Want so Bad Han Jisung x Reader x Lee Minho

"Fall into you and gеt my hopes up again"

The afternoon light drifted through the windows of the campus café like it didn't know how to settle. I stirred my iced americano out of habit, the straw clinking against the sides, ice already half-melted. Across the table, Felix and Hyunjin were engaged in a dramatic re-telling of their disastrous midterm critiques. Seungmin, unimpressed, leaned his head on his palm and muttered occasional sarcastic commentary.

Chris sat off to the side, sipping something that looked far too healthy and scrolling through his phone. I.N hovered close by, nodding attentively every time Chris spoke, like a high school intern shadowing a CEO.

I.N—Jeongin, officially—was barely seventeen and already enrolled in college-level music theory classes. His round eyes followed Chris everywhere, but he wasn't annoying about it, just quietly admiring. He asked the best questions and the worst ones too, which somehow only made him more endearing.

Seungmin, on the other hand, was Felix's Best Friend and possibly the driest person I had ever met. He spoke in deadpan wisdom and had a talent for catching people off guard with the simplest observations. We'd only just started hanging out recently, but it felt natural. Like he'd always been there in the background, biding his time until he had the perfect one-liner.

And Minho? Minho was there, but he wasn't. He sat with the others, sure—hood up, earbuds dangling around his neck, half-listening—but every glance I sent in his direction went unanswered. Every comment I made was met with a nod or a shrug. A few days ago, we were on a rooftop under a sky too big for the words we didn't say. Now, he couldn't even meet my eyes.

I tried not to take it personally. I really did.

Maybe he was just tired. Busy. Back to being the Minho I'd first met: untouchable and frustrating.

But it felt personal.

"Y/N!" Hyunjin waved a hand in front of my face. "You spaced out again. That's the third time today."

"Sorry," I mumbled, straightening in my seat. "I'm just tired."

Felix leaned in, lowering his voice dramatically. "She's been cursed by the midterm spirit. It drains your will to live and replaces it with self-doubt and convenience store ramen."

"Sounds like your normal diet," Seungmin deadpanned.

Hyunjin laughed, throwing a napkin at him. I smiled, grateful for the distraction. But when I glanced again at Minho, who now sat back with his arms crossed, expression unreadable, the ache in my chest returned.

He hadn't said more than three words to me today.

Not since that night.

Later, we moved to our usual late-night hangout—a small café near the edge of campus that stayed open late and played chill music. The lights were warm, the booths slightly too small, and the walls were covered in chalk-drawn messages from past students.

The air smelled like sugar and cinnamon. Someone had ordered honey toast to share.

I ended up in a corner seat between Felix and Jisung. Hyunjin claimed a bean bag near the wall. Chris and Minho sat across from us, but again, Minho avoided looking directly at me.

I.N sat near Chris, happily scribbling notes on a napkin from something Chris had said earlier about rhythm layering. Seungmin and Felix were trading insults disguised as compliments, and I was half-listening—until Minho laughed at something Chris said. The sound felt sharp.

"Minho, tell them about the time you fell asleep in the music lounge and scared the TA half to death," Chris said.

Minho smirked. "She thought I was a ghost. I had a hoodie over my face and everything."

"You are kind of ghost-like," Felix offered. "Like, emotionally."

Minho raised a brow. "That's rich coming from someone who cries during every Pixar movie."

"Only the good ones," Felix shot back.

Seungmin pointed his spoon at me. "Y/N, back me up. Doesn't Minho give off 'mysterious loner in a novel who secretly writes poetry' vibes?"

I blinked. "I—"

"She wouldn't know," Minho said, voice flat. "She only sees what she wants to."

The table went quiet for a breath too long.

I felt heat crawl up my neck.

"Anyway!" Hyunjin jumped in, voice overly bright. "Did I tell you about the guy in art history who asked if Michelangelo was a Ninja Turtle?"

I laughed too hard. Too quickly.

My laugh echoed around the table, too bright, too sharp. But no one called it out.

Jisung leaned in close. "You okay?"

"Of course," I said, smiling so hard it hurt. "Why wouldn't I be?"

The night ended with scattered goodbyes and slow steps toward dorms. Rain threatened above us, clouds bloated and gray.

Changbin caught up with me as I crossed the quad, hands stuffed in his pockets.

"Walk you home?"

"Sure."

We walked in silence for a while, the sound of our shoes on the pavement the only thing between us.

Finally, he said, "Is something going on between you and Minho?"

I froze mid-step.

"No," I said too fast.

Changbin stopped. "Y/N."

I faced him. "There's nothing going on."

He studied me, eyes narrowed. "He's been weird. You've been weird. And Jisung's been acting like he's trapped in a K-drama. What's going on?"

"I said it's nothing."

His jaw clenched. But he didn't push.

"Alright," he said finally. "But if someone hurts you, I need to know. I can't protect you from everything, but I sure as hell will try."

I smiled, but it didn't quite reach.

"I know."

We reached the dorm. I hesitated at the steps.

"Goodnight, Oppa."

"Night, brat."

He watched until I was inside.

I closed the door quietly behind me, pressing my back to it as I let out a shaky breath.

I hadn't lied.

Not really.

Because nothing was going on anymore.

He didn't leave.

He just stopped looking at me like I mattered.