Baekhyun

Junmyeon really doesn’t know how to throw a party.

The only thing that’s saving the party is the fact that all the alcohol Junmyeon provided is some top-tier expensive alcohol that gets people drunk out of their minds after a few shots. He somehow managed to get not one, but a couple of Bacaradi 151s, and it’s working on making more people come to his party to get a taste of the discontinued drink.

It’s also working on making people believe that it’s a fun party, despite the fact that Kris Wu is the DJ and the only thing he’s actually doing to the music is increasing and decreasing the volume with a smug look on his face, and the fact that Junmyeon’s light bulbs are too fluorescent and too bright for people to comfortably grind on each other.

Even the punch inside the classic red plastic cup in my hand right now tastes stale, and I can’t believe that I almost sacrificed my sleep for this mess.

Chanyeol is now telling me to mix my drink with a shot of the (technically) illegal drink so I can start enjoying the party too, his head buried into the crook of my neck as his words slur together into a jumble of incoherent sounds. I wouldn’t have caught what he said if it isn’t for the fact that he’s been telling me the same repeated sentence for more than twelve times the past hour alone.

“No thanks,” I reply, trying to hold my breath as his breath tickles my nose.

I don’t particularly enjoy the strong alcohol scent when it’s not coming from my own mouth, and especially when it’s coming out of Chanyeol’s mouth. Trying to pry his head away from my face, I look around for any possibly sober person to help me get the giant to bed, more than ready to drive myself home and into the comfort of my own bed.

There is none. The soberest person I can pick out of the crowd is a boy I can’t remember his full name, but even his eyes are already droopy, and his head lols from one side to another as if he’s trying to fight the sleep out of him while he walks from one end of the room to the other.

Purely powered by my determination to get home as soon as possible and my own irritation, I haul Chanyeol’s body off mine in one swift motion and dump him unceremoniously onto the nearest couch I can find. He trips on my foot before falling face first onto the couch, and for some unknown reason, starts to wail.

If he is sober, I would’ve punched him.

“’m so sorry, ‘dnt mean tuh hurt a star player’s feet-finguhs,” he slurs, frantically reaching out for my face with his huge hands, which I push away gently before he hurts himself or both of us.

“It’s fine,” I tell him slowly, dragging each syllable the way I would if I am talking to a toddler, “if you want to heal my injured foot, you should go to sleep now.”

The silver-haired giant shuts his eyes almost immediately, so hard that he frowns along with it, and I suppress the urge to laugh at his clenched fists and rigid legs. If this is the way to get him to sleep, then I’ll gladly let him torture himself like this. He wouldn’t have stayed still if he finds out that I’m not taking his determination seriously.

Satisfied with my handiwork, I dust my hands off on my jeans, ready to get the hell out of this place.

Not even two steps later, though, a head who sports a hairstyle I recognize belongs to Kim Jongdae barrels into my stomach abruptly, hands drunkenly grabbing at my arms to help himself stand up.

I sigh, exasperated, grabbing him by the shoulder and pushing him away from me to get a good look at his. It’s like the universe is conspiring against me tonight. Is it because I skipped today’s practice to help Junmyeon set up his birthday party? I already regretted that, and I’m still regretting my decision now.

“You’ve got to help me,” Jongdae’s not as wasted as Chanyeol is, but his face is as red as a ripe tomato, and he starts to blink rapidly as he continues to talk. It’s usually a sign that he’s about to get ed up. “I swear I didn’t mean to drink, but there’s this cute girl who thought that I couldn’t handle my—”

“Slow down,” I stop him short, searching for his eyes, “What happened?”

The man has the audacity to smile, although drunkenly, looking down as he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, and mutters, “I’m, um, supposed to drive Junmyeon’s distant cousin home and forgot and now I’m drunk.”

Wow.

I turn my heel around without a second thought, not wanting to be involved in whatever drunken mess Jongdae has gotten himself to. Unsurprisingly, he grabs for my arm desperately, dawdling unsteadily right next to me. When I look down to see his face, he gives me the puppy eyes, and protrudes his bottom lip as if it made him look cute.

In another life, it would’ve worked, if he actually looked like puppy and not like a cat, and if I’m as straight as a cooked spaghetti. I almost pity him.

“Please, Byun, she’s a girl. Super tiny, like five feet. Wouldn’t it kill you to see a girl walking home alone at this time of the day?” he begs, trying to walk me down the aisle of guilt. His grip around my upper arm grows tighter, but it doesn’t work. “Junmyeon is going to kill me if I don’t send her home. Plus, you still owe me fifty thousand won—consider that paid if you send her home.”

I stop walking. I turn my head to face Jongdae’s stupid face, and raise one of my brows as an act of bargain. Not even a second later, he sighs, lolling his head backwards while rolling his eyes.

“Fine. You can also borrow my Nintendo switch. A week tops,” Jongdae says through gritted teeth, and I’m just amused that his love for his gaming consoles almost overpowers his intoxicated head.

Maybe it’s not such a bad night after all.

***

Junmyeon’s distant cousin is really, really small—Jongdae wasn’t lying when he said that she’s tiny.

When I enter the room, her back is facing mine and she is yelling at someone on her phone, one hand on her hip, and the other gripping onto her phone so tight that her knuckles turn white.

As if sensing that Jongdae and I had entered the room, she abruptly turns around to face us, and there’s a deathly glare in her eyes that is specifically targeted at Jongdae. She ends the call on her phone with a vehement swipe.

Jongdae actually winces, holding onto my arm uncharacteristically, hiding half of his face behind my body.

It’s truly an uncanny and amusing sight to see Jongdae wincing at the sight of a girl that’s almost half a size smaller than him—especially when he has a notorious reputation of being an annoying bully when he wants to be. People don’t want to mess with him. I already like Junmyeon’s cousin.

“You!” she growls, dainty finger pointing at Jongdae behind me, “get me home. Right. Now.”

The first thing I noticed aside from her height is the ferocity in her eyes. Her eyes flicker with fiery anger and her whole body is tense, poised like she’s ready to pounce on Jongdae if he s up one more time, eyebrows pinched so close together it almost melts into a single line.

Her dark hair is pulled up into a messy ponytail that I suspect used to be neat until Jongdae pissed her off, pale skin a stark contrast to the tight black tank top and sweatpants that hugs her curves perfectly. Who in their right mind would wear a pair of sweats to a birthday party?

“I’m really sorry but I can’t. I—I accidentally drank some drink and can’t leave until at least a couple of hours…” Jongdae explains, slowing down a stop as her face contorts into a more incensed look, “but! But Baekhyun here can drive you home! He has a soccer match tomorrow so he doesn’t have a single drop of alcohol in his system and would love to drive you home. Right, Baek?”

I almost nitpick on the part where Jongdae lies about my soccer match tomorrow, but his grip on my bicep turns vice-like the moment my mouth opens, and the image of his Nintendo switch flashes before my eyes, so I nod wordlessly.

Then, almost like she’s only noticed my existence in my room for the first time, her body goes limp, hands falling to her sides, and her eyes widen with recognition at the sight of me, mouth falling slightly agape.

Our eyes meet, and I finally notice her face. She doesn’t look pretty—not in a textbook way that would make you swoon at first glance, making your stomach fill with butterflies at the sight of their huge, doe eyes. In fact, her eyes are small, like every other part of her body is, a little too slanted and her nose a little too round—but she holds herself with a certain kind of confidence that makes your heart beat so inexplicably hard you think it would burst through your ribcage.

At least that’s how my heart feels.

“Hi,” I wave my hand awkwardly, completely aware of my irrational heartbeat, “I’m Baekhyun.”

“I know,” she mutters softly, voice soft and gentle, but the edge to her words is still there. She tells me her name, and I recall vaguely that I’ve heard her name around school at least once.

“Yeah, so now that that’s established, you’ll let him send you home, right?” Jongdae asks nervously, still hiding himself behind my body.

She bites—no, chews on her lips for a good few seconds before sighing and looking up at me with the most endearing look on her face, “Are you sure that you’re okay with driving me home? I mean, you have a soccer match and all that—I understand if you’d want to get home as soon as you can.”

I realize after a couple of beats that she’s not pulling the endearing look intentionally, and she’s genuinely waiting for my answer to her question. I nod my head quickly, sending her a reassuring smile that seems to calm her down, although her gaze always turns icy cold every time it flicks back to where Jongdae is standing behind me.

Honestly, I fail to understand how she does that.

“Let’s go,” I tell her. She gives me a last once over, shamelessly eyeing me from the tips of my hair down to my metaphorical toes, before walking over to me all the while flipping the bird towards Jongdae with a blank look on her face.

Jongdae looks scandalized, but the girl grabs me by the sleeve of my shirt wordlessly and drags me out of the room before he starts to whine.

How did I manage to never meet her in my life?

***

i added the song specifically for this scene bc i felt like it was so fitting!!

“Thank you,” her voice is small, and she’s curled up on the passenger seat of my car looking like the seat could just swallow her up whole if it decides to snap shut. Her face is illuminated by her phone screen that she’s clutching on her tiny hands, eyebrows slowly but surely starting to furrow in worry yet again.

“There’s a jacket in my back seat, you’ll catch a cold if you point all the air conditioning towards you like that,” I don’t ask her about what seems to be bothering her, because the last thing she looks like she needs is an interrogation session with an absolute stranger when she already looks so aggravated. Her questionable attire still lingers on the back of my mind, but I keep my thoughts to myself.

She listens, uncurling herself from her previous fetal position, half of her body crawling into the back of my car to look for my jacket. The tips of her hairbrush my shoulder so slightly, and the smooth expanse of her collarbones grazes my peripheral vision.

I force myself to focus on the road harder.

“I’m in my sweatpants because I didn’t know there was going to be a party,” she states, putting on my jacket that’s obviously way too big for her. For a split of a second, I wonder if I had asked the question lingering in the back of my mind out loud.

“I thought that you were curious.” She finishes a matter-of-factly.

Thump. Thump. Thump. There goes my heart beating again, loud and persistent against my chest. But why?

Maybe it’s because I’m so used to girls who are aware of themselves around me, to girls who starts playful banters with me, chattering away to keep up with my constant chattering. It’s a new and completely foreign feeling to be around someone who talks as little as possible to get as much point across as possible.

She tells me all the things I didn’t know I needed to hear without having to ask her about it first.

Judging by the nonchalant look on her face, I find myself wondering if the girl ever really notices the effect that she has on people for her painful bluntness.

I nod slightly at her statement. Unused to the silence that ensues between us, I crank the volume on my car’s stereo, the music coming to live subtly and steadily, picking up from the last track that I left playing before I’d parked the car and killed the engine.

Beside me, she visibly stiffens, eyes widening just the slightest bit at the sound of the song, and I’m not surprised if she’s bothered by the music that I’m playing. Chanyeol likes to tell me that my taste in music is too hipster for my own good. He thinks I’ll never find another person aside from the internet friends I have accumulated on Tumblr that will appreciate the same kind of music I do.

Just as I am about to turn down the volume, she reaches for my hand, fingers warm and soft, stopping me from touching the volume button.

“You listen to them too?” her eyes are so wide, the widest I’ve seen them open and that includes the time that she almost killed Jongdae with her eyes alone, and I’m a little star struck.

She’s not pretty, definitely. She’s beautiful.

“I freaking love them,” my voice comes out raspy, and I thank the gods that it’s very dark out or she would’ve noticed the heated blush that I can feel on my cheeks right now.

Right when we pass by a street light, she smiles at me for the first time ever since we met an hour ago, face illuminated by the dark yellow light. The light only manages to shine down her face for a fraction of a second, but I catch the glee in her eyes.

The way her eyes stay wide and delighted despite her grin pushing her cheeks upwards makes it a little hard for me to breathe.

I don’t believe in love at first sight, and I still don’t, because tonight, she completely and thoroughly bewitched me.

***

I don’t know what came over me when I roll down my car window in a daze, pulling the car over slowly to trail next to the girl who I just met two days ago. Her head is a wild mess of uncombed hair, and she only has one hand tucked into the sleeve of our school’s blazer, her steps rushed and hurried.

“Hey,” I wince at the eagerness in my voice, and she stops abruptly, turning to look at me with a confused look on her face, brows furrowed together before the recognition settles.

“Baek… hyun?” she’s a little breathless, and her cheeks are flushed, a clear sign that she’s been running for quite a while now. She must be running to catch up with the last bus that leaves before the school gates close.

“Um, yes.” She answers awkwardly, constantly switching between her left and right foot to lean her body weight on. I flush red, realizing that I must’ve said it out loud.

I never pegged myself as a blusher—I’m usually the one that likes to make people blush.

“You can come with me. I mean, if you want to,” it’s been a long time since I last felt this nervous.

She hesitates for a few seconds, doing the same lip-chewing thing she did a couple of nights ago when Jongdae told me that I’d drive her home. She looks at her wrist watch, then sighs when she notices the time. She doesn’t really have a choice.

“You sure you’re okay with me tagging along? I mean, I don’t wanna—”

“Hop in now, or we’re both going to be late.”

***

I also don’t know what came over me when I decided that it’s smart to hold her hand when we cross the road to get to the street that’s located at the other side of the road from where I’m parked.

She doesn’t say anything, but her eyes widen just the tiniest bit, and if I squint hard enough, I can see the slightest tinge of pink brushing the apple of her adorable cheeks.

As cliché as it sounds, her tiny hands molds perfectly against my imperfect hands, and she makes me wonder if this is how a fangirl feels when they get to touch their oppa’s hand. I can feel the blood rushing to my face when she reciprocates the touch, squeezing my hand just the slightest bit when a car stops too near, unconsciously pulling my body closer to hers from time to time.

When we get to the restaurant, though, she lets go of my hand without saying a single word, her face as blank as it can ever be. I hold myself back from whining at the loss of warmth from her hands as I take a seat at the other end of the table, forcing a smile onto my face when our gazes meet each other’s.

She smiles back, soft and genuine, and asks the waiter for the menu as if nothing had happened.

I blink, slightly disappointed that she doesn’t make anything out of our previously intertwined hands—is hand holding really that nonchalant of an action to her? Had I just imagined the whole ordeal? Or worse, did she feel uncomfortable—

“Baek?” she interrupts my thoughts, the smile still on her face, “are you not going to order?”

“Uh, I’ll just have the spaghetti carbonara,” I say my go-to order at every restaurant, and somehow, it makes her smile stretch even wider, to the point that her cute little nose starts to scrunch.

My stomach flutters. I frown anyway, tilting my head to show my confusion.

“We’re in a Japanese restaurant, Baek,” she giggles. I snap my gaze to the menu that is lying in front of me, then to the waiter who looks like he’s holding back his laughter. .

“I mean salmon fried rice. Yeah. That’s what I meant,” I mutter quickly before returning the menu back to the waiter.

When the waiter finally leaves, she starts to laugh. Her head is tilted back in a carefree way and her eyes almost disappears, and I realize that it doesn’t matter if I made a fool out of myself, because nothing can ever come close to the feeling I get when I see her laugh.

***

At the span of a few months, I learn a lot of things about her and a lot of things about myself that I never discovered until her.

I learn that she’s an only child, I learn that her dad owns a trading business while her mom works as a prosecutor, I learn that she has the same odd music taste with me.

I learn that she’s a pretty crier, and I learned it the hard way, because I know I’m an ugly crier and I tried my damnest not to shed a single tear when we watched Miracle in Cell no. 7. It was rough. I’d been scared out of my mind that she’ll stop being friends with me once she sees my crying face throughout the whole movie. 

Even if my crying face is not as ugly as Junmyeon’s crying face.

I learn that she hates being indebted to someone, hence why she kept on asking me if it was okay with me to be driving her home that first night we met at Junmyeon’s birthday party. I now understand why Jongdae had lied to her about my nonexistent soccer match.

Then, I learn that she’s more of a listener than a talker. That’s when I learn the first new thing about me. I’d thought that I hated people who don’t talk much—but it turns out that I only hated them because they made me feel ignored. She doesn’t make me feel that way.

In fact, I’ve learned to enjoy the silence that she gives me, and she makes me realize that not every silence has to be filled with mindless words.

I also learn that I get flustered easily.

But maybe that trait is only exclusive to her only.

The moment I tell Jongdae about these discoveries I have about her and about me, he tells me that he notices me unconsciously doing things that she wants to do every time I’m with her.

Jongdae tells me that I’m whipped.

I tell him I’m not, but a few moments later I receive a text from her telling me that she’s done with class, and I instantly find myself shouldering my backpack in a rush to get to my car.

Jongdae paraphrases, and tells me that I’m ing whipped instead.

I roll my eyes at him.

“Tell me, Baek, when was the last time you felt nervous around girls? You didn’t even bat an eyelash when Kim Taeyeon threw herself all over you in that party. Do I need to remind you that you changed Taeyeon’s clothes and tucked her into bed without getting a ing ?”

“Taeyeon is my childhood friend, you . That’s like getting hard at your own sister, it’s just not right.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

***

A few days later, he tells me that I’m not just whipped, but that I’m whipped and I’m stupid.

“How so?” I frown, smacking his hand away from my plate, picking up the stolen fries that fell from his hands and putting it back onto my plate.

“She obviously likes you back, you idiot, so you better confess to her ASAP,” he replies, narrowing his eyes. I blanch, almost choking on the piece of fry that I just swallowed, and Jongdae makes no move to give me a glass of water to prevent me from dying.

I take a generous gulp out of his soda out of pure spite. “I—how—you’re ting me. You’re just saying that so I’ll confess to her and make a fool out of myself when she blatantly rejects me. She’s still not over Oh Sehun, I mean, have you seen him? He’s six feet and has these gorgeous shoulders, and he’s on the swimming team. I can’t compete with that.”

Jongdae rolls his eyes, but not before swiping the can of soda out of my hands roughly.

“Just don’t come crying to me when some other guy swoops her out of your arms because you’re too coward to make the first move. When you do, I’ll be the first one to tell you I told you so.”

***

“I told you so.”

There’s that smug look on Jongdae’s face that usually annoys the living out of me, but today, nothing can ever turn my mood sour, not even his ugly face.

“Sure, but you told me that someone would steal her away from me and it didn’t happen. I just didn’t confess to her first,” I reply, still smiling even though my cheeks start to cramp.

“Oh my god, wipe that disgusting look away from your face,” he groans, running a hand through his hair exasperatedly.

“Okay,” I smile again.

He finally gives up and ends the video call before I can say anything else.

Today, I learn that I never want to stop learning about her.

***

It’s warm and sunny out when we decide to walk to the theatre hand in hand. She’s talking animatedly about Jinri’s birthday surprise that she’s planning, her free hand moving enthusiastically along with her story.

Her eyes are twinkling, and she’s happily smiling at the thought of surprising Jinri, as if she had thought of the coolest birthday surprise ever in the whole world.

A gust of wind blows through her hair, making it fly wildly and stick out at random places in the middle of her rambling, and she complains for a good thirty seconds because she’d just straightened her hair this morning.

I think that she looks beautiful even without her hair straightened, but she doesn’t like it when I keep telling her the same thing. She thinks repeated compliments are moot.

She tucks her hair behind her ears quickly, combing out the soft tangles that the wind created, tiny fingers getting stuck in between some of the stubborn ones from time to time. She then sighs, pursing her lips as she gives up on fixing her hair, intertwining my hand with hers wordlessly.

How can anyone look that beautiful even when they’re just sighing?

“As I was saying,” she continues, the smile returning to her face—probably at the thought of Jinri again, “I think it’s going to be awesome! Jinri’s going to love it. I called her mom and—”

“I love you,” I find myself cutting her short.

She blinks slowly, mouth agape, and her hand in mine goes limp.

. Did I say it too fast? Should I—

“I love you too.”

There’s a beat of silence after she says those three words.

I break into a grin, and she does too. Word vomit, but no regrets.

She tiptoes to give me a kiss, and her lips taste like cotton candy and everything good. Our teeth clack due to both of smiling like idiots, and she starts to laugh.

I think… I’m learning that I’ll be okay even if my heart will never beat the same way ever again.

***

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