,” he mentions, “with everyone. I know Renjun has a tent he could lend us, and Dejun is learning how to play the guitar recently, so we can exploit him a little and invite him just so he can play some tunes while we start the bonfire,” he grins.

“Amazing. Anything else?”

“Hmm…” he searches in his brain, the schedule he made in his phone a few months ago opening in front of his eyes as a hologram, “there’s a latino party the week after you come back.”

“I hate dancing…” you mourn out, seeing him laugh at you.

“That’s not true!”

“It totally is.”

“Well then, I don’t care. I’m dragging you with me, because there’s no way you will get through this summer without seeing that those hips don’t lie,” he giggles, suggestively wiggling in his seat, making you burst out with laughter.

“Okay,” you nod, rolling your eyes playfully at your friend. Something in the air suggests that you both missed this– useless ideas shared at the lunch table, careless laughter flowing through the space. It’s like the universe is back aligned again, because you two are in each other’s lives, content with each other’s company. “Any other plans that need mentioning?”

“Well…” Yangyang starts, the checklist in his phone app he made before you started dating your ex boyfriend materializing in his thoughts, the last paragraph loud and clear in his mind. 

4. confess or whatever; it says at the very bottom. Yangyang despises that he remembers it so clearly. 

“We’ll see. I’m sure I’ll come up with something,” he says, seeing you smile widely at him, finishing the last bite of your sandwich. 

Standing up from your place, he follows you as you escape the cafeteria. The hot air outside slaps both of you in the face, but neither of you care as you bathe in the sunlight, enjoying the first day of summer break together. You’re leaving for three weeks, and Yangyang’s sure he’ll miss you; but the few days are nothing against the weeks of silence he got from you when he messed up in the past. He’s sure he can live through it. At least now, he’s sure you’re coming back.

“I’m excited to spend the summer with you all,” you say when you sit outside. 

“Me too,” he smiles. The sun hits his eyes, making him squint, but even that can’t make him hate the feeling of incoming summer that visits him with a promise of adventure.

And when you put your head on his shoulder, relaxed and comfortable, looking up to meet his eyes with eyes full of familiar glimmer, Yangyang almost promises to himself to confess to you again, when the time is right and you’re both ready.

Who knows. It might even work next time.

#nct #wayv #nct fluff #nct angst #wayv fluff #wayv angst #yangyang fluff #yangyang angst #nct fic #wayv fic #yangyang fic #yangyang x reader #nct x reader #wayv x reader #nct imagine #wayv imagine #yangyang imagine

[000ceanus]

Cuddling with Yangyang

Pairing: Liu Yangyang x gn!reader

Genre/s: Fluff

TW: none c: (if there is, please let me know!)

Masterlist

✧༝┉˚❋ ❋˚┉༝✧

You and Yangyang are both cuddling in his bed, with your head over his heart, and you can hear his heart beating quickly and loudly. He’s tracing shapes on your arm and running his hand up and down it.

So you move your thumb back and forth on where it was, over his ribs.

And you hear his heart beating faster. You close your eyes and smile to yourself, reveling in this moment with him.

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