https://open.spotify.com/track/3yLOy7bjC1dDeOh4MArkq8?si=ed7866237df942df Phoenix - Stray Kids

Water scrapes its way out of Jisung’s lungs in a sharp, painful rush as he jerks awake, sucking in air like he’s never been properly introduced to it before. The world turns violently around him, tossed in the laundry on spin cycle, blue sky an endless whirlpool, the slap of the lake deck, the echo of someone calling his name--

Jeongin’s hands are on his shoulders, easing him into position. Jeongin’s face is right there in front of him, blocking out the searing sun and the endless sky, eyes blown wide, lashes clumped together with water. His chest is heaving like Jisungs, but not quite as ragged. Jisung knows he must have gone into the water after him, but he can still tell that there are tears on his cheeks, salt raking its unmistakable tracks through everything.

“Oh,” Jisung croaks. His voice might be wrecked but he can still lay down a good one. “Damn. Mouth to mouth already? You usually make me buy you dinner first.”

Jeongin's face crumples as he lets out a broken laugh that splits halfway into a sob, and smacks Jisung weakly on the chest. “You fucking--asshole.”

Jisung grins, winces, forces up another grin. “Jumping bases already—”

“You almost drowned” Jeongin snaps, voice cracking. One of the hands cradling Jisnug's head tightens into a fist in his wet hair, like he’s afraid of Jisung slipping out of his grip.

Jisung shifts, quickly sobering, and heaves his aching body into a more upright position to pull Jeongin in properly, presses in close until their foreheads knock into each others shoulder.s “Oh, dear aegi,” he murmurs, voice still rough but hopefully gentler now. “Hyung can’t die, you know that. I’m, like--invincible. Steven Yeun style.”

Jeongin sniffles. “You don't even know how to fucking swim and you jumped in after my stupid phone.”

“A miscalculation,” Jisung concedes easily. If he's honest he wasn't really thinking about the phone, he was reaching to pull Jeongin away from the edge before he fell in--None of that matters now though. He tightens his arms as best as he can, trying not to be obvious in the way his body trembles in Jeongin's embrace. “But it's still cool, as long as you’re around I’ll always come back.”

Jeongin doesn’t hit him again or even try to keep scolding him. He just holds on.

https://open.spotify.com/track/7polyembHZBHwSveAXE4cX?si=faff8216b0684f0b Flowers - Aespa

The bell over the door gives a sweet little jingle when Chan pushes into the flower shop. She knows how she looks right now; rather wrecked beyond belief, underdressed for the brunch she's already late to, coat half-buttoned, hair pulled back so sloppily it must look like she gave up halfway through the decision, dark circles she only has herself to blame for. For a moment as she crosses the threshold, she pauses to breathe in damp greenery and soil, bracing herself for the last non-stress inducing interaction she'll have all morning.

“Hi,” she says finally. “I'm looking for some help with a bouquet, for my, uh--mother-in-law.”

The young man behind the counter looks up from his book. He takes her in with one slow, assessing glance--then smiles. Pleasant, if a little sharp.

“How much do you hate this lady?”

Chan blinks. “I--I don’t.” She licks her lips. Feels cracked and frayed all over. Then, softer, more honest; “It’s complicated.”

the man hums. “Say less.”

He moves through the shop with practiced ease, selecting stems without asking another question. He works quickly, decisively, like exhausted, pathetic women with "complicated" in-laws wander in all the time. As he assembles the bouquet, he explains each flower's meaning:

“Yellow roses,” he says, tucking them in first. “are traditionally for jealousy, or, if you’re being generous, strained affection.”

Chan, against her best interests, lets out a breathy laugh. “Okay.”

“Striped carnations are for regret, but not apology,” he adds with a raised finger. “Important distinction.”

He adds petunias next. “Resentment. Very pretty and very polite resentment.”

Chan watches, fascinated, as the bouquet takes shape--perhaps not her first choice in terms of colour selection but the flowers themselves are undoubtedly beautiful and lush. And apparently, undeniably hostile if one knows how to read them properly.

The florist finishes with a small clutch of pretty pink flowers, nestling them near the center. “And cyclamen, meant for emotional distance. Fuck off, lady.”

He wraps the stems neatly and turns back to her. “I hope you were taking notes.”

Chan blinks. "Even if I was I don't think I'd capture your charming presentation," Chan stares at the bouquet, then at him. “I’m impressed.”

The florist shrugs, winding the twine he used to bind the stems around the spool once more. “People usually are.”

Chan should expect it, probably, the way their fingers brush when he hands the bouquet to her. It’s brief, completely accidental, she knows--but then her hand shifts, and the light above them catches hard on the large, and embarrassingly flashy cut of her engagement ring.

Chan looks up again so find the florist looking at her. His mouth curves. Not unkindly, but not quite kind either.

“Well,” he says, punching in her total, “give us a call if you decide to go through with preparations. We have great wedding packages.”

It’s deeply inappropriate. Chan should feel fury rising in her chest rather than laughter. Where does this guy get off on insulting a paying customer--questioning her, a woman he knows nothing about? Instead, Chan finds herself snorting as she taps her card. The best she can do is resolutely avoid the name tag she sees glinting in the corner of her eye, dangling from the florist's breast pocket.

She shakes her head once the payment goes through, and she gently takes the bouquet fully into her arms, cellophane crinkling against her coat. When she says, “You’ll see me again.” she's pretty sure she means it.

Seungmin meets her eyes, and something knowing seems to flicker there. “I’m sure I will.”

https://open.spotify.com/track/08AznbP5RLxjaFOZTqOI9w?si=8564150465eb470c Cops and Robbers by underscores

Chan is halfway through counting the camel smooths when he hears someone clear their throat in front of the register. He looks up, expecting another regular with a lottery ticket or a pack of gum.

Instead, he finds the same man who walked in five minutes ago—the one with the sunbeam smile so blinding Chan nearly knocked the box of beef jerky he was setting up off the counter. Except now, the smile is gone, and he’s pointing a gun directly at Chan’s chest.

“Fuck, are you serious?” Chan blurts before he can stop himself.

The man’s eyes flicker with amusement, gestures slightly with his gun. “Does this look fake to you?”

Chan looks. It does not look fake. Not even a little. His throat tightens, his heartbeat trying to outrun the rest of his organs. He raises both hands slowly, palms out, because he has seen movies and watched the training videos (albeit at x2 speed) and none of them end well starting with sass.

The man tilts his head, a few locks of dyed blond hair brushing his cheek, the freckles scattered around his eyes. This man—robber? Feels corny.—is stunning. Ridiculously so. Which feels like an extra insult layered on top of the life-or-death situation.

“O-okay,” Chan stammers. “What do you want?” He immediately feels like an idiot, the man must be able to tell judging but the way the corner of his mouth quirks up.

“Well,” The man says lightly, “we can start with the register. And maybe the safe, if you’re feeling generous.”

Chan's fingers shake as he types in the override code, flustered. He can feel the man observing him, eyes a physical weight on his hands, his neck, his back, everywhere.

The drawer pops open. The man whistles low. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

Chan feels himself flush with shame and embarrassment while the man sweeps the bills into his open backpack with quick, practiced motions. It should be horrifying, and it is, to have a gun close enough that he could touch it, would probably taste a bullet before he could. But in his shock, or perhaps just some new state of insanity that has seized him, Chan can't help but focus on how striking this man's features are up close—sharp cheekbones, lashes for days, a heart shaped freckle near his left eye that Chan might be hallucinating under this amount of adrenaline.

The man steps back, zipping his bag shut. “You’ve been lovely, Chris,” he says, dark voice brightening just a little as he reads from the crooked name tag on Chan's chest. When a stunned laugh escapes Chan, unbidden, the man flashes the same sunny smile he saw when he walked in, pure warmth.

As he backs toward the door, a finger pressed to his lips, telling Chan to shhh, he adds a playful wink. “See you around.”

And despite the threat of dying of it all, Chan really hopes he will.

okayyy i'm gonna try to limit this to the moments at the top of my head rn rather than ships bc i will just end up writing a list with every goddamn ship at that will take me forever:

i love love seungchan's "we sleep together seungmin!!!" and every other time chan has "forcibly" cuddled/manhandled/bothered seungmin ("i'm gonna fucking punch you"). it's hot and chan as ragebaiting the master baiter ( ;) ) is really really funny to me.

seungyang wearing matching outfits and playing on their phones on the same hotel bed ,,, yk the one talker clip where it looks like the intro to an amateur porno,,,, hyeahh,,,,,

binchan where chan is doing a vlog or talker or something and changbin keeps creeping into the frame with this fucking neck pillow phone stand to watch shit on your phone while you're lying down like he fully comes to chan's top bunk and everything and they're both barefaced and soft and chan is so gigglyyy and sleepy and his hair is all messy and UGHHHHH i think they kissed very gently until they fell asleep.... that slip is byond adorable i think about it all the time they are so domestic

i love hyunsung in that fucking rachalog doing pottery tgt and talking about their apologizing after fighting,,, i keep coming back to the clips of them their and they're just so. fuck they love each other man. it's hard to think of concrete Moments with them esp when so many are in concert and the only way to describe it is the way they look at each other ,,, i love hyunjin's smile whenever he's around jisung. they make me so so soft.

ooof yeah very concise way to phrase it. i'd open the conversation to just say this is a repeating issue with chan across other relationships as well but i think it has played a larger role with chanlix because Felix in his admiration of chan has had to consciously reject that humiliation because for all that chan supports him and tells him to come to him to talk it can be difficult to do that with someone who you Know internalizes need that way (and you've looked up to them for so long!). But then i dont know if they Are at a standstill!! i think the 2kr conversation was deeply meaningful and in content that has come out since then i do feel some of that nostalgic ease creeping in between them again. relationships are always evolving in one way or another and the thing about skz is they are not leaving each other behind :)

https://open.spotify.com/track/1igkxmN7OLGaQ9XoUxYGOk?si=6fcbfb1f4641423e - Dreams by Carol Ades (i made them awkward teenage lesbians because I make the rules)

The gym doors thud shut behind Jisung, muffling the throb of pop music and cheap disco lights. Jisung only stepped out for a breath of air, feeling sweaty and stupid in her suit coat, but she stops short when she spots someone curled beside the railing.

The skirt of Hyunjin's dress is wrinkled in her fists, the few strands that have escaped her elegant updo are sticking to her cheeks where tears have dried in uneven tracks. She jerks her head up when she hears Jisung's footsteps, eyes glittery and red in a way that twists something in Jisung’s chest.

They aren't really friends—aren't really anything, but Jisung steps closer. Careful like Hyunjin might bolt. “Hey.”

Hyunjin shakes her head, swallowing hard. “Hi.” Her voice breaks even on the single syllable, and she looks away quickly, using her wrist to dab at her cheeks like the damage isn’t already done.

Jisung crouches in front of her without thinking. “Wanna go somewhere? With me?”

Hyunjin blinks, confused. “Go where?”

“I dunno.” Jisung shrugs, trying to sound casual and not like her heart is hammering at seeing Hyunjin like this, seeing her from up close. “We could get food? Fries fix everything. I read about it in the statistics.”

A tiny laugh slips out of Hyunjin. She fusses with the damp wad of toilet paper crumpled in her hands, wincing. “Don't know if I should be in public looking like a total fucking mess.”

Jisung feels the heat rise from the back of her neck up to her ears. She looks down at Hyunjin's legs, the pinch of her knees peering out from underneath the slit of her dress, then back up, and the words come out before she can talk himself out of them.

“I think you look beautiful.”

Hyunjin freezes.

Jisung’s ears are burning now. “I mean—it's not because you’re crying—just like, you always look—” She gives up with a sigh.

When Jisung stands and offers her hand, Hyunjin takes it like it’s the first good thing that’s happened all night.

https://open.spotify.com/track/3Z4BxvgOJ8KupcDIV3OV2f?si=60bb07d50c514237 - IN YOUR FANTASY by ATEEZ ;) (sorry this is longer than it is meant to be im so addicted to jeongsunging)

Jeongin is already biting back a grin before they even start—mostly because Jisung has insisted on wearing glasses, not his regular reading ones, but a thick rimmed pair of fake ones which have no lenses with a piece of tape wrapped around the bridge.

“Ahem,” Jisung says, sitting at the foot of the mattress. “Yang Jeongin-ssi, you’ve been a very inattentive student.”

Jeongin likes the way Jisung's dress shirt pulls across his chest. “Yes. Very inattentive.”

Jisung clears his throat authoritatively, again. “I’m afraid I’ll have to give you some…extra credit work.” He spreads his legs suggestively, and his fake glasses choose that moment to slide down to the very tip of his nose.

Jeongin snorts.

“No, this is sexy, seriously,” Jisung insists, adjusting his glasses and lifting the clipboard once more. “Stay in character. Ahem. Your behavior in class has been—” he flips the clipboard, flashing the blank page that must mean to represent Jeongin's grades. “—deeply concerning.”

Jeongin can't believe he pulled out his uniform for this. It's far too tight. He tries to readjust the pull around his shoulders but quickly gives up when it feels like the yellow fabric seams will split. He settles for loosening his tie with a sigh that threatens to lift into laughter again. “Hyung, do we really need this much lead up?”

“I’m improvising! Teachers improvise!”

“Oh my god.”

Jisung stands, tapping the tip of his pen against his bottom lip. He doesn't notice the dot of blue ink he leaves there by accident. “Mr. Yang, if you don’t straighten up, I’ll have to—” He pauses, searching for menace. “—confiscate your… your…” His eyes dart around the room. “Your pencil case.”

“That's the best you can do?”

“Losing your pencil case sucks!” Jisung protests. “You need that for school! I hated when I'd lose my stuff in school, I'd do anything to get my Hamtaro pencil case back.”

"Anything?" Jeongin asks with a raised brow. He stops his idle swaying on Jisung's desk chair to widen the gap between his legs. Jisung's glasses slip down his nose again as he stares at the shape of Jeongin's cock pressed up against the obnoxious yellow fabric.

Jeongin is kind of over this. He pulls his tie over his head, working the first few buttons of his shirt open as he palms his growing erection. Jisung squeaks as he blinks out of his stupor. "Hey, wait, I'm the teacher right now!"

Jeongin drags him down by the collar before Jisung can grab his ruler, already laughing into his pen stained mouth. “You're the worst teacher I’ve ever had.”

Jisung grins, breathless but triumphant. “And yet, you still want detention.”

“Yeah,” Jeongin murmurs against his lips, clumsy fingers trying to work the fastening of Jisung's stupid khakis “yeah I do.”