✮ summary : a full saturday with leehan. aquarium date in the morning, café in the afternoon, and a blind bag neither of you expected to mean anything. it means everything.
✮ warning / tags: fluff, established relationship
The aquarium was his idea.
Which is how you end up standing in the blue-dark of the main hall at ten in the morning, surrounded by schoolchildren and their chaperones, while your boyfriend presses his nose approximately three centimetres from the glass of a jellyfish tank.
“Leehan”
“Shh…”
“There are kids trying to see”
“They can wait”
A small child tugs on your sleeve and looks up at you with big eyes. You mouth sorry at her. She looks at Leehan. She seems to understand.
He stays at the jellyfish tank for eleven minutes. You count. He takes seven photos, reviews all seven, then takes three more. When he finally steps back his expression is the most peaceful you have ever seen on a human face.
“Okay” he says. “We can move”
“Generous of you”
He takes your hand and pulls you toward the next tank, already pointing at something. “Look at that one. See how it moves? It’s doing that thing where”
“I see it”
“No but look at the way it”
“Leehan, I’m looking, I promise”
He glances at you to check. Apparently satisfied, he turns back to the tank. You watch him instead of the fish for a while, the blue light catching the side of his face, his eyes tracking movement in the water with the kind of focus he usually reserves for things he really loves.
It’s a lot, sometimes, how much you like him.
He takes his phone out. You assume it’s for the fish again. It’s always for the fish.
But quietly, without saying anything, he turns the camera toward you instead. One photo. Then he looks at it for a moment, and smiles to himself, small and private. Pockets his phone before you notice.
“You’re not looking at the fish” he says, without turning around.
“I’m looking at something better”
A pause. He turns, looks at you for a moment, then lets out a small quiet laugh like he doesn’t know what to do with you. He shakes his head and turns back to the tank.
“Come look at this one” he says, pointing at something near the bottom. “It’s been sitting there the whole time”
His hand finds yours again. That’s that.
The café was your idea.
Leehan had wanted to go home after the aquarium. We’ve been out for two hours, but that’s not enough for you. So you’d given him the look, the one that has a 100% success rate, and now here he is, sitting across from you with his iced Americano, pretending he isn’t happy about it.
He’s smiling into his cup. He’s so happy about it.
“Told you it’d be nice” you say.
“You tell me a lot of things”
“And I’m right every time”
He looks up at you then, soft and unbothered, the way he only gets when it’s just the two of you. “Yeah” he says simply. “You kind of are”
You kick him lightly under the table because you don’t know what else to do with that.
It’s one of those slow Saturdays that stretches like taffy, warm and golden and unhurried. After the café you just walk, no destination, his hand finding yours somewhere between the second and third block and staying there like it was always meant to be.
That’s when you see the store.
Small, warm-lit, wedged between a skincare shop and a bubble tea place. The window is crowded with tiny furniture and tinier animals wearing tinier outfits. Right in the corner of the display, a little handwritten sign:
New in: Sylvanian Families Blind Bags!
You stop walking.
Leehan stops a second later, looks at the window, then at you. “No.”
“I haven’t said anything”
“Your face said it”
“My face just”
“You’re doing the thing where your eyes get big”
You drag him inside anyway.
The store smells like wood and old toys and something vaguely like childhood. A halmeoni at the register glances up and nods. Leehan trails after you with his hands in his pockets, a picture of someone Who Is Not Interested.
He picks up a tiny ceramic bathtub immediately.
“Leehan”
“I’m just looking”
“You’re cradling it”
He sets it down. Carefully.
You find the blind bags near the window, pastel pouches in a little wire basket. Each one a mystery figure, no hints, no spoilers. You pick up two and turn around to find Leehan already beside you, reading the small print on the back with a slight frown, like he’s reviewing a contract.
“So we genuinely don’t know what’s inside” he says.
“That’s what makes it fun”
He looks unconvinced but pulls out his wallet. You don’t even fight him on it anymore. You learned that lesson four months ago.
Outside, you find a low wall to sit on, knees touching, a pouch each in hand. The golden hour light is doing something soft to everything, the kind of light that makes ordinary things look like memories already.
“Okay, let’s open it together” you say.
Leehan holds his pouch with both hands. You notice, with great fondness, that he looks genuinely a little nervous.
“Babe”
“I’m focused”
“It’s a blind bag”
“I’m focused”
You tear yours open first because you cannot wait. He makes a small offended noise, together means together, but leans over immediately to see.
White cat. Round face. Blue overalls with a tiny floral patch. She fits in the center of your palm like she was made for it.
“Oh, hello cutie” you say softly.
Leehan opens his. Hedgehog. Also blue overalls, slightly different shade, a little scruffy around the ears. He stares at it for a moment.
Then he holds it up next to your cat.
They match. Same scale, same colour palette, clearly from the same set. Like the blind bag thing was just the universe’s way of being theatrical about something it already decided.
“Huh” Leehan says.
“Huh” you agree.
He doesn’t say anything else for a second. Just looks at the two figures sitting side by side in your joined palms, something quiet settling in his expression. The kind of quiet that isn’t empty. That’s actually very full.
“Mine looks tired” he says finally.
“He looks distinguished”
“He looks like he’s been through things”
“Leehan, he’s three centimetres tall.”
“Depth” he says seriously, “comes in all sizes”
You stare at him. He stares back. And then you’re both laughing, leaning into each other on the low wall while the golden light does its thing and the tiny hedgehog and the tiny cat sit together in your hands, matching and unbothered and very small.
Later, he takes a photo without telling you. Your hand, the two figures, the last of the afternoon light catching the edge of your ring.
He sets it as his lockscreen.
You find out three days later and don’t say anything, just lean up and press a kiss to his cheek while he’s scrolling. He pretends not to smile.
✮ summary : hyunjin comes home late from schedule and finds you already in bed with your daughter. he doesn’t say much. he doesn’t have to
✮ warning / tags: soft hours, fluff, dad! hyunjin, established relationship, parent! au, hyunjin is a good dad,
a/n : okay so i was just minding my own business when i saw this photo and suddenly i was SO not okay over this and my brain went “you need to write this right now.” so here we are. domestic hyunjin nation rise. enjoy!! 💖
Hyunjin came home at 11 PM smelling like stage lights and cold air.
You didn’t hear him come in. You were already in bed, your daughter tucked against your side, both of you half-buried under the blanket after an hour of her refusing to sleep anywhere else. You hadn’t meant to stay like this but your body had just given up.
He found you like that. Changed quietly, then slipped into bed on her other side, close enough that the mattress dipped gently. Still warm from the outside. Hair a little undone.
“How long?” he whispered.
“Since eight”
He exhaled quietly. Then he laid down facing her, one hand resting light on her back the way she liked. You watched him watch her. That expression he got, the one that had nothing to do with cameras or stages or any version of him the world knew. Just this. Just her. Just yours.
You shifted to face him across her small sleeping body.
“You should’ve called” he murmured.
“You were working”
“Doesn’t matter”
You didn’t argue. You were too tired and he was too warm and your daughter’s breathing had gone slow and even between you. The room was quiet except for that.
Hyunjin’s eyes moved from her to you. He reached over and pushed a strand of hair off your face, fingers barely there.
“Sleep” he said softly.
“You just got home”
“And now I’m here” His hand settled at your cheek for a moment. “Sleep, baby”
You closed your eyes. You felt him pull the blanket over all three of you properly, felt the bed finally feel like home again.
You thought: this is the part no one sees. this is the best part.
✮ summary : kyungsoo sees you skipping meals during your work week. on his day off, he makes sure that’s not happening tonight.
✮ warning / tags: none! just pure domestic fluff, soft!kyungsoo, established relationship, food mentions, slight exhaustion on reader’s part, kyungsoo being the most boyfriend ever
a/n : i’m giggling, kicking my feet 🫠
The apartment is quiet in the way that only exists on his days off.
No schedule. No vocal warm-ups at six in the morning. No manager knocking. Just Kyungsoo, cross-legged on the couch with a book open in his lap, a mug of barley tea steaming on the coffee table, and the kind of stillness he’d been craving for weeks.
He should be enjoying this.
He is enjoying this.
Mostly.
His phone buzzes at half past eleven.
—
from: you
hey, soo. i have a bad news
i’m sorryy..
they’re keeping us late again :(
probably won’t be home until 9 or 10 tonight
i already feel terrible don’t be nice to me about it
—
Kyungsoo stares at the messages for a moment. Then he types back.
to: you
okay 👌🏼
—
from: you
that’s it? just “okay”?!
doh kyungsoo said OKAY
i’m filing for divorce
—
He snorts quietly, the corner of his mouth pulling up. He sets the phone face-down on the cushion and looks toward the kitchen.
Okay, he thinks. Nine o’clock.
He has time.
The thing about Kyungsoo is that he doesn’t say much when something bothers him. He doesn’t complain, doesn’t make a fuss, doesn’t text you seventeen times asking when you’ll be home. That’s not how he works.
What he does instead, what he’s always done is cook.
He already knows what he’s making. Miso soup. Simple, warm, the kind of thing that doesn’t ask anything of you when you’re already running on empty. He’s made it for you before, on other late nights, other bad weeks, and he knows by now exactly how you like it. A little more tofu than usual. Soft tofu, not firm. A handful of wakame. The dashi broth made from scratch because the instant kind is fine but fine has never really been in his vocabulary when it comes to you.
He ties on his apron and gets to work.
There’s a particular kind of peace that settles over Kyungsoo when he cooks. The rest of his life requires so much precision, so much performance, so much of him being watched and measured and evaluated. But the kitchen is just the kitchen. The tofu gets cut into even cubes. The wakame softens in warm water, turning dark and silky. The dashi simmers slowly, the smell of it filling the apartment. Understated and quiet, like everything he tends to love.
He thinks about you while he cooks. Not in a worried way, just you. The way you look when you’re tired, that specific crease between your brows you don’t notice you’re making. How you always kick your shoes off before you even close the front door. How you’ll eat standing up at the counter if he lets you, too exhausted to make it all the way to the table.
He won’t let you tonight.
He sets the table. Two bowls, two pairs of chopsticks, a small dish of rice on the side because soup alone isn’t enough and he knows you won’t think to ask for more. He adjusts things once and then tells himself to stop fussing.
His phone buzzes again at 09:00.
—
from: you
leaving now. finally 😩
i think i’ve forgotten what your face looks like
is this what ghosts feel like
wait no i’m so tired i don’t even know what that means ignore me
—
to: you
just come home safely
—
from: you
yes sir 🫡
—
He turns the heat to low to keep the soup warm and sits down to wait.
He hears your key in the lock at 10:15.
The door opens. There’s the familiar shuffle of shoes being toed off, the soft thud of your bag hitting the floor, and then silence, for just a second.
“Soo?”
Your voice comes out quieter than usual. A little rough around the edges.
He appears in the kitchen doorway, dish towel over his shoulder, expression completely neutral in the way that means he’s pleased with himself but will absolutely not be showing it.
You look past him at the table. At the bowls set neatly side by side. At the small steady curl of steam rising from the pot on the stove.
“You made miso soup?” you say. Like you can’t quite believe it.
“You sounded tired.”
“Soo…” Your voice does something complicated. “You didn’t have to—”
“I wanted to.” He steps aside and gestures at the table. “Sit down.”
You open your mouth like you might argue, which both of you know is not going to happen, and then you close it again and shuffle over to the table and sink into your chair like all the air has gone out of you.
He ladles the soup himself. Careful, unhurried, making sure you get enough tofu. He sets it in front of you and sits across from you and says nothing.
You wrap both hands around the bowl first, just holding it. The warmth seeping into your palms.
Then you take a sip.
He watches you close your eyes for exactly two seconds.
“It’s good,” you say, softly.
“I know,” he says.
You open your eyes and look at him, and there’s something in your expression that’s too tired to be complicated. Just open, just grateful, just you at the end of a long day with nowhere left to perform.
“Thank you. I really love you,” you say. Simply. Like it’s the easiest thing.
Kyungsoo looks down at his bowl. The back of his neck feels warm.
“Eat while it’s hot,” he says.
You smile. He sees it even though he’s not looking.
Later, you’re both on the couch. You’re leaning against him with your legs tucked up, already halfway to sleep, your head a comfortable weight on his shoulder. The TV is on but neither of you is really watching it.
“Today was awful,” you mumble into his sleeve.
“I know.”
“Like genuinely terrible. My manager kept moving the deadline and then—” you trail off, and he waits, but you don’t finish the sentence. You sigh instead. “Whatever. It’s over.”
“It’s over,” he agrees.
A beat of quiet.
“The soup was really good,” you say. “I had two bowls.”
“I know.”
“Don’t judge me.”
“I’m not.” He isn’t. He’s the one who refilled your bowl without being asked.
You shift slightly, tucking yourself more firmly against his side, and he adjusts automatically to accommodate you. His arm settles around your shoulders. On screen, something happens that neither of you will remember tomorrow.
“Next time you have a bad week,” you say, already sounding half-asleep, “I’m making something for you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to,” you murmur back at him, and he can hear the small smile in your voice even with your eyes closed.
Kyungsoo looks at the side of your face. The crease between your brows is gone now. Your breathing is already slowing, evening out.
He doesn’t say anything else.
He reaches over and turns the TV volume down lower, until it’s just background noise, just the murmur of something distant and unimportant. He doesn’t move. He lets you sleep.
Outside, the city keeps going. In here, everything is warm and quiet and still.
✮ summary : in another lifetime, maybe they would have stayed.
but in this one, love wasn’t enough to survive distance, exhaustion, and the quiet weight of becoming someone else.
this is a story about two people who didn’t fall out of love. they just… couldn’t hold onto it.
✮ warning / tags: angst, emotional hurt, mutual breakup, love but not enough, career vs relationship, slow drifting apart, no cheating, no happy ending, open ending, soft heartbreak, mentions of emotional exhaustion
It didn’t happen all at once. That’s the worst part.
Losing Beomgyu wasn’t a single moment. It was a slow, quiet unraveling.
At first, it was just small things. Late replies. Canceled plans.
“I’m busy” slowly turned into silence.
You told yourself it was normal.
He was chasing something big. His dream, his career, a life that was finally opening its doors to him. And you were proud. God, you were so proud.
You watched every performance. Every clip. Every little moment he smiled on screen.
But somewhere along the way, you stopped being part of that smile.
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t call last night.”
His voice came through your phone, tired. Not the playful tone you used to know.
“It’s okay,” you said quickly.
You always said that.
“It’s okay”
“I understand”
“Take your time”
You were so good at understanding that you forgot how to ask to be understood.
—
Weeks turned into months.
You started memorizing his absence more than his presence.
Even when he was there, something felt off. Like he was halfway somewhere else.
“Do you still… want this?” you asked one night.
There was a long pause.
“…Of course I do.”
But it didn’t sound like before. Not certain. Not warm. Just careful.
And somehow, that hurt more.
The truth came out on a random Tuesday. No fight, no shouting. Just honesty.
“I don’t think I can love you the way you deserve right now.”
Your heart dropped.
“What does that even mean?”
He exhaled, like he had been holding it in for too long.
“I’m always exhausted. My head is always somewhere else. Even when I’m talking to you, I’m thinking about work, schedules, expectations.”
He laughed quietly, but it wasn’t happy.
“You deserve someone who’s there. And I’m not.”
You shook your head.
“I don’t need perfect. I just need you.”
For a second, just a second, his expression broke. Like he wanted to believe that. Like he almost stayed.
“I tried,” he said, his voice cracking. “I really did.”
That’s when you realized this wasn’t him giving up easily. This was him after trying too hard for too long.
“If I keep going like this,” he continued, “I’m going to start resenting everything. The job, the pressure, even us. And I don’t want to reach a point where loving you feels heavy.”
Silence filled the space between you.
“So what?” you whispered. “You’re just walking away?”
His eyes met yours. And that’s when you saw it. Not a lack of love, but love that was already tired.
“I’m stepping away before I ruin this completely.”
Tears fell before you could stop them.
“You’re already ruining it.”
He flinched. But he didn’t take it back.
“I love you,” he said.
And somehow, that made everything worse.
“Then stay.”
A pause. A breath. A choice.
“I can’t.”
No dramatic goodbye. No running back into each other’s arms.
Just two people standing there, still in love, but no longer in a life that allowed them to stay.
—
After that, things became quiet.
No more late-night calls. No more random messages.
Just occasional check-ins. Distant. Careful. Safe.
Like strangers who knew too much about each other.
—
And now, you stare at his message again.
“Are you okay?”
This time, you understand the question differently.
He’s not asking because he doesn’t know.
He’s asking because he still cares. Just not enough to stay.
You type slowly.
“I’m okay.”
Another lie.
But maybe this time, it’s one you’re learning to make true.
Because sometimes, the most painful kind of love isn’t the one that ends in hate.
Hello! As a request, I humbly ask for perhaps something hurt/comfort with Changbin from Stray Kids? Reader gets excited & sort of yaps but one day Bin is frustrated and snaps, making her insecure. But a happy ending! Please & thank you if you write it or if you don’t! 💖💕💖
HELLOOO! your request is UP! 🎉
[click here]
i just posted it and i was really excited making this because it’s my first request ㅠㅠ
i really hope you like it and please tell me what you think!
✮ summary : after being told she talks too much, reader slowly starts to silence herself, shrinking into shorter replies, quieter moments, and safer words. what once felt natural now feels like something she has to hold back. when changbub notices the absence of her voice, he realizes it’s and just the silence that changed. but her too. and fixing it means learning how to listen the right way.
✮ warning / tags: hurtful words said in frustration, insecurity, self-doubt, emotional, miscommunication, soft angst with comfort & happy ending
a/n : HI HI! thank you for requesting thiss! 🥹💗
i tried my best to capture the hurt/comfort + soft happy ending vibe like you wanted, so i really hope you like it!! 🫶🏼💭
You didn’t notice when it started. At first, it was just small pauses, sentences you didn’t finish, stories you kept to yourself, laughs that stayed in your throat instead of coming out. Because the last time you didn’t stop, he said it.
“Can you just be quiet for once?”
It wasn’t loud, but it echoed. Over and over.
You used to fill the silence. Now, you lived in it. Changbin noticed it slowly—in your shorter calls, in the way you said “nothing much” when he asked about your day, in the way you typed, erased, then sent something safer. Something smaller. Not you.
“Did something happen?” he asked one night.
You shook your head, even though he couldn’t see you.
“No. Just tired.” A soft lie. The kind that sounds harmless but quietly builds distance.
A few days later, you saw each other again. You sat beside him, hands folded, eyes anywhere but him. Usually, you’d already be halfway through three different stories by now. But this time, you said nothing.
“You’re really quiet,” he said.
You smiled, small.
“I’m just trying not to be annoying.”
That’s when it clicked.
“Hey,” his voice softened. “Look at me.”
You hesitated, then did. He looked worried. More than you expected.
“Did I make you feel like that?”
You didn’t answer, but your silence did.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, stepping closer.
“I was overwhelmed, and I took it out on you. That’s on me. Not you.”
Your chest tightened.
“I just thought… maybe I talk too much. Maybe it’s tiring.”
He shook his head immediately.
“No. I like it. I like how you talk. Even when it’s random, even when I don’t fully get it. It makes things feel lighter. It feels empty without it.”
“Really?” you asked, barely above a whisper.
“Really,” he said, smiling softly. “I miss it. I miss you.”
You exhaled, something in you finally loosening.
“I was scared to talk again,” you admitted.
He reached for your hand, warm and steady.
“Then start small,” he said. “You don’t have to be loud all at once.”
“…Okay.”
There was a pause. Then, quietly, “So… I saw this dog earlier, and it was wearing this tiny sweater, and I don’t even know why but it reminded me of you”
He laughed. Soft. Familiar. “There you are,” he murmured.
And just like that, your voice found its way back. Not all at once, not as loud as before, but it’s enough.
And this time, when you spoke, he didn’t just hear you. He listened.
✮ summary : hyunjin comes home stressed and gets angry because you didn’t reply to his messages. you try to explain, but he keeps cutting you off and saying hurtful things.
✮ warning / tags : HEAVY angst, miscommunication, emotional hurt, verbal conflict, harsh words, hurt/no comfort, let me know if i’m missed any ^^
You always knew dating an idol wouldn’t be easy.
Late nights. Missed calls. Unread messages. Waiting in silence while the world screamed his name.
But you never thought it would feel like this.
Tonight felt different.
The moment Hyunjin walked into your apartment, you knew something was wrong. The air shifted—heavy, sharp, suffocating.
He didn’t greet you.
Didn’t even look at you properly.
Just tossed his bag onto the couch and ran a hand through his hair, pacing like something inside him was about to explode.
“Hyunjin…?” you called softly, standing up from the dining table. “Are you okay?”
He laughed. But it wasn’t warm. It was bitter.
“Do I look okay to you?”
You froze.
“I didn’t mean–”
“Then what did you mean?” he snapped, finally turning to face you. His eyes were cold, tired… and angry. “You always say things without thinking.”
Your chest tightened. “I was just worried…”
“Worried?” he scoffed, stepping closer. “Funny. You don’t look worried when you ignore my messages.”
“I didn’t ignore you. I was working, Hyunjin. I told you I had overtime–”
“Excuses,” he cut you off sharply. The word hit harder than you expected.
“I’m not making excuses,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “I really had work–”
“And I don’t?” His voice rose. “You think I’m just playing around out there? You think I have time to sit and wait for you to reply?”
“That’s not what I said–”
“Then what are you saying?!”
You flinched.
The room fell into a heavy silence for a split second, but it didn’t last. Because Hyunjin kept going.
“You don’t get it. You never get it,” he muttered, pacing again. “I’m exhausted, I’m stressed, and the one person I thought would be there for me can’t even reply to a simple message.”
Your eyes started to sting.
“I’m trying,” you whispered.
He stopped.
“Trying?” he repeated, his tone sharp. “This is you trying? Seriously?”
You opened your mouth to explain again, but the look on his face stopped you.
Every time you tried to defend yourself, he only got angrier. So you swallowed your words.
And that only made things worse.
“Say something,” he demanded, his voice low now but more dangerous. “Why are you quiet now?”
“I…” your voice cracked. “I don’t want to make you more upset.”
His jaw clenched.
“So now I’m the bad guy?”
“That’s not–”
“Then stop acting like I am!”
The first tear slipped before you could stop it.
You quickly wiped it away, shaking your head. “I’m not saying that, Hyunjin, I swear–”
“God, you’re so frustrating.”
That hurt. More than everything else.
“I’m doing my best…” you whispered, your voice barely audible now.
“Your best isn’t enough,” he said bluntly.
Silence. It felt like the world stopped.
Your vision blurred as tears fell faster, one after another, no matter how hard you tried to hold them back.
You looked down, hands trembling, afraid to even breathe too loudly.
Because somehow, everything you did felt wrong.
“I- I’m sorry,” you said, your voice breaking completely.
He didn’t respond immediately.
And when you finally dared to look up, he froze.
Because you weren’t arguing anymore.
You weren’t explaining.
You weren’t even looking at him.
You just stood there, crying quietly, like you had already given up.
That’s when something shifted.
“…Why are you crying like that?” he muttered, but this time, his voice wasn’t as sharp.
You shook your head quickly. “I’m okay.”
“You’re not.”
“I said I’m okay,” you repeated, but it only came out more broken.
Hyunjin exhaled harshly, running a hand down his face.
“Damn it…” he whispered under his breath.
The anger was still there, but now it was mixed with something else.
Regret.
“I didn’t…” he started, then stopped. “I didn’t mean to–”
“It’s fine,” you cut him off softly.
That scared him more than your tears. Because you sounded… empty.
“I’ll just… be quieter next time,” you added, forcing a small, shaky smile that didn’t reach your eyes.
And that…
That broke him.
“Don’t say that,” he said quickly, stepping closer again, but slower this time. Careful. Hesitant.
You instinctively stepped back.
And he noticed.
Of course he did.
His expression fell.
“… Did I really make you feel like that?”
You didn’t answer.
Because you didn’t know how to say it without making everything worse again. So you stayed silent.
ɞ . abstract. they tell you what their first impression of you was—and it's not as romantic as you'd have thought. what's romantic about the love of your life writing you off as just a pretty face?
ɞ . warnings / tags. angst. themes of insecurity. discussion of appearance-based stereotypes. unintentional emotional hurt (which makes it worse). feeling underestimated/undervalued. the boys are all idiots and i feel bad for some of them :(
ɞ . note. ib: @/loveyislost's series. part one here. part three here. there will be a part three!
BANG CHAN
the weeks that follow feel like you’re living in a house with the lights dimmed. chan doesn't seem to notice. he still kisses your forehead before he leaves for the studio, still texts you to eat, still pulls you into his side when you’re on the couch.
to him, everything is perfect. but to you, every touch feels heavy with the weight of what he said. girls like you. just a look.
it’s your biggest insecurity, the fear that people only value the surface of you, and hearing it confirmed by the one person you trusted to see deeper has left you reeling. you start to second-guess everything.
when you get dressed in the morning, you stare at your reflection and wonder if he’s right. maybe you are just a pretty face. maybe that’s all you have to offer him.
the thought of leaving him makes your chest ache so sharply you can barely breathe, so you choose the only other option: you stay, and you suffer in silence. you’d rather have a version of him that doesn't fully see you than not have him at all.
but you can't help the distance that starts to grow. you stop sharing your deep thoughts with him. you stop telling him about your day. when he asks why you’re so quiet, you just offer a tired smile.
"just work, channie," you murmur, pulling the covers up to your chin. "i’m just stressed and tired. i’ll be fine."
he buys it. he brushes a thumb over your cheek, his eyes full of sympathy. "my poor baby," he whispers. "don't work too hard, okay? i'm here when you need me."
it hurts to look at him. it hurts to know he’s being so kind to a version of you that he thinks is simple.
you find yourself spending more time at the dorms, but not in chan’s room. you find yourself in the kitchen with changbin at odd hours, or sitting in the studio while he works on tracks. changbin doesn't look at you the way chan does lately. he doesn't treat you like you're fragile or decorative. he challenges you. he asks for your opinion on a beat and actually listens when you give him a technical answer.
one night, it’s 2am. you’re in the kitchen with changbin, sharing a late-night snack and laughing so hard your ribs hurt. changbin just told a story about a recording session gone wrong, and for a moment, you forget the leaden feeling in your chest.
"no way," you gasp, leaning against the counter. "did he actually say that?"
changbin is grinning, his eyes bright. "i swear! i couldn't even look at him for the rest of the day."
the kitchen door creaks open. you freeze, your laughter dying in your throat as chan walks in. he’s rubbing his eyes, looking exhausted, but he stops when he sees the two of you. his gaze flickers from your flushed, happy face to changbin, who’s still leaning toward you.
"oh," chan says, his voice flat. "i didn't know you were still up."
"couldn't sleep," you mumble, the old wall of coldness snapping back into place. "just getting some water."
"we were just talking about the session from today," changbin adds, oblivious to the shift in energy. "she actually had a really good idea for the bridge on the new track."
chan’s eyebrows twitch. he looks at you, then back at changbin. "is that so? i thought you were too stressed with work to think about music stuff."
"it was just a small suggestion, chan," you say softly, heading toward the door. "i'm going to bed. night, binnie. night, chan."
you slip past him, avoiding his eyes. chan stands in the kitchen, watching you go. he likes that you're friends with his members—he really does. but a tiny, poisonous seed has been planted. he remembers how you’ve been too tired to talk to him for weeks. he remembers how you haven't laughed like that with him in a long time.
he looks at changbin, who’s already going back to his food, and then at the empty doorway where you just stood.
"she's been stressed," chan mutters to himself, trying to kill the thought before it grows. "she's just tired."
but as he heads back to his room, he can't stop thinking about the way you looked at changbin.
the idea is rooted now—a dark, stinging thought that maybe you aren't pulling away from everything. maybe you’re just pulling away from him. and the worst part is, he has no idea why.
LEE KNOW
after that night, the kitchen island—once your favorite place to watch him—feels like a crime scene. every time minho looks at you, you wonder if he’s actually seeing you, or if he’s still just marveling at the fact that his trophy can speak.
the doubt settles deep into your bones. you start to think that maybe he’s right—maybe you are high maintenance, or maybe the only reason you’re even in this room is because of a face you didn't choose. you stop dressing up for him. you stop talking about your ambitions or the books you’re reading. if he thinks there isn't much going on behind your eyes, maybe it’s easier to just let him believe it.
you start pulling away, physically and mentally. you don't know what to do, but you can't bear the though of losing you. when he tries to pull you into his lap, you make an excuse about having a headache or needing to finish a project for work.
"you've been working a lot lately," minho observes one evening, leaning against the doorframe of the living room as you stare blankly at your laptop. "are you that stressed?"
"yeah," you mumble, not looking up because you know if you meet his eyes, you'll see that amused smirk. "just a lot on my plate. i'm tired."
"don't overdo it," he says, his voice softening. "you'll get wrinkles."
he thinks he’s being funny. he thinks it’s a lighthearted jab. to you, it’s just another reminder that your value is tied to your skin. you don't even respond, just tap aimlessly at the keyboard until he leaves the room.
you find yourself gravitating toward the practice rooms more often, but you aren't there for minho. you’re there for han. jisung is loud, chaotic, and seemingly always in his own head, but when you talk to him, he actually listens. he doesn't look at you like you’re a delicate porcelain doll; he looks at you like a comrade.
you and jisung start spending hours sitting on the floor of the studio, sharing headphones and talking about everything from deep-seated anxieties to the stupidest memes you found at 3 a.m. with him, you feel like you don't have to "prove" you have a brain. he just accepts it.
one afternoon, you’re in the middle of a heated debate with jisung about song lyrics. you’re gesturing wildly, laughing as you point out a flaw in his logic.
"no, listen!" you exclaim, grinning. "if you use that metaphor there, it ruins the entire flow of the second verse!"
jisung narrows his eyes, a playful grin on his face. "okay, genius, what would you put there instead?"
you lean in, scribbling a suggestion on his notepad. for a moment, you feel light. you feel like yourself.
the door swings open, and minho stands there. he’s carrying two iced americanos, his expression unreadable. his eyes immediately lock onto how close you’re sitting to jisung—how your shoulder is brushed against his.
"oh," minho says, his voice sharp. "i thought you were at the library."
the laughter dies instantly. you pull back, the heavy, dull weight returning to your chest. "i finished early. jisung needed help with a bridge."
minho walks over, setting the coffees down with a bit more force than necessary. "since when are you a lyricist? i thought you told me you were too exhausted to even think."
"i'm just helping a friend, minho," you say quietly, standing up and brushing the dust off your jeans. "it's not a big deal."
"it's cool, hyung," jisung says, sensing the tension. "she’s actually really good at this. she sees things i totally miss."
minho’s jaw tightens. he looks at you—really looks at you—and for the first time, he isn't smirking. he sees the way you look at jisung with an ease you haven't shown him in weeks. he sees the notepad full of your handwriting.
"i'm sure she does," minho says, his voice dripping with an edge you can't quite place. "i just didn't realize you two were so... compatible."
you don’t look at him. “he’s easy to talk to.”
“i’m not?” he reaches out to tuck a stray hair behind your ear, his touch possessive. usually, this would make you melt. now, it just feels like he’s marking his territory on a prize he’s afraid of losing.
"i'm going to get some air," you mutter, grabbing your bag. "see you at home."
as you walk out, minho stays behind, staring at the notepad. at your messy scrawl next to jisung’s lyrics. the thought that someone else—someone like jisung—might know you better than he does is starting to burn.
he thinks you're slipping away, and the worst part is, he still doesn't understand that he’s the one who pushed you.
CHANGBIN
after that day in the gym, something in you shifts. the weights clanking in the background of your mind feel like they're crushing the person you thought you were to him. you stop asking him to go to the gym with you. you stop wearing the cute matching sets he liked, opting for oversized hoodies that swallow you whole.
if he thinks you’re just a "pretty girl" whose personality was an unexpected bonus, you’d rather just hide the... bonus away. what else are you meant to do? bring up your concerns are ruin what you have with him. no matter how upset you are with him, at the end of the day, you love him more than words.
you start staying late at the company, not even because you have work, but because going home to changbin feels like walking back into a display case. you tell him it’s just a busy season, that you’re drained from staring at screens all day.
"you're always so wiped out lately," changbin says one night, his voice thick with concern as he watches you pick at your dinner. "you sure you're okay? maybe you need to get back to the gym, get those endorphins going."
"i'm fine, changbin," you say, the name feeling formal in your mouth. "just tired. my head hurts."
"you've had a headache for two weeks," he notes, his brow furrowing. "do you need a massage? i can—"
"no, it’s okay," you cut him off, standing up to clear your plate. "i just need sleep."
you find yourself hanging out in the common room more, where felix is usually found baking or playing games. felix is different. when he talks to you, he asks about your day and actually remembers the small details—the project you're stressed about, the book you mentioned months ago. with felix, you feel like a person, not a "buy one, get one free" deal.
one night, you’re sitting on the floor with felix, helping him frost a batch of cupcakes. you’re covered in flour, laughing as he tries to show you how to make a perfect swirl.
"no, you're doing it too fast!" you giggle, leaning over to guide his hand. "you have to be gentle with it."
felix laughs, his deep voice vibrating in the small space. "i'm trying! i just don't have your artist's touch, i guess."
he looks at you, his eyes soft and genuinely appreciative. "i really like talking to you. you always have the best perspective on things. i was telling binnie hyung the other day that you're one of the smartest people i know."
your heart twinges. "you told him that?"
"yeah," felix says, nodding. "he just kind of shrugged and said, 'i know, she's great, right?'"
the door opens and changbin walks in, still in his workout clothes. he stops when he sees the two of you on the floor, surrounded by frosting and cupcakes. he looks at your messy hair, your flour-smudged face, and the way you’re sitting so comfortably close to felix.
"you're still up?" changbin asks, his voice tight. "i thought you were going to bed early because of that headache."
the laughter vanishes. you pull your hand away from felix’s. "i felt a bit better. felix needed help."
"right," changbin says, crossing his arms. he looks at felix, who is still grinning at you. "must be some miracle cure. you've been way drained to even watch a movie with me for days, but you have energy for baking?"
"it’s just cupcakes, bin," felix says, sensing the sudden coldness. "we were just hanging out."
"i can see that," changbin mutters. he looks at you, his eyes searching yours for the person he thought he knew. but all he sees is a wall. "i'm going to shower. don't stay up too late. you wouldn't want to be too tired for work tomorrow."
he walks away, his footsteps heavy. you look back at the cupcake in your hand, the frosting now looking a lot less appetizing.
"you okay?" felix asks softly.
"yeah," you whisper, though your chest feels like it's being squeezed. "i'm fine."
you realize then that changbin isn't just confused—he's starting to get suspicious. but how do you tell him that the reason you're distancing yourself is because he made you feel like your only real value was the one thing that will eventually fade?
HYUNJIN
since that night, you feel like you're wearing a costume. every time you put on makeup or pick out an outfit, hyunjin’s words echo in your head: it’s okay if she’s a bit simple. you find yourself staring at your reflection, wondering if he even sees you when he looks at you, or if he's just admiring his own taste in, like, arm candy.
the distance you put between you is subtle at first. you stop sending him the little poems you write or the articles you find interesting. why bother, if he’s just waiting for you to be "more than a visual"? you start declining his invites to help him with his art or fashion projects, using the same excuse every time.
"i'm just tired, hyunjin," you say over the phone, your voice flat. "work is draining me lately. i think i just need to be alone."
"again?" he sighs, and you can hear the pout in his voice. "you've been like that for two weeks. you’re missing the best lighting for the sketches i wanted to do of you."
of me. not with me. it hurts to realize he views your presence as a prop for his inspiration. "sorry. i’ll text you later," you mumble before hanging up, the silence of your room feeling safer than his studio ever could.
you find yourself spending more time at the dorms when he's busy, but you end up tucked away in the corner of the lounge with jeongin. the youngest has a way of being blunt and real that feels like a lifeline. he doesn't treat you like a "pretty girl" or a "doll." he treats you like an older sister, a friend, someone whose brain he actually respects.
you and jeongin start a routine of playing video games or debating the most random topics—philosophy, space, the best way to cook ramen. with him, you feel sharp. you feel seen.
"no, listen," you say, leaning forward as you and jeongin sit on the floor, controllers in hand. "if the universe is expanding, then technically everything is getting further away from us at all times. that’s terrifying."
jeongin scoffs, eyes glued to the screen. "or it’s poetic. it means we have to hold onto what we have even tighter." he glances at you, a genuine, toothy grin on his face. "you think about the weirdest stuff. i like it."
you feel a rare warmth in your chest. "thanks, innie."
the front door clicks open. hyunjin walks in, looking tired but stylish in a long coat. he stops when he sees the two of you. his eyes move from the scattered snack bags to the way you're sitting—shoulders relaxed, laughing with his youngest member.
"you're here?" hyunjin asks, his voice laced with confusion. "i thought you were too exhausted to leave your house. you told me you were going to sleep."
the warmth vanishes. you stiffen, the tired mask sliding back into place. "i just needed some air. jeongin asked for help with a level."
"she's actually cracked at this game, hyunjin-hyung," jeongin says, not picking up on the frost in the air. "she figured out the boss's pattern in like two tries. she’s hella smart."
hyunjin’s expression darkens. he looks at you, then at jeongin, a flicker of something like jealousy—or maybe just hurt—crossing his face. "is that so? i didn't realize you were in the mood for games. you haven't even answered my last three texts."
"i was distracted," you whisper, standing up and handing the controller to a confused-looking jeongin. "i should go. i really am tired."
"i'll walk you out," hyunjin says, his tone clipped.
as you reach the door, he grabs your arm gently, pulling you to a stop. "what's going on? you're too tired for me, but you have energy for innie? you're acting... weird."
"i'm just acting the way people like me act, hyunjin," you say, your voice trembling. "simple, right? easy to read."
he blinks, looking genuinely stung. "oh. wait, i told you i didn't mean it like that. why are you still holding onto that?"
"because you haven't stopped believing it," you murmur, pulling your arm away.
you leave him standing in the hallway, his reflection caught in the mirror by the door. he’s the visual, but for the first time, he feels like he’s the one who can’t see what’s right in front of him.
HAN
after the arcade, everything jisung does feels like it has a footnote attached to it. when he calls you cute, you wonder if he means you're a good accessory. when he compliments your outfit, you wonder if he’s just relieved you’re still maintaining that look he bragged about to the guys.
you start to feel like you’re performing. if he thinks girls who look like you are "watery" and "boring," you feel this exhausting pressure to be constantly on—to be funny, to be nerdy, to prove you have a soul. but the more you try, the more you realize how unfair it is that you have to audition for a position you already hold. eventually, you just stop.
because maybe he's right. maybe that's all you are. just a pretty face.
you stop suggesting games. you stop sending him long voice notes about your theories on the shows you watch together. the distance is a slow bleed, and jisung, for all his social anxiety, is hyper-aware of shifts in energy.
"hey, are you mad at me?" he asks one night, leaning over the back of the couch to look at you. he has that wide-eyed, nervous look he gets when he’s overthinking. "you’ve been... quiet. did i do something?"
"i'm not mad, sungie," you say, keep your eyes on your book. it's the truth—you aren't mad. you're just hurt, and you're scared to lose him. scared to bring anything up. scared you'll get dismissed. you love him too much for that. "i'm just tired. work is a lot right now."
"are you sure? because you haven't even roasted me for losing that match earlier," he tries to joke, but his voice is thin. "if you're mad, just tell me. i can fix it."
"i'm not mad," you repeat, finally looking up. "really. i'm just drained."
he doesn't look convinced, but he lets it go, retreating to his room to game. you feel a pang of guilt, but it’s drowned out by the memory of him calling you a fucking hidden character unlock.
you find yourself going to minho’s apartment more often. it started when you offered to help him with some chores, but it turned into sitting on his floor with soonie, dongie, and dori. minho doesn't demand depth from you. he doesn't talk about aesthetics or first impressions. he just hands you a cat treat and asks if you want tea.
one afternoon, you’re at minho's, laughing as dori tries to fight a feather wand you’re holding. minho is sitting at the table, watching you with that quiet, sharp gaze he has.
"you look better today," minho says. "jisung said you were becoming a hermit because of work."
"it’s just peaceful here," you murmur, scratching soonie behind the ears. "no expectations. just cats."
minho hums, walking over to sit on the floor near you. "jisung’s an idiot. he’s been moping around the dorm because he thinks you’re losing interest. he thinks he’s not 'exciting' enough for you anymore."
you look away, the feather wand falling still. "that’s not it."
the door to minho’s apartment swings open. jisung is there, eyes bright with that frantic energy he gets when he’s been pacing. he looks at you, then at minho, then at the cats.
"oh," jisung says, his voice small. "i didn't know you were coming here. you told me you had to stay late at the office."
the lie tastes like copper in your mouth. "i finished early. minho said dori was acting up, so i came to help."
"right," jisung says, rubbing the back of his neck. "cool. cool." he walks in, but he stays near the wall, looking at the two of you on the floor. "you never come over to play games with me anymore. i thought you were too tired for anything."
"playing with cats isn't exactly high-energy, hanji..." you say softly.
"i guess," he mutters. his eyes land on minho, who is leaning back on his hands, looking entirely too comfortable. "i just didn't think you and minho-hyung were that close. i thought you said his jokes were mean."
"they are," you say, a small, genuine smile flickering on your face. "but at least they’re honest."
jisung flinches. he doesn't know what you mean, but he feels the weight of it. he sees you sitting there with his hyung, looking relaxed and real, and he remembers how you used to be that way with him. it feels like forever since then, and it feels like there's a pit in his stomach.
"i'll leave you to it, then," jisung says, turning toward the door. "i just... i was gonna ask if you wanted to go to that new arcade, but never mind. have fun with the cats."
he leaves before you can answer. minho looks at the closed door, then back at you.
"you should probably talk to him," minho says, though his voice is neutral. "he thinks you're gonna dump his ass."
you sigh, squeezing your eyes closed. "i'm not planning on that."
minho raises an eyebrow. "i know. does he?"
you look at soonie, who is purring contentedly under your hand. you love jisung—you do—but you wonder if you’ll ever be able to go back to the arcade without feeling like you’re just part of the scenery.
FELIX
the weeks following felix’s confession are a blur of quiet heartache. you don't want to be distant; you still love the way his eyes light up when he sees you and the way he hums when he’s happy. but every time he calls you his angel, you wonder if he’s talking to you or the doll he thought he was buying into. the mention of the bet sticks in your throat like broken glass.
a bet.
the reminder makes your eyes sting. because what if you were overreacting? what if you were reading too much into it? what if it was just some stupid guy thing?
you can’t bring yourself to be vulnerable with him anymore. if you show a flaw, will he think you're finally becoming too much to handle?
the brownie on your plate remains untouched. you keep staring at the crumbs, wondering how many of the sweet moments you’ve shared were actually part of a test to see if you were more than just your face. it makes you feel like your entire relationship was built on a foundation of low expectations.
you don't want to be mad at felix—he’s so kind, so gentle—but the thoughts are already burned into your brain. you start to feel like you have to overcompensate for your looks just to prove you’re still tolerable. every time you do your makeup, you feel a surge of guilt, like you’re reinforcing the very stereotype he used to dismiss you.
you start spending less time in the kitchen. the scent of baking, which used to be your favorite thing about his apartment, now makes your stomach turn.
"you're so quiet today, angel," felix says, sliding onto the bench next to you. he reaches out to take your hand, but you’re already standing up to clear your plate. "is everything okay?"
"i'm just tired, lix," you say, the lie coming out easier every time. "work is just draining the life out of me. i think i just need some space to clear my head."
felix’s face falls, his brow furrowing with genuine concern. "oh. okay. do you want me to come over later? i can bring dinner?"
"no, it's okay. i think i just need to be alone for a bit."
you don't go home, though. you find yourself at the studio, sitting in the corner of hyunjin’s workspace. he’s the only one who doesn't make you feel like you're on display. maybe it’s because he knows what it’s like to have people stare at your face while they ignore your heart.
one night, as hyunjin is cleaning his brushes, you finally let the question slip. your voice is small, almost lost in the hum of the air conditioner. "hyunjin... was there really a bet? about me? about how long it would take for him to realize i was... too much?"
hyunjin freezes, his back to you. he lets out a long, heavy sigh and turns around, his expression pained. "oh god, he told you about that? he has no filter sometimes."
"so it's true?"
hyunjin winces, sitting down on the stool across from you. "i wasn't part of it, for the record. i hated that they did that. it was just... stupid locker room talk at the very beginning. the guys thought you looked like the type of girl who would be impossible to keep up with. they didn't think felix would last two weeks because you seemed so out of his league."
"it still feels like they were waiting for me to fail," you murmur, hugging your knees to your chest. "like my personality was just a flaw they were waiting to discover."
"hey," hyunjin says softly, leaning forward. "felix didn't mean it like that. he was just scared of how much he liked you. by the time you guys actually went on your second date, he was already obsessed. he wasn't betting on anything then; he was just falling."
"it still hurts," you mumble. "that he looked at me and thought 'empty' before he even heard me speak. you get it, don't you? how people just... stop at the surface?"
hyunjin's gaze softens, a look of profound understanding crossing his features. "i get it more than anyone. it’s exhausting, having to prove you’re human every single day just because you’re nice to look at. you and i... we have to work twice as hard to prove there’s a soul behind the face."
you find comfort in hyunjin's company over the next week. you talk about art, about the frustration of being underestimated, and for the first time in a long time, you feel like a person, not a "secret."
but felix is starting to notice. he sees your name popping up on hyunjin's phone. he sees you leaving the dorms late at night when you told him you were sleeping.
one evening, you’re walking out of the studio with hyunjin, both of you laughing about a smudge of blue paint on his nose. felix is standing at the end of the hallway, a box of your favorite cookies in his hand. his eyes are wide, his bottom lip trembling slightly.
"you said you were too tired to see anyone," felix says, his voice thick with hurt. "i thought you were at the library."
"i finished early, lixie," you say, your heart sinking. "hyunjin was just showing me his new piece."
felix looks between the two of you, his heart visible on his sleeve. "i just wanted to bring you these. i thought you were stressed. but you look... you look fine."
he turns and walks away before you can say anything. hyunjin looks at you, then at felix’s retreating back. "you should go after him," he whispers.
you stand in the hallway, torn between the boy who loves you but didn't see you, and the friend who sees you but can't fix the hole in your heart. as you watch felix disappear, you realize that by trying to protect yourself from being too much, you might have finally become exactly what the bet predicted: a girl who was too hard to hold onto.
SEUNGMIN
since that night, every interaction with seungmin feels like you’re sitting for an exam you didn't study for. if you’re too quiet, are you being "boring"? if you talk about your day, are you being "self-absorbed"? the domestic silence you used to love now feels suffocating, like a countdown until he decides the risk is no longer paying off.
you start pulling away, the rejection of his words manifesting as a physical barrier. you stop sitting at his feet. you stop asking to hear his demos. when he tries to show you a new verse, you just can't bring yourself to listen; all you hear is the scratching of that pen, reminding you that he once thought you were essentially a waste of a face.
"are you still feeling off?" seungmin asks one afternoon, leaning over your shoulder as you stare at a blank document on your laptop. "you've been like this for over a week. just work?"
"yeah," you lie, your heart hammering against your ribs. "it's just a lot of data entry. my brain is kind of fried. i'm just... really tired, seungmin."
he sighs, a small sound of disappointment. "i was hoping you'd look over these new verses with me. i tried a different rhyme scheme, and i wanted to see if you caught the subtext."
"i really can't," you murmur, not meeting his eyes. "i'm too drained to even read right now."
he looks at you for a long moment, his gaze concerned and searching. "alright. get some rest then, okay," he says, soft and understanding.
the next night, you find yourself in chan’s studio. you had gone to drop off some food, but you saw the absolute state of his digital folders and his physical archives.
knowing chan, he’d never get around to fixing it, so you sat down and started helping. it was mechanical, logical, and—most importantly—it didn't feel like an audition for your own intelligence.
"wait, if we move the raw files into the year-coded folders first, the metadata will stay intact," you explain, pointing at his screen.
chan looks at the monitor, then at you, a look of genuine relief and awe on his face. "wow, i’ve been staring at that mess for three hours and couldn't figure out where to start. your brain works so fast, seriously. you're a lifesaver."
you feel a small, genuine flush of pride. "it’s just organization, chan."
"no, it’s the way you approach it. it's so logical," chan says, leaning back in his chair. "i really appreciate you taking the time to do this, especially since you've been so busy."
the door to the studio swings open. seungmin is standing there, his coat still on, looking like he just arrived from the dorms. his eyes sweep the room, landing on you sitting in the chair next to chan, the two of you hunched over a complex spreadsheet of file names.
the air in the room turns ice-cold.
"seungmin," chan says, oblivious to this. "look at this. she’s literally saved my life tonight. i was about to delete half my hard drive out of frustration."
seungmin doesn't smile. his eyes are fixed on you, cold and hurt. "is that so?" he asks, his voice low. "i thought you said your brain was fried. i thought you were too 'drained' to even read a few lines of lyrics yesterday."
you shrink back into the chair, the familiar weight of shame returning. "i... chan needed help, and this is just... it's just filing, seungmin."
"filing," seungmin repeats, the word dripping with bitterness. "so you have the mental energy to reorganize hyung’s entire life at midnight, but you don't have the energy to talk to me?"
"seungmin, hey, it's not like that," chan tries to interject, sensing the frustration in his tone.
"it’s exactly like that," seungmin says, looking directly at you. his jaw is set, his hands clenched in his pockets. "you just don’t have that sort of time for me, huh?"
he doesn't wait for an answer. he turns on his heel and walks out, the door clicking shut with a finality that makes your chest ache. you stare at the screen, the logical rows of files now a blurred mess through your tears.
chan looks at you, his expression softening into deep concern. "did something happen between you two? he's never been that... sharp with you."
"i don't know," you whisper, though you know exactly what happened. seungmin is jealous because he thinks you’re giving your intellect to someone else, while you’re just trying to find a place where your mind isn't being graded.
I.N.
after that night on the ferris wheel, the world feels a little colder. you find yourself looking in the mirror and wondering if you look empty-headed today.
you start to question every conversation you’ve ever had with jeongin—was he actually listening, or was he just waiting for you to finish talking so he could go back to looking at you?
you don't leave him. you love him too much to let go, even if staying means carrying this heavy, jagged secret in your chest. instead, you just stop trying so hard. you stop sharing your deep thoughts with him. you let him believe you're "tired" from work, a lie he accepts easily because it fits into his busy schedule.
"you've been sleeping a lot lately," jeongin notes one afternoon, found you curled up on the sofa. he brushes a strand of hair from your face, his touch light and affectionate. "work must be really draining you, huh?"
"yeah," you whisper, closing your eyes so he can't see the sadness there. "i just don't have much to say lately."
"that's okay," he says, kissing your temple. "you look cute when you're sleepy."
it hurts. it hurts that it's like he's perfectly fine with you being quiet and empty" as long as the view stays the same.
you find yourself seeking out seungmin more often. it starts when you join him at a library café, both of you working in silence. seungmin is the one who notices when you’re actually thinking. he’ll look up from his books and ask you questions that require real answers—questions about logic, about the world, about your actual opinions.
one evening, you and seungmin are sitting in the dorm lounge, deeply immersed in a crossword puzzle that’s notoriously difficult.
"four down," seungmin mutters, tapping his pen against his chin. "a nine-letter word for 'a state of near-unconsciousness or insensibility.'"
"lethargy?" you suggest, leaning over his shoulder.
"too short," he counters. he thinks for a second. "stupor? no. oh, wait—inanition?"
"no, it’s 'ebullient' if we change the across word... wait, no, it's 'lassitude,'" you say, your eyes lighting up as the pieces click together.
seungmin grins, a genuine look of impression on his face. "lassitude. that's it. i never would've gotten that. you have a really impressive vocabulary."
you feel a rush of warmth that has nothing to do with your looks. "thanks, seungmin. i just read a lot."
"i know you do," he says simply, turning to the next page. "you're one of the few people i can actually do these with without getting frustrated."
the door opens, and jeongin walks in, dropping his bag by the coat rack. he sees the two of you huddled over the paper and stops. he’s used to you being "tired" or "out of it" when he comes home, but here you are, animated and sharp with seungmin.
"hey," jeongin says, his voice a bit strained. "i thought you said you were going to take a nap because your head ached."
the light in your eyes dims instantly. "it felt better," you say, your voice dropping back into that neutral, quiet tone. "i just needed a distraction."
"you're doing the crossword?" jeongin asks, walking over. he looks at the complex grid, then at you. "i didn't think you liked those. they're kind of... intense, aren't they? i usually just do the word searches."
"she's actually better at it than i am," seungmin says, not looking up. "she has a very 'well-spoken' mind, remember?"
seungmin is quoting what you told him about the ferris wheel—the one person you finally broke down and vented to. jeongin flinches at the word, a flicker of recognition and guilt crossing his face.
"i'm gonna go to our room," you say, standing up quickly. "i think the headache is coming back."
jeongin watches you walk away, then looks at seungmin. his hyung is still looking at the crossword, but his expression is stern.
"what?" jeongin asks, feeling defensive. "i was just surprised. she's always so low-energy with me lately."
"maybe it's because you told her you didn't expect her to have much value besides her face," seungmin says, finally looking up. his voice is cold. "she isn't low-energy, jeongin. she’s just hiding from you."
jeongin stands in the middle of the room, the silence of the dorm suddenly feeling very loud. he squeezes his eyes shut, dragging a hand down his face. “oh, shit.”
“yeah,” seungmin sighs, shaking his head. “oh, shit.”
summary: you've never been the jealous type, but when you notice a makeup artist's strange behaviour around chan, you just can't let it go.
word count: 3.9k
tags/warnings: angst, arguments, miscommunication, reader is a producer at jype, jealousy, implied infidelity, happy ending (in part 2)
a/n: sorry it has been months since my last post 😅 this fic has been a wip since aug 2023 and i've finally gotten around to finishing part 1! hope it was worth the wait
read it on ao3 | part 2 | masterlist
When Chan first talked to you about keeping your relationship a secret, you had agreed right away. You were a pretty private person anyway and the fact that it wasn’t a complete secret - the members, your families, close friends, and management all knew - helped a lot too.
You know that Chan is mainly worried about crazy fans who might start targeting you, while you’re less concerned about your safety and more focused on how the news would negatively impact his reputation and career as an idol. Both of you know that it would make all the work that you’ve done as a producer for JYPE that has helped with Stray Kids songs seem less professional and more like favouritism.
Although you wish that you didn’t have to hide, pretending to be single has been something that the two of you have struggled with multiple times in the past, you know it's for the best. At least working for the same company has its own perks, such as being able to work together on songs without it being suspicious and the knowledge that most of the time, you're only a few floors away.
So on nights like tonight, when you've ended up working late and most of the other staff have gone home for the day, you can just text Chan to ask if he wants to meet up.
[Sent 8:02pm]
Hey are you still at the company?
[Received 8:04pm]
Yup
You too? It’s so late…
[Sent 8:04pm]
Says you
but yeah, I’m about to leave
[Received 8:06pm]
Come say hi?
I’m getting ready for a schedule
But there’s still a bit of time
Chan sends you the number of the room that he’s in and you quickly finish packing your things so that you can make your way over. The door is closed when you arrive, but since Chan invited you, you knock and open it yourself.
What you find inside makes you raise an eyebrow.
Chan is sitting in a chair with headphones in and eyes closed, he likely didn’t hear you knock. But what surprises you is his makeup artist.
You’re no stranger to the way that the stylists and makeup artists have to be physically close with the idols and you’re pretty comfortable with it since you know it’s strictly professional. But the way that this makeup artist has positioned herself is a little suspicious.
She’s pressed herself as close to Chan as possible and has both hands touching his face as she applies eyeshadow. Her own face is unnecessarily close to Chan’s.
She must realise how questionable it must look because when you clear your throat to try and get their attention, she jumps away immediately, almost poking Chan in the eye with the eyeshadow brush in the process. It causes Chan to notice, and he pulls off his headphones, face brightening once he sees you.
“Hi,” you say awkwardly. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“Nope, all good,” Chan reassures you. “Have you two met before? Y/nnie, this is Harang-ssi, one of our makeup artists, she’s here to make me look presentable before my schedule. Harang-ssi, this is Y/n-ah.”
“Nice to meet you, Harang-ssi,” you say, bowing slightly.
“Nice to meet you, too,” Harang echoes politely. As she looks at you, she spots something that makes her eyes widen and her smile a bit more genuine. “Oh, are you also staff?”
“Yeah,” you say slowly, looking down at your lanyard that must have given you away. “I'm a producer with the company.”
For some reason that relaxes Harang even further. Instead of commenting, she steps closer to Chan again, reaching towards him to continue applying makeup. You stare, surprised by her boldness and how oblivious she seems to the way that Chan has started to angle his body away from her, trying to create distance between the two.
“Well?” Harang asks impatiently after you don't say anything else. “Go ahead with whatever you’re here for. Chan-ssi has a schedule soon.”
You stare at Chan, not sure how much he wants to share. To someone observant, he’s already given you away by using a nickname and speaking to you far more casually than he would if you were only a producer. The two of you dating isn’t exactly a secret, but the more people who know, the more likely it might get leaked to the public.
“Uhm,” Chan says, looking at you as if to gauge your expression as he speaks. At the sound of his voice, Harang pulls away from him slightly, clearly surprised that he’s speaking first. “Actually, I wasn’t sure if I should say anything, but Y/nnie isn’t just a producer at JYPE. I asked her to come by because she’s my girlfriend.”
“What?” Harang’s face drops. She looks devastated, although by the time Chan looks away from you, she’s managed to school her face into one of polite surprise and let out a fake giggle. “Oh I didn’t- I didn’t know you were seeing anyone, Chan-ssi.”
“Yeah, that’s good actually! We’re trying to keep it quiet,” Chan explains. “You understand, right? You can’t be too careful these days.”
“Of course,” she agrees immediately. “I won’t tell anyone.”
“Great, thanks.” Chan smiles and Harang’s whole face lights up in response. Before she can say anything else though, Chan turns to where you’re still hovering by the door and reaches a hand out. “Y/nnie, why are you still so far away? Come over here.”
It’s hard to stop the blush that erupts on your face. You think that Chan is so cute when he’s clingy, but you haven’t had any opportunities to get used to PDA so it’s still a little embarrassing. From the corner of your eye, you can see that Harang’s face is puckered like she’s swallowed something really sour. When you get close enough to grab Chan’s hand, he pulls you into his arms. Since he still hasn’t gotten up from his chair, he’s practically buried his face into your stomach.
“Yah!” you laugh. “You’re going to get makeup all over my shirt!”
“Oh sorry.” Chan pops his head back up, blinking at you owlishly. “You’ll forgive me, won’t you?”
“Yes, yes, of course,” you reply, using your free hand to comb through his hair, smiling as Chan leans into your touch. “But I’m not sure if I can say the same for Harang-ssi, you’re ruining her hard work!”
Chan turns away from you, looking surprised when he sees Harang hovering awkwardly at the table where all the makeup is spread out.
“Ah, you’re still here?” he asks innocently. You wince inwardly, knowing that even though Chan didn’t mean anything by asking, but even to you it sounds passive aggressive.
"Oh sorry, I wouldn’t want to get in the way, I'll just take a quick break and come back in a second!" she says, smiling sickly sweet when Chan thanks her even though it’s obvious that she doesn’t really want to leave.
"That was kind of… awkward," you comment as soon as the door closes behind her, not quite sure what to make of her conflicting behaviour.
"What do you mean?"
"Were you not there? She basically glared at me when you told her that we were together, she clearly did not like me."
"It could be that she was just caught off guard, I mean, I haven't exactly been broadcasting to all of JYPE that I have a girlfriend."
“Yeah and she probably imagined herself as being able to fill that role. She was so touchy!” You don’t want to be a whiny girlfriend, but that doesn’t mean you can’t complain when somebody is showing obvious interests in your boyfriend and he’s doing nothing to stop them.
“Oh, that’s just how she always is.” Chan shrugs. “With the rest of the guys too, we’ve all gotten used to it. Really, she doesn’t mean anything by it.”
“So since she does that to everyone, it’s okay?”
“Y/n-ah, just leave it!” Chan groans. “I didn’t ask you to come by so that we could argue about something stupid.”
“Fine,” you say, a little hurt and uneasy that Chan’s just brushing you off. “If you say so. I guess I just don’t know her that well.”
“I promise she’s a good person. I don't want you wasting your time worrying about her. Now, how was your day?”
“It was good, busy. I didn't mean to stay so long, but I got caught up with something and didn't realise how much time had passed. Actually, I should probably go now,” you say.
“What? But you just got here,” Chan whines.
“You have a schedule soon,” you remind him gently. “And as you said, it's late. I'm going to head home and eat something.”
“You didn’t eat yet? Y/nnie, you shouldn’t skip meals! Here, I can order you something, what do you want?”
“It’s fine, I’ll just grab something on my way home,” you say. “And you’re one to talk, did you eat dinner yet?”
“As a matter of fact, I did. I tried a new place and it was good!” Chan pauses for a second to take out his phone. “Actually, I think you’d like it, I’ll just get you what I got and you can tell me what you think.”
“Oppa, it’s fine-”
“Too late!” Chan proudly shows you his screen which shows that in just a few seconds, he’s finished placing an order. “It’ll arrive around the time that you get home.”
“Thanks oppa,” you say fondly, kissing the top of his head, then the dimple that forms on his cheek as he smiles. “I hope your schedule goes well and that you don’t have to stay for too long.”
“Text me when you get home, okay?”
“Okay. I'll let you know how the food is.”
You don't stay long after that, quickly saying goodbye before leaving the room. You find Harang waiting in the hallway, typing on her phone. When you let her know that she can go back and apologise for interrupting, she barely acknowledges you, just rolls her eyes and walks past.
You try to not let it bother you, but her two-faced attitude rubs you the wrong way. At least you likely won't have to deal with her again, you only met now after working at the same company for a few years and you're in no hurry to change that.
—
A few days later, you get an instagram notification that someone has requested to follow you. It's unusual because you’re not the type to post much and your account is private, even though you're still careful to avoid any pictures or mentions of Chan or the rest of Stray Kids.
It’s Harang.
Odd, since she definitely gave off the impression that she didn’t like you.
Curious, you click on her profile. It's fairly generic at first glance, a majority of the photos feature her which isn’t much of a surprise. However, one of the most recent pictures catches your eye.
It's a mirror selfie taken in one of the company rooms that the stylists and makeup artists typically use. There's someone in the background and although their face isn't showing, you can tell it's Chan. The picture itself is harmless, Harang could have been a bit more vigilant before posting it, but it could easily be explained away as a mistake. It’s when you see the number of likes and comments compared to her normal posts that has you concerned.
Opening up the comments just proves that your wariness of Harang wasn’t entirely unfounded. One of the top posts is a comment that says ‘Is that your boyfriend?? you look so cute togetherrr’ to which Harang just replied ‘🤭’. There's another reply that makes your stomach drop ‘isn't that Chan?? he's dating someone????’
A number of comments argue about whether or not it’s Chan, if the photo has been edited, and questioning who Harang is. They talk about the clothes the man in the picture is wearing, his posture, height, hair, and compare it to other pictures of Chan.
Scrolling through some older posts, you start to find a pattern of pictures that are similarly suspicious. None of them are completely obvious, the man’s face is always turned away or cropped out, but there’s enough showing for you to recognize it to be Chan and you know that his fans are observant enough to do the same.
"Hey," you say, pulling Chan’s attention away from where he’s playing a game on his phone. "You know that makeup artist I interrupted the other day?"
"Yeah, Harang? What about her?"
"She requested to follow me on Instagram," you say slowly, still trying to figure out how best to word everything. "Did you know?"
"Did I know she sent you a follow request? How would I know that?" he asks incredulously.
"No, more like, did you know about her account."
"Well I'm certainly not surprised that she has one, but no, I haven't looked at it before. Why? What's with the sudden interrogation?"
“I think that she’s been posting photos with you in them,” you say, putting it bluntly.
“With me? Are you sure?”
“Not directly you, but just. It’s like, the side of you or your back or something. But I can tell.”
“All the staff have contracts that prohibit taking pictures with or of us. Y/n, I get that she made you feel a bit uncomfortable that time you met her and I’m sorry, but do you really think she would risk her job like that?”
“Well when you put it like that-” you start to say.
"I know you two maybe got off on the wrong foot, but Harang is really sweet," Chan interrupts. “We’ve worked with her for years and she’s been nothing but nice. Maybe she’s a bit more touchy than others, but she’s never crossed any boundaries.”
"Something about her feels weird, like there’s something more going on. These posts-”
“Just drop it, there’s nothing to be concerned about. She’s harmless.”
“You keep saying that but I’m telling you-”
"Why, are you jealous?" he asks, adopting a teasing voice. He pulls you into his arms. "You know that you're my girl, right?"
“Chan, I’m not jealous!” you snap, pushing him away. Chan looks at you, startled by your seriousness. “I really don’t like her. And you keep defending her and I don’t know how to feel when you’re taking her side and not mine.”
“Okay fine,” Chan says, finally backing off although he seems a bit annoyed. “I can’t avoid her at schedules, but I’ll be careful when she’s around, okay?”
“Okay.”
There’s a moment of silence and you think the conversation is over, but Chan speaks again.
“I just wish that you’d trust me a little more. You know that I wouldn’t do anything like that.”
“Of course I trust you,” you say. “I just don’t trust her, she’s- I can tell she’s up to something.”
“Well she can be up to whatever she wants, it’s not going to change the fact that you’re the one I love. She can have feelings for me, but I’m never going to reciprocate them.”
“Fine, I won’t bring it up again,” you say, feeling exhausted.
Dropping the issue without getting Chan to fully understand your concerns feels like defeat, but you can tell that pushing more won’t get you anywhere. You haven’t even broached the part that bothered you most about the posts - the fact that Harang has been seemingly pretending that Chan was her partner - but if Chan already doesn’t care, this detail isn’t going to change his mind.
You don't want to make too much of a fuss about it, maybe it really is a non-issue and you're overreacting, but something about this whole situation just doesn't sit right with you.
—
You're a bit surprised when a few weeks later, Chan asks you to go on a date, even more so when he mentions that he was able to book a private room at a fancy restaurant the two of you had talked about trying before. It wasn't that he never treated you or made time for you, it was just that his busy schedule and caution around fans finding out about you meant that the two of you stayed in more often than not.
The last time you had done something like this was on your anniversary a few months ago and while you enjoy the comfortable and quiet dates at home that you usually have, you're touched by Chan's initiative to do something more special.
The night of the date, you're still in the process of getting ready when Chan texts.
[5:47 pm - received]
Sorry baby, I'm going to be staying late tonight
Have some things that I need to finish up
You know how much Chan tries to prioritise spending time with you, so you figure that it must be something really important that came up. You understand that he doesn't have much of a choice when the higher ups ask something of him, but it's hard to stop the disappointment that crashes over you. Still, you want to support him and cheer him up, guessing that he already feels bad about having to bail.
[5:52 pm - sent]
It's fine! Don’t work too hard ^.^
[5:55 pm - received]
Thanks
Miss you
[5:56 pm - sent]
Miss you toooo
It had been so long since you had been on a proper date with Chan that you had started getting more and more excited as the day had approached. You had even bought a new dress that you'd been eyeing for a while and had left work a little bit earlier than usual to get ready. Now it feels like it was all for nothing. At least he told you before you left the house, but you've already finished your makeup.
Not wanting to waste the evening, you message a couple friends and make plans to grab dinner. It’s been a couple months since the three of you have been able to get together and you have fun catching up at a pocha eating street food.
When you finish your meal, the three of you discuss going to a noraebang next and you take out your phone to help search for the nearest one.
You get a notification that one of your friends has posted a story of you and your dinner, so you open up Instagram to like it. You’re about to switch to Naver Map when the screen changes to a story that Harang has posted. The second that you see it, there's this horrible, heavy feeling that starts to grow in your chest, making it harder to breathe.
The picture is focused on the food that’s on the table, but even a short glance is enough for you to recognize that the hands of the person sitting across from Harang belong to Chan. If you weren’t sure from just the hands, his signature bracelets and the bunched up sleeves of his hoodie confirm your suspicions. Even the food that has been ordered matches Chan’s preferences.
Oh.
So Chan wasn't working late.
He was out.
Having dinner.
With Harang.
The girl that you had warned him about.
The one that he had promised to stay away from.
Instagram moves to another story, but you navigate back to Harang’s page to look at the picture again. This time, you notice that there’s a caption at the bottom of the screen that says ‘late night meals with him <3’.
You want to throw up.
Instead, you lock your phone with shaky hands and take a deep breath, trying to stop the tears that have begun to sting your eyes. You don’t want to be the crazy, jealous, and possessive girlfriend that overreacts or jumps to conclusions every time they see their partner spending time with others.
But this isn’t you randomly accusing him without any cause. It’s reasonable for you, his girlfriend, to be upset when he’s spending time one-on-one with another woman, even more so because that other woman is pretending online that she's dating him.
No matter what you think, there is no good reason that would explain why Chan would have dinner with Harang tonight. If it was just the picture, you could have accepted it as Harang being her usual, delusional self, but the fact that Chan would cancel plans and deliberately lie to you about it…
“-okay, Y/n?”
You just manage to catch the end of your friend's question and you look up to find both your friends staring at you with identical concerned expressions.
“What?” you ask, trying to play it off by laughing but even you can tell it doesn't sound convincing. “Sorry, I think I zoned out.”
“Are you okay?” one of them repeats gently. “Did you get some bad news?”
“No, not that, it's just I’m not feeling well all of a sudden. I think I should go home,” you say to your friends. You must look just as horrible as you feel because as soon as they see your face, they immediately stop what they’re doing to fuss over you.
“What do you think it was?” one of them asks.
“I think something just didn’t agree with me,” you say weakly.
“But we shared all our food, were you feeling sick earlier?”
“No, it's fine, I think I just need to rest a bit.”
As much as you want to spill everything to them, to yell and scream and cry. To shake them and ask what you've done to deserve this. To make them check and see if you're actually going crazy. You can't.
They don't know Chan, they wouldn't understand how complicated your secret relationship is. But mostly, you don't want them to know. You want to keep the shame and embarrassment that's clawing in your chest to yourself.
You don't think you could handle it, watching their expressions turn to one of pity. You know there's nothing they could say to make you feel better anyway.
Your friends order you a taxi to take you home, making you promise to message them when you make it back safely. You manage to do that, sending a couple words to your group chat the second you stumble out of the vehicle.
Somehow you make it back to your apartment. You didn't drink tonight, but the way that the ground seems to be moving from under you, the unsteadiness of your hands as you try to unlock your door, and the roiling nausea that you've barely kept at bay, it feels like you've finished a couple bottles of soju by yourself.
You had suspected something was going on and this was just confirmation that you were right. Maybe it had been dumb of you to just believe Chan when he said there was nothing to worry about - of course he would say that. You had chosen to trust Chan and he had let you fall.
The worst part is, you don't even feel mad.
In fact, you don't feel anything at all. The gross and sick feeling that had taken over your body has been replaced with a heavy numbness. It fills your limbs and dulls the pain that you know is simmering just underneath your skin so that all that's left is this deep ache.
!Warnings: angst, swearing, reader can't cook, Minho is mean due to stress, reader has childhood trauma Minho does know abt, lmk if I missed any
You and Minho have been together since 3 years. In these 3 years, you've had your ups and downs, but Minho never really insulted you, or cared about your childish personality, he always had loved to take care of you, well that was, until a few days ago.
Due to his job, Minho had been very busy with recording and practice, during to which you barely had seen him nor talked to him.
You asked him every day if he ate, put out clothes for him to sleep when he came back late night and was too tired to take them by himself. You cared about him, just as much as he did, or as he once did.
Today, he said a couple days ago, he'll be home early and eat with you, so you wanted to go grocery shopping, making sure you have everything you needed at home and for that you had to ask him what's for dinner today, or that was your original plan, till..
You were in pure shock. You didn't even know if you should cry or laugh at his behavior. He never acted like this, not even when he was more than mad at you and he knew, why you don't want to cook. It's more about the knifes than the cooking itself, but he knew why you wouldn't take a knife in your hand, he knew and accepted it, saying you wouldn't need to and now?
You sigh and sat in the living room for about an hour.
18:36
You stood up and decided to take matters into my own hand. If he doesn't want to cook for you, you'll try doing it yourself even if that mean getting hurt and having a panic attack. That's what he wanted anyway, no?
You made your way to the kitchen and took out some ingredients out of the fridge to cook. You put all the ingredients on the kitchen plate and stare at the knifes, your past flashing before your eyes. Your dad, your mom hurt, screaming and crying. You reach for the knife, hands trembling as you take it. You stare down at it, my breathe quicking, as everything goes black. The last thing I heared was a loud bang of my head hitting the ground and the last thing I felt was the knife falling down out of my hand on my leg...
Minho was in the practice room. He went out for a walk after he texted you to cool down and came back to apologize to you and tell you to not enter the kitchen, since he just realized what he said. Of course you can't cook....you couldn't. How stupid and dumb of him. How dumb of him calling you clingy when the truth is you weren't, when the truth is, it's hurts you if he says this.
When you don't answer any of his calls or messages, he started to worry. What if you hurt yourself while trying to cook...and it would be his fault....
He excused himself and ran towards his car. He has to go home. As fast as possible.
