Genre: best friend!au | fluff, lil bit of quite stressful angst but happy ending
Member: Ten / reader
Word Count: 3500ish
Summary: “it was still a mistake”
“no the mistake was falling for you!”
It’s a Thursday when they meet.
Their year 7 teacher assigns them partnered projects about the solar system and she pulls names out of a hat. They get paired together. He’s is nice, really nice and she realises he has the most beautiful smile she’s ever seen- she’s not star struck or anything, she just hasn’t seen one like it before.
He introduces himself, she hasn’t seen him around much before so she’s assuming he’s pretty new and his name is a number. “Why is your name Ten?” she asks as they’re glueing planets to pieces of strings.
He shrugs, “It’s just a nickname.”
She frowns, “Well then what’s your real name.”
He sighs, smiling knowingly because there’s no way she’ll be able to pronounce it. “ Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul.” he says, almost proudly.
She pauses, staring at him, “Yeah I like Ten.” she dismisses because even she knows any attempt at the pronunciation would be embarrassing.
He grins, “You’re funny.”
“Do you want to be friends?” She asks quietly, almost shyly and he likes her already.
He smiles again, “I have a feeling we will be for a very long time.”
She frowns, “What are you a psychic or something?” She scoffs and rolls her eyes, pretending that a few second ago she wasn’t worried about what he’d say.
“Yeah I read people’s minds.” He assures.
She narrows her eyes and glances around the room. And then she points to a classmate, “What’s he thinking?”
“That he’s got a really itchy butt.”
And the teacher separates them because they distract each other too much.
“We’re out of Chinese.”
Ten closes the door behind him, frowning as he makes his way past the kitchen to look into the open living room. She’s sitting on the floor with a plate of food in her hands and her laptop on her lap. She’s surrounded by sheets and open text books and colouring pens strewn around in an unseemingly order. “That Chinese has been there for weeks.” He scoffs, dropping his bag onto the dining room table.
She shrugs, “It’s the only thing that was in there and I’m starving.” He breathes a laugh, walking over to sit behind her on the couch. He flops down and sighs loudly, rubbing his eyes tiredly. She pauses stuffing her face. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asks.
There’s a silence where he contemplates telling her, knowing that he will eventually because he tells her everything so he just sighs. “I got fired.”
She glares at him, “Again?” she cries, putting her plate aside to turn around and face him. Her chin barely reaches the sofa but she still manages to scare him a little. “What the hell did you do this time?” she demands.
“Nothing!” he cries cordially but when he sees the look on her face he sighs again, “Okay so I may have burnt someone’s arm.”
She frowns, “How did you do that?”
He rolls his eyes and waves her off like it’s no big deal, “They got in the way of the fire-”
“It was only a small fire and I told him to move, it’s not my fault they put the toaster right under the cupboards.” he defends.
She shakes her head, “You’re insane.”
He sits up, looking down at her plate of food, “Yeah, well at least I’m not going to get food poisoning.”
She waves him off, “I’m not going to get food poisoning.”
“Look at it, there’s mould on the chicken!” he cries, reaching over to point and she bats his hand away.
“Get your own food!” she snaps. He rolls his eyes threading his fingers through her hair and sighs Her eyes flutter closed and she leans her head against the sofa. It’s quiet, the only sound is their breathing and he doesn’t think he wants to move from this very spot when they’re both so comfortable in the silence of their own thoughts. “I’m tired.” she murmurs.
He looks down at her with eyes soft around the edges of the cold look she’s grown so used to and he nods, “Me too.”
His fingers thread through the knots and his thumb brushes her cheek and a part of her feels that this isn’t what friends do, but when he makes her feel like this she doesn’t care. “Can we watch House?” She asks quietly.
He breathes a laugh, “As long as you promise not to spoil it for me.”
This time she laughs, “Well I’m sorry I used to watch ER. At least your life is safe in my hands, imagine, you could have a heart attack right now and I would know what to do.” she assures.
He rolls his eyes, “If I have a heart attack its because of all the stress you cause me.”
It’s a Thursday when Ten realises he might like her as more than a friend.
They’re in the supermarket, travelling between aisles in search of cheap food that they can easily make because neither of them is particularly good at cooking. He’s pushing the trolley and she’s sitting inside it, a lollipop in her mouth as she grabs at rice packets and biscuits and throws them into her lap. “We don’t need those.” He points out as she slides a stack of waffles somewhere next to her knee.
She wags a finger at him but doesn’t turn, “We always need waffles.” She assures.
He shakes his head, “There is literally no situation in which we would ever need waffles.”
She grabs a cowboy hat that someone disregarded in the cereal aisle and pops the lollipop out of her mouth, “well, what if the queen comes around?”
“The queen?” He scoffs, throwing in a pack of cereal that he knows she likes.
“Yeah!” She cries, “And what if she stays for breakfast and we’ve only made pancakes but she doesn’t like pancakes and we don’t have any waffles!” she holds them up to show him, “We can’t let down the queen!”
“Of which country?” He asks in response
She pauses. “England?” She suggests, “Or maybe a Russian Tzar, oh! Do you think Rasputin might come round?” She exclaims, turning to face him with this child-like grin that turns his leg to jelly.
He shakes his head with a small smile, “Rasputin’s dead.” he points out and she waves him off.
“That’s what they want you to think.” She assures, “And if he ever visits I can assure you that he is a waffle person.”
“Okay, now what your reasoning for this?” He asks, reaching forward to pull the cowboy hat from her head.
She snatches it back, “I look good in it, is that not reason enough?”
“Were not going to buy it.” he points out, “Despite the fact that it’s just you and me, we eat a lot.”
She mock gasps, “But what if woody comes round for dinner?”
He rolls his eyes, turning the trolley towards the costume aisle, “Don’t you think he’d be offended by you impersonating a cowboy?”
“You’re right!” She cries, ripping the hat off her head. She wriggles around in the cart and clambers to her knees, facing him as she places it against his hair and begins to tie string to hold in place under his chin. “You’d look more realistic as a cowboy.” she smirks and he’s staring longer that he should.
“Can I get a tiara?” He asks, still pushing the trolley and she grins.
“Of course you can princess, any particular colour?” She questions, her eyes crinkling with her smile.
He hesitates, a finger tapping his chin as he pretends to think, “Pink or purple, whatever they’ve got.”
She nods, “Yes-sir-ie” she jokes in the most southern accent she can muster and leans out of the trolley, picking up various princess costumes, “Would you like to slip into an apple induced coma or lose a shoe on a wild night out?” She asks, holding them up to face him.
He smirks, “Depends, do I meet the love of my life?” He asks, looking her straight into the eyes before realising the fact that his heart rate is way up.
She smiles, adjusting the cowboy hat on his head, “Why, do tell me your deepest, darkest wish and the genie will make it a reality.” She says, again in a southern accent, “Is it princess Jasmine? Was it her beautiful dark eyes?”
He cocks his head leaning closer, “No.” he shakes his head, still staring, too long. She notices. “They look like yours.”
“Shut up.” She jokes and when he doesn’t say anything the smile slowly slides off her face. She hesitates, “You’re serious?” She deadpans.
He shrugs, “Same colour hair, same freckles on her cheek, same smile.” he blurts before he can even realise that this is probably a mistake.
And she stays kneeled in the trolley, their faces close enough to see the truth in each others eyes and that cowboy hat still on his face. She blinks, trying to ignore her heartbeat, “Are you banging my sister?” she raises an eyebrow.
And they laugh, but they never talk about it again.
She glares at him from her seat at the dining room table, “I told you, I can’t.”
He throws himself dramatically onto the table, whining and pretending to sob, “But please!” he begs, praying in her direction and pouting.
She shakes her head, ignoring him, “No. You asked me a week ago and my answer was no, you asked me yesterday and my answer was no and then you asked me today and guess what? My answer is still no.”
“But you promised!” he exclaims.
She stares at him almost astounded, “I did no such thing.” she assures cordially.
He wags his finger, “At 4:30 am on the Friday of last week you said that you would come with me.”
“4:30 am? On Friday? You mean when I had been awake for 52 hours?” she cries.
He holds his hands up, “You still promised.”
“I was sleep deprived!” she yells.
“It counts!” he assures.
“It does not!” she replies, “Now get off the table, you’re sitting on my work.” she demands.
He shakes his head, “Nope.” and proceeds to lie down on top of the mounds of paper and open textbooks. “You’re coming. Get your shoes it’s Latin night.”
“I don’t even dance!” she cries, running short of arguments he’ll just ignore anyway.
He shrugs, “You do with me.” he points out.
She glares at him, crossing her arms and trying her best not to blush. He looks so hopeful and pleading and the white shirt he’s wearing clings to his body like it’s always belonged there. She wrinkles her nose, shaking her head, “You’re so annoying.” she huffs angrily.
But he grins, this wide million watt smile that blinds her and makes her forget that she’s angry because oh god he looks so beautiful. “Yes!” he cries, sitting up. She grabs a textbook and whacks him with it, “Ow! What was that for?”
“For constantly roping me into this shit!” she replies and he laughs, a laugh that makes her heart stutter and die in her chest.
She hits him again.
It’s a Thursday when they first kiss.
Its 3am and they’re still dancing in the club at Latin night. Her feet are sore and her legs ache but she’s got this huge grin on her face and her veins are intoxicated with a flood of alcohol. Or maybe it’s the way he’s looking at her, who knows. There are waves of bodies crushed together and music that pounds her ears until the floor shakes and the lights become a haze of colours that ripple through her mind.
He twirls her around and laughs when she does because her laugh is infectious and he can’t stop staring. “Shots?” She asks and he nods.
They weave between the plethora of bodies that nearly crush them and she reaches out to hold onto his hand so they don’t lose each other. She nearly slams into the bar and they both laugh because they’re pretty drunk, and they’ve been here so long the bartender knows what to give them.
“Three, two, one!” They shout over the music and then they lick the salt from their hands, down the shot and then stick a lemon in each others mouths. They laughing and smiling and they’re touchier than usual because they’re drunk and fuck it, boundaries disappear when they’re drunk.
His arms is around her waist and his fingers grip at the bare skin her hip to hold her in place. She smiles and pushes the hair back from his sweaty forehead, “You’re hot.” She points out, breathing heavily because she is too.
He smirks, “Thanks, I know.”
She laughs and shoves his chest, “You’re an idiot.”
But she pushes too hard and looses her own balance but he catches her wrapping both arms around her. Her hands land on his shoulders so she can stop herself from falling down and that, right then, is when they kiss.
Because why not?
They’re both consenting adults, neither of them will remember and when he kisses her like that she doesn’t care. His fingers are tangled in her hair and her skin is on fire, their veins feel like they’re being pricked over and over again by tiny needles.
This probably shouldn’t be happening, they’re friends- best friends. Best friends don’t kiss each other like the world is at their feet. But their kissing too deeply, too much like they care that they lose their balance and nearly fall down again. And so they back to dancing, but things change from then on.
“You haven’t spoken to him? You live together!” Johnny cries and she rolls her eyes.
“That’s another problem. I need to find an apartment.” she adds, staring down at her coffee and swirling it with the small spoon provided.
“Are you serious?” He mutters, rubbing his forehead with his thumb and middle finger. “You can’t just move out.”
She shrugs, “Why not? He has six hours of lectures on Thursday, I can pack up some stuff, stay at yours.”
He scoffs a laugh, “You are not staying at mine.”
She frowns, leaning forward, “Why not?”
“Because-” he hisses and then pauses, taking a deep breath. “Because you can’t just not talk to your best friend for a week and then move out without any explanation.”
“Fine, I’ll leave a note.” she surrenders, waving her arms.
“Are you serious? Jesus you’re just as bad as each other.” He huffs angrily, leaning back in his chair because he’s sick of both of them.
She pauses and stops swirling her coffee, “What do you mean? He’s spoken to you?” she demands, her eyes wide.
He waves her off, “I’m not playing messenger between the two-”
“Does he hate me?” She asks quietly, looking back down at her coffee.
Johnny purses his lips and sighs, “Of course he doesn’t hate you, you’re his best friend.” he says softly, because he can tell she’s worried.
She swallows, looking out of the window, “I need to move out.” She determine.
Johnny throws his arm up, “Jesus Christ do something.” he begs.
Is a Thursday when they finally realise they’ve been in love with each other for years.
She goes back home when he’s at his six hours of lectures, but she’s still quiet anyway because she doesn’t really feel like she going home, she feels like she’s stepping into forbidden territory. She tip toes in, closing the door quietly behind her, “What are you doing?” A voice says.
She jumps, holding her hand to her heart and squeezing her eyes shut. But slowly she opens them, landing on Ten. He’s sitting on one end of the sofa with a book in his hand and a frown on his face. He looks tired, bags under his eyes and they’ve lost their usual glint. “I’m just uh…” she trails off, pointing to her room
She doesn’t finish that sentence, “Where have you been?” he asks with no particular tone of voice.
She swallows, dropping her keys into the bowl on the kitchen counter. “Busy.” She states, “I’ve had this project due so I’ve been living in the library for the past week and-”
“Stop lying to me.” He interrupts sadly, closing the book. He looks disappointed, like he expected better from her. “I think…” he trails off, scratching his head, “I think we need to talk.”
“About what? The state of our economy?” She smirks, laughing to hide the fear behind her words, “You know, China has had some fascinating developments in-”
“Well no actually, they’ve been working on a new train that is elevated above the city of-”
“Hey!” He interrupts again, standing up this time. “You being in perpetual denial does not help anyone.” he scoffs, approaching her.
She rolls her eyes, “I’m not in denial, denial of what?”
“Do you remember that night?” He asks like he’s making sure she’s genuinely just ignoring him for another reason. He sounds so scared and tired that she opens her mouth but finds nothing to say.
She swallows, looking down at her feet, “It was a mistake.”
He shakes his head and scoffs bitterly, “No. It was a long time coming.”
She frowns, “What are you talking about?” She demands angrily-, but deep down she knows so maybe she really is in denial.
He cocks his head, “Wow, you really are oblivious.” he shakes his head and sighs, “there have been multiple occasions on which we’ve basically admitted how we felt and still neither of us did anything.”
She sneers, “We were drunk, people do dumb shit when they’re drunk.”
He shakes his head, “Sometimes we were sober.”
“It was still a mistake!” She cries, suddenly angry because he’s making her feel bad now.
“No, the mistake was falling for you.” he snaps back immediately.
Her neck snaps up, “What?” She breathes.
He cocks his head with a small smile, “Come on babe. You know what i’m talking about.” he assures, his fingers hooking apprehensively through hers.
She frowns, curling her fingers with his until she feels like he won’t let go. She steps closer to him and he sucks in a slow and steady breath, his eyes widening at the look she’s giving him. There’s this soft smile on her face and her eyes are shaded with hope and wonder and she swallows, “How long?” she asks quietly.
He laughs, “Do you remember when we went to prom and you wore that purple dress and the necklace I got you and the most jaw dropping smile i’ve ever seen another human wear.” he pauses, reaching up slowly and placing a hand on her cheek, “I realised that… there’s no-one else like you.” He smiles, “The day I met you was the day everything became a hundred times clearer, like I finally understood the reason i was put on this earth.”
She smiles as his arms come to wrap around her waist, and she feels like her skin is on fire wherever he touches her. “What happens now?”
And he kisses her again.
Its like poison in her veins, like she’s sliding down a cloud and his smile is the rainbow. “Now-” he breathes against her lips, “Now I think we need to establish something.” he states in all seriousness.
“Oh, okay, what?” She asks carefully.
“Rasputin is dead, and the Queen is not a waffle person” he blurts. “I bet you the queen only eats kale for breakfast or something.”
[BREAKING NEWS] A real angel was seem today in South Korea, people at the local took pictures and videos of what was called “the most magical moment of the history of human race” according to New York Times.
He doesn’t love him, does he? Zen grits his teeth as he punches multiple buttons into the coffee machine,letting his gaze follows the soothing flow of the dark latte.
He doesn’t love that trust fund kid. God, he isn’t even into dicks, let alone that piece of utterly annoying, egotistical piece of-
“Zen, I would suggest focusing on the coffee, instead of whatever you have been thinking about.” His boss’s voice is firm, a little teasing, but Zen couldn’t quite help the yelp that slipped out of his mouth. Quickly, with skillful fingers, he turns the knobs and successfully prevents the cup of coffee - which he is preparing - from overflowing.
Zen hums while he squeezes ample amount of cream onto the rich, black liquid, and then proceeds to lavish the cream with strips of think, honey-like caramel. Sweet. Whoever ordered this must have a sweet tooth, the silver-haired man muses.
“Caramel latte!” Zen sings and slides the cup toward the counter, already used to being a barista; there is still a month of worth of break left, and he don’t see why couldn’t he make use of his free time meaningfully. He is always attracted to the warm aroma of coffee, not unlike bears to honey, and being a barista is like a dream comes true. Also, his beautiful face is like a customer-magnet, so he is pretty confident of not being sacked even if he proved to be bad at coffee making.
Ah, the life of being the God of Beauty is sure fulfilling.
Fulfilling, until the frigging trust fund kid finds his workplace and makes it a habit to visit him.
Deep in thought, he fails to notice the tall, otherworldly figure before him. “Back to earth, Zen.” Jumin’s voice is deliciously deep, and Zen feels the strangest urge to eat dark chocolate. Wait what?
Scowling, Zen snapped, with voice as sharp as whip, “why are you here again?!” He doesn’t, and couldn’t understand; what is the reason as to Jumin’s frequent visits? Does he, said trust fund kid, finds pleasure in making his life hell?
“Do I need a reason to enjoy coffee?” Jumin raises one of his delicate eyebrows, god, he is so beautifu-, and Zen rushes off, heart hammering against his ribs while cheeks burning with bright crimson.
What is this feeling?
He curses. It isn’t like that; he doesn’t like Jumin, at all!