enhypen imagines.

[lovefool]

Jungwon does not have a crush.

"Allegedly," as Ni-ki would add, with matching air quotations, after the group would watch Jungwon slither away from their cafeteria table during their treasured lunch hours to undertake top student duties, but with all the charm that Yang Jungwon's rosy, dimpled cheeks hold, nobody could be persuaded to forget how he'd gaze at you when you talk to him, breeze smelling of sweet peaches and fragments of sun falling into his hazel eyes.

So no, Jungwon doesn't have a crush; he just thinks about that one time when you patiently stayed with a random kid near the bus stop during a storm until their ride came because they were frightened of thunder, or how you'd send him quiet smiles across the table during student council meetings, or how your kindness seemed to stretch across the ends of the atlantic ocean, and you're smart, shining so brightly and— did I mention that he likes the way you smile?

("That's not a crush," scoffed Sunoo, "that's something worse.")

Butterflies reside in the concaves of his chest, and they consume him like wildfire when your hands brush (oh, how it burns!) because you, with all your fitfuls of cackling laughter and god-awful puns, make him want to give you the stars. And he's scared of that. So he slumps in his seat, sipping dejectedly on his banana milk because his head is full of maybe maybe maybes as if the word could shield him from the truth that he is afraid of what he feels, and Jay eyes him like a parent watches a child. "You good?"

Grimly, he nods. "Just a case of the Mondays."

(Maybe this will fade, his head argues, maybe you're just overthinking, you're young—what do you know about this?

...

Maybe Sunoo is right.

...

Maybe, just maybe, you're in love.)