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19 ⋆ she/her ⋆ intj ⋆ jungwon and sunghoon biased
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ᥫ᭡ drabble. ni-ki drying y/ns hair for her after a long, tiring day. mentions. established relationship, fluff.
the bathroom door opens with a quiet click, and y/n steps out wrapped in warmth and steam, damp hair clinging to her neck and collarbones. one hand is still loosely wrapped around her towel as she drags it through the wet ends like she’s on autopilot.
riki looks up the second he hears her. he’s sitting on the bed, waiting for her, and he pauses when he sees her.
she looks absolutely exhausted, as if even her short shower had taken the rest of the energy out of her. her movements are sluggish, heavy, eyes barely open like she might fall asleep any second if she closes them anymore.
she doesn’t say anything to him, doesn’t even notice him watching. she just makes her way to her vanity, reaching for her hairdryer without any thought - it was routine for her, she didn’t like sleeping with wet hair. riki, at that second, launches up and he’s instsntly grabbing the dryer from her hands.
“i’ll do it.” he says and she doesn’t protest, just lets her hand fall as she sinks into the chair with a small breath, shoulders slumping as if the decision alone took effort.
“okay..” she murmurs.
riki plugs the hairdryer in before draping the towel over her shoulders to stop the damp soaking through her shirt. when the dryer hums to life, it’s soft - kept on a lower setting, warm not hot. his fingertips brush her scalp, light and soothing, just the way he knows she’s likes. y/n exhales in relaxation and her head dips forward little by little, like gravity itself was pulling her down. riki looks at his girlfriend through the mirror and his heart melts at how cute she looks, but it tightens just as much when he sees how tired she truly is.
her head starts tipping forward.
“baby-” his hand reaches out to stop her, “you’re gonna fall.”
he turns the dryer off for just a second as he moves to stand infront of her instead. gently, he nudges her closer, guiding her without waking her fully.
“here.” he says softly and now, her forehead rests against his stomach, leaning into him, half-asleep.
riki continues drying her hair with deliberate slowness, brushing the warm air through the strands with careful fingers, combing from her roots down to the ends with love. every now and then, his thumb drifts to her hairline, brushing lightly over her skin. she doesn’t move at all - just breathes, soft and even, completely relaxed against him.
by the time her hair was mostly dry, riki sets the dryer aside quietly and for a second, he just looks down at her - at how still she is, how wholeheartedly she’s let herself go, trusting him completely.
“stay still, baby.” he caresses her head, speaking in hushed mumbles as if she could still hear him. he reaches for her hair serum, the tiny bottles lined up neatly on her vanity and grabs the one he’s seen her use a million times before, pumping a little into his hand.
gently, carefully, he works it through her hair. his fingers glide mostly through the ends as he smooths the flyaways, making sure it settles softly against her shoulders, just the way she likes. he takes his time, almost absentmindedly, like this part matters just as much.
“…all done.” he whispers before pressing a tiny kiss to her hairline.
she barely shifts when he puts the bottle back, barely blinks when he reaches under her knees and picks her up with ease, barely even feels it as he carries her the short distance to their bed.
y/n instinctively curls into his shoulder with a tiny sigh, her nimble fingers coming up to latch onto his hoodie. riki smiles to himself fondly as he lowers her down, pulling himself down next to her and tucking the blanket over both of them like it’s routine.
his hand lingers on her cheek for a second as he brushes back a few stray strands of her hair, smoothing it back over her shoulders.
his lips curl into a smile, “you’re too cute like this, you know.”
she doesn’t respond and he knows she’s out like a light. he takes it as a sign to curl into her side, letting himself fall asleep too.
MAKE A WISH - park jongseong
summary. jays girlfriend surprises him at midnight for his birthday. pairing. idol bf!jay x pregnant gf!reader. mentions. pregnancy, established relationship, kissing, fluff.
🥳🥳🥳 happy jay dayyyy!!! ik it’s alr late in kr but its still the 20th where i am soo
y/n stood by the couch in their living room, her hands carefully holding a small chocolate cake on a tray. the golden ‘24’ candles were already lit, tiny flames flickering and dancing, casting a soft golden light across her face, catching in her eyes and along the curve of her cheeks.
she looked a little tired. a little glowing. but completely warm. her tank top clung gently to her, stretched over the full round curve of her stomach - already seven months, completely undeniable. her bare feet stood against the cool tile, shifting her weight every so often when her back started to complain, but she stayed rooted in her spot - jay would be home any minute now.
“don’t drop it.” she muttered under her breath with a sigh, adjusting her grip on the tray slightly.
her arms were starting to ache - not badly, but just enough to remind her she’d been standing there longer than she probably should have; jay would’ve scolded her instantly if he knew how long she was on her feet for, especially if it was for him. her lower back throbbed faintly too, a dull, familiar discomfort she’d learned to live with over the past few months.
her eyes flicked to the clock first, then the door again.
12:04am.
“he’s late.” she whispered, but there was no real frustration behind it. a little impatience maybe... but it was softened by anticipation.
a small, sudden kick pressed against the left side of her stomach from the inside.
she stilled for half a second before her expression melted instantly and her free hand came down to cradle the underside of her swollen stomach while she kept the cake balanced.
“i know, i know. your dad has terrible timing.” she whispered down to her babygirl, swiping another soft caress over her stomach and as if she could hear her, the baby gently kicked once again, right under her palm. she smiled, thinking that was her daughter agreeing with her.
the apartment fell quiet again for a few moments while y/n shifted her weight once more with a tiny sigh. just then, the faint sound of footsteps echoed right outside the front door. her head lifted immediately, heart picking up just a little when she heard their door code being pressed in and the familiar beep of the lock unlocking. there was a soft click and the door opened.
jay stepped in carefully, like he already knew how late it was. he eased the door shut without letting it slam, movements quiet and automatic - he kicked off his shoes and lowered his bag to the floor without a sound. he didn’t reach for the light switch, didn’t call out, knowing his girlfriend is usually sound asleep by now, exhausted and worn out from carrying their little baby all day long.
just as he was about to take his jacket off, the tiniest shuffle sounded out from behind him. he furrowed his brows and turned around, eyes adjusting to the darkness and that’s when he saw her - she was walking towards him from the kitchen, her face lit by candlelight.
for a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t even speak. it was like everything inside him paused just to take her in.
the soft light wrapped around her so gently, outlining her in warm gold. his gaze drifted from her wide eyes and pretty smile, dropping lower, taking in the way her top hugged her stomach - round and full with his child. something in his chest tightened quietly, his throat going a little dry.
“what are you doing?” he asked, his voice softer than he expected.
y/n smiled, a little small and shy, like she hadn’t been standing there waiting for him for who knows how long.
“happy birthday.” the words settled gently between them. jay’s eyes flicked to the cake, then back to her, his heart practically swelling in his chest at how cute she looked and how thoughtful her gesture was - even though the boyfriend in him wanted her to be in bed, sleeping, resting.
“you’ve been waiting like this?” he was already stepping toward her.
“only for a little bit.” she said lightly, “i wanted to be the first to wish you.”
jay’s lips instantly broke out into a tiny smile, a quiet breath of disbelief leaving his lips. as he got closer, his sock clad feet thudding against the cold floor, he could see the faint tiredness beneath her eyes, the careful way she was holding the cake, the subtle way her posture shifted like she was trying to ease the pressure on her back without making it obvious.
“you shouldn’t be standing for too long, sweetheart.”
“i’m fine.” she chuckled, “jay, it’s your birthday. just- c’mere.”
he didn’t even hesitate. instantly, one hand slid under the plate to take some of the weight from her without fully taking it away. his other hand went straight to the side of her stomach, resting there warmly.
“…you’re unbelievable.” he exhaled quietly as he rubbed a slow thumb against the tiny slither of skin peeking out from her top.
y/n let out a hearty laugh, “are you going to blow the candles and make a wish or just stare at me all night?”
“i’m thinking about it.”
“jay.”
“okay, okay.” he laughed before leaning in, still holding the cake with her, his gaze flickering between the candles and her pretty features as if he couldn’t decide where to look.
then he closed his eyes, just for a second, made a silent wish and blew them out. the flames flickered, then disappeared, leaving the room dim again - the only traces of light crawled in from the cracks in the curtains and the tiny fairy lights hung from the windows. for a quiet moment, neither of them said anything.
then jay carefully took the cake from her hands and set it down on the table next to them, not once breaking eye contact. when he straightened up before her, he was instantly leaning in to kiss her. one hand came up to her face, his fingers cradling her jaw and thumb brushing gently against her cheekbone. the other hand went straight to her waist to pull her impossibly closer as he kissed her slow, deep, steady like he meant every second of it.
y/n melted into him immediately as one hand curled into the fabric of his shirt while the other rested against his chest, grounding herself into him. when he pulled back, his forehead pressed against hers, his breathing slightly heavier now and mind fogged with nothing but her sweetness and warmth.
“…best birthday i’ve ever had.” he mumbled against her lips, his eyes travelling all across her face.
a tiny laugh slipped out from her lips, her fingers tightening slightly on his chest, “it’s barely ten minutes into your birthday.”
“doesn’t matter.”
“it kind of does-”
“it doesn’t.” he cut her off quietly, smiling like a complete fool in love.
y/n shook her head but her smile widened despite herself. she touched her nose against his ever so lightly and she leaned in again, pressing another soft kiss to his lips.
“you’re so dramatic.” she breathily whispered against his mouth, relishing in the way he couldn’t control himself from chasing her kiss.
“only for you.”
she chuckled, “i haven’t even given you your gift yet.”
jay didn’t miss a second before replying, “i don’t need any gifts. i already have everything i could ever want.”
her expression softened, her heart fluttering in the most profound way possible but before she could even say anything, a small, very clear kick pushed right against his hand at the side of her stomach. both of them looked down and jay moved his hand to the front of her belly, his heart practically drowning in awe at the thought of his babygirl recognising his touch.
“she really had to interrupt my moment right now, huh?”
y/n tilted her head, “your moment? it’s her dad’s birthday, she’s allowed.”
“mmm.” he hummed but there was no real complaint in it - just something warm, something full of adoration. his thumb brushed slowly over the spot, more deliberate this time, like he was waiting for it-
and right on cue, another small kick pushed back against his palm. he froze for a second, eyes widening just slightly.
“did you feel that?”
“she knows it’s you.” y/n’s smile deepened, “maybe she’s saying happy birthday too.”
“…is that right?” he leaned down as his hand spread a little more gently over her belly, like he didn’t want to miss another second of this moment. another tiny kick pressed against his hand, like an answer. jay exhaled at the feeling, a small laugh slipping through as he shook his head.
“alright.” he whispered, close to her stomach, “thank you, princess.”
he brushed his lips softly against the curve of her stomach, lingering there for a few seconds as if letting his words soak into her skin, like they meant more than just that moment. y/n’s heart squeezed at the sight and she lifted her hand to his hair, fingers threading through the strands as she watched him. he stayed there for another second, pressing another kiss before straightening back up but his hands never left her.
“definitely the best birthday.” he leaned back into his girlfriend, all smiley and love-drunk, “because it’s the first one with our little princess too.”
y/n laughed and leaned closer into him, her arms wrapping around him more fully this time.
“you’re so easy.” she teased but he was completely serious.
“only for you.” he said again, without a second of hesitation, “both of you.”
she smiled into him and when she tilted her head up, he met her halfway - both of them melted into the kiss yet again, a lot more softer, slower, like there was nowhere else any of them needed to be. there was another tiny shift between them and this time, they both smiled into the kiss, completely reverent.
can we have another sunghoon fic please i love yours so much 🥹
hi anon!! just posted one here thanks sm for reading 🫶🏼
PAPER CROWNS - park sunghoon
summary. y/n finally lands her dream role for the biggest performance of her career but she doesn't realise that when ambition and love collide, the fallout is inevitable. the closer she gets to greatness, the more it consumes her and sunghoon is left to helplessly watch as the girl he loves slowly disappears. pairing. idol bf!sunghoon x ballerina!reader. mentions. established relationship, overworking, burnout, slight references to ed, y/n is a bit mean, crying, comfort, fluff. i don’t really know much about ballet in general or ballerinas so i hope any references here aren’t awkwardly wrong and i apologise beforehand :)
the first time y/n got the call, she genuinely thought she had heard wrong.
it had been one of those rehearsals that left every muscle in her body trembling. the kind where the studio mirrors had started to fog at the edges and the air smelled faintly of rosin and sweat mixed with perfume and the sharp, almost comforting scent of worn pointe shoes. her hair, once pinned into a neatly flawless bun that morning, had loosened into tiny wisps around her face, the damp strands clinging to the back of her neck.
she had packed everything away into her bag and was walking down the street to the bus stop, sipping on her water when her phone had buzzed in her pocket. she frowned, thinking about who could be calling her during work hours, yet her stomach dropped when she saw her artistic director’s name displayed on the screen.
immediately, a hundred thoughts hit her at once.
did i mess something up? was one of the lifts off? did they want to talk about mondays schedule? did i do something wrong in rehearsals?
her fingers suddenly felt clumsy as she answered with a breathless, steady “hello?”
the voice on the other end was familiar and professional, “hi y/n, are you somewhere you can talk?”
the question made her pulse spike. her heart began to pound against her ribs and for one terrifying second, genuine panic flashed through her and she didn’t know why - to her, she didn’t do anything wrong but what if there was something she didn’t realise she’d done? what if someone complained? what if-
“yes.” she said quickly, standing straighter in the half-empty street, “of course.”
there was a tiny pause. it wasn’t long but long enough for her mind to spiral. and then…
“we’d like you to lead the winter gala.”
for a moment, the words didn’t register. her lips parted in shock as everything around her completely blurred. someone nearby laughed, a bus hissed to a stop, a few cars drove by but it all felt far away. muted. like someone had shoved the entire city underwater.
y/n just stood there under the faint glow of the street lamp, staring blankly ahead with her phone clutched to her ear, “i’m sorry?”
her artistic director laughed softly, “you heard me. you’ve been cast as the principal lead.”
her breath caught. the lead. the lead. not second cast, not alternate, not the understudy, but the lead. the main role. the one everyone in the company had been pressuring themselves for, the role every dancer dreamed of.
the lead dancer of the winter gala.
it wasn’t just another performance on the company calendar, it was the performance. the biggest production of the entire season. the kind of show critics reviewed in full speeds, the kind people booked tickets for months in advance, the kind that had the entire world of ballet and dance watching. every year it sold out instantly as industry directors came, former principals came, even some celebrities.
and for dancers? it was everything. careers had been made from one standout winter gala performance. promotions, contracts, recognition, opportunities. for some, it was a role that changed everything.
and it just been given to her. she didn’t even know what to feel.
“oh my god.”
her words were barely above a whisper and her director smiled on the other end, trying to hold back her own happiness. her tone softened, “you’ve earned this, y/n. i’ll send your schedule over in a bit. rehearsals begin monday. congratulations and see you soon.”
the line clicked dead but y/n stayed frozen on the pavement. people moved around her, the bus at the stop pulled away, cold wind brushed through her hair but she couldn’t move.
and then she laughed. a breathless, shaky laugh that turned into tears immediately. her hand flew to her mouth as the shock instantly turned into excitement, happiness, her heart racing with relief. she’d been chosen, out of maybe a hundred participants, maybe even a few more give or take - yet out of all that talent, all those different dancers, all those different personalities and styles of dancing… they had picked her.
“oh my god.” she whispered again. her tears were slipping down her cheeks by now.
and without even thinking, she opened her phone again and went to call the first person she needed to tell. the only person who would be the proudest, the most happiest for her.
he picked up on the second ring.
“hey pretty.” sunghoon’s voice came through warm and a little breathless. there was noise in the background: laughter, voices, the squeak of trainers on wooden floor. he was at dance practice.
“you done? wait- one second.” his voice shifted slightly like he was moving away from the others, the music and voices getting quieter as he sighed and took a seat on the couch, “okay, what’s up? are you all done because i have about an hour left and i’ll meet you at home. did you miss me that bad, huh?”
even through tears, a breathless laugh escaped her.
“hoon.”
the second he heard her voice crack, sunghoon straightened up.
“hey.” his tone instantly hardened, “what happened?”
she swallowed, trying not to cry harder at the soft concern in his tone, “i got it.”
it was silent for a second on his end as his brows furrowed and then- “wha- the gala?”
she nodded frantically as if he could see her. her lips trembled, her tears practically drying against her skin under the cold breeze and she sniffled, entirely in happiness.
“the lead.”
there was another beat of silence, one filled with anticipation and silent shock. and then, instantly, there was absolute chaos as sunghoon practically screamed “NO WAY.” his voice shot up so fast she had to pull the phone slightly from her ear.
in the background, she could hear the conversation die down before someone, it sounded like jay, screamed back, “what happened?!”
another voice, definitely jungwon, also asked, “why are you yelling?”
sunghoon didn't even answer as he grinned from ear to ear, clutching his phone as if that could bring her closer to him, as if it could give her all the hugs and comfort he wanted to give in that moment, “baby, you seriously got it?”
“yes!” she laughed through her tears and he laughed along, tiny breathless gasps, “oh my god. i knew it- i knew it!”
there were more muffled voices in the background, some faint footsteps before she heard jake, now standing a little closer, “did she get it?”
sunghoon, with absolutely zero intention of being subtle, practically yelled back, “she got the lead role!”
and almost immediately, there was a chorus of loud reactions, loud cheers filled with happiness and clapping and encouraging words as all of his members congratulated her through the phone. y/n couldn't stop smiling, her cheeks hurt and she had to move to the side of the street, hoping no one could hear the loud screams coming from her phone.
she thanked all of them before her boyfriend came back on the line, his voice calmer now but still glowing with pride, “baby....” the way he said it made her heart ache, “i'm so proud of you.”
her eyes filled with tears again, “hoon…”
“no, actually,” he continued, and now there was that playful teasing slipping back into his hoarse voice, “i need everyone to know i was right.”
“oh my god-”
in the background, jake called out, “he literally wouldn't shut up about it!”
sunghoon ignored him and focused completely on her. his lips still displayed that wide grin, his eyes twinkling with endless pride, love and joy, “you owe me.”
“for what?”
“for being your personal well-wisher.”
she laughed into her hand, wiping away her tears, “is that so?”
he hummed, “yeah, i expect celebratory kisses and food- oh, and we have to go out for drinks and ice cream.”
“you're unbelievable.”
“no, you're unbelievable.” he said dramatically, “lead of the winter gala? that's my girl.”
y/n's heart squeezed and his voice softened, “seriously, y/n. you worked so hard for this, you deserve it.”
he knew. of course he did. he knew every late night, every rehearsal, every time she came home slightly limping with her knees hurting. he knew every time she doubted herself, every tear she shed after her audition when she thought she did bad.
she still couldn’t believe it, she couldn't process it but hearing him saying it made it feel a lot more real.
“i can't wait to see you tonight.” he murmured, almost dreamily, and she chuckled softly.
“i'm heading home right now.”
“good, because i'm celebrating you properly.”
“with what?”
there was a tiny pause, a breath, and then mock seriousness: “i don't know yet, but it'll involve food and me being incredibly clingy.”
that made her laugh again because he was so perfect. this whole moment was perfect. the cold around her suddenly didn't feel as sharp anymore, the city suddenly seemed softer and as she finally stepped onto the bus with a smile she couldn't contain and a heart heavy with joy, she knew that everything was about to change.
she just didn't know it would begin to take pieces of her with it.
•••
for the first three weeks, it was almost beautiful.
not easy - nothing is ever easy - but beautiful in a way ambition could sometimes look from the outside.
y/n had always been disciplined, that was one of the first things that sunghoon had fallen in love with. it wasn't just the effortless elegance she carried or the way her body seemed to bend to music even when she wasn't dancing in the studio - it was the quiet determination beneath it, the way she committed herself fully to anything she loved.
when she danced, she danced. when she loved, she loved just as fiercely.
so as soon as she'd left for her first schedule that monday after she got the role with an excited smile on her face and his kisses all over her cheeks, sunghoon had expected the longer rehearsals, the packed timetable, the endless practice sessions. he expected stress and exhaustion but with that calm determination and drive to succeed.
what he hadn't expected was to watch the girl he loved slowly begin to disappear inside it.
at first, it started small. she woke up earlier than usual. she used to wake up at 6, and then it turned to 5, then 4:30. he would wake to the faint vibration of her alarm and the quiet rustle of sheets beside him, blinking blearily into the dim blue light of dawn. he'd find her already sitting at the edge of the bed, meticulously wrapping her ankles and putting her hair into a bun.
“baby... what time is it?” he had mumbled one time, voice thick with sleep.
y/n glanced over her shoulder, her smile tired but just as soft when she noticed his fluffy hair and roaming eyes, “go back to sleep.”
he rubbed at his half-closed eyes and pushed up onto one elbow, “you’re leaving already?”
“i want to get some solo practice in before group rehearsal.”
sunghoon frowned, “but it's barely morning.”
she laughed but it was hollow, a sound that didn't reach her eyes, “that's kind of the point.”
she pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, ran her hand over his hair briefly and she was gone before the sun had even fully risen.
nights became worse. dinner at 8pm turned into 10, then midnight, then sometimes it never happened at all. the apartment lights no longer went off when they used to, the routine of eating dinner together had become such a rarity, he barely expected it to happen anymore. sometimes, sunghoon would sit on the couch, pretending to watch something on his laptop but his eyes would instinctively flick to the time in the corner, ticking impossibly louder day by day.
12:47am.
1:00am.
1:15am.
and then, finally, the familiar beep of the door unlocking would be heard through the otherwise silent apartment. relief hit him in waves whenever she finally came home and then it would twist into anxiety whenever he saw her. she looked worse every night. paler. quieter. a little more sunken around the eyes. a little less like the girl who had cried in his arms from happiness when she got the role.
a little less like the girl who adored ballet with her entire heart.
one night, y/n came home at nearly two in the morning. the apartment was dark except for the warm glow of the lamp beside the couch. he was half-asleep, tired from his own day of interviews but was still determined to wait for her to come home, to see if she was okay.
y/n stepped inside so quietly it was almost as if she'd hoped he would be asleep. her shoulders sagged beneath her coat, her bag weighing one shoulder down as her pointe shoes half-hung out of the open zipper.
she looked exhausted- no, beyond exhausted.
like someone had wrung every last bit of her energy out of her.
“it’s 1:45.”
her hand stilled midway to taking her coat off. she stood there for a second, just breathing.
“i know.”
“you said rehearsals ended at ten.” his voice stayed calm amongst his worry that was almost impossible to miss nowadays.
“we stayed late.” y/n began walking to the kitchen without meeting his eyes, dropping her bag by the door.
“for three and a half hours?”
“i needed more time.”
sunghoon stood up and as she crossed the room, he saw it. the tiny wince when she put weight on her ankle. it was small, maybe almost invisible to anyone who didn't pay much attention - but not to sunghoon. he noticed everything about her, no matter how small it may seem, and his stomach immediately dropped as his eyes travelled back up her body like he was checking for any other injuries.
“did you eat?”
silence.
she opened the fridge, grabbed a water bottle and her silence was answer enough for him.
“…i had coffee.”
sunghoon stared at her in disbelief, “coffee?”
“it's just for now.”
“y/n.” his voice grew lower, heavy.
“it's fine.” she leaned back against the counter, eyes closing briefly, her shoulders slumping forward in exhaustion beyond reason.
“no, it's not.”
her eyes snapped open fully then as the frustration flared through the fog of fatigue like something igniting beneath too-thin skin, “you don't understand.”
the words landed wrong immediately. not loud or dramatic. just heavy. like something dropped between them that couldn't be taken back. he knew this wasn't her talking, it was the tiredness, the weakness, the stress that had been plaguing her for weeks. sunghoon went still but it wasn’t anger that crossed his face - it was something quieter, something a little unsettling.
he looked disappointed.
“i’m sorry-” y/n breathed out too quickly, already shaking her head as if that could physically undo it. her numb fingers pressed to her temple like she could massage the tension out of her own thoughts, “i didn't mean that- i just-”
“no.” his voice cut through and he stepped forward slowly, gently, “tell me what i'm not understanding.”
that made her stop, really stop, because he wasn't arguing back, he wasn't escalating, he was just asking. and that somehow made it worse - his calmness.
her shoulders sagged under the constant tension and her body almost collapsed forward, like her bones couldn't hold her up anymore. she clutched the edge of the counter as she rasped out, “this is the biggest performance of my career. of my whole life.”
“i know.”
“then you know why i have to do this.”
“yeah, i know why you have to do this.” sunghoon said immediately, shaking his head once. he moved a step closer again, not crowding her but closing the space she was trying to disappear into, and his voice softened into a gentle plead, “that doesn't mean you have to destroy yourself for it.”
she laughed - small, broken, full of disbelief at his words as if what he was saying was entirely non-negotiable, “destroy myself?”
she looked up at him properly then, eyes sharp and gone was the girl who would understand his reasons, who would never try to argue with him but instead work things out calmly and peacefully. now, her new life seemed to curl at her throat and dig its thorns into her heart, poking right at his place in there, “sunghoon... there are girls in that studio who would kill for this part.”
his jaw tightened slightly, “and?”
that caught her off guard.
“and if i slip even once, they'll give the spot to someone else. you need to understand that.”
he didn't reply after that, he didn't know how to. he just stared at her for a long moment with the quiet recognition that this had become something he didn't know how to fix.
“i'll be fine once it's over.” she said dismissively, staring at the floor for a second too long and he didn't know who she was convincing... herself or him?
“it’s temporary. it's just until the performance.” she said it like a promise, like a shield, like something she had started saying so often she no longer questioned it. but to sunghoon, it wasn't reassurance anymore - it was a pattern. a warning he had started to dread.
because it had shown up at 3am when he found her sitting on the bathroom floor with ice pressed to her swollen ankles, eyes unfocused as she whispered it like a mantra.
i'll be fine once it's over.
it had shown up the next night when he opened the fridge and found the untouched takeout she had promised she'd eat, now cold and forgotten. it was from her favourite place... but she hadn't even noticed the logo on the boxes, too tired to even stand.
i'll be fine once it's over.
it had shown up again when he found her asleep at the dining table with her cheek pressed against the wood. her laptop was open in front of her, playing one of her rehearsal videos with a tiny section of notes for improvements and his stomach seemed to sink even more when he saw how long the list was - as if all this work wasn't already draining the life out of her.
i'll be fine once it's over.
each time, he believed her a little less.
and each time she whispered those words, he felt a little more helpless.
•••
a month later, it was no longer stress.
that's what sunghoon called it in the beginning because stress was normal, expected. he felt it as well when he had an important performance coming up. anyone given the principal role in the winter gala would be under pressure, and he tried to remind himself of that everytime he woke to an empty bed before sunrise or sat awake long past midnight waiting for her to come home.
but this had become something else entirely.
it was sharper now. more consuming. more concerning. something had wrapped itself around y/n so tightly that there was barely anything of her left outside of it. her entire world had narrowed down to rehearsals, counts, corrections, and the constant fear of falling behind. it’s like everything else around her had begun to disappear.
from the outside, the performance still looked beautiful and that's what was cruel about it: the elegance of it all. the discipline. the grace. the way she still moved like poetry.
it reminded sunghoon of something delicate, something made to be admired from afar - like a crown folded from paper: beautiful in shape, precise in design.
but paper was still paper.
no matter how carefully it was folded, how perfectly it held its shape, it only took the smallest amount of pressure for it to bend. one drop of water. one careless hand. one fracture. and suddenly, the whole thing came apart.
that's what this had started to feel like.
y/n wore the role like a crown - the lead ballerina of the winter gala, the most coveted performance of the season, the title everyone in the company wanted, the one dancers spent years dreaming about. on her, it looked effortless, beautiful... but up close, sunghoon could see what no one else did: the edges of that paper was beginning to crease and there were tiny strains in the folds.
y/n stopped replying to messages. her groupchat with her friends had remained unread, disappearing beneath a flood of company notifications and timing reminders, completely going silent on her end. when sunghoon mentioned it once, gently asking if she'd talked to anyone or might want to go for a girls day, she'd only shaken her head and muttered something about being too busy.
soon, she stopped going out fully unless it was absolutely necessary. no more coffee runs, no more going to cute cafés, no more meeting with friends, no more dates.
even when she was home, she wasn't really there. the apartment no longer felt lived in, and instead, felt like an extension of the studio. the dining table was occupied with dressing choices, choreography notes, CDs of past performances she had been expected to watch and study and half-empty coffee cups which sunghoon had taken upon himself to wash and put away. ice packs permanently occupied the freezer. pain relief gel sat uncapped on the bathroom counter. pointe shoes lay abandoned near the sofa or beneath the coffee table like she barely had any time to remove them before going to do something else.
rest was no longer something she chose.
it was something her body forced on her.
on one of the few evenings sunghoon had finished practice earlier than usual, he came home expecting silence. maybe he could take a nap before getting ready to go to the gym, maybe he could convince his girlfriend one more time to eat a proper meal and not just coffee or random snacks.
the hallway outside their front door was quiet. he punched in the code, their anniversary date, and for a brief moment, he let himself hope. maybe she had finally listened to him. maybe tonight he'd find her curled up in bed, asleep beneath the duvet with her hair in that crazy loose array that made him chuckle. he pictured the gentle rise and fall of her breathing, the way she would clutch his pillow when he wasn't there with her, and something softened in his chest.
but the moment he stepped inside, that hope disappeared.
music drifted down the hallway. soft strings of a controlled melody. his heart sank instantly.
it was the same piece of the same section of the performance she'd been working on for weeks now - the melody was so deeply engraved in both of their minds that sometimes sunghoon could hear it playing in his own head when he went for his own dance practices. it was practically the soundtrack of their apartment now.
still, some part of him hoped he was wrong. maybe she just left it playing by accident, maybe she was in the shower, maybe-
he turned the corner and stopped completely.
y/n was in the middle of the room, still in her practice clothes. her pink wrap top clung faintly to her skin, damp with sweat and the black tights she'd left in that morning were still dusted with fine white powder from the studio floor. her hair was pulled back into such a tight slickback it looked painful - every part of herself wound so tightly that one slip would've made the whole thing unravel.
sunghoon's eyes ran over her body in that concerning way they always did. she had one leg propped up against the arm of the couch, her body folded into an intense stretch so deep it made something in his chest curl.
it looked like punishment.
her breathing was uneven, thin shoulders rising and falling too fast, too strained, and when his gaze dropped lower, his lips curled into a worried snarl.
her hands were shaking. not even slightly, they were actually trembling. visible, uncontrollable tremors ran through her fingers and wrists as she forced herself deeper into the stretch. and the way she kept going, still ignoring every signal her body was giving her to stop, it made him frustrated.
“seriously?” the word came out before he could even stop himself, the pure disbelief evident in his tone.
y/n didn't even look up as she spoke, “i need to keep my lines clean.”
sunghoon just stared at her. he genuinely couldn't believe what he was seeing, “you need to sit down.”
her exhale was sharp and irritated, “hoon, please.”
“no.” his voice was clipped, firm, final. it changed the atmosphere instantly, almost slicing through the soft music and fragile patience that had been holding this together for weeks.
for the first time, she actually stopped. she lifted her head, actually made eye contact with him and the sight of her nearly broke him. she looked pale. far too pale to the point she looked ill. sweat dampened the loose strands of hair at the nape of her neck, dark shadows bruised the delicate skin beneath her eyes, deep enough that even her makeup couldn't fully hide it.
then his eyes dropped lower. his breath caught.
her toes were bruised. deep purple marks bloomed over and even beneath the skin, swollen and angry, the kind of bruising that should've had her off her feet days ago. her hands were still trembling, her skin was practically pulling at her ribcage and her collarbones were so prominent they looked like they might snap if she breathed too heavy.
“y/n... baby, you're not okay.” he was almost on the verge of tears.
“i am.” her reply was too quick, too rehearsed.
“no, you're not.”
immediately, her arms folded over her chest as if she was defending herself on instinct.
“i don't need another lecture, sunghoon.”
he blinked at her, slightly caught off-guard, “a lecture? you think this is a lecture?”
“what else is it?”
a bitter laugh escaped him before he could stop it, “it's me being worried about you. it’s-”
“i told you i can handle it.”
“no, you're not handling it. you're not handling anything.”
his words sounded strict and that clipped tone landed wrong in her chest. she knew he was right. deep down, she knew what she was doing was wrong, it was unhealthy and completely unlike her, but the discipline and ambition had gone so out of hand she didn't know how to grasp at it anymore.
her chest rose sharply and her expression twisted into one of frustration, fear, all of it simmering to the surface, “you don’t get it.”
there's that sentence again.
something in him snaps, decisively, “then explain it to me.” his voice lowered to that deep, controlled tone, the kind of calm that only came when he was trying very hard not to shout angrily, “because from where i'm standing , it looks like you're killing yourself for a company that would replace you in a second.”
her breath caught. hurt seemed to flash over her face, mixed with fear, but anger took over just as instantly, “you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“then tell me.”
he stepped closer, “tell me why you haven't slept properly in weeks. tell me why i keep finding food you haven't touched. tell me why you can't even stand on that ankle right now.”
her face creased and suddenly, something cruel inside her seemed to split open; her dignity, or perhaps the self-care and love she had long forgotten about. her jaw tightened and she clenched her nails into her palm.
“because i have to be perfect!” the words tore out of her, raw and shaking, like they'd been clawing at her ribs for weeks, “because if i'm not, then someone else takes the spot!”
the room fell silent. her breathing came faster now, almost frantic, chest rising and falling too quickly. tears glossed over her eyes but they didn't fall, instead, they made her look more frantic. more desperate.
“i've dreamed about this all my life, sunghoon. i’ve worked so hard to get to where i am today.”
“i know.” he said quietly.
but she shook her head so fast it almost looked violent, “no, you don’t.” her voice cracked, then sharpened, “you have no idea what it's like in that studio.”
“do you really think i don't understand pressure, y/n?” he wasn't being defensive, he was just as tired - deeply, heartbreakingly tired - and seeing the love in his eyes when he looked at her, seeing the worry and concern for her should've been the moment she stopped.
instead, it only made something uglier rise inside her.
“this is different.”
“how?”
she laughed, humourless and completely bitter, “because, as a dancer, you should know what this feels like.” he went completely still and she continued with a voice trembling with emotion and something more intense, “you stay late for practices too, you have important performances you need to do extra work for. you know what it’s like until your body gives out, so why are you acting like what i’m doing is insane?”
sunghoon's fists clenched by his sides because in a way, she was right, he did know. he knew what pressure felt like, he knew what it meant to chase perfection until it hollowed you out, he knew what it was like to be watched, judged, corrected. but this? this had gotten so out of hand that even with all of that understanding, he no longer knew how to reach her.
“y/n…” he said softly, warm eyes pleading as his brows furrowed, “i do know what that feels like but...”
“no!” her voice rose so suddenly, it startled both of them, “you don't know because you already made it. you already debuted. you're already in a group, your place is already secure.”
“what?”
“if you make one mistake on stage, they cover for you. the others will step in, the cameras move away and it’ll be edited out. the performance keeps going.” her own words seemed to echo back at her, completely cruel, coming from something ugly and terrifying that had made its way into her mind, into her heart.
sunghoon stood there stunned. it hurt, of course it did, especially coming from her. she could see it flash in his dark eyes, she could see it in the way his brows furrowed just a bit more and the love in his eyes started to wither.
but she was too far gone and too consumed by the adrenaline and panic to stop.
“ballet doesn’t work like that. if i mess up one turn, one landing, one count- that’s it. i’m off the performance. and that’s just for rehearsals, never mind the real thing.” her voice cracked and the tears finally spilled over, “there are girls in that studio waiting for me to fail. there will be girls in line that day to immediately take over if i do something wrong. you don’t know what it’s like to have people waiting on your downfall every freaking second!”
he’d gone so quiet that it would’ve hurt less if he just shouted back. but his silence stabbed at her too because she knew, she knew he understood, of course he did - ever since he was young, he’s had cameras watching him, people training him, correcting him, criticising him. he knew fear. he knew what it was like to feel replaceable. he knew what it was like to overwork yourself.
but this wasn’t about that anymore. this was her fear speaking, dressed up as cruelty and she was taking it out on him.
when sunghoon finally spoke, his voice was hollow, “you really think i don't know what that feels like?”
the question was gently yielding but it landed like a slap. y/n's breath caught. for a second, she softened at his hurt tone but that weakness vanished just as quickly as it came.
“this is different.” she said again, weaker this time.
“right.” his shoulders sagged and his eyes softened, “maybe i don't know what it's like to dance in your company, but i do know what it looks like when someone i love is destroying herself and calling it discipline.”
now that should've stopped her. it should've. but there was nothing left in her capable of slowing down.
“well, i'm sorry i can't prioritise you right now.”
that seemed to crack everything between them.
all the hurtful words, all the worried glances, all the comforting caresses after hard rehearsals - all of it gone with just a few frantic words. sunghoon nodded and pursed his lips like the air had been slowly knocked out of him. there was no misunderstanding and that’s what hurt him - it hurt him that even after everything, she thought he just wanted her attention, as if he was dismissing all her hard work just because they hadn’t had a proper conversation in a while.
for the first time in weeks, he genuinely looked wounded.
her face paled in realisation, “hoon- i didn't mean-”
“no, i heard you.” he reached for his jacket, “do whatever you want.”
“sunghoon-”
“if this performance matters more than your health, more than us... then i can't stop you.”
and then he was walking toward the door.
“you’re leaving?” panic finally broke through the frustrated haze she was in just seconds ago.
“i don't want to say something i'll regret.”
as a dancer, as a performer, he knew what it meant to bleed for perfection. but as her boyfriend, as her lover, as her best friend, as someone who's seen her grow into the person she was now, he had no idea how to save her from herself.
the door clicked shut behind and the sound echoed in the apartment like something irreversible. y/n stood frozen, shaky eyes staring at the door. she stayed there for a second, then another, hoping- wishing- begging for him to run back in so that she could apologise.
but he didn't.
her knees gave out. she sank to the floor as her breath shook violently in her chest and her feeble fingers clutched at her top, right over her heart like it could've fallen out any second. her music still played in the background. still moving. still counting. still demanding. even when she couldn't anymore.
for the first time in weeks, the apartment was silent in a way that truly hurt.
and that's when she realised that somewhere between chasing perfection and running from failure, she had started losing him too.
•••
the next morning, y/n woke up with a strange heaviness in her chest.
her 6am alarm vibrated beside her and after turning it off, she remained still under the covers, eyes closed, trying to hold onto the last remnants of sleep. her memory of last night came back all at once: the argument, her harsh voice, the look on sunghoon’s face when her words landed, the sound of the door closing behind him.
her eyes opened slowly to the pale grey light filtering through the curtains, the bedroom being washed in the quiet blue of the early morning. her body ached in ways that had become so familiar she barely registered them anymore, her shoulders tight and sore as her calves practically throbbed from yesterday’s rehearsal.
without thinking, her hand moved across the mattress to the space beside her. his space.
she was met with cold sheets and an untouched pillow. her breath caught. he never came back. that thought hit her harder than she expected it to and something painful tightened beneath her ribs as she stared at the empty space. maybe he had gone to the dorm after leaving. maybe one of the members had convinced him to stay over.
or maybe he simply hadn’t wanted to come home.
that possibility hurt the most. she swallowed hard and blinked against the sting gathering behind her tired eyes. for a second, she just wanted to stay there, the curl up in the sheets and hug his pillow as she slept but the thought barely had time to form before reality came crashing back in.
two weeks. she only had two more weeks until the winter gala.
so she dragged herself up as the words blared in her mind like an alarm; quick shower, skincare, hair tied up, tights, wrap top, warm-up layers. it was almost mechanical, as though her body knew the sequence better than her mind did. by the time she stepped out into the hallway, mind already drifting to what she had to practice today, she froze as she came to the living room.
it was dim. the curtains were still drawn against early light, and her eyes then travelled to the couch.
sunghoon.
he was curled awkwardly, still in the clothes from last night. his hoodie was half-zipped, one arm tucked underneath his head in what clearly had been an attempt to make himself comfortable, though the angle of his neck looked painfully wrong. one of the throw blankets had slipped halfway down his legs, leaving him barely covered.
she stared at him. he had come home. at some point in the night, after she’d fallen asleep, he came home.
but he didn’t come back to her and that realisation hit like a physical blow to her heart - he’d been here the entire time and still the space between them had never felt wider. her heart clenched. he must’ve been so uncomfortable, the couch being too short for his long legs, and yet he’d still chosen that over their bed.
over being beside her.
because of what she said. because she’d pushed him so far that even coming home didn’t mean coming back to her.
guilt washed over her immediately. slowly, carefully, she moved closer. up close, he looked exhausted, his lashes seated softly against his cheeks, his breathing slow and steady. he looked peaceful for the first time in weeks, too peaceful for her to ruin.
god, she missed him. she missed being close enough to look at him properly, she missed spending mornings tangled with him in the sheets, missed the easy touches and the soft kisses and the warm hugs that once filled every part of their life together. these past few weeks had turned them into strangers sharing the same space - they’d pass eachother in the doorway, eat at different times, sleep on different schedules, barely touch, barely speak.
and now, seeing him here, something tender and heartbreaking unfurled inside her. she crouched beside the couch and gently, she let her hand reach out and slide into his hair. it was soft, warm beneath her touch as she smoothed the dark strands back from his forehead. the simple familiarity of it nearly undid her. her touch was featherlight and hesitant as if she was afraid she no longer had the right to touch him at all.
his breathing shifted but he didn’t wake up.
leaning down, she pressed the softest kiss to his cheek.
“i’m sorry.” y/n whispered as her fingers lingered in his hair for one final moment before she forced herself to stand. she let him sleep because for once, he looked rested. because she loved him too much to wake him.
and as she slipped out of the apartment with tiny tears fluttering at her waterline, the room fell silent once more. a few seconds passed before sunghoon’s eyes opened - he felt all of it, the kiss, the apology whispered against his skin, her nimble fingers in his hair. his heart ached, still as raw as it had been the night before, as he stared up at the ceiling.
he was still hurt. god, it hurt so much to be this apart from her.
but the tenderness of her touch stayed with him long after she already left.
•••
the studio felt wrong when she stepped in.
usually it would be alive with movement as different dancers arrived with coffee cups in their hands and bags over their shoulders, the distant sound of piano scales coming from one of the practice rooms, the soft tap of pointe shoes against the corridor as some people warmed up or hurried from one studio to the next.
today, that rhythm felt off. the building wasn’t silent, literally, but the usual bustle of it felt off.
it was quiet and that quiet made her skin prickle.
the atmosphere shifted as soon as she opened the door to one of the larger performance rooms. there was a subtle pause in conversations as most people turned toward her, and then whispers started - not loud but enough to echo against the high ceilings and enough for her to feel instantly confused and anxious.
one of the girls near the far mirror glanced at her and then leaned to the dancer beside her, whispering something behind the rim of her bottle. y/n watched the other girl smirk, eyes trailing back to her. another pair by the barre exchanged a look that felt too pointed, too judgemental. someone laughed under their breath. someone tying their shoes stopped just to stare at y/n walking in.
she tightened her grip on her bag as a cold unease began to creep up her spine. what the hell was happening this morning? her gaze moved across the room as her steps faltered a bit - she waited for something familiar, someone to smile or wave or complain about the schedule as always.
instead, she found pity. disappointment. distance.
before she could even set her bag down, one of the performance assistants approached her from the corner of the room. y/n straightened up when she saw how composed her expression was, how serious she looked.
“y/n, the manager wants to see you.”
the words landed strangely.
“what?”
the assistant gave her a small, unreadable smile.
“in his office.”
her heart gave a sudden, sickening drop. without another word, she turned and walked back out into the hallway, the whispers behind her getting louder now that she wasn’t looking at them. each step toward the office felt wrong, too slow, too loud. the corridor stretched endlessly in front of her, the framed posters from past galas and performances lining the walls like ghosts.
her eyes caught briefly at the principal lead from last years gala, the girl’s glossy lips stretched into a smile in front of a gold-embossed poster, poised beneath the lights in a crown of silver and crystal.
this year, that was supposed to be her.
by the time she reached the office door, her hand had gone cold around the handle. she knocked once and took a deep breath when the voice on the other side muttered a simple “come in.”
the door clicked shut behind her as she walked into the faint smell of coffee and paper. the performance manager sat at his desk, posture immaculate, hands folded neatly in front of him. his expression was unreadable in the way only authority figures seemed to master - carefully neutral, almost detached. it made dread bloom in her chest violently and she didn’t know why.
“y/n! please, take a seat.” he said with a polite smile, offering her the seat on the other side of his large oak desk.
she walked over but didn’t have it in her to sit down, her legs were practically shaking with nerves.
“what’s wrong?” her voice came out shakier than she expected.
for a second, he said nothing. he folded his hands more tighter, and looked at her with a kind of professional calm that made her want to be sick.
“we’ve been reviewing your performance in recent rehearsals, and the practice show that took place last week.”
her heartbeat stumbled. then began pounding. hard.
“what about it?” the words barely made it out, her eyes never leaving his as if she was worried she wouldn’t hear him properly if she looked away.
he paused. a pause that stretched too long, too heavy, too deliberate, like he was allowing the silence to do some of the damage for him. y/n stood frozen, her knuckles paling with how tight she gripped the strap of her bag. her pulse thudded so loudly in her ears that for a moment it was the only sound in the room.
and then he said it.
the exact thing she was dreading.
“we’ve decided to recast the principal role.”
for a second, it didn’t make sense. the words hung in the air, clean and sharp, yet somehow it was impossible for her to understand. it was as if the language itself failed her, as if the sentence was spoken in a voice she recognised but in a meaning her mind refused to accept.
recast.
principal role.
those words repeated in her head again and again, broken fragments stripped of context.
recast the principal role.
“…what?” her lips parted. she could only stare at him like she was waiting for him to correct himself, to laugh and tell her it was a joke or a prank or a misunderstanding, or some weird mistake in scheduling or casting for another role. she blinked at him blankly, and whatever light she had in her eyes slowly started to fade, “..what do you mean?”
“your performance quality has declined.”
“no.” the word left her before she could stop it, chest tightening to suddenly that it hurt. her breath caught somewhere between her lungs and her throat, refusing to move, “no, it hasn’t.”
the man lowered his gaze to an open file on his desk. he was looking at paper, at notes, at typed-up observations and rehearsal reports like he was reading numbers from a spreadsheet instead of dismantling everything she spent her entire life building.
“the choreographers have reported that you’ve missed multiple cues in recent rehearsals.” he said evenly, “your stamina has visibly worsened and your physical consistency has become unreliable.”
each word was a blade to her heart.
missed cues.
stamina.
unreliable.
suddenly, everything came rushing back to her like a flicker of memories - the sleepless nights, the mornings she left before sunghoon was even awake, the dinner left untouched, the cold sting of ice packs against her swollen feet, the purple bruises blooming all over her legs. the palpable hurt in sunghoon’s eyes whenever she declined even having a meal with him. every sacrifice, everytime she neglected him, every piece of herself she’d stripped away in pursuit of perfection for this role.
“i can fix it.” the words tumbled out, panic rising in her chest, “i just need a little more time. there’s still a week left, i can stay later, i’ll redo every section if i have t-”
“y/n.”
“no, please!” she cut in, stepping closer to the desk, “please, just give me one more rehearsal, one more full run-through. i can prove it to you- i know i’ve been off, i know that, but i can fix it! i’ve come too far-”
her hands were shaking now, “please don’t do this. please.”
“the decision has already been made.”
that was it.
that was the moment everything inside her shattered as the finality in his voice left no room for argument, no crack for hope to slip through. her stomach dropped so violently she had to brace one hand against the edge of the chair to steady herself.
“no…” she whispered, barely audible, tears brimming her eyes, “no, you can’t do this.”
for the first time since walking into the office, the careful mask she’d been holding together began to fracture.
“you can’t do this- i gave everything for this.”
still, he looked at her with maddening calm, “we’re concerned for your condition, y/n. we need someone stable.”
“what?”
stable. she could’ve laughed. as if she were unstable, as if she had become the problem, as if the pressure and the scrutiny and the impossible standards and constant threats of replacement hadn’t somehow turned her into her own failure. as if they hadn’t built the very fear that consumed her.
“you are physically declining.” another blow straight to her heart, “we don’t know how much longer your body can sustain this pace. your ankle is clearly compromised, your stamina has dropped and you’ve been pushing through visible exhaustion. some of the girls have reported to seen bruises all over you. we can’t risk putting you on stage in this condition.”
then, a lot quieter, he added, “we’re sorry. you can take as much time as you need to rest your ankle.”
sorry. that word felt insulting. that entire sentence felt insulting.
“don’t do that..” she shook her head harshly, her tears now freely falling down her cheeks, “don’t act sorry after pushing me this hard. i did everything you asked…” she sniffled and her throat constricted but she swallowed past the lump, swallowed past the heartbreak and kept going, “i did every late night, every correction, i watched the videos again and again. i ruined myself for this!”
“we never asked you to destroy your health.”
“of course. you only ever made it clear that if i messed up, even a little, someone else would take it! i tried to avoid that!” she bitterly laughed, “i pushed myself for you. for this company.”
silence. he said nothing. he didn’t even deny her words and somehow that’s what broke her the most. because he knew what dancers went through to get this role, he knew the behind the scenes of the role and how physically demanding and mentally straining it can get, yet he didn’t say anything at the time.
he kept quiet and now… just as she’s so close to the finish line, he wants to act. he’d casted her because of her talent and personality and elegance, he’d watched her ruin herself, he’d watched her get attacked, get judged, get overworked and now he’d decided to cut her off?
that’s when she realised that all the pain and fear, everything she’d done to make herself untouchable, trying to build a crown so flawless no one could touch her - none of it had been enough. she’d let her ambition consume her so much that she lost herself in the process and that had been her ultimate downfall.
she turned and left without another word.
she had nothing else to say and she knew that if she stayed another second, she was certain she’d fall apart right there on the floor.
and she refused to let him see that too.
•••
she barely made it out the building.
the posters she blindly rushed past now felt like cruel reminders, the rehearsal rooms felt far too distant and the familiar music playing throughout almost made her sick. by the time she pushed through the side exit of the performance hall and stumbled into the narrow street beside it, the cold morning air hit her like a slap.
her lungs tightened so violently that she genuinely thought she might collapse right there against the brick wall. her breaths came in shallow, sharp pulls, too fast to steady herself, too thin to fill her lungs properly. her vision swam, hands shook so badly she nearly dropped her phone.
she was on the verge of a panic attack and there was only one person she wanted to call. only one person her heart reached for on instinct no matter what happened, no matter how chaotic things had gotten between them. whenever something hurt this badly and the word seemed to crack beneath her feet, she always ran to him.
sunghoon answered on the second ring.
“y/n?”
his voice was all she needed for the tears to spill harder. not graceful, quiet tears but sobs that had her knees weakening and her body lowering to the curb. they were humiliating. broken. heartbreaking.
“h-hoon..”
sunghoon immediately stood straighter from where he was leaned against the kitchen counter with his protein shake. his heart rate spiked as soon as her shrilling cries came through his speaker.
“y/n. what happened?”
she pressed a hand over her mouth, trying and failing to steady herself, “i- i can’t-”
“baby, where are you?”
the endearment in his tone nearly destroyed what little composure she had left.
“i’m at the performance hall.” she sniffled, looking up at the clear sky to make her tears stop, “side s-street.”
“i’m coming.” he said with no hesitation. no anger. no reminder of last night. no pause. just a reminder that he would always be there wherever and whenever she needed him. she doesn’t know if he declined the call or if it was all her movement but her phone went limp in her hand as she curled into herself on the edge of the empty street.
she tightened her coat around her as if it could somehow hold her together. the cold seeped through the fabric of her tights but she barely felt it - every thought in her mind was spiralling.
recast. unstable. unhealthy.
to someone else, this might’ve seemed dramatic - it was just a role, just one show in a long career that she still had ahead of her. she was only twenty-three, more roles like this would come, right? maybe from the outside it could be dismissed as something temporary, someone she would eventually move on from, and she knew she would. she knew she’d get over it but it still hurt.
it had been everything to her, so of course, letting it slip through her fingers because of her own decline hurt.
it was a moment she was supposed to prove herself. losing it didn’t feel like just losing a random role, it felt like losing the future she’d been reaching for with both hands. that’s why the panic felt consuming and why the air around her seemed so thin.
sunghoon arrived less than fifteen minutes later.
his hair was messy as if he’d just ran out the door without thinking to fix it. he was in a hoodie and sweatpants, clearly rushed, and yet in that moment, to her, he had never looked more beautiful.
the second she saw him, whatever fragile composure she was clinging to shattered completely. she reached for him before he even fully crouched down - it was instinct, pure and desperate. her hands flew to the front of his hoodie and sunghoon dropped down in front of her so quickly his knees hit the pavement. both his hands came up to cup her face, warm palms a stark contrast to her freezing skin.
“hey.” he said softly, eyes scanning her with worry, “hey, look at me.”
she tried. she really did but the moment she looked at him properly, the tears came harder.
“they cut me off.” she hiccupped, “hoon, th-they took the role.”
something quick and sharp flickered across his face. hurt. anger. disbelief. his jaw tightened as the words settled in and a cold fury rose so fast it almost startled him. they took it away? after everything? he couldn’t believe it. after watching as she slowly wore herself down until there was almost nothing left of her, they’d simply taken it away?
a part of him wanted to march straight into that building and demand how they could possibly justify this. how they could watch someone reach the absolute edge of the cliff and then punish them for breaking under the weight of it.
but then she made this small, broken sound in the back of her throat, and all that anger instantly simmered.
her. she came first.
always.
his entire body softened as he pulled her forward into his chest, “baby, it’s okay- hey.” one hand slid to the back of her head while the other began to rubbing slow, soothing circles over her back, “i’ve got you. i’ve got you.”
her fingers desperately twisted into his hoodie and she clutched him so tightly it almost hurt, like some part of her was terrified that if she let go, he might disappear from her life too. sunghoon could feel every tremble, every shaky breath, every whine, every fractured exhale and his chest tightened so painfully. he lowered his face, pressing a kiss to her hair, then to her temple, his hand never stopping its gentle movement on her back.
“i’m sorry. i’m so- sorry, hoon.”
sunghoon pulled back just a tiny bit to look at her properly, his palm now cupping the side of her face, “what?”
“i was horrible to you. i said awful things and hurt you when you were only trying to h-help me.” she forced out through the river of tears, “i was so scared and i took it out on you.”
his heart ached, not just from hearing her say this but from how devastated she looked. he brushed damp strands of her hair back and his thumb gently wiped beneath her eyes.
“angel.” he called, “look at me.”
she didn’t, still sputtering out mumbles into his chest, shaky fingers tightening even more, “i didn’t mean it- god, i s-swear i didn’t. i’m so proud of you and how far you’ve come, i don’t know what was wrong with me-”
“baby.”
“you’re the strongest person i know and i’m so happy for all of your achievements. i-i was an idiot and i was stupid and you were still being nice- fuck- h-hoon…” her breath cracked and sunghoon pressed his palms into her cheeks, pulling her up to look at him.
“y/n.” his eyes bore into her teary ones, “my love. listen to me… i’m sorry too.”
her brows pulled together with confusion as he let out a slow breath, “i shouldn’t have walked out last night. i shouldn’t have left you alone.”
“no, don’t say that.” she immediately shook her head, “you did nothing wrong. you were worried for me out of love and i was too far gone to see it.”
something in him cracked a little at those words. he leaned forward and pressed a long, lingering kiss to her forehead, his lips staying there for a moment longer than necessary. he could feel his own eyes prickling with tears but he held back, stayed strong because she needed comfort right now, because he didn’t want to distress her any further.
“you were hurting.”
“i still hurt you.”
his arms tightened around her and for a few minutes, neither of them said anything. he simply just held her with all the tightness of an embrace they hadn’t had for months. sunghoon grounded her with every gentle pass of his hand, every kiss to her hair, her eyes, her temple, her cheek. small, tender touches as if he could kiss all her pain away.
then, very lowly, she mumbled, “you didn’t come to bed last night.”
he crumbled at her sad tone, “i did. you looked deep in sleep, i didn’t want to disturb you.”
she looked up at him from his chest, “you could never disturb me.”
“i didn’t know if you wanted space or were still mad at me.”
she pouted at that, tears fluttering at her eyes yet again, “i was never mad at you in the first place.” then she tucked herself back into his chest, “no matter what happens, please always come back to me. i missed you. i don’t like sleeping without you.”
at that, he smiled faintly and kissed her hair for the nth time, “noted.”
eventually, once her tears had dried up and her heavy breaths had softened into calm ones, he carefully helped her into the passenger seat of his car, which she sank into with exhausted relief. sunghoon didn’t start the car straight away. instead, he reached over and took her hand, threading their fingers together and giving it a reassuring squeeze, all while he quietly asked, “what do you want to do next?”
she took a breath before answering, “they said i should rest for my ankle.”
his expression tightened - of course now they wanted to talk about rest.
he looked at her for a long moment, his gaze caring and endearing before telling her they were going to get it checked properly. there was no room for argument in the softness of his voice so y/n didn’t argue - she knew it was long overdue. so she squeezed his hand, let him kiss her fingers as he drove her straight to the hospital.
it was like a silent reminder that he was there.
even after the fragile paper crown shed built for herself finally crumpled in her hands, there was something almost unbearably comforting knowing that he would always be there.
•••
2 months later
healing no longer looked like collapse.
it no longer looked like shaking hands or tears mixing with the flow of the shower. it had become something less visible, something peaceful. healing, y/n learned, was rarely dramatic. it was made up of ordinary moments that didn’t seem important until she looked back and realised what they had carried her through.
her healing process included slow mornings wrapped in hoodies that smelled faintly of laundry detergent and sunghoon, curled into the corner of the couch with a blanket and her favourite tea. it was sunlight spilling across the apartment in long, golden rectangles while she sat on the rug, reading a new novel she’d come across. some days she managed it, some days the words blurred and she ended up staring at the same page for twenty minutes.
the living room had gradually filled with evidence of all the evidence.
a sketchbook lay on the coffee table, its pages filled with half-finished pencil drawings and soft sludges of colour, a small paint set sat by the window with brushes soaking in a jar because she kept forgetting to clean them properly. one of her friends had forced a book into her hands. one day, her friend had gifted her a whole basket full of yarn and a crochet kit in the hopes of helping her find a new hobby.
sunghoon noticed all of it.
he saw the way she moved at a calmer pace, the way she started opening the curtains in the mornings again, the way loud laughter echoed in the apartment. she tried to remember who she was when ballet hadn’t taken over, she tried to exist without constantly feeling like she had to earn her own worth.
her ankle healed three weeks after that day he’d taken her to the hospital. the swelling went down and the bruises gradually faded and by the end of the month, there was almost no viable sign that it had ever been as bad as it was. but sunghoon knew that some injuries didn’t live in places anyone could see - sometimes he’d find her by the kitchen counter, one hand against the edge as she moved through familiar ballet positions with quiet instinct while waiting for her coffee to brew.
just a slow rise or a careful angle of her arm, a measured extension. nothing strenuous or reckless. just her muscles moving through memory.
her body still remembered what her heart was still trying to forgive. he never interrupted.
instead, sunghoon would lean quietly against the doorway and watch with a twinkle of awe in his eyes - no worry or fear for her health. he’d stare with something soft, something bittersweet, because there was sadness, yes, but there was also peace beginning to take root.
a week after she’d been dismissed, the winter gala took place.
the whole week, sunghoon had been prepared to distract her. he half-planned dinner reservations, maybe a late night drive across the city to cheer her up, maybe a movie marathon if she wanted to stay inside. it had only been a week and he wanted to do anything to keep her from seeing the stage that should’ve been hers.
but when he carefully suggested going out, y/n only looked up from the sofa and smiled.
“i think i want to watch it.”
he stared at her, raising his brows, “you sure?”
she nodded, steady, “i’m sure.”
so they did. the tv cast soft light across the living room as the performance began, the familiar theatre appearing on the screen in polished greys, silvers and crystals. y/n sat tucked into the corner of the couch, her still-healing ankle resting comfortably across sunghoon’s lap after he’d just massaged in the cooling gel and wrapped it warmly.
he looked at her more than the tv.
she was smiling a genuine smile. there was a bit of grief in it, yes, but it no longer consumed her. when the new lead came on screen, she tilted her head slightly, observing the movement with the specificity of someone who knew every count.
“they changed that transition.” she murmured softly.
sunghoon glanced at the screen but had absolutely no clue what she was referring to. he kept raking his eyes back to her - there was no bitterness in her gaze, only quit observation and pride for the new woman presenting the lead. there was a kind of detached fondness.
when it had ended, she clapped softly, then leaned back into the cushions and exhaled, “it was beautiful.”
sunghoon pulled her closer with an arm around her shoulder, squeezing her hand and she squeezed back gently. it hurt, he knew, he could tell by the faint tears lining her waterline, but he knew she wouldn’t let that hurt consume her.
•••
currently, y/n sat on the couch, scrolling through her phone.
the city had begun to settle into the slow part of the evening that always felt a little cinematic. sunghoon had cleared the dinner dishes away as y/n quietly curled into her favourite corner of the couch, half-watching something on her screen an half-listening to the gentle sounds of sunghoon moving around the kitchen.
she barely looked up at first when he approached, expecting him to sit beside her like he always did. but when she lifted her gaze, there was a certain look in his eyes that made her pause - soft, unreadable and boyishly secretive.
she narrowed her eyes in amused suspicion, “what?”
his lips curved, “get your coat.”
“that sounds ominous.”
“it’s a surprise.” he chuckled, “trust me.”
“the last time you said to trust you, i ended up trying tteokbokki so spicy i cried.”
sunghoon let out a breathy laugh, “you survived.”
“barely.”
“just get your coat, woman.” he rolled his eyes as he went to put his own shoes on and y/n chuckled to herself, still following after him. by the time they were in the car, she had already turned fully in her seat to face him, arms folded, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“where are we going?”
“you’ll see.”
she scoffed, “that’s not an answer.”
“it’s the only thing you’re getting.”
y/n leaned back with a quiet huff, but it didn’t last long because within seconds, she was eyeing him again, gaze flicking between his face and the road ahead.
“why are we going so late?” she tried again in hopes that her sweet, curious tone could get something out of him, “it’s like… what, almost ten?”
“mhmmm.”
“hoon.”
he hummed again, far too calm for someone basically being interrogated.
“and what’s in the bag?” she added on, subtly pointing to the backpack he’d grabbed from their bedroom and shoved in the backseat.
he shrugged, mumbling “stuff.”
“stuff?” she mimicked, “you’re so annoying.”
that earned her a quiet smile from him - one that tugged at the corner of his mouth at her stubborn attempts to get an answer. he interlocked his fingers with hers in her lap, trying to soften the teasing dismissal as he brought their hands up to his lips.
“just wait.”
“you know i hate surprises.”
“you’ll like this one.” he kissed her hand, “i hope.”
y/n sighed, dramatic but not entirely serious, sinking back into her seat. she turned to watch the city pass by instead, though every now and then her gaze flickered back to him in curiosity. the rest of the drive passed like that: with y/n asking him in different ways, him dodging just as easily until eventually she just gave up with a tiny smile and decided to play some music instead.
when the car finally slowed and turned to a stop in a familiar area, y/n straightened in her seat.
“hoon.” he parked without answering, unbuckling and reaching for the backpack in the back. she followed his actions, momentarily paused, “…why are we at the hybe building?”
“come on.”
“what-”
he was already walking to her side to open the door before she could argue any further. his hand found hers and despite the confusion, she let him lead her inside. the building was a little quieter than it usually was, the late hour leaving most of it still and dim, but they still passed the occasional staff member or trainee who offered polite nods upon seeing sunghoon.
y/n’s footsteps echoed softly down the dark carpeted hallways as he led her to the elevator, taking her three floors underground, “you’re seriously not going to tell me why we’re here?”
sunghoon still shook his head, “almost there.”
they took a turn down a corridor she barely even recognised, descending towards one of the underground practice stages reserved for performance rehearsals. the air felt different here - it was a lot cooler, quieter, the kind of space with high ceilings and sound echoing off the walls. when they stopped infront of some double doors, sunghoon finally let go of her hand just enough to push them open.
the room beyond was dim, lit by only a few low, amber stage lights that cast a warm glow across the polished floor. the space was extremely wide, empty and still - it felt a little scary if she was being honest. she stepped inside with slow, careful steps and sunghoon followed behind her as she eyed the huge stage at the front.
“wha- sunghoon, what are we doing here?”
she turned to see him holding out the backpack. the look on his face was solemn and it was honestly causing a spark of anxiety to crawl up her spine.
“i booked this room for an hour. for you.”
“why?”
he took a small breath, “i know you worked really hard for the gala. and i know… it didn’t turn out the way it should have.”
she frowned at the sincerity in his tone as he continued, “but you put everything into that performance. even if things were a little rough along the way, you still wanted this and you worked so hard for it. it’s just… i wanted at least one person to see it all. to see what you created.”
her throat tightened at that. sunghoon zipped open the bag and y/n's eyes dropped to what he pulled out: her performance outfit, the same one she chose herself with pretty crystals and sequins embedded into the fabric, the one she had hung up in her wardrobe in special wrapping to keep it clean and fresh for the big day. she raised her brows in surprise and then he pulled out her pointe shoes.
for a second, she couldn't speak.
her fingers hovered over the items and she lifted the shoes, the familiar satin ribbons brushing against her skin. it felt like something she had buried suddenly placed back into her hands, not as something painful - but as something hers again.
“sunghoon…”
he offered her a comforting, hopeful smile, “you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
she shook her head quickly, emotion catching in her throat, “no! i-i want to.”
“yeah?”
she smiled, eyes twinkling beneath the faint sheen of tears, “yeah- yeah, i want to.”
sunghoon smiled too, happy, and stepped back slightly, “i’ll set up the music.”
she disappeared briefly to change, her hand trembling and her head spinning at the thoughtfulness of his gesture - it felt like being given back a piece of herself she thought she’d lost. he always knew exactly how to help her when she needed it the most.
when she returned back a few minutes later, the room felt even quieter now. sunghoon sat in the first row of chairs, right in the centre, where his view of her was perfect. the music was ready, the lights dimmed just enough to wrap the space in a tender, white glow.
when she stepped into the centre of the floor, he stilled completely. she stood there for a few moments, letting the silence settle around her, letting herself remember the months of practice rehearsals and hours of dancing she'd put into this sequence.
then the music began.
she moved slowly at first, each step deliberate and careful - as if reacquainting herself with something deeply familiar yet newly fragile. the solo part came calmly and her body immediately adjusted, her now healed ankle making everything feel much lighter and her moves feeling a lot easier. as the music carried on, her body remembered the feeling - not the pressure or the fear but the endearment in her moves.
the way her dancing spoke for her. the way her body could tell a story no one else could.
the choreography she spent months learning and perfecting unfolded piece by piece, her lines clean, her turns controlled, her balance steady despite everything. there was an elegance to it that felt untouched by the chaos of the past months - it was soft, but strong. fragile but unbroken.
to sunghoon, y/n looked unreal.
she looked like something carved out of light and shadow. she looked like a perfect angel, swiping across the dancefloor. she moved in perfect harmony with the music, each turn, each kick, each graceful twirl carried resilience and something quiet and healing. there was no desperation now, no frantic edge of wanting to be perfect. she was just dancing the same way she'd always done. she was dancing the same way she'd learnt and always been passionate about.
and it was the most beautiful he had ever seen her.
as the piece built, her movements grew more intense, more powerful, each step grounded in something deeper than technique. sunghoon couldn't rip his eyes away from her even if he tried. he was completely captivated, like if he blinked he might miss something. he already knew what the performance looked like, having watched it with her in their living room, curled up on the sofa as the stage version played out on screen.
back then, he'd found himself quietly replacing the dancer with her in his mind. he imagined y/n at the centre of it all, he imagined her surrounded her by the backup dancers and the lights and the props, shining like some sort of precious star.
but this... this was different.
there was a rawness to it now, something unfiltered that no stage production could replicate. the original had been fuller, grander with all the dancers and elaborate movement - but what she was doing here, alone, carried a weight that made his chest tighten. it was just her. no distractions, no embellishments, and that made it even more beautiful.
she was the sole focus, just like she always had been.
especially in his eyes.
when the final note faded, the room fell into silence once more.
y/ns breath came in sharp, quick breaths, a faint flush across her cheeks and her eyes bright. sunghoon instantly stood up and started clapping - loud, completely genuine, insanely proud. the sound echoed through the empty space, breaking the stillness in the best way possible. y/n let out a breathless laugh, and shook her head as she stepped back. it genuinely felt like a huge amount of tension had been lifted off her shoulders.
he didn't stop clapping until he reached the stage. he was pulling himself up onto the platform, instantly closing the distance between them in seconds. his arms wrapped around her tightly and he lifted her off the ground in the momentum of it.
“okay, okay-” y/n giggled into his shoulder, slightly out of breath as she held onto him, “you’re being dramatic, baby. let me go-”
“am not.” sunghoon mumbled into her shoulder, though his grip didn’t loosen. he set her back down but his hands lingered at her waist, like he wasn’t quite ready to let her go. his dark eyes searched her face, still a little awestruck, still carrying the disbelief of how good she was.
“you were…” he exhaled, shaking his head like words weren’t enough, “i don’t even know how to describe it. i’ve seen your dance so many times but that- that felt like something else.”
“yeah?” y/n’s sweet smile faltered just a little, but not from sadness. she looked down briefly, then back at him, her features gentler now, “i’m happy that i got to perform this and… i’m grateful i even had the opportunity to learn it in the first place.”
there was no pressure or lingering panic in her tone. just something steady, something quietly whole. sunghoon's hands cradled her cheeks in his palms, thumbs softly brushing her cheekbones as he looked at her with so much love, so much adoration.
“it always was yours.”
“mm, maybe.” she murmured, “but atleast this time… i actually got to finish it.”
“good.” he leaned in to kiss her temple, “because i wouldn’t have missed that for anything.”
y/n smiled at his words before leaning in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. it wasn't just affection, it was gratitude - for his patience, for his unwavering support, for staying even when she hadn't made it easy for him to. her hands settled against his arms, steadying herself as she kissed him a little deeper, pouring everything she couldn't quite put into words in that moment.
somehow, it didn’t feel like it was stolen from her anymore.
she had finally performed it.
for the one person she wanted there. the one person who earned the right to see it - not just the final, polished version, but everything that came and went before that too. it might not have happened the way she planned or dreamed, but it had found its way back to her.
through him. through honesty and quiet affection, and that felt more deserved than anything she’d lost.
Hii, I really love your writings, and I wanted to know if you're going to continue the boxer jake fic :)
hi anonnn! thank you so much and abt the boxer jake fic… the main one has lowkey been neglected for a while and idk when im gonna return to working on that bc im so busy nowadays as i have assignments, placements and exams the motivation for that is long gone. i will return to it i promise!! summer is starting and i’ll be done w uni in about two months so maybe ill get back to it then fingers crossed!
BUT i do have a normal boxer!jake fic in my drafts rn its not thattt long but i hope it’ll make up for the lack of boxer!jake on my blog lately :D
ᥫ᭡ drabble. ni-ki being y/ns personal heater. mentions. established relationship, fluff.
y/n shivered as she climbed into her bed, tugging her oversized hoodie tighter around her shoulders. the heaters in her apartment hadn’t worked all week and despite ni-ki suggesting she come and stay with him whilst she waited to get them fixed, she had politely declined due to work and classes close to home she had to attend.
so even with two thick blankets piled onto her bed and fluffy socks and tights covering her body, the apartment was still bitterly cold and it was making its way into every open crevice of her home it could find.
the door to the bedroom opened quietly and ni-ki slipped inside, already wearing his hoodie and a chunky sweater underneath. he didn’t say a word - just crawled into the bed beside her and wrapped his arm around her back, pulling her flush against his chest.
“‘s freezing.” he murmured softly into her hair, voice low and raspy.
“mm.” she agreed, pressing herself closer, legs tangling with his under the heavy weight of the blankets.
the cold was relentless as it bit at her fingers and toes, but her boyfriend’s warmth was instant and grounding, almost like he was a block of warmth made specifically for her with the way she fully moulded against him. their bodies practically melted into eachother, shoulders pressed together, her cheek against the crook of his neck, his chin resting lightly on her head. his other hand rubbed soothingly up her back as if the friction of his palms could bring her just a tiny bit more comfort.
“better?” ni-ki asked with a soft tone, slightly teasing though the way he held her and kissed into her hair made it clear he wasn’t letting go anytime soon.
“much.” y/n whispered in return. she instinctively nuzzled closer to him as if his own personal warmth was enough to fire up her whole bedroom. every shiver seemingly faded as their natural body heat pooled together under the blankets, like a little world they created just for the two of them.
“good.” he hummed and lovingly kissed her forehead, “i’ll keep you warm all night.”
she smiled against him when he tightened his hold. her eyes closed as she finally relaxed. the cold outside was instantly forgotten as they fell into a deep sleep together, completely tangled like a web of limbs and skin and muscle - they didn’t need heaters. with him like this, she would always be protected and warm enough.
ᥫ᭡ drabble. jungwon tracing patterns onto y/ns hands but she’s ticklish. mentions. literally just fluff, established relationship.
the room was quiet except for the soft patter of rain against the window where jungwon lay on his side next to his girlfriend. one arm was tucked beneath his head while the other curled around her waist and rested over the blanket between them. her hand had somehow found its way into his when she shifted to lay half of her body over his, her head tucked into his shoulder.
she was half-asleep and her breathing was the only thing soothing him as he stared up at the plain ceiling for ten minutes straight. all of a sudden, he had the mischievous idea to brush his thumb over y/n’s palm absentmindedly, tracing slow little circles into her skin as if he was drawing flowers.
she twitched instantly and a smile spread across his face.
“there it is.” he murmured, amused.
her eyes fluttered open, already smiling yet still lazy, “don’t.”
he ignored her completely and let his fingertip trail lightly across the center of her palm and down the length of her fingers. the touch was so feather-soft that she would’ve felt the tingle in her fingers even if she wasn’t ticklish. a breathy laugh slipped out before she could stop herself.
“won-” she whispered through a soft chuckle, trying to pull her hand back but he only held it tighter, more gentle and warm, while the tip of his index finger traced another shape into her skin. a square, triangle, some sort of cat or a bunny, then tiny swirls and bubbles.
“i forgot how ticklish you are.” he said, eyes crinkling as he smiled down at her hand in his.
she squirmed closer into him, shoulders curling as another laugh escaped her, “you didn’t forget. you’re doing this on purpose.”
“maybe.” he hummed with another small grin.
then, with the gentlest of touches, he drew a heart right in the centre of her palm and although her fingers were twitching at the edges, clearly holding back the urge to swipe her hand away, her laughter faded into a shy smile when he traced over the same heart two, three, four times.
“what’s that for?”
jungwon, finally ending his incessant teasing, interlocked their fingers together before leaning in until his forehead brushed hers. his thumb stroked over the little invisible heart he’d just drawn.
“so you know i love you.”
y/n’s cheeks warmed and she shyly tucked her face into his neck to hide the smile that was already giving her away. jungwon laughed softly, lovingly, at her reaction and pressed a feather-light kiss to her hair before tracing another teasing little pattern into her hand.
just enough to make her giggle all over again.
could you write something about falling asleep on call with enha pleaseee? you can pick who it is. love your writing, have a good day/night 💕
ᥫ᭡ drabble. falling asleep on call with sunghoon. mentions. established relationship, fluff.
“you’re getting sleepy.” sunghoon said with a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he stared at his girlfriend on the other end of the facetime call - she was already half-buried under her blankets, hair slightly messy as the dim lamp in her room created a warm halo around her.
she’d been talking just moments ago - random things about her day, like what she had for dinner or what movie she watched earlier - but her words were slowly starting to trail off into quiet pauses.
“i’m not.” she mumbled but even as she said it, she shifted deeper into her pillow, cheek squishing against it.
“you’re literally falling asleep mid-sentence, baby.” sunghoon giggled. his phone was propped up on a spare pillow, the glow of the call being the only thing lighting up his room.
“no, i’m-” she started, trying to hold back a yawn and a tired sigh, “…i’m awake, i’m… not tired…”
just as her words trailed off, her eyelids finally gave in, closing slowly, her breathing evening out within seconds. the screen captured everything: the way her shoulders relaxed, the faint rise and fall of her blanket over her chest and the quiet peace that settled over her face.
sunghoon went silent. he didn’t look away.
instead, his eyes twinkled in awe as they traced over the small details about her like he was memorising them all over again: the tiny strand of hair over her eyes that his fingers twitched to move away, the soft sleepy pout on her lips, the way her lashes rested so gently against her skin. even through a screen, even with the slight blur of the camera, he thought she looked completely captivating. completely his.
his pretty girl.
“seriously…” he murmured under his breath, still smiling at her stubbornness.
there was something about moments like this that got him. the moments where she wasn’t trying, where she wasn’t laughing or talking or looking at him with purpose. where she was just… being. she was comfortable with him and that managed to make his chest feel tight in the best way.
sunghoon shifted onto his side as he adjusted his phone so she was still in perfect view.
“..don’t know how i got this lucky.” he whispered, voice barely audible. she didn’t move, still deep in sleep and he exhaled quietly, eyes lingering on her for longer than necessary - “you didn’t even say goodnight.” he added softly, though there was no real complaint in his voice.
he pulled his blanket up, settled deeper into his pillow. his tired gaze stayed fixed on the screen, on his beloved girlfriend until his own eyes began to close, the last thing he saw being her peaceful expression glowing faintly in the dark, like something he never wanted to lose.
“sleep well. i love you.”
ᥫ᭡ drabble. sunghoon carrying y/n home after a late night out. mentions. established relationship, just fluff tbh.
“sunghoon, no, you’ll get cold too.” y/n said as her fingers instinctively clutched around the oversized jacket her boyfriend was currently draping over her shoulders. they stood under a streetlamp late at night, about fifteen minutes away from her apartment complex.
of course, sunghoon being the observant boyfriend he was, noticed her shivering, noticed her rubbing her hands together and trying to tuck them under her arms. without a word, he was ushering her to put her arms through his jacket with that same boyish, shy smile he wore when he was trying not to seem too sweet.
“i’m fine.” he murmured, adjusting the collar, “you’re the one shivering.”
the warmth of his jacket settled around her like a familiar hug, carrying the faint scent of his cologne and something unmistakably him. her shoulders relaxed instantly and she murmured a tiny “thank you” before resuming their walk with her hand in his.
it wasn’t long before her steps began to slow again. her tiredness had been building all evening, and it showed with the way she dragged her feet and leaned closer to him with every other step.
“my legs hurt.” she whined quietly. sunghoon glanced at her, amusement flickering in his eyes.
“is that so?”
y/n nodded dramatically, lips pulling into a pout, “i’m exhausted.”
he let out a quiet laugh - she might’ve actually been tired but he knew there was also a small part of her that was being clingy and just wanted him to carry her - without warning, he stopped in front of her and crouched down.
“come on, then.”
“what?”
“get on my back.”
a light burst of giggles escaped her almost instantly, “hoon, really-”
“i’m serious,” he glanced back over his shoulder with that teasing twinkle of his eyes, “up.”
still laughing to herself, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and climbed onto his back. his hands slid securely beneath the backs of her thighs as he lifted her up with effortless ease, standing straighter. a soft squeal left her lips as she tightened her hold on him.
y/n buried her face in his neck and he smiled to himself, adjusting her so she was more comfortable, “better?”
“mhm.” she hummed, “so much better.”
the world seemed to soften from up here. y/n rested her cheek against the side of his face, warm despite the cold air. she couldn’t stop smiling, couldn’t stop the giddy feeling bubbling in her chest as his steady footsteps carried them toward home. she kissed his cheek. just a peck. and another. and another.
sunghoon’s ears turned pink.
“you’re being clingy.” he muttered, turning his head lightly.
she hummed against his skin and kissed his cheek again, “you love it.”
“maybe.” he chuckled lightly.
y/n’s fingers drifted into his hair as she absentmindedly played with the dark strands at the nape of his neck. every now and then she tugged lightly at his collar, tracing the edge of his shirt beneath the jacket he’d given her. she was all giggles and sleepy affection, and he found himself smiling without even realising it.
truthfully, he loved this. he loved having her so close that he could feel every laugh in his ear, every relaxed sigh landing in his heart, every swipe of her warm fingers against his skin. he loved the way she trusted him enough to melt into him.
most of all, he loved knowing he could make things easier for her, that he could carry some of her tiredness for her.
“mmm, my strong boyfriend.” she murmured against his cheek, her head practically resting against him, her voice lazy and syrupy with affection.
sunghoon let out a soft, breathy laugh, “yeah?”
she nodded lazily, pressing another barely-there kiss to his cheek, “so strong.”
his smile widened, shy but pleased - “yeah. this is why i lift.”
she giggled, “oh really?”
“mhm.” he turned his head a little, just enough so she could see the smile on his lips, “so i can be strong for you.”
“so cheesy.” she giggled as her nose nudged the side of his face and they joked about it a bit more but she couldn’t deny how much her heart softened in that moment.
WORDS OF KISSES - nishimura riki (ni-ki)
summary. ni-ki loves interrupting his girlfriends rants with kisses. pairing. bf!ni-ki x gf!reader. mentions. established relationship, kissing (duh), skinship, fluff, just a quick thing i felt like writing sorry if it’s so short lol 🫠
y/n wasn’t sitting still.
her apartment was quiet except for the sound of her voice filling the living room where her and her boyfriend sat with a half-finished cup of tea abandoned on the coffee table beside an open bag of snacks and a plush blanket thrown over both of their legs. y/n, however, was too worked up to notice any of it.
she sat cross legged on the couch, her hands flying everywhere as she talked. every word came out faster than the last, her voice rising and falling in exasperated little bursts as she retold a story for what had to be the third time.
“she literally said- no, wait, you’re not even listening- riki, this is important!”
riki was listening. just… maybe not in the way she wanted.
he was sprawled beside her with one arm lazily stretched along the back of the couch, his tall body turned toward her. his leg bounced as he watched her with quiet amusement, brown eyes teasing every little movement she made instead of focusing on the actual story.
there was something almost unfair about how cute she looked when she was annoyed; her cheeks were flushed a pretty pink, brows drawn together, lips moving so quickly he could barely keep up. every now and then she’d pause for a second like she expected him to react more dramatically.
instead, he smirked lightly, “you’re cute when you’re mad, you know.”
she froze mid-sentence, staring at him.
“did you just call me cute? i’m literally trying to tell you something-”
“yeah.” he shrugged, utterly unfazed, “i know.”
her mouth dropped open, “see this is what i mean! you’re not taking this seriously. i’m trying to tell you what happened and you’re-”
she didn’t even get to finished because in one swift motion, riki had pushed himself upright and leaned in, his hand coming up to gently catch her wrist. before she could scold him for moving or doing anything but listening to her, his lips were pressed against hers in a quick kiss - it was soft enough to feel like a tease but perfectly timed to cut off her words. just enough to leave her momentarily speechless.
when he pulled back, her brain took a second longer to catch up than she’d like to admit. she blinked up at her boyfriend who was smiling like he was way too pleased with himself.
“..what…”
“sorry.” he said, clearly not sorry at all, “you were talking too much.”
her jaw dropped, “excuse me?”
riki softly laughed under his breath. his hand was still loosely wrapped around her wrist and his thumb started brushing absentminded circles against her skin, “i was listening!” he added, “but you looked like you needed a break.”
“i did not-”
he leaned in again. another kiss. this time, it was a lot softer and a lot more deliberate, lingering for a few seconds enough to make her thoughts melt into complete static.
when he pulled away, there was a playful glint in his brown eyes that made her stomach flip despite herself.
“continue.”
y/n stared at him in disbelief because how dare he think she could actually continue talking after what he’d just done. he knew the affect he had on her, what his kisses did to her, and she was completely thrown off now. all the frustration from earlier had tangled up with the warmth creeping onto her cheeks.
“you’re unbelievable.”
“mhm,” he hummed, “go on.”
she tried. she really did.
“a-and then she said that i was being dramatic, and-” her words faltered slightly when his touch slipped from her hand and went to her waist, his fingers resting there like it was the most natural thing in the world and he hadn’t just short-circuited her thoughts.
“and?” he prompted, watching her closely now. her breath hitched.
“and…” y/n repeated, but there was no bite left in her tone because his thumb was rubbing softly into her side, completely distracting, grounding and infuriatingly gentle. his fingers skimmed the edge of her top, dangerously close to sneaking under her shirt and it was driving her insane.
suddenly, whatever the hell she’d been upset about felt very, very far away.
“lost your train of thought?”
she narrowed her eyes at him but there was no real annoyance left - just a warm, flustered kind of frustration, “this is your fault.”
“probably.”
y/n huffed and crossed her arms, though she didn’t move even an inch.
“…she said i was dramatic...” she tried again. her tone was a little quieter but riki still caught it, he still revelled in her cute little sigh of irritation and the way she suddenly got so shy under his gaze.
he nodded slowly, leaning closer a bit more and flashing her that smile he knew made her weak in the knees, “yeah?”
“and i said-”
he kissed her again. this one was longer than the others, still just as soft, still just as distracting. his lips slotted over hers like they were made to mould together, and his arm slid from the side of her waist to her back, pulling her until she was practically glued to him. y/n inhaled sharply as her words dissolved completely, yet she still kissed him back, still let her hand travel to his chest as if wanting to push him away but she didn’t have it in her to.
when he pulled back after basically stealing her breath, words and thoughts all at once, riki grinned down at her, unable to hide it.
“sorry, baby.” he muttered, voice dipped in mischief.
y/n stared at her boyfriend for a second before lightly shoving his shoulder, “stop interrupting me!”
“then finish your story.”
she opened her mouth to argue but then she noticed the way he was looking at her: attentive and amused, soft in a way he didn’t show often. he was enjoying this, and she knew he loved teasing her, he did it practically ten times a day which is why that look alone made it impossible to stay mad.
“…you’re so annoying.” she mumbled. riki just smiled that cute, boyish, boxy smile she loved so much, the one that made his features soften so sweetly, and she just knew she couldn’t ever stay mad at him.
“mhm, but you like me.” he playfully leaned forward and grazed his nose against hers before pressing a tiny peck to her cheek. y/n tried to roll her eyes but the breathy chuckle she let out gave her away.
“…maybe.”
“good.” both his arms slipped around her waist then, pulling her fully into his side until she was tucked comfortably against him. the blanket shifted around them as she instinctively curled closer, one arm wrapping around his middle.
riki planted a soft kiss to her hairline.
“now…” he kissed again, closer to her temple, “finish your rant.”
logging off for idk how long
ot7 forever.
just woke up i think something inside me just died like actually
ᥫ᭡ drabble. playing cards with jungwon except he hates losing. mentions. established relationship, fluff, competitive won :’)
“let’s play again.” y/n said casually as she collected the cards into a messy pile on the coffee table.
jungwon crossed his arms across his chest as he leaned back against the couch, his curious eyes never leaving her. he didn’t usually lose - board games, video games, card games, it didn’t matter. he always won and he did it with that soft, polite smile that made it almost impossible to be mad about it. so of course he’d never question his own abilities when it came to playing cards with his girlfriend, who suspiciously kept winning - him being the problem wasn’t even a possibility in his mind.
“you’ve won four times.” he pointed out as she shuffled the deck.
y/n shrugged, trying very hard not to look too pleased with herself, “beginner’s luck.”
“that doesn’t happen four times.”
“it might.”
jungwon’s eyes narrowed slightly. they’d been sitting on the living room floor for nearly an hour after she’d suggested they spend their evening doing something other than sleeping and watching movies. he’d been relaxed when she brought the cards out - confident, maybe even a little smug.
now he looked defeated and suspicious.
“deal again.”
her fingers moved quickly and he kept his eyes on her, refusing to look away as if he might catch a crack in her expression, a mole in her actions. y/n’s cheeks reddened under his intense gaze and she shyly smiled to herself, “why are you looking at me like that?”
“because something is suspicious.”
“maybe you’re just bad at this game.”
he scoffed immediately, “i’m not bad at games.”
“yeah? then why are you losing?”
he opened his mouth and closed it again with nothing to reply to that. the next round started and he leaned forward this time, fully focused, fully determined to get to the bottom of this. y/n chuckled at his overly dramatic reaction and took a second before placing her card down.
he paused instantly.
“…wait.”
her eyes flicked up, “what?“
“you hesitated.”
“so?”
“that means you were thinking.”
“am i not allowed to think?” she scoffed loudly, lips rounding in mock disbelief, “people think when they play games.”
jungwon ignored her statement as he looked up, eyeing her. he looked from the cards clutched in her hand by her chest and then back up at her expression - rosy cheeks and a hint of mischief gleaming in her eyes that didn’t look anything like teasing. he knew. he could read her very well.
something instantly clicked and he reached forward, grabbing her wrist softly.
“show me.”
“what?”
“your sleeve.”
“jungwon!” she groaned as he gently tugged at the opening of her hoodie sleeve. her hand extended and instantly two cards slipped out, fluttering to the floor between them. both of them froze as silence surrounded them.
y/n pursed her lips. jungwon blinked down at the cards then looked up at her.
“you were cheating.”
“…no?”
“those cards literally fell out of your sleeve!”
“they were just… visiting?”
he stared at his girlfriend for a long moment, completely incredulous, before a laugh finally slipped out of him, loud and humorous. he couldn’t stay mad at her at all.
“you cheated.” he stated through his laughs and y/n only sighed in defeat.
“you win all the time! i wanted to win this time.”
“i can’t believe this.” he muttered with a shake of his head, yet he was still smiling, coming down from the fit of laughs.
“you’re not mad?”
“i’m not mad.” jungwon caved, “i’m impressed.”
“impressed?”
“you beat me four times and i only just found out it was with illegal methods.”
she folded her arms above her chest, somewhat proud she got this far but still a little vanquished that he’d revealed her tactic, “that part isn’t important.”
“alright, one more round.” he announced, taking her cards and re-shuffling them himself this time.
“and if i win?” she gleamed.
jungwon tilted his head, eyes glinting with quiet amusement, “then you win for real.”
“and if you win?”
his smile widened, “then you owe me a kiss.”
her face warmed immediately, “that’s not fair, you’re manipulating the rules.”
“you started it.”
she sighed dramatically at that, “…fine.”
his gaze never left her face as he kept shuffling the cards, distributing them out one by one. y/n waited in anticipation and he couldn’t help but smile at how cute she looked.
“also..”
“what?” she looked up at him.
“no sleeves.”
i love your hee fic :(
why do i feel like this was typed with tears in your eyes anon
omg i just realized the title of your recent fic with heeseung is a lyric from dark red by steve lacy !!
the lyrics actually correlate so well with the fic, am i reaching or was this intentional loll
AHH YESS this was intentional! even the pictures! i was listening to that song when i thought i wanna write a fic with that vibe, but i wanted it to be angsty and heartbreaking, not just full of yearning, which is what the song is primarily about, but the lyrics do go well ur rightttt 🙌🏽
ONLY YOU, MY GIRL, ONLY YOU - lee heeseung
summary. grief was a weird thing. it pulled tears from some, rage from others - but from heeseung, it took everything. his voice. his light. his grip on what was real. he’s haunted by childhood memories, whispered promises about the future, and a ring that never made it down the aisle. he spirals into the belief that she’ll come back… unaware that some losses aren’t meant to be survived. pairing. fiancée!heeseung x reader. mentions. angst, death, grief, slight drive to insanity, details of trauma and hospitals, insomnia, some fluff if you blink.
heeseung used to think that if he could rewind his life far enough, every important moment in his twenty-five years of living would lead to her.
he was eight when it had all started.
the afternoon sun had been way too bright for a september afternoon. it gleamed off the windows, harsh enough to make you squint as it warmed the air and shone down on the school streets. heeseung sat alone outside of his elementary school gates as he waited for his older brother to pick him up. he had his knees pulled up, chin resting on them as his backpack leaned lazily against the wall beside him.
he was humming again - it was a song he heard his older brother blasting in his room last night - although he didn’t really remember the lyrics, only the tune, the beat, the rhythm of it. he always hummed when he felt small, or alone, or when his chest ached and he didn’t know what else to do. it relaxed him in a way he didn’t know why.
just as he continued staring off at a stray leaf by the pavement, a voice cut through his internal silence.
“you sound like a sad hamster.”
his humming stopped mid-note. his head snapped up to the voice.
a girl stood in front of him. she had her hands in the pockets of her puffy jacket and a pink backpack slouching against her back. her dark hair was tied into two braids at either side of her face, loose strands sticking out and a faint streak of pink on her cheek caught the light - chalk dust, maybe, or crayon from art class. heeseung’s cheeks instantly reddened at the newfound attention he wasn’t used to.
“i’m not sad.” he mumbled softly, and he wondered if the girl even heard him from where she stood, even though there was no one else on the street besides them.
instead, she let out a tiny laugh.
“you are. like this!” she said and puffed her cheeks out dramatically, frowning exaggeratedly.
heeseung blinked up at her. he didn’t know how to answer. the girl huffed and plopped down beside him without asking, swinging her legs like it was the most natural thing in the world. she sat close to him, practically shoulder to shoulder, as if she had no awareness of personal space. heeseung didn’t say anything but his eyes turned to look at her anyway.
“you’re in my class. you sit by the window and stare outside like you’re waiting for aliens.”
“i am not.”
“you are!” she insisted, grinning, “i watch people. you’re… easy to watch. you don’t do much.”
again, he didn’t know how to respond to that. no one had ever watched him like that before, he was used to being so invisible. he was used to staying by himself, not speaking unless spoken to, especially at home - which is why he just assumed it was like that at school too. even now, he stayed silent, stayed fiddling with a loose thread on his black school pants and frowning to himself silently.
“i’m y/n.” the girl introduced when she saw how quiet he got once again. her face leaned forward to catch his eyes and she grinned from ear to ear when she saw his dark eyes meet hers. she held out her hand with a confident tilt of her chin, like this was a very serious, very official introduction.
he stared at it for a second, then shook it carefully, his much colder hand wrapping around her warmer one, “i’m heeseung.”
her smile widened, “lee heeseung. see? i know things.”
“how did you know?”
“you answer roll call like you’ve never heard your name before.” she said matter-of-factly. his ears instantly tinged pink before he could stop the embarrassment from flooding him.
she didn’t really notice as she leaned even closer, eyes squinting, “you do look like a hamster, though.”
he stiffened, “what?”
“not a bad one!” y/n said quickly, waving her hands about, “a cute one. like, a fluffy one that stores snacks in its cheeks!”
“i don’t look like a hamster.” he muttered.
y/n gasped and placed a hand over her heart, “you totally do! especially when you’re concentrating.”
she mimicked his furrowed brow, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes like she was a tiny, energetic yet dramatic critic. heeseung wondered how she was able to imitate expressions so well, and why she loved doing it so much. he wondered if that was just her way of expressing herself, or expressing that she noticed things. he didn’t know.
he should’ve been annoyed. she was disrupting his alone time, she was calling him sad and accusing him of being a hamster.
instead, a warm feeling spread through his chest.
she didn’t treat him like he was invisible. she didn’t treat him like he was fragile either, the way some teachers or his parents did. she just… approached him without thinking he was weird for being alone or having no friends.
she just talked to him.
and from that day on, she never really stopped.
every morning, y/n started sitting beside him. if someone else tried to sit next to him, she appeared out of nowhere and said, “sorry, that seat is taken.”
she started borrowing his colouring pencils without asking. she doodled tiny stars and planets in the margins of his notebook because she was interested in space and astronomy, as she’d told him. once, she drew a tiny hamster with messy hair and wrote lee hee-hamster underneath. he pretended to be annoyed, pretended to rip the page out and throw it to the side.
he stuffed the wrinkled paper into his backpack later on when she wasn’t looking.
in music class, when the teacher asked for volunteers to sing a solo, the room would go silent. heeseung felt his throat tighten. he loved singing - he sang at home, on walks, in the shower, at night in bed - but infront of people? that was an opening door he wasn’t ready to open. his hand itched to raise but he forced it down, shrunk himself further in his seat.
beside him, y/n chewed at her bottom lip in thought. her eyes subtly drifted to the boy beside her and her eyes lit up, as if this was the perfect opportunity.
her hand shot up instantly as she announced, “i’m volunteering him!” she pointed to heeseung.
his head whipped toward her, “what are you doing?!”
she leaned close, whispering with a smile, “you sing to yourself at recess. i hear you all the time.”
“you weren’t supposed to-”
“i hear everything.” she puffed her chest out proudly and heeseung deflated. his heart was pounding so hard he thought it might leap out from behind his ribs in that moment.
y/n ignored his tiny frown and the crease between his brows. she grabbed his sleeve gently, “just pretend it’s me! pretend i’m your only audience.”
with another look of hesitation, heeseung stepped up anyway. his eyes stayed locked on her the entire time, his one audience, as he started singing the song they’d been practicing. his voice was small at first but when he saw the encouragement, the pride shining in her eyes, he grew more confident. his tone adjusted, his hand tightened on the mic.
and she smiled like he was already a superstar. she clapped louder than anyone else in the room when he finished.
later on at lunch, the two of them sat on the swings together. their feet mindlessly swung in perfect sync and that’s when y/n nudged him with her shoulder. she had a tiny, proud smile on her lips.
“see? i told you you could do it. my star!”
heeseung looked down at his shoes, smiling shyly.
“you’re not allowed to stop singing.” she added on seriously and the boy looked at her, “ever. even when you’re old and wrinkly.”
“why would i be wrinkly?”
“because everyone gets wrinkly when they’re old, hamster.”
“i’m not a hamster.”
y/n laughed so loudly it echoed in their tiny section of the playground, scattering some of the birds in the trees nearby.
they both talked about the future in the dreamy ways only children could: with the stars in their eyes and dramatic aspirations heavy in their innocent hearts.
one afternoon, sunlight streamed through the tall windows of their art class, catching the dust motes in the air like tiny floating stars. most of the class was busy painting crooked houses with tiny crooked chimneys, their brushes wobbling and hands smudged with reds and yellows. heeseung sat beside y/n as he carefully filled in the roof of his own little house, trying to stay within the lines.
he was so concentrated, he didn’t even realise y/n reaching over until her elbow warmly brushed his and her voice rang out in his personal little bubble.
“when i get married, i want white roses.” she said softly, eyes completely serious.
he blinked at her, tilting his head, “why?”
“they’re pretty. they look simple and they’re not too loud.” y/n replied, gesturing with her paintbrush as if the movement could make her statement more true, “and they smell soft.”
“how can something smell… soft?” heeseung frowned as he tried to picture it, but the idea made absolutely no sense to him.
“some flowers smell loud! like fireworks!” her eyes widened as she stretched her hands out to signify how loud something could be, “but white roses smell soft and quiet. they look gentle like they’re whispering.”
he didn’t understand exactly what she meant, but he nodded anyway because he trusted her explanations - even the ones that didn’t make sense. that’s when he looked down to her painting for a second and noticed the tiny white flowers she’d drawn on the outside of her house - they were messy, mixed with tiny stems of green and brown, but they were undoubtedly white roses.
maybe they’re her favourite flower, he thought.
he smiled to himself, hidden and soft. she nudged his shoulder to grab his attention again, “what about you? what kind of wedding do you want?”
he shrugged, a little embarrassed, cheeks warming, “i… i don’t know.”
she tapped her chin with a finger and pretended to think deeply. heeseung watched her as he waited for her answer, waited for her to magically create a scene in his head, to suggest her thoughts without him asking.
“you’d look good in a black suit!” she said finally, tilting her head thoughtfully, “but not a boring one… one with shiny shoes! and a tiny flower in your pocket! did you know my appa also wore a black suit with a flower in his wedding? eomma showed me their wedding photos! they looked so young.. now they’re old and eomma doesn’t have long hair anymore… i hope i can keep my long hair after my wedding!”
“i don’t care about weddings…” heeseung muttered, feeling his ears burn and his heart twist in guilt at ruining her happy rant with his sour statement.
y/n didn’t mind. instead, she beamed happily and nudged her elbow against his in encouragement, “that’s okay! you will one day… when someone makes you nervous.”
“who would make me nervous?”
she shrugged in the most dramatic way possible, leaning her chin on her hand with the kind of cheeky grin every eight year old possessed, “maybe me.”
then she giggled - a small, airy sound that jumped out of her like bubbles, all contagious and bright - and heeseung felt it twist his stomach and swell his chest all at once. he looked at her as she continued her painting and for a moment, the paintbrush in his hand felt heavy; the colours on the page blurring and his lashes fluttering in quiet shock.
because suddenly, all he could think about were white roses.
he thought about them for the rest of the day, imagining how soft they must smell and how small, bright moments like this could somehow feel bigger than anything else in the world.
•••
by middle school, they were already known as a pair.
if someone saw y/n in the crowded hallway, heeseung wouldn’t be far behind. she moved through the hallways like she owned the place, bouncing from locker to locker with that same fearless energy she possessed when they were younger. she’d stopped braiding her hair into two pigtails and now opted for a ponytail, her long hair cascading down her back in dark waves as tiny hairs stuck out at the front.
heeseung would follow behind quietly, shoulders slightly slouched, hands in his pockets, humming under his breath - the faintest tune that he thought went unnoticed - as he watched her laugh and communicate with everyone like she was sunlight.
she noticed, of course. she noticed everything about him ever since they first met.
“you do it when you’re tired too.” she said one day, sidling up to him as he leaned against the locker beside hers, his backpack dangling loosely from one shoulder.
“do what?” heeseung glanced at her briefly. his tone was calm, casual, soft like it always was when he felt a little exposed under her gaze.
“hum.” she tilted her head, “it gets lower when you’re sad.”
he froze, “how… how can you tell?”
y/n shrugged because she really didn’t know how to answer his question. she didn’t know how she could tell either but she’d been with him for so long, she just naturally could differentiate between his normal humming and when something sounded off.
she brushed a loose strand of hair from her face and smirked like it was no big deal, “i just know. you’re loud even when you think you’re quiet.”
he wanted to argue but the words caught in his chest. he should’ve known, long ago, that her eyes had never left him. that her mind had a tiny file full of him, probably labelled as ‘hamster’ in which she stored all of his tiny habits, his mannerisms, his thoughts that she could read from just his expressions alone. even when he wanted to stay invisible, she’d always seen him.
later that week, heeseung finally told her something he’d been keeping a secret, something he was almost too scared to even think about.
“i-i want to audition to become a trainee.” his voice was small, hesitant, unsure of how she’d react.
he doesn’t know why he expected her to laugh or to tilt her head and call him silly for even dreaming about something like that.
instead, she went unusually quiet. her normal energy dimmed into a thoughtful stillness that made anxiety crawl up his neck. he fiddled with his fingers as he waited for her answer, his heart beating louder than usual in his chest as if her following words might kill him on the spot if they weren’t what he was hoping. it was as if his own body knew he cared about her thoughts, her feelings, craved her support.
after a long pause, she said simply, firmly: “you have to.”
“what?” he blinked and his mouth stuttered random non-words until he finally said properly, “what if i’m not good enough?”
her brows furrowed slightly, eyes narrowing as if trying to hold the right words in her hands, “that’s not how it works.”
“how does it work then?”
“you try.” she reached forward to place a supporting hand on his arm, “and if you fail, you try again. you just… keep trying.”
he chewed on that, uncertainty and insecurity still tugging at the edges of his stomach, “w-what if i embarrass myself?”
she leaned closer and poked his forehead gently with one finger, completely mischievous and affectionate at the same time, “then i’ll still be your fan. i was your fan first, remember?”
he stared at her even as she added on happily, “you’ll debut. i know you will, and when you do, don’t forget that i knew you before you were cool.”
he couldn’t help the small, incredulous smile that tugged at his lips at her words. her confidence and the way she said things like it was absolute fact, made even the impossible seem possible. like the world might actually bend itself just to fit her belief in him. like just her support alone could make him invincible enough to conquer anything.
and for the first time in a long time, he felt like he could breathe.
because she noticed. always. and she believed. always.
•••
high school had changed heeseung.
he grew taller. his shoulders broadened, stretching the collars of his uniforms and t-shirts. his voice had deepened into something richer, steadier, resonant in a way that made people turn their heads. his hands had grown longer, gentle enough to glide over piano keys and strum guitar strings melodically.
people started noticing him more.
girls whispered when he walked past. they lingered too long when they spoke to him randomly, tossing their hair back or laughing a little too bright. some of the boys in his class were a little wary of his unusual popularity - the way he seemed like such a quiet, soft-spoken boy yet had heads turning to eye him everywhere he went - they were unsure how to deal with him, but most of the time they just stared.
y/n noticed everything.
one afternoon, as they stood by the lockers inbetween classes with chatter buzzing around them and teens shouting and knocking shoulders, she noticed the way a small group of girls in their year eyed him. she saw the way heeseung offered them a polite smile before looking away, watched them giggle and gush over how perfect his hair was or how dreamy his smile was.
it was humorous. she nudged him softly, teasingly, with her elbow as a grin spread across her lips, “look at you, heartbreaker.”
“i’m not breaking anyones heart.” he replied sternly, almost smirking.
“not yet.” she teased, pushing past him to grab her books from her locker, “but you will.”
heeseung only rolled his eyes, though the corners of his lips twitched. deep down, all the new attention made him feel awkward and a little exposed. y/n, on the other hand, hadn’t changed at all. she was still bright, still animated, still talking with her hands as if the air itself might understand her. she still tugged on his sleeve when she wanted him to follow her somewhere, never mind if he was late to class or tired from a long morning.
high school also brought longer days. heeseung’s mornings started with the rush to catch the bus, still halfway to tying his tie or putting his blazer on, and sometimes a hurried breakfast he barely tasted. then came the evenings at the training centre, where he practiced for hours - singing, dancing, learning choreography, learning professionalism and repeating movements until his muscles ached, his voice cracked and his hands were raw from piano keys and dumbbells.
he never complained about this sudden change in his lifestyle.
yet y/n still saw it all: his stiff shoulders, how he looked like he hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday.
whenever he stayed late at the training centre, she would wait for him on the concrete steps outside, leaning against the railing with a small plastic bag of convenience store snacks.
“you forgot to eat again.” she would scold as her eyes scanned his tired face.
“i was busy.” he would murmur, tugging at the straps of his backpack.
“busy becoming famous doesn’t mean you stop being human.” she says, shoving a sandwich in his hands before he could protest. she would stand there with that stern look in her eyes she got when she wasn’t joking for once, waiting until he finally took a bit like it was the most important thing in the world. sometimes she didn’t even speak at all - just watched, thoughtful, tilting her head as she studied him.
“what?” he asked one time as they walked to his house together. he noticed her staring at him out the corner of his eye as he scarfed down a rice cake, cheeks suddenly reddening under her intense gaze.
“you don’t look like a hamster anymore.” y/n stated softly, almost to herself.
he blinked, “what do i look like then?”
“i don’t know.” she shrugged, smiling tenderly, “you’re still cute, though.”
he nearly choked on the rice cake and y/n laughed at him - the sound bubbled up like it always did, warm and happy and infectious - and it brought a tiny smile to his own lips.
winter nights were the best. they were cold but quiet as the streets dusted with white and the streetlights cast long, soft shadows over the cloud-like piles of snow. heeseung and y/n would still walk to each other’s houses together, their shoulders brushing and breath misting in little wisps of air. the world reduced to the crunch of snow beneath their shoes and the faint sound of distant traffic when it was just them.
“promise me something.” she said one night as they walked through a park near her house. her tone had gone serious beneath her usual spark - quiet like she was thinking and feeling a million things at once.
“what?”
“even if you fly really high one day, don’t disappear.” she said finally, a hint of something fragile and emotional in her voice.
heeseung frowned to himself. confusion tightened in his chest because he didn’t know why she thought that way, why she thought that he would ever want to separate them. he didn’t realise just how stern the industry he was going into was. he didn’t realise that there could be moments where she won’t always be there for him, or where she won’t physically be able to support him.
“why would i disappear?”
“because some stars get far away.” she said simply.
he looked at her. really looked at her. the streetlight caught the dots of snowflakes in her dark hair, in her lashes and in the fluffy blue scarf she had wrapped around her neck. he could see the dust of pink on her nose from the cold, the way her eyes shone like they had little lanterns in them, the way her pretty lips smiled up at him emotionally.
for the first time in a long time, he felt the weight of everything - the rehearsals, the long hours, the exhaustion - fall away.
“i’ll always look back.” he replied quietly, low but certain.
“why?”
he swallowed. the answer was simple, even if his chest felt impossibly full: because you’re my home. because you were there before anyone else. because every version of me started with you.
instead, he just said, “because you’ll always be my first fan. my first supporter.”
she smiled, satisfied.
and neither of them knew yet that all those tiny, seemingly insignificant moments would settle into his memory like seeds. they would grow there quietly, stubbornly, until years later he would hold onto them so tightly that the line between love and longing, joy and ache, would blur impossibly.
even then, amid the awkward hallways, the long nights of practice and the endless juggling of school work and training and dreams of his future, one thing remained unshakeable.
before she was his girlfriend, before she was his fiancée, she was the girl who chose him. not because he asked, not because it was convenient, not because she felt pity that he had no friends or that he kept to himself. but because, somehow, she decided he wasn’t allowed to be alone.
and he had never, not for a single second, tried to escape that choice.
•••
the start of the after.
heeseung didn’t remember when the world stopped making sense.
was it the moment his phone rang, sharp and intrusive, against the coffee table? was it the way the voice on the other end kept repeating her name, too carefully, too gently, stretching each syllable like he might break? maybe it had begun earlier on - in those invisible seconds between screeching tires and blinding headlights on a random road downtown?
or was it when she stepped out of their front door and the universe decided she wouldn’t step back in?
heeseung became quiet after that - not the kind of quiet that came with bowed heads and folded hands or with fragile sobs. if he wasn’t already quiet, he was now vacant. it was as if something essential had been scooped out of him and replaced with air.
with nothingness.
he moved through their apartment like a ghost haunting his own life. the same apartment they had signed for with shaking hands and ridiculous excitement three years ago, when she’d just gotten her first real job after graduation and he was just settling further into his idol life. the same apartment where they’d argued for forty minutes about whether beige or white curtains looked better, where they burned garlic so badly the smoke alarm screamed and they ended up eating takeaway on the kitchen floor, laughing until they teared up.
the same apartment where she used to fall asleep on the couch, curled under her favourite blanket, waiting for him to come home from practice - insisting she wasn’t tired, insisting she’d stay up even as her eyes betrayed her and he had to carry her to their bedroom.
that apartment that felt like their own little bubble of love and security and happiness… now felt like a museum.
preserved. frozen mid-life.
he didn’t throw anything away.
her shoes still sat by the door, slightly angled inwards the way she always kicked them off. there was a faint scuff on the heel of her favourite pair of sneakers - he remembered teasing her about it. she only rolled her eyes and said she’d buy a new pair next month.
next month never came.
her hair tie was still looped around the bathroom faucet, stretched from overuse. a few strands of her hair were caught in the bristles of her brush. her skincare bottles stood in perfect, deliberate order on her side of the sink, the labels facing forward like soldiers standing at attention - he recognised some of the bottles from when she’d beg to do his skincare. he hadn’t touched them. dust started to collect at the edges but he refused to wipe it away.
in the wardrobe, her clothes hung exactly as she’d left them. when he opened it, the faint scent of her perfume drifted out - something floral, soft and warm, his favourite scent in the entire world. her scent. it hit him like a physical blow everytime. sometimes he would press his face into her sweaters and inhale until his lungs burned and his eyes stung with tears, as if he could breathe her back into existence.
he stopped turning on the lights most nights.
darkness felt more honest. darkness made him feel like he didn’t have to face the empty space, or look at the reminders of her.
he would sit on the living room floor with his back against the couch, staring at the outline of furniture in the dim glow of the city outside. the refrigerator hummed. the sink pipes clicked. the traffic outside beeped lowly.
and in the quiet, he listened.
sometimes he could hear her.
he swore he heard footsteps in the hallway once - they were soft, tiny pads of her feet as she sauntered towards the living room. his head snapped in the direction of the hallway and his frantic eyes searched for her in the darkness, his heart practically in his throat. he heard the subtle creak in the loose floorboard just outside their bedroom. he heard a gentle click of the door closing. sometimes a faint rustle from the kitchen, like someone opening a cabinet.
his heart would lurch so violently it hurt. sometimes it would physically pain him so bad he had to clutch his fingers over his shirt, curl his body inward and take deep breaths as if that could ease the pain. it never did. because this pain wasn’t something on the surface - it was something ugly and hostile that had settled in the deep depths of his heart, right where she used to be.
he would be sitting on that cold floor with his head thrown back against the edge. his eyes would be hooded, heavy with unwanted sleep and his lips parted as he breathed shallow breaths, huffing through the ache. he couldn’t register anything as the dreadful silence pinned in on his ears, except that one voice that would call out to him.
“heeseung.” it’s merely a whisper. barely a murmur. but it’s there - her playful voice, a little scolding in it and his head would turn toward the sound so fast his vision blurred, “why are you still awake?”
“i’m here.” he’d whisper back, voice cracking, “i’m right here.”
he’d look around the living room but there was no reply. he’d wait for her laugh, wait for her scolding, but the apartment never answered back. instead, silence would stretch, merciless and heavy.
but he was certain she was there. he was certain she hadn’t fully left. because if she wasn’t-
if she truly wasn’t-
he didn’t even want to say the word because then that meant she was gone in a way that could never be undone. his mind refused to survive that truth.
heeseung was thinner now, painfully so. his collarbones jutted out sharply beneath his skin, his cheeks had hollowed, shadows pooling under his eyes next to his dried tears like bruises that never faded. the red lining his waterline had become permanent, as if sleep had abandoned him entirely - because it had.
when he did drift off, it lasted barely minutes. maybe an hour. then he would jolt awake, disoriented, heart racing, reaching for her side of the bed or reaching for her pillow. her side was always cold and he never washed the sheets no matter what. it was disgusting but he didn’t care - he couldn’t lose the scent from her pillow any more than he’d already lost.
he barely ate. food tasted like ash. he lost his appetite long ago, lost the motivation to do anything nevermind do something as mundane as eat. whenever he was able to put something together, he’d stare at it until the edges blurred, until that one bite he had started to feel like bile in his throat and a luxury he didn’t deserve to have. he’d push it away, untouched and unwanted. sometimes he forgot what day it was. sometimes he’d sit in the same position for hours, unmoving, until the sun rose and set without him noticing.
the world outside the apartment felt obscene.
cars still drove by. neighbours still laughed in the hallway. the café downstairs still opened at eight sharp. people still went to work, still fell in love, still met up with friends, still complained about trivial things.
how dare the world continue? how dare it breathe when she couldn’t? how dare he still be able to wake up and live another day when she was stripped of that?
people said grief softened overtime. that it would dull and become manageable. that it would settle slowly and you learned to live with it.
for heeseung, it didn’t soften.
it sharpened. it was a blade he carried in his chest, twisting deeper each night he lived without her. every time he had to take a deep breath, every time he had to move from one room to another, everytime he looked down at his finger and saw his engagement ring, he had to press a palm against his sternum as if something was leaking out. like he physically couldn’t hold it together.
and everytime he closed his eyes, he was back in that moment.
•••
3 and a half months ago.
heeseung had come home angry.
not at her. at everything else.
practice had been relentless lately as he and his group prepared for their upcoming comeback - everything just seemed to strip him down to bone. his voice cracked twice during a high note he tried to record. the choreography somehow refused to sit right in his body lately. the management had been giving him tight, clipped, dissatisfied expressions everytime he messed something up. every correction felt like a small failure carved into his skin and he doesn’t know why - why nothing was going right, why his mind was so distracted lately, why he had this weird sinking feeling in his stomach everytime he was away from the apartment.
he chose to ignore it and focus on his work. by the time he reached home, the pressure had wrapped so tightly around his ribs that even breathing felt optional.
when he opened the door, she was there.
warm lamplight caught in her hair, cascading the living room in a pretty, cozy shade of white. she had a hand curled over her stomach whilst the other held a book across her lap. the second she heard that familiar beep of their lock, her head snapped up and her entire face softened.
“you’re home!” she said happily, like it was the best part of her day.
heeseung dropped his bag harder than he meant to. the thud echoed, wrong and cold and he kicked his shoes off.
“yeah.”
her smile didn’t waver when she heard his harsh tone. she marked her page carefully and set the book aside as she stood up and walked over to him slowly, gently, like she could see the storm clouding behind his eyes. he noticed then that she was dressed in one of his hoodies and sweatpants sets, the one he absolutely adored her in but right now, he couldn’t find it within him to care.
“did you eat dinner?” y/n asked him, voice already laced with worry when she stopped in front of him.
he took off his jacket and hung it up, “i’m not hungry.”
“you didn’t eat lunch either.” it wasn’t an accusation. just a fact. softly delivered.
“i said i’m not hungry.”
the sharpness in his tone startled even him.
her happy smile wavered just a bit - just for a second like a crack in porcelain. but she didn’t retreat. she knew how hard he’d been working lately and she knew he was just stressed, tired, that he was overwhelmed and didn’t really mean to take it out on her. she understood, which is why she didn’t react. instead, her fingers tenderly reached for his wrist as she warmly brushed her thumb over his pulse - the way she always did when she wanted to ground him but not overwhelm him from affection.
“eat, please. just a little.” she coaxed, eyes staring up into his as she pleaded, “i made soup. it’s still warm.”
that’s when he registered the smell - something savoury, delicious. garlic and herbs. something she’d spent time on for them both to enjoy together, something she’d purposely kept warm for him when she realised he wasn’t coming home on time. on a normal day, he would’ve melted on the spot, would’ve hugged her and pressed a kiss to her lips while begging for two bowls and extra rice.
but today wasn’t a normal day. nothing was normal. and nothing ever would be.
“i don’t want soup.” he snapped instantly and ripped his wrist out of her grasp. the exhaustion curling around him started to turn into irritation, “can you just- not tonight?”
the sentence fractured in the middle, but the damage was already done. his words didn’t need to echo loudly. they landed between them like porcelain slipping from a table’s edge - a suspended second before impact - and then shattered in the quiet space of their living room.
y/n stilled. she wasn’t angry, or offended or dramatically annoyed. she just went quiet. her hand dropped to her side, just a soft retreat like something wounded curling inward and for a second, she looked smaller. she looked hurt at the rejected touch, almost disappointed that he came home in such a mood but she covered it anyway.
“i’m just trying to help, baby.” she replied softly, completely opposing his harsh tone.
heeseung exhaled sharply at the loving nickname. he dragged a hand through his hair until the strands stuck up evenly. his scalp hurt from how tightly he’d been clenching his jaw all day, from how much he’d ran his fingers through the strands, from the loud echoes of their choreographer shouting at them again and again.
“i know.” he muttered as his eyes finally dropped to her much lighter, much expectant ones, “i’m just tired.”
tired didn’t even begin to cover it.
she studied him then. not with hurt - though it was already there, faint around the edges - but with something deeper. something thoughtful. there was a glow in her eyes that night. it was subtle, almost trembling beneath the surface like she was holding a secret so fragile she was afraid even her own heartbeat might crack it.
on the coffee table, tucked somewhere inside her book, was a folded sheet of paper. a printed appointment confirmation with the clinic’s logo at the top, a date circled lightly in red pen. she had stared at it for atleast five minutes that evening, rehearsing again and again how she’d tell him.
maybe after dinner. maybe once he’d eaten. maybe when he was smiling again.
she had imagined the way his face would change with disbelief, with tears. the way he would laugh and cry at the same time and his cheeks would puff out like the cute hamster he was. she imagined him kneeling infront of her, pressing his ear to her stomach even though it was far too early for anything to hear.
she had imagined him saying, “we’re going to be three.”
he hadn’t noticed any of it.
hadn’t seen the way her fingers lingered over her abdomen that afternoon before he left for work. hadn’t seen the way her smile trembled with anticipation. hadn’t seen the future quietly blooming inside their living room. instead, he’d shrugged her touch off and went to go cool off on the couch.
y/n stayed standing where she was by the door, still facing where he’d just been stood. her heart rate spiked in her chest but she took a deep breath, shut her eyes for a second and calmed herself down.
it’s okay, she thought to herself, he’s tired. i can tell him tomorrow.
instead, she plastered a loving smile on her lips and turned around to face him, “i’ll be back.” her voice felt steadier than her heart felt. heeseung sighed and lazily looked up to see her grabbing her coat from the hook by the door.
“where are you going?” he frowned slightly.
“you like that bakery downtown.” she slipped her arms through the sleeves. the fabric rustled softly in the tense silence of the air between them, “they restock your favourite pastries at night. i thought… maybe sugar therapy?”
her smile was small. careful. hopeful. like she was offering him something fragile and praying he wouldn’t drop it. his heart should’ve warmed, he should’ve smiled and thanked her as he told her it’s too dark for her to be driving alone. he might’ve even went with her if he was in the mood.
he almost told her to forget it. the words hovered on his tongue.
he almost stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her waist, almost buried his face in her shoulder the way he did when he was tired and overwhelmed. he almost said i’m sorry for snapping. almost said i love you. almost said stay, we’ll sit and eat together instead. he almost chose softness.
but pride and exhaustion glued him to that couch. there was a stubborn part of him that didn’t want to admit he needed comfort, didn’t want to be seen unraveling.
“fine. whatever.” he muttered in reply and the words felt so dismissive and uncomfortable on his tongue as they aimed at her.
y/n didn’t flinch. she stepped closer to him before reaching for the door, her fingers brushing lightly against his sleeve as she passed. it wasn’t accidental. it lingered - warm and real and loving. she didn’t lean down to kiss him like she did everytime she left the house and that sparked something in him, but he ignored it.
he could’ve caught her hand.
could’ve turned his wrist and intertwined their fingers.
could’ve stopped everything with one movement.
“i won’t be long, baby.” she promised softly with one last mumble of his favourite nickname.
he nodded without looking at her. he didn’t kiss her goodbye. he didn’t press his forehead to hers like he usually did. he didn’t say i love you.
the door opened with a soft click, then closed just as gently. the apartment instantly shifted in the new silence that followed - like it had exhaled. he stayed in the corner of the couch, staring at the door after she left and something tugged at him. a flicker of unease. an urge to call her name and tell her to wait.
to tell her didn’t need fucking pastries.
that he just needed her.
but he didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t chase the feeling. he let the moment pass.
and that was the last time he saw her standing.
his phone rang 47 minutes later.
he knew because he glanced at the screen with mild annoyance. 10:47pm. y/n’s name flashed across the screen and he took a deep breath, wanting to calm down before answering. the second he picked up his phone, something dreadful curled in his chest.
“hello?”
“is this lee heeseung?” a male’s voice called out to him. it was very faint, as if he was standing under the shower of heavy rain and distant voices.
heeseung furrowed his brows and hesitantly replied, “yes.”
there was a pause. he could hear the crackle of rain and the whirring of wind and chatter. his brows furrowed deeper as he listened, waited, confusion trickling into his bones.
“there’s been an accident.”
that sentence itself split his world clean in half.
“i-im sorry- what?”
“the owner of this phone was involved in a collision about ten minutes ago. a truck ran a red light. it’s raining heavily. she’s been taken to-”
the rest of it came in pieces. words that refused to assemble into reality.
rain. intersection. truck. critical. hospital. critical. head injury. car crash. critical.
“no.” he said immediately, “no- that’s not- she just left. she went to- she’s fine- she just…”
“sir, are you her partner?”
“yes.”
“please come right away.”
the call ended. or maybe the guy on the other end hung up. he didn’t remember.
his body moved before his mind could even register he was moving. he grabbed his keys with shaking hands, nearly dropping them twice. the apartment door slammed against the frame behind him - louder than it ever had before. he didn’t even know if he locked it, he didn’t care. the hallway to the elevator felt longer than usual, the elevator too slow as he jabbed the button repeatedly like violence could make it arrive faster.
his heart was beating so hard it hurt - literally. physically. a brutal, painful pounding against his ribs right next to the guilt that was slowly starting to bloom.
this isn’t real.
this isn’t happening.
she said she wouldn’t be long.
the drive to the hospital was a blur of red lights and slick roads. rain hammered against the windshield, wipers struggling to keep up. every intersection made his stomach lurch. every truck that passed him felt like a threat and he wondered how she’d managed to drive in this weather, why he even let her drive in this weather. alone. maybe sad. maybe disappointed at his sour mood.
he didn’t remember parking or shutting off the engine. he didn’t remember running inside and shouting at the poor receptionist, demanding to know where she was. he didn’t remember them forcing him to sit outside the surgical department on those plastic chairs as all kinds of nurses and patients walked past, some giving him glared and some sad eyes.
he felt like his skin didn’t fit. like he was vibrating inside his own body. his cold hands wouldn’t stop shaking as he pressed them against his thighs to steady himself and he realised they were damp with sweat. the crude smell of antiseptic and metal and something faintly sterile didn’t help the situation either - the sound of machines beeping and rubber shoes squeaking against floor made his stomach turn.
everyone looked urgent.
no one looked panicked.
why wasn’t anyone panicking?
“she’s in surgery.” one of the assisting doctors had told him when he intercepted him in the corridor and asked who he was here for. heeseung stared hesitantly as the doctor continued with a fixed tone, like he’d practiced this, like this was regular protocol for him, “she’s been in a car accident. the impact was severe.”
severe.
the word burrowed into his skull.
“how severe?”
“well, she’s had significant internal bleeding and head trauma. it appears to have been a high speed collision. right now, our priority is stabilising her.”
he had muttered some other medical terms heeseung didn’t know the meaning of and quite frankly, didn’t care to listen to. once he was gone, his knees weakened. he stepped back against the wall and let his body fall limp, sliding to the cold tile, palms scraping lightly against the floor.
she’s in there… she’s behind those doors and he doesn’t know how she is. what she’s feeling. what she’s thinking about. what she’s dreaming about. what she felt in that moment. did she think about him? did she think about how much a fucking dick her fiancée is for leaving her out in the dark like that?
none of this would’ve happened if he wasn’t in such a bitter fucking mood. none of this would’ve happened if he just separated work and home. none of this would’ve happened if he just kissed her the way he usually did, hugged her and allowed just her presence, her touch to calm him down. she left because she wanted to cheer him up. she left with the sole thought of bringing a smile to his lips. she left with him on her mind.
she left for him.
and now he didn’t know if she would ever return.
the guilt curled around his heart so crudely he wanted to sob.
heeseung’s head fell into his palms.
that’s when he decided to call jungwon with shaky hands and a cracked voice.
“hyung?” jungwon’s voice was thick with confusion, “it’s late. are you okay? what’s up?”
“y/n…” he breathed out, sticking his phone to his ear like jungwon could magically bring her back through the screen, “hos- she’s in the hospital.”
silence. jungwon’s brows furrowed as he sat up in bed instantly when he heard heeseung’s sharp gasps like he was struggling to breathe, like he was holding back the tears. he jumped out of bed and reached for his jacket whilst mumbling, “i’m coming. stay where you are.”
within the next twenty minutes, three pairs of footsteps were rushing toward him and he looked up from where he had his eyes shut against his hands. sunghoon and jay had come with jungwon but he didn’t spare any of them a glance as jungwon dropped to his knees infront of his older brother, gripping his shoulders like he was trying to hold him together.
heeseung’s tears returned almost on instinct.
“she’ll be okay.” jungwon said. he didn’t ask what happened, didn’t pester him for details because he knew he wouldn’t be able to speak about it.
he just held him while his hands shook, while he nodded too fast and mumbled, “she has to be.”
because the alternative didn’t exist.
time stopped behaving normally.
seconds stretched until they hurt. the clock on the wall ticked so loudly he thought he might lose his mind. everytime the surgical doors swung open, every time a doctor rushed out or a nurse walked past with a file, his heart skipped violently - only to crash when it wasn’t for them.
he prayed. he hadn’t prayed in years, but now he was.
take my voice.
take my career.
take years off my life.
please just let her be okay. let her live.
finally, the doors opened.
the sound was soft - just the mechanical sigh of hinges - but it sliced through him like a blade. a doctor stepped out, mask lowered, indentations pressed deep into his cheeks from hours of wear. his eyes looked more hooded, heavier from when he last saw him and before he even spoke, heeseung knew.
he knew because of the eye contact they instantly made, because of the deep inhale he took before walking over. he sprang out of his seat, startling his three friends in the process as they also joined him, offering a small nod in greeting to the doctor.
there was a look in his eyes - one that all doctors carry when they’ve done everything they can and it still wasn’t enough.
“she’s conscious.” he spoke gently, “you can see her. but please one at a time, she’s still in a state of shock and post-surgery. seeing so many familiar faces can be overwhelming and might trigger her.”
conscious.
the word rises into his lungs like oxygen after drowning.
alive.
she’s alive.
heeseung has never let out a sigh as big as he did then, as if he’d been holding his breath since the second he got that phone call. sunghoon placed his hands on his knees as he exhaled in relief, jay nodded in gratitude to himself and jungwon faintly smiled, patting heeseung on the back in encouragement.
“she’s asking for you.” the doctor said to heeseung, who was instantly nodding and walking into the department without a second glance at anyone or anything else - she was the only thing on his mind.
the hallway stretched endlessly before him as he walked. each step felt like his legs were detached from his body, like he was watching himself move from somewhere above. he reached the door and pushed it open without another thought.
the small room was too bright. too quiet. his teary eyes instantly moved to the bed in the middle where she lay, looking small and defeated. the sheets swallowed her frame completely. her skin was pale - not her usual bubbly warmth but a fragile, waxy white beneath harsh lights. bruises and red scratches bloomed dark and angry along her temple and collarbone, dried blood near her hairline and small bandages and stitches lining her cheek.
an oxygen mask covered half of her face, fogging faintly with each shallow breath she struggled to take. his eyes drifted from the mask down to the wires clipped up to her chest and wrists. machines surrounded her, humming and beeping rhythmically as if technology alone was forcing her body to continue.
for a second, he didn’t move. he couldn’t.
she looked breakable, like glass, and he wondered if he even had the right to see her after everything.
still, heeseung approached her slowly, afraid that even the sound of his footsteps might hurt her. y/n’s eyes fluttered open at the noise - heavy, struggling, dimmed - and then she saw him.
and she smiled.
it was faint. weak. barely there. but it was hers, nonetheless. the same soft curve that used to greet him at the door, that kissed against his cheek in the night and made him feel better when he was down.
“i’m okay.” she whispered out to him. her words were distorted by the mask, her breath thin and uneven but he could make it out.
heeseung dropped to his knees and grabbed her hand like he was afraid someone might take her again, “i’m here.” he choked out, “i’m here. i’m right here.”
he felt her fingers curl just the tiniest bit against his, weak but alive.
“hee…” she breathed.
he leaned closer, pressing his forehead gently against her bruised knuckles. he kissed each finger with such tenderness, such care like he was apologising in every way that he could. he kissed just above her ring, covered in specks of dried blood, like it was sacred.
“i’m sorry.” he whispered, “i’m so sorry, i shouldn’t have- i should’ve-”
the monitor beside her bed made a strange sound, some sort of stutter but he didn’t notice it. he was too focused on her face, on taking in every feature he fell in love with, on memorising every beautiful detail of her from the curve of her lashes to the tiny dimple on her chin.
“i was-” y/n tried again.
the line on the monitor jerked sharply. heeseung furrowed his brows when he saw her lips part as if she wanted to say more but the words lodged her throat. he saw her breath fog up the mask one last time.
and then the machine flatlined.
a single, endless tone that followed as he watched the light leave her eyes.
his entire world snapped in half.
“no-” he breathed.
a nurse who had been stood right outside rushed in when she heard the machine, two doctors following behind her, and another two running in with some sort of medical equipment. hands were grabbing his shoulders, wrapping around his chest and pulling him out of the way but heeseung could only stare at her limp hand in his with his lips parted and his breath stuttering as it left him in shallow breaths.
“step back!”
“charge to-”
“wait- no- she was just talki- she was talking!” heeseung cried out loud as one of the nurses pulled him back and her hand dropped out of his grip.
“clear.”
he watched her body jolt violently under the defibrillator.
he screamed her name.
“again.”
“charge it to-”
“go higher.”
another jolt. he screamed her name again as he got pulled away even further.
her head lolled slightly to the side. the line on the machine did not change, just kept buzzing a straight line like it had no more energy to keep her alive.
“clear.”
“time of death-”
the scream that tore out of him then was raw, almost animalistic, rippling through his body until it burned and took his voice with it. he lunged forward again but this time, rougher arms held him back, locking around his shoulders.
“hyung- please-”
heeseung couldn’t hear anything. not jungwon’s voice. not sunghoon’s silent cries. not jay’s mumbled sniffles into his hands. not the incessant beeping of that godforesaken machine. nothing. his entire world had numbed the second she took her last breath.
“please!” he sobbed, “she’s right there- she’s right there-”
the room blurred around him. voices overlapped. medical terms he couldn’t process were thrown around. equipment was being packed away. all he could see was her hand as he was dragged out of the room - it now sat still against the sheets. her fingers had slipped from his like they no longer had any meaning, like they no longer had any right to be placed within his - like the ring he’d placed on her finger meant nothing now.
seconds ago they had been warm. alive.
now they were cooling. already distant.
gone.
heeseung didn’t remember being forced into the hallway, or his knees buckling and his body slamming into the tile, or jungwon catching him as he staggered forward with teary vision and a body that felt like it didn’t even belong to him anymore.
“she was just here.” heeseung cried- sobbed into jungwon’s jacket, fists clutching desperately at the fabric and his voice cracking with fresh shock and disbelief, “she- she smiled- she was just with me-”
his body shook violently. his lungs couldn’t pull enough air. each breath was jagged, painful, insufficient and his friends didn’t even know what to do as they stood beside him, crying their own eyes out at the sight of their older sister in that bed.
a nurse approached the group slowly, hesitantly. she had tiny tears in her eyes too as if she couldn’t hold them back at the scene infront of her. she held a thin file against her chest like it weighed a thousand pounds - her eyes scanned the three boys beside heeseung before landing on him.
they all looked up when she stopped in front of them, heeseung being the last to look up after a gentle, supportive pat from jay on his shoulder. his eyes were already swelling from tears, red lining his waterline, his cheeks hollowed and mind completely unfocused.
“lee heeseung? there’s something you should know.” she said gently.
he sniffled, nodding for her to continue. she took a deep breath.
“she was pregnant.”
the hallway fell silent. everything - the buzzing lights, the distant footsteps, the screams in his mind, the pain in his heart - everything muffled. all of it vanished as his mind droned into what the nurse had just said.
pregnant.
just that one word stole his breath.
“what?”
“very early.” she continued softly, “only three weeks. we discovered it during some examinations.”
pregnant.
his lips parted in shock. his eyes fluttered and his thoughts instantly went back to her hand absentmindedly resting over her stomach that morning. he remembered the quick flash of happiness glowing in her eyes, the way she smiled to herself like she was excited to share it with him.
pregnant.
he felt something in his chest physically collapse - like a structure caving in.
two heartbeats.
there had been two.
and both had flatlined in the same room.
the nurse extended the file toward him and he stared at it blankly like it wasn’t real. it didn’t look real. it looked like paper but felt like a coffin and he didn’t reach for it, he physically couldn’t - he could barely breathe.
because inside that folder was proof that he had almost been a father. proof that she had been carrying their future. proof that the last words he gave her were irritation.
fine. whatever.
not i love you.
not drive safe.
the hallway began to tilt.
at first, he thought it was his imagination. maybe he was also dying, maybe he was also slowly losing himself so he let it happen. he let his mind swirl and his breathing stutter and his arms drop to his sides. the harsh lights above blurred into blank, white streaks. the floor felt unsteady beneath his knees. the sound of his own heartbeat roared loudly in his ears, drowning everything else out.
“heeseung.” jay’s voice sounded like he was stood a mile away.
“heeseung hyung.” more panicked voices followed but he didn’t know what to do.
he tried to inhale but the air wouldn’t come.
his vision tunnelled, narrowing into a thin, shrinking circle.
the file slipped from the nurse’s hands and the papers scattered around him. he reached out blindly for something, anything, but his fingers grasped nothing but air. she was the only thing on his mind when his vision darkened. her smile was the only thing he could see when his body crumpled forward. her scent was the only thing he could smell when his eyes slid shut. her hand in his was the only thing he could feel as he fell to the floor and his head hit the tile.
•••
“you look like a groom already.” y/n teased as her eyes ran over the suit he’d just tried on and shyly stepped out to show her. she had gasped dramatically, clapping her hands together like she couldn’t contain her happiness. heeseung giggled under his breath as she joyfully stepped over to him and started straightening the lapels of the blazer.
she looked so excited, like her dream was finally coming true.
“my groom.”
she smoothed her hands down his chest, gaze full of adoration and love as she stared up into his doe eyes, “all mine.”
the same fabric now pressed stiffly against his shoulders as he stood at her funeral instead.
the irony was cruel. the suit meant for vows and lifelong promises and her walking toward him - alive, glowing, smiling - was now witnessing her forever absence. he adjusted the cufflinks with trembling fingers. he brushed the pads of his thumb over her initials engraved into the metal, remembering how she’d once said she wanted to see him cry on their wedding day because “men who love deeply cry beautifully.”
what would she say now, seeing him unable to cry at all?
when he stepped into the funeral hall, the scent struck him immediately.
white roses. hundreds of them.
they lined the aisle in perfect symmetry, soft petals layered like clouds against polished floors. they framed her portrait at the front - a candid picture he had taken of her when they went on vacation together. she was laughing in that familiar, bright way she laughed, with her head tilted slightly and eyes crinkling mid-laugh like nothing could hurt her in that moment. her coffin was covered in white blooms so delicately arranged it looked less like a casket and more like a bridal bed.
“some flowers smell loud! like fireworks!” he remembered her vivid, eight-year old voice echo in his mind, “but white roses smell soft and quiet. they look gentle like they’re whispering.”
now they were everywhere.
a sea of white.
a bed of gentle whispers.
a wedding she never got.
he finally knew what she meant now. they did smell soft - exactly as she’d described - but they felt a little suffocating too, wrapping around his lungs and tightening with every breath. it clung to him, settled into his suit, into his hair. he would carry that scent home and it would no longer mean beginnings.
it would mean this.
guests filled the seats in hushed waves of black attire. condolences drifted toward him like distant echoes.
“she was such a light.”
“i’m so sorry for your loss.”
“she loved you so much.”
“if you need anything-”
he bowed automatically.
thank you. thank you. thank you. thank-
he didn’t hear most of what he was replying. the words bounced off something solid inside him, never quite reaching his mind.
his members stood close by, all dressed in black suits, faces pale and eyes red-rimmed. all six of them looked smaller somehow - not in stature, but in spirit. y/n had been more than just his girlfriend to them. she had been the one who cooked too much food and scolded them for skipping meals, she was the one who stayed up to watch their livestreams, who invited them all over for dinner from time to time, who brought cake to the practice room and had little nicknames for each of them.
she was their older sister as much as heeseung was their older brother. she was their family in every way that mattered.
because she was heeseung’s family before he had become their family.
jungwon’s composure shattered first. he tried to hold it in with a tight jaw and squared shoulders but all he could think about was heeseung in that hospital room - all that haunted him was his screams, the way he’d fainted, the way jungwon had sobbed as they tried to wake him back up. sunghoon turned his face away from her portrait, wiping at his eyes angrily as if frustrated by his own tears.
jay stood stiff and silent. his hands shook no matter how much he tried to clasp them together or press his fingers to his sides. jake’s lips quivered even as he wiped at his eyes with a crumpled up piece of tissue. sunoo, ever the empath and probably the closest one to y/n out of all of them, was openly crying. his sleeve was wrinkled with dried patches of tears and he couldn’t stop the tears from falling even more as he turned around to wipe them away. ni-ki tried comforting him with a hand to his back but even he looked lost and disturbed.
they weren’t just mourning her. they were mourning the future dinners, the teasing nicknames, the steady presence she brought all of them.
they were mourning their eldest hyung, who they knew would never be the same after this.
at the centre of it all, he stood still.
too still.
he stared at the flowers and thought, absurdly, that she would complain about the excess.
“this is too dramatic.” she would whisper, nudging his arm, “are you trying to make it look like a royal wedding?”
for a fraction of a second, the ghost of a smile reached his lips.
it shattered before it could even exist - because she wasn’t beside him. she wasn’t squeezing his fingers or whispering that she loved him or kissing his cheek excessively.
she wasn’t here. not truly anyway.
when it was time for heeseung to step forward, the aisle felt impossibly long. white petals brushed against his “shiny shoes” with every step. the suit - his wedding suit - felt heavier with each movement, like it understood the betrayal of the moment. this wasn’t where he was supposed to wear it. he was supposed to be standing at the end of the aisle waiting for her to walk toward him, not the other way around.
he wasn’t supposed to be the one walking to her coffin.
it looked too small. too simple. too final.
he stopped in front of it and the world narrowed to the polished wood reflecting the soft lights above. this box held her laughter, her sleepy morning voice, the way she curled into him at night, the way she pressed her cold feet against his legs just to hear him yelp, the way she would say his name. it held their childhood together - her endless support when he wanted to become an idol, her cheers when he sang, her patience when he had to be on a reality tv show for months, her pride when he debuted.
but alongside all of that, there was something else in there too.
their baby. merely a few weeks old, never having heard their fathers voice or their mothers beautiful laugh. heeseung had a whole life ahead of him that he never even got to enjoy. he will never be able to experience touching her belly and speaking to the baby, never experience their tiny kicks, never experience his members fighting over who was the better uncle, never experience their first steps or first words or first cry.
his hand lifted slowly, shaking heavily, and he pressed his palm against the surface.
it was cold. there was no warmth. no rise and fall of breathing. no heartbeat answering to his touch.
he leaned closer, voice barely existing between just the two of them.
“you were all mine.” he whispered, the words crackling halfway in his throat, “and i was yours.”
his shoulders trembled but he still didn’t cry.
“we were supposed to grow old. you promised.” the memory of her laughing, telling him she would out-live him just to annoy him, pierced through his chest like something unforgiving, “we were supposed to grow old and wrinkly together so i could keep singing for you.”
“you’re not allowed to stop singing.” she added on seriously and the boy looked at her, “ever. even when you’re old and wrinkly.”
“why would i be wrinkly?”
“because everyone gets wrinkly when they’re old, hamster.”
his forehead almost touched the coffin.
“come home.”
come home so i can scold you for driving alone. come home so i can hold you and tell you i’m not angry anymore. come home so we can eat together and i can tell you how much i love your food. come home so i can marry you in this suit like we planned. come home so i dont have to exist without you.
silence answered.
beside him, one of y/n’s family members sobbed loudly. someone broke down completely, someone went to hold them. sunoo cried in the corner and jake muttered tiny words to soothe him. the sound of grief rippled through the entire hall in waves - raw and uncontrollable.
but heeseung remained still because if he allowed himself to break, he wasn’t sure he could ever stop.
he stood there in his wedding suit and shiny shoes as the world buried away the only person who had ever truly felt like home, the first person who had ever supported him and believed in him and stayed by his side.
she was his first everything.
his first friend, his first crush, his first girlfriend, his first time, his first supporter, his first fan.
and when the last of the white petals she and their baby were buried beneath disappeared under the soil, something inside his chest was lowered with her.
heeseung didn’t cry.
but the part of him that knew how to live without her was buried that day too.
•••
heeseung took a 3 month hiatus after that.
the announcement was phrased carefully by his team’s management - they’d said it was for personal time, rest, health. the words were polished and gentle enough for the public, enough for the fans to understand and send their sympathy and approval his way.
but behind closed doors, it hadn’t been that simple. jungwon had argued in a low, steady voice that barely hid his own fear. he’d been seated with a few members of the management team at a long, conference table, speaking out, not only as the groups leader but also as a friend, as a sibling.
both to heeseung and y/n.
“heeseung hyung shouldn’t be alone.” his voice was firm. his hands were clasped tightly in front of him, knuckles pale, “especially right now. everything is still so fresh. this is unfair to him and all the members. we’re worried for him.”
he kept his tone respectful, he always did, but there was something underneath it. a tremor. not of anger but of fear. the higher-ups had mentioned giving heeseung space, allowing him privacy to grieve, how public scedhules can be adjusted and statements released.
“sometimes isolation helps with healing.” one of them had said.
“being alone can help with reflection and acceptance.” another suggested.
jungwon’s jaw tightened, “that’s not what he needs. he shouldn’t go through this by himself.”
all eyes turned to heeseung, who had been sitting there beside jungwon the entire time - a shell of himself. he hadn’t spoken once, not even a small greeting when they walked in. he sat with his hands folded in his lap, posture straight and his droopy, empty gaze fixed on a slab of wood on the other end of the room as if it required his intense concentration. his expression was composed - the kind of stillness that wasn’t strength but suppression.
he was there physically, but mentally and emotionally, he was somewhere else.
it was like the conversation wasn’t about him at all.
when someone asked him directly what he would prefer, he blinked slowly, as if surfacing from whichever memory he was living in.
“i’m going home.”
his voice was quiet but clear.
not the dorm.
home. their apartment. the one he hadn’t been to since he’d ran out that night to rush to the hospital. the one he never wanted to abandon because leaving would mean accepting she wasn’t coming back. it would mean folding her clothes, washing the sheets and letting her fade from the walls. it would mean admitting home wasn’t his home anymore.
he’d already made up his mind.
he wasn’t choosing solitude but he was choosing to live where she still felt close enough to touch.
•••
the first click of the front door echoed too loudly in the empty hallway. heeseung’s hand stayed on the handle long after the door had already opened, his knuckles turning white, breath shallow and for a second - just for a split second - it felt like second nature for him to expect her voice to travel from the inside.
“you’re home?”
silence answered him.
the apartment was still the way they both left it that night. the lamp was still on, cascading the room in white light that felt almost irritating now that she wasn’t under it to soften the glare. the curtains were still drawn from the last morning they’d woken up together. the air felt stale, untouched, faintly floral.
her mother had come by to drop off some bouquets of white roses from the funeral. she hadn’t been there for too long - afraid that if she even touched anything that belonged to her late daughter, she would start sobbing. heeseung now looked at the multiple vases of flowers that sat by the kitchen counter. their scent had soaked into everything: into the fabric of the sofa, the rugs, the walls.
it clung to the air like something that refused to leave.
like her.
heeseung didn’t change anything in the apartment. the blanket she was sitting with on the couch was still there, but now folded. her slippers still sat by the door as if waiting for her to return home and slip back into. her book that she was reading still sat on the coffee table, still marked from that night - never to be read again. her hand cream sat on her nightstand, the cap slightly crooked like she’d been in a hurry to tighten it.
he touched it once.
then pulled his hands back like it burned.
on the second night, he moved to her side of the bed.
she had always slept closer to the wall, claiming it made her feel safe. heeseung teased her for it endlessly, wrapping an arm around her waist and whispering against her lips, “you’re safe because i’m here.”
now he slid into her spot and faced the wall she used to face. he pressed his face into her pillow and inhaled until his lungs burned. the scent was fading - he could tell - but it was still there. still soft. still his.
“you’re all mine.” he had whispered into her hair one time when she was half-asleep, “god, i’m so lucky to call you all mine.”
grief had a way of replaying what you miss the most. it would loop until it feels almost real, almost palpable, almost close enough for you to touch.
the first time heeseung heard her voice he was laying on the sheets of their bed, staring up at the ceiling. his fists were tightly clutching the duvet instinctively, as if anchoring him to this world - that’s when he heard it.
like he was teetering between the edge of this world and the afterlife .
“heeseung.”
it was so soft and so close, he could practically feel the brush of breath against the shell of his ear. his heart slammed so hard he thought it might crack his ribs. he shot upright, eyes wide, scanning the empty room.
“i’m here.” he answered immediately, the first thing he’d said in a while out loud. his voice didn’t even shake, as if he was certain it was her. as if he didn’t want to greet her again with shaky breaths and a dull tone.
silence followed but something in his chest loosened instead of tightening… because if he could hear her, she had to be somewhere near, right?
one night, as he sat with her favourite blanket thrown over his lap and her faint perfume lingering from the corners, he heard it: a careful, familiar humming, like she had never left. it was her favourite song and it was drifting out of their bedroom.
hope, as always, clung to his chest and he followed the sound instinctively. it drew him into the room, toward her bedside drawer that sat slightly ajar. he hesitated before pulling it open further and his breath instantly caught in his throat.
beneath the old, piled up receipts and a small notebook, lay a pregnancy test with two faint pink lines visibly drawn across the middle. heeseung felt his entire world tilt off its axis. he opened the wardrobe with trembling fingers, afraid of what else he might find, and just as he expected: there was a tiny onesie folded just behind a pile of vitamins and medications.
he pulled it out slowly. the fabric was thick yet plush against his cold, numb fingertips and he opened it up, the size of it delicate enough to fit in his palm.
there was an embroidered hamster in the middle with another tiny hamster just beside it. heeseung’s eyes softened and tears blurred his vison when he ran his fingers over the threaded piece of art and the little bold letters that sat just under: surprise, daddy!
his knees buckled. she’d been planning it. planning a future.
three weeks - only three weeks had passed, but in that short time, their child had existed. the laughter they had been hearing in the quiet apartment felt closer now, more haunting, more ghostly. he clutched the onesie to his chest and rocked slightly as if his child was there with him, in his arms, alive and healthy. tears, scalding and aching against his cheeks, finally broke free.
“come home.” he whispered to no one in particular, his voice more than already raw and broken. the apartment, once again, remained silent but heeseung heard her again. in his mind. in his heart. she was calling out to him, gentle, encouraging, telling him to let go.
somewhere, between memory and madness, grief and denial, heeseung finally shattered completely.
everything became easier after that moment.
he started talking to her.
at first, they were just whispers in the night, small murmurs as he lay in the darkness of their bedroom. he muttered something about how the night didn’t feel as lonely anymore, or how he liked sleeping on her side of the bed, or reminisced on something silly she said to him one time.
then, he started talking in normal conversation. in a way, it gave him motivation to do things around the house because he felt like she was watching him, or that she was with him, communicating with him. it allowed him to eat, to shower, to do his skin care because he’d talk to her through it all - just the way he used to when she was still here.
he’d stand in the kitchen, chopping vegetables as he tried to make a meal for himself. mid-way through his work, he’d randomly stop and look up at nothing in particular, “you’d say i’m doing this wrong, wouldn’t you?”
he paused, tilted his head slightly like he was listening for a response. then he’d nod, satisfied, a tiny smile on his chapped lips, “yeah, okay. i’ll fix it.”
he began setting her a plate at dinner, at her usual seat right beside his own. he always hated when she sat opposite to him on dates or events - he claimed she was too far and he couldn’t touch her. he loved having her beside him where he could easily talk to her, hold her, protect her.
he’d set two bowls of rice, two glasses of water, chopsticks and utensils placed neatly beside each plate.
he started buying her favourite snacks again - the strawberry milk she liked, the overly sweet cookies she always defended even though they made him grimace. he reached for them automatically at the store, like muscle memory was stronger than reality. he would smile in anticipation as if excited to see her reaction and excited to share them with her.
“you don’t have to stay mad.” he would murmur while leaning against the counter after doing the dishes, “i know i snapped that night. i was tired. i swear, i didn’t mean it.”
in his mind, she wasn’t dead.
she left because she had to - this was the alternative his grief had made him believe.
if she left because she was upset, she could forgive him. if she left because she needed space, he could wait. if she left because he failed her-
his thoughts cut off there all the time, sharp and immediate. his mind never let him finish that sentence.
what if she’s fine and it’s his mind that’s wrong? what if she’s happy and alive somewhere and it’s just his mind that’s making up all these fake implications about her?
she’s not dead.
sometimes in the quietest hours of the night, heeseung felt the mattress dip beside him because that was what his mind convinced him to feel. it was never a violent or obvious shift - just a subtle change in weight. a warmth brushed against his arm once, light as a feather, and he held his breath, afraid to open his eyes. it wasn’t there when he did but the sensation lingered in his chest.
“i knew you’d come back.” the words were barely audible yet they felt like a tether, a small proof that she still might be near.
he would hum an old tune, a random song she liked, because he knew how much she liked his humming. he didn’t want her to think he was hurting or in pain so he always made sure he sounded normal… she knew his humming very well.
after nights like those, he slept a little better. he slept as if the world outside his fantasy could wait a few more hours as he imagined her presence beside him.
during the day, he carried a quiet change.
he smiled faintly, a fragile curve that didn’t reach his eyes. he answered unheard questions with gentle nods, paused mid-sentence as though someone invisible had interrupted him to ask him something. the members all noticed this - especially when they did group facetime calls. they noticed the way he smiled off into the distance, muttered small phrases to the air beside him as if he was talking to someone.
and when he wasn’t doing any of that, then he was distracted, staring off into nothing as he thought about everything. the members noticed this too. his silence.
one day, using the spare key, they had let themselves in.
the apartment was dim despite the early hour, curtains half-drawn, air thick and unmoving. it felt almost ghostly. shadows clung to corners and the faint, lingering scent of her perfume hung in the air like a fragile memory. all six of them piled in with furrowed brows and heavy hearts, yet when they saw heeseung in the kitchen, their heavy hearts felt like they could completely sink any moment.
he looked smaller. thinner. cheekbones sharper, collarbones more defined beneath the t-shirt hanging off his frame. dark circles hollowed out his eyes and his hair fell in unkempt strands against his forehead. yet, somehow, he was smiling… a soft, distant smile that barely curved around the stubble on his chin and the hollowness of his eyes.
beside all that, he still wore his ring. the matching one he had with her. they all saw it.
on the table were two plates already placed perfectly. one plate had food half-eaten, which they guessed was his, meanwhile the other plate was pristine and untouched.
jungwon’s chest tightened painfully.
“hyung.” he called out carefully.
heeseung looked up, as if mildly surprised to see them there. he looked completely out of it, like he’d lost his mind being here by himself for the past month. he gave them all a welcoming smile, as if it wasn’t their first time visiting since everything that happened.
“oh! you’re all early!”
“early?” jay couldn’t hide the tremor in his voice as his eyes travelled from the dining table to heeseung’s worn out frame.
“for dinner!” heeseung replied simply, eyes shifting toward the empty chair beside him, “she just stepped out.”
the apartment went completely still.
jake swallowed hard, sunghoon’s gaze locked onto the second pair of dishes as if it might shatter or vanish if he blinked, ni-ki furrowed his brows and sunoo felt the tears already brimming his lashes as he took in the scene before him.
at the man before him.
because that was not his heeseung hyung, and he knew it.
jungwon took a careful step forward, each movement hesitant, as though approaching someone already balanced on the edge of a cliff. when he spoke, his voice was soft and understanding, as if wanting heeseung to see reason, to see past his delusions, to see his reality.
“she’s not here, hyung.”
heeseung’s smile didn’t falter, “she will be.”
the certainty in his tone was unnerving - calm, steady and unshaken. this wasn’t denial or grief. it was something else entirely, something cruel and wicked that had curled itself into his mind and messed with his healing process. it unnerved the members more than tears or rage or shouting ever could.
“hyung…” sunghoon started, raw and unsteady, “she-”
“she just needed space.” heeseung interrupted and snapped his head from jungwon to sunghoon, his words sounding gentle yet strewn on simmering anger, “you know how she gets when i overwork myself. she was worried. i told her i’d rest.”
his eyes flickered toward the hallway where their bedroom sat, expectant and waiting.
the members exchanged terrified, helpless glances, as if silently acknowledging that what they were witnessing was no longer grief - it was something that was breaking him from the inside out. something that was handling him in slow, deliberate increments. something inside him that had shifted beyond repair.
heeseung reached for the extra glass of water and adjusted it so that it aligned perfectly with the plate infront of the empty chair, “she doesn’t like it when things are messy.”
jungwon’s vision blurred.
the man standing before them all - the same hyung who once filled their practice room with laughter and stupid jokes, who once sang like the world itself resided in his chest - looked like a shadow stretched thin over bones.
he suddenly felt an overwhelming amount of regret. regret for not arguing more in that meeting, regret for not pressuring him to stay with the rest of the members. he knows it would’ve sounded rude or selfish at the time but at least they could’ve avoided this - whatever this was. at least they could’ve helped him grieve, at least he wouldn’t have been couped up alone in the silence of his loss.
at least it wouldn’t have driven him to madness.
“she’ll come home. she only stepped out for a bit.” heeseung smiled fondly, “she won’t be long.”
he wasn’t speaking directly to them anymore.
he was speaking to himself. convincing himself.
and in the way he said it - all patient, loving, utterly certain - it was clear. he wasn’t waiting anymore. he was living in a world where she had never truly left and somewhere between the untouched sheets and the phantom voice in the darkness of his mind, heeseung had long since stepped past grief.
he had crossed the line.
past sorrow. past mourning. past bargaining and acceptance and all the stages people had made up. he’d moved past the fragile remnants of the person he had once been.
heeseung wasn’t grieving anymore. he was existing in a world built entirely around her absence - a world that had room for absolutely no one else.