pairing: william eklund x reader | fluff, slight angst, a bit suggestive at the end | friends to lovers | wc: 3k+ | warnings: one of the main characters got cheated on in the past | namu's notes: i was WILLING to write a smut for this one but i'm struggling to do it, so i'll post it before ella reads the open ending (she might actually k*ll me). yeah, byeee!!
i'm going under
storm, lightning, thunder
i'm drowning in the deepest of truths
fuck, i think i'm falling for you
— tsunami, by niki zefanya
it happened during a gathering with your friends. well, they weren’t around at the time, some of them lost the game you played to decide who would run to the grocery store before the second period started. you and william were left alone in the living room, your legs over his lap on the couch, which he was mindless tracing his fingers on your skin. the commercial playing on tv was something about taking your lover to one of the most beautiful places on earth — valentine’s day was close by. the invitation got lost on the tip of your tongue, that’s when you realized.
"oh gosh."
"what?" he looked at you.
"i like you!"
"you what?"
"i think i'm falling in love with you!"
you were terrifyingly excited over something so sensitive, that’s why william kept his eyes on you, waiting for the laugh telling him it was a joke. but what he got was a shy giggle as you jumped off the couch, covering your face.
he knew you were aware of his issues with romantic feelings, he knew you were aware of his past relationship. what just happened?
"y/n..."
“goodness, this is so fun! i know you're emotionally unavailable, don't worry,” you pointed.
"it’s not that— listen, you just confessed out of nowhere and it looks like i just proposed to you!"
"yes! i finally know how it feels! isn't it great?!"
william frowned, utterly confused by your reaction. he couldn’t get why you were so happy when you knew he didn’t feel the same. his first girlfriend was his first love back in sweden, but things got messy when he got drafted to the nhl. that was when her behavior started to make sense; how she kept on shaming him for being romantic, that he didn’t have to be so performative about his love — even in private. “that’s not the aura of a professional athlete, okay? you’re so charming, try being more cooler towards me, that’ll keep me interested,” she used to say. he was so blinded by his feelings for her that he didn’t realize how alarming that was. he molded his behavior to please her, just to be cheated on with a guy that was cooler than him, the ideal man to just have fun and enjoy popularity. william didn’t know he was molding himself to become a ladder. then when other women looking for fun started showing up in his life, he came to terms with the environment he would live in from that moment on.
“y/n, i’m not ready for this. we talked about it before."
"listen," you paused to look at the door, lowering your voice so you wouldn’t get caught by your friends. "it’s like an experiment."
"what the hell? what's that supposed to mean? you're scaring me." william put a hand over his chest.
you sat by his side once again, as ready as you would be for a business presentation.
"i want to experience this. i want to give you my feelings and enjoy this while i can. since you won't feel the same, i can easily get over you later."
"that's not how it works, dear."
"i will make it work."
william covered his face and groaned. damn, she’s adorable, he thought.
"please, please, please!" you begged. "this is such a big moment for me, you know i’ve never been in love before."
"and why would you like me?" he stared, making you gulp.
"i have a lot of nice things to tell you, but only if you agree. i'd never do something to make you uncomfortable."
the longest william pondered, the longest you scanned his face — and the need to kiss him all over was strong. he noticed when you got lost in your own thoughts and squinted, holding a smile to himself.
“alright, let’s do this.”
the touch of his hand on your cheek brought you back, making a radiant grin flash on your lips. you went to hug him, but stopped mid action, silently asking for permission. when he crossed his arms around your waist, everything made sense. the scent of his cologne was usually the one that got stuck on your clothes because not only you were always together, but william used to be the last one to hug you goodbye after taking you home. the warmth of his body was also responsible for everything you were feeling in that moment, which kind of hurt to think that you wouldn’t be able to be this close anymore without making it weird for him.
later, you got home and did your night routine, excited about your team’s win and for the realization about your feelings. william wasn’t allowed to take you home that night, “i might not be able to hold myself from kissing you, so let me get my uber in peace.” you didn’t realize how he had to turn around so you wouldn’t see him blush.
you: permission to be corny
eky: sighs- permission granted
you: i hope you show up in my dreams tonight, hopefully it won’t be weird
i won’t tell you if it is
eky: and if it’s sexy?
you: do not flirt with a woman in love if you’re not willing to give her what she wants
eky: my lips are sealed.
you: i like them, btw
eky: my lips?
you: yeah, love when you smirk trying to pretend i’m not the funniest person you know
and i love when you laugh out loud, even when i can hear from a distance
i love how it makes your nose wrinkle, it’s adorable
eky: i’m not adorable, but thank you
you: you are to me
i’m so excited to be cheeky when i notice all the things that made me feel like this
eky: glad you’re having a good time
you: sorry you don’t feel good about romance anymore, thank you for not being weird about me
eky: it’s okay, you deserve to know how it feels
i’ll try to be a great first love for you
you: oh
my heartbeat is speeding up right now, gotta blast
eky: cute
sweet dreams
you: goodnight, eky
you took a long time to sleep, your racing thoughts didn’t give you a break. your mind kept replaying the events and planning everything for the next day. one of them was telling one of your closest friends, so she would prevent you from going crazy when necessary. the following days, you worked with a silly smile on your face, dismissing your colleagues that teased you about it. you spent some of your breaks writing love letters, giggling like a high school girl because of how exciting everything was. the butterflies on your stomach, the scenarios playing in your brain, the chills every time you thought about william’s touch. you allowed yourself to be delusional, to enjoy every sensation of pure joy that love delivered.
“how will he talk about other girls if he knows you like him? it’s not like he can keep acting normal,” lena said after you spilled what was going on.
“he already didn’t before, so.” you shrugged. “have you seen him with someone lately?”
“no, but that’s not the point. you want to enjoy the feeling of being in love, but you need to be realistic that it will hurt because it’s unrequited.”
“yeah, he’ll keep on living his life…”
“i love it for you, it’s such a beautiful feeling.” she held your hand. “i need you to be careful, don’t want you to be disappointed.”
“i get it, thank you for helping me back down a little,” you said, a tight smile on your lips. “i’ll be seeing him tonight, i’ll give him the love letters i wrote.”
“love letters?” she gasped and started laughing. “girl, you’re down bad!”
“i am!” you admitted, covering your face. “i’m wondering if this is considered some kind of love bombing because i’ll have to get into a lockdown at work for the next week.”
“well, depending on his reaction to your actions, he might show up at your door just to spend time with you,” she suggested. “you know eky is a romantic, he’s just been through a lot.”
“yeah, don’t want to scare him off,” you worried. “well, once last month i wasn’t responding enough so he showed up with groceries and nagged at me until i took a break.”
your friend squinted her eyes, suspicious.
“have you ever considered how comfortable eky is with you in comparison with the rest of us?”
“i didn’t, it’s just that i’m more of a touchy person, but he has other love languages with everybody.”
“i agree, i love my quality time with him, but i sense it’s so different from what i see between you two.”
“okay, don’t do this. i’m already struggling not to jump on him, i don’t want to think of the possibility of any truth in his flirting.”
“he flirts with you?!”
“yeah, well, he has these witty responses to my confessions. you know how cocky he can be.”
“y/n, my love, i need you to be so serious right now.”
“it’s enough that he’s letting me enjoy this first love thing, i won’t go further than that. period.”
“okay, okay. once again, be careful, but pay a little more attention. i might not be overreacting here.”
you arrived at william’s place with your heart in your sleeve. that could be a metaphor or simply all the words you wrote in those journal pages, mixed with cute doodles and printed pictures of you two. you were focusing on not being embarrassed when he opened the door. william looked like the cuddliest human being on earth, his soft cologne taking up your senses when he immediately hugged you.
“hey, dear. craving sushi tonight? it might be here at any moment.”
“sushi is nice,” you agreed, throwing yourself on his couch.
“how was work today?”
“pretty calm right now, to be honest. but we’ll be locking down for the next week to step up in the research of this new found element.”
“oh, are we talking about nasa classified shit?”
“no!” you burst out laughing. “it’s just that we need to have a lot ready for the seminar at the end of the month, so i’ll be working even at home.”
“got it. so i won’t be seeing you for a whole week?”
your eyes softened instantly.
“i think so. i don’t know how i can make it work, lena already said she’ll be texting every three hours to check if i’m taking care of myself.”
“well, i can do that in person. did that before, no?”
“yes, indeed. but what about the games?”
“i can’t accept that you won’t watch them, so i gotta show up and talk about each of them. i’ll be resting as well, so don’t worry about me.”
“okay, you know where the key is.” you smiled. “now tell me how you’re expecting the next matches.”
couple hours later, after you and william devoured the japanese food, he put on the highlights of a game you missed recently. he ended up as one of the top stars, skating around and scoring like he owned the opponent’s ice. at some point, though, your focus changed from the tv to his face, expressions immersed in every aspect of his story.
“y/n.”
“i can’t stop looking at you, what the hell,” you muttered, regretting as soon as it came out.
“kinda creepy,” he teased.
“i know!” you admitted, averting your gaze. “i just like seeing you happy, that’s all.”
his eyebrows raised, william couldn’t hold back the grin hearing you be so forward with your words. he liked watching you be in love, although he still didn’t know how to deal with the fact that he was the one you were in love with.
the silence didn’t go unnoticed by you, which suddenly made you self conscious.
“too far?”
“hm?” william was brought back. “no, don’t worry.”
“now i’m thinking back on giving you the love letters i wrote.”
william gulped, turning his whole body towards you.
“you wrote me love letters?”
“you don’t have to read them, to be honest. it was good for me to reflect on what made me like you romantically when i already loved you as a friend.” unable to hold his gaze, you looked back to the tv now paused in a random player. “and it’s been kind of hard not to touch you like usual or feeling all the time that i’m making you uncomfortable or how you can’t talk to me about other women because you don’t want to hurt me.”
william held your hand, stopping your ramble.
“dear, look at me.” he touched your cheek. “i love you, alright? nothing’s changing that. i feel honored to be your first love, i don’t feel uncomfortable at all. and there’s no other women to talk about.”
you tilted your head and chuckled, making his hand drop from holding your cheek.
“thank you for reassuring me, eky.”
“well, there’s actually a woman that’s been writing me love letters and i still haven't had the chance to read them. i’ll update you when i do, though.”
you laughed, biting your lower lip to hold a gasp when you noticed he was closer than before, his other hand still holding yours. his warm touch was making you dizzy.
“i saw you sighing and licking your lips, dear. you’re not subtle at all,” he said, finding hilarious how he could watch you be a mess in front of him. he was loving every second of it.
“i wasn’t trying to be. i’m more focused on thinking of something else.”
“yeah? like what?”
“like how i’ll hide my spare key so you won’t actually see me for a week,” you whispered. “i need time away from your touch, ‘cause right now it feels like we both want the same thing.”
you noticed when his eyes quickly dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes.
“and what do you want right now?” he whispered back, a haze starting to grow in his eyes.
“i want to go home and hopefully not dream of you tonight,” you said, standing up mid sentence. it confused you to see william seemingly disappointed with your reaction. “this week will be good for us, i mean, i can’t wait to go back to normal.”
william hummed quietly, his body defeated against the couch’s backrest. he was exactly the opposite of you, his eyes wouldn’t leave you for a second.
“i’ll be counting the days ‘till i see you.”
“william!”
his eyes went wide when your tone raised.
“the past week has been fun, but i’m starting to feel sorry for myself.” you bit the inside of your cheek. “i’m in love with you, that’s nice, now it’s time to start getting over it so i can be you dear friend again.”
william frowned, but no words came out of his mouth.
“i think i exposed myself enough, so i won’t give you the letters. i’ll take them as memories of a good time,” you decided, a smile tinged with sadness. “in the future, when it happens again, i’ll recognize it easily enough to do something about it sooner.”
“dear, i’m really sorry.”
“no, it’s my fault. i know what you went through, i know your reasons, that’s why it needs to stop now.” you nodded. “i don’t feel bad about liking you, though, it’s not that. i’m glad my heart made the right choice, it was just not the right timing.”
you got your purse and headed for the door. you heard a frustrated sound coming from him, but you didn’t look back.
“förbaskat, this is not fair,” he muttered, standing up to catch you before you opened the door. “y/n, wait.”
“yeah?”
“i can’t stop myself from living a real love story just because someone else hurt me. i don’t know why my mind got so blurred when i know i’m happy with you, it’s freaking dumb to let you go when i feel the same.”
you didn’t dare to interrupt his train of thought — too shocked to do that, honestly.
“i want to read all your letters, to hear all your confessions, i want to write you my own as well, to tell you beautiful words even though they won’t be as poetic as yours. being loved by you is amazing, loving you is amazing. i don’t know how different it can be from what i already feel. i want you emotionally and physically, i want to be the one you're still in love in the future. so please don’t give up on me yet, let me try to be the boyfriend you deserve.”
william waited, almost out of breath. you just stared back at him, thoughts going crazy around your head.
“eky,” you whispered.
“yes, dear.”
“i have this need right now to kiss the hell out of you. all the touches i held the past week are tingling my skin for having you so close.”
“i can take you, baby. just say the word.”
your purse dropped to the floor, you took a step closer to him.
shake my earth, suck the air out, burn me down
it's like you've known me through all my past lives
what an evil thought
wreck my plans, stop me dead, kiss me now
“your love, give it to me. don’t hold back.”
his hands were all over you in a second. it seemed like william was doing his best to be delicate with the first kiss, but your enthusiasm matched his, which turned everything too intense. your hands went down his sweatshirt, the warmness of his skin against your hands gripped a moan out of the both of you. he reached the back of your thighs and picked you up without warning, ripping a small scream from you, which made you both laugh.
“that was freaking sexy, but don’t scare me like that.”
“sorry,” he pampered you with kisses all over your face. “promise to be more vocal from now on.”
summary: stays always talk about how chan is secretly their oomf on twitter, but they never stop to think that a member’s secret girlfriend could also be their oomf
status: ongoing
ʚɞ part 1
ʚɞ part 2
ʚɞ part 3
ʚɞ bonus: chan gf oomf companion fic by @astrayapple
ʚɞ part 4
ʚɞ april fools special
ʚɞ poly skz special
ʚɞ bonus: lee know oomf series by @starlostjisung
ʚɞ bonus: han oomf fic by @chanslaptopbattery
ʚɞ bonus: hyunjin oomf fic by @gyuzies
ʚɞ bonus: jeongin oomf series by @miniseungkimcami
ʚɞ bonus: felix oomf series by @mikashisus
── 爱𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 ͟♥︎ . . 📞 this was inspired by a convo my bby @eyisy and i had yesterday so all the credits go to her !!!!!!!!! i feel like i heavily rushed this towards the end bc cramps were killing me so if this flops #forgiveme #iloveu plsdontflopplsdontflop
◟✪𓈒 67⎯ @its-stayville-forever @box-troll @woozarts @katsukis1wife @nctly @reignessance @peskybirdysya @honeyybbuubblleess @ellemir2404 @4ng3l-ch1ld @urlocalmultigroupfan @ashtxrie @minlixyaoi @shuuporanglinos @bobaluvzz @yourfavoriteakutagawakinnie @mhluvie @channieschocco @m-325 @my-neurodivergent-world @unbel1ve4ble @cowboylikemalika @jeonginsbae @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes @tricky-ritz @mangojellyyy @coquettecookiestay143 @hwangjoanna @jjuniebinnie @queenofdumbfuckery @wheresangel @warped-rabbithole @amarecerasus @straykiisses @hyunnerism @alisonyus @bangingchanxx @simpqueen2025 @pillbaby-main @chuahuahua @wheresangel @firstclassjaylee @shinwonderful @lolawritesforlove @hyunjinniemylove @babrieeee @midnite-fiction @eyisy @itsraininghyunebuckets @satan-223 @mikachux3 @itsraininghyunebuckets @lovelyjinirets @written-by-music
ⓘ pssst . . . ✉️ ( ´͈ ᵕ `͈) get added to the taglist.
ⓘ strikethrough = @ not working! please update it in the same form.
thank you so much reading! comments, likes, asks & reblogs are always appreciated! ❤︎
summary: stays always talk about how chan is secretly their oomf on twitter, but they never stop to think that their oomf could be dating a member of stray kids, or that she could be dating all of them
a/n: happy 8 years to our boys!! i’ve been a stay for 8 months, 8 is fate ugh, and it has been the best 8 months ever! i love them so much and am so proud of them. they led me to meet such amazing friends and other stays i am so grateful <3 also please tell me your thoughts on the new song they released for us! i have been crying about it ever since it came out
*this is a oneshot poly skz spin off of my seungmin his gf is oomf series! there will not be another part for this poly skz version. i just wanted to make something fun and silly for the boy’s anniversary with my oomf concept! also please ignore that i reused the twitter profiles this does not take place in the same universe i was just too lazy to make new ones lol*
After Bang Chan gets discharged from the hospital, he tries to outrun the hollow spaces in his memory. You linger like something important he can’t reach—familiar, painful, unfinished. Drawn back to you despite the distance, he begins to unravel, caught between what he’s forgotten and what he can’t seem to let go.
❛ ━━━━━━･❪🐺❫･━━━━━━ ❜
The next few days blurred into a painful routine of hope and heartbreak.
You stayed by Chan’s side as much as the hospital allowed, bringing him small comforts—his favorite hoodie, playlists you’d made together, and quiet stories about the missing year. The members gave you both space when they could, but they were never far, hovering protectively while the group quietly announced a temporary hiatus until Chan was fully healed and ready.
Every afternoon, Chan would look at you with that careful, searching gaze and ask questions like he was piecing together a puzzle with half the pieces missing.
“Tell me about our first date,” he said one evening, voice soft as he sat up in the hospital bed, the cast on his arm resting awkwardly in his lap.
You hesitate.
“I want to understand it,” he continues.
“Because the way I look at you in those videos… I’ve never looked at anyone like that.”
Your throat tightens.
“You don’t have to force anything, Chan.”
“I’m not forcing it,” he says quickly.
“I just… I don’t want to lose something that mattered that much. Even if I don’t remember it.”
You swallowed the lump in your throat and smiled faintly.
“It was nothing fancy. You snuck me into the practice room after midnight because you said you wanted to show me the choreography for a song that hadn’t been released yet. We ended up ordering tteokbokki and eating it on the floor. You kept messing up the steps on purpose just to make me laugh. Then you played the demo on your phone and asked me if it felt like ‘us.’”
Chan listened intently, brow slightly furrowed, nodding along like it was a beautiful story someone else had lived.
Not his. Never his.
“Sounds… nice,” he murmured. “I wish I could remember laughing like that with you.”
He kept asking.
About how you met, about the silly arguments you had over who got the last bite of ice cream, about the way he used to call you at 4 a.m. when he couldn’t sleep just to hear your voice.
Each time, he listened with genuine curiosity, but his eyes stayed distant—polite, appreciative, but empty of recognition.
Still, small things began to surface in him unconsciously.
He noticed how you always took your coffee with oat milk and two sugars, sliding the cup toward you exactly the way you liked before you even asked. He noticed how you grew quiet when sadness crept in, your shoulders curling inward, and he’d gently bump his knee against yours without thinking. He noticed you always sat on his left side, close enough that your arm brushed his when you leaned in.
One rainy afternoon, while you were sharing a small meal in his hospital room, a bit of sauce clung to the corner of your lip. Without hesitation, Chan reached over and wiped it away with his thumb, the gesture so natural, so familiar, that time seemed to stop.
Both of you froze.
His thumb lingered for half a second against your skin, warm and gentle—the exact motion he used to do a hundred times before. Your breath caught. Chan’s eyes widened, confusion and something deeper flickering across his face before he pulled his hand back like he’d been burned.
“I… sorry,” he whispered, voice rough. “I don’t know why I did that.”
You couldn’t speak. That single touch felt like a crack in the wall between you, but it wasn’t enough to bring the memories flooding back.
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
Weeks passed.
Chan was discharged from the hospital, and the members insisted on taking a full break—no schedules, no recordings, no pressure—until he felt like himself again. You continued visiting him at the dorm, bringing food, sitting with him on the couch while he tried to catch up on the music he’d missed, helping him relearn the new choreography through videos.
He was kind. Always kind.
He smiled at your stories, thanked you for being there, even held your hand once when you looked particularly tired.
But the distance remained.
He still looked at you like a cherished stranger, not like the person he once loved with his whole guarded heart.
The ache inside you grew heavier with every passing day.
Until one quiet evening, when the dorm was empty except for the two of you, you finally couldn’t hold it in anymore.
You sat on the couch, hands twisted in your lap, voice barely above a whisper.
“Chan… I think you should just move on.”
He looked up sharply from the notebook he’d been scribbling half-remembered melodies in.
“I don’t want to be someone you feel obligated to love,” you continued, eyes stinging with unshed tears. “You’re trying so hard, and I can see it. But every time you look at me, it’s like you’re forcing yourself to feel something that isn’t there. I can’t keep watching you struggle like this. It’s killing me. So… maybe it’s better if I step back. Let you heal without the weight of a relationship you don’t remember.”
The silence that followed was devastating.
His mouth opened, but no words came out at first. His eyes—those beautiful, tired eyes—filled with a pain he couldn’t name.
That night, after you left with a quiet goodbye and a soft kiss on his cheek that felt like farewell, Chan couldn’t sleep.
He lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, the dorm unusually quiet without the usual chaos of the members. His chest felt tight, heavy in a way that had nothing to do with his lingering bruises.
The thought of you leaving—of never seeing your quiet smiles again, of never hearing the way you said his name like it mattered—hurt.
Not because of memories.
But because of feeling.
A deep, inexplicable ache bloomed behind his ribs, raw and unfamiliar yet impossibly real. It wasn’t recollection. It was something newer, something born in the present: the terrifying realization that even without the past, the idea of losing you carved a hole in him he didn’t know how to fill.
He pressed a hand over his heart, breathing shallow.
“…Don’t go,” he whispered into the empty room, voice breaking in the dark.
But you were already gone.
And for the first time since the accident, Christopher Bang felt something terrifyingly close to love… and the fear of losing it all over again.
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
Chan drowned himself in work.
Even though the members had agreed on a break, he couldn’t sit still. He watched every performance video from the past year on repeat, mouthing lyrics he didn’t remember writing, learning choreography his body had already mastered once.
The small flashes of recognition — a familiar beat here, a harmony he instinctively knew — pumped adrenaline through his veins like nothing else.
“Hyung, you should rest,” Jisung said gently one night, watching Chan replay the same bridge for the twentieth time.
“I can’t,” Chan muttered, fingers flying over the keyboard. “I lost a whole year. I need to catch up. The fans are waiting. The group… we can’t stay behind.”
Every tiny success lit a fire in him.
When he perfectly recreated a rap flow he’d forgotten, when he instinctively fixed a melody that felt “off” even though he didn’t remember composing it — those moments made his chest swell with purpose.
For the first time since waking up in that hospital bed, he felt like he was moving forward instead of drowning in everything he’d missed.
But the memories of you started slipping in at the worst times.
It began small.
One afternoon in his kitchen, he opened the cupboard and saw the oat milk carton.
His hand paused mid-reach.
“YN used to like these, right?” he said quietly, almost to himself.
The words hung in the air before he even realized he’d spoken them. He froze, staring at the carton like it had burned him.
A few days later, while scrolling through old photos on his phone for reference, he landed on a candid shot from a late-night convenience store run.
A pack of strawberry candies sat in the corner of the frame.
“She liked these too… the sour ones,” he murmured, thumb hovering over the screen. His heart stuttered.
Why did he know that?
He didn’t remember buying them. He didn’t remember handing them to you. But the knowledge was there, soft and insistent, like muscle memory.
Each time it happened, he stopped cold.
The momentum he’d built in the studio shattered for a few painful seconds. He’d rub his chest unconsciously, feeling that same unfamiliar ache from the night you’d told him to move on.
The small recognitions kept coming, uninvited.
He caught himself humming a soft melody one evening on the balcony — the exact tune he used to play for you when you couldn’t sleep. He stopped singing the moment he realized.
Another time, while helping Hyunjin pick out a new hoodie online, a soft gray one popped up.
“I think YN would’ve liked that color on me,” he said without thinking, then immediately closed the tab, jaw tight.
The fragments were torture.
They weren’t full memories — just echoes, feelings, habits.
Enough to remind him that something important had lived in the space he couldn’t reach, but not enough to bring you back.
After three weeks of this, Chan couldn’t take it anymore.
He showed up at your apartment building unannounced one night with hoodie pulled low over his eyes. His heart was hammering harder than it had during any comeback stage.
He didn’t even know what he was going to say.
He just knew he needed to see you.
You opened the door after the third knock, eyes widening in surprise. You looked tired — the kind of tired that came from forcing yourself to move on.
The promise ring was no longer on your finger.
“Chan?” Your voice was soft, guarded. “What are you doing here?”
He stood there in the hallway, searching your face like he always did — hoping something would click. It didn’t. Not fully. But the ache in his chest sharpened into something unbearable the moment he saw you.
“I…” He swallowed hard, voice rough from disuse and emotion. “I keep remembering things. Not big things. Just… little pieces. The oat milk. The strawberry candies. The way you always sat on my left. How you go quiet when you’re sad.” He let out a shaky breath, stepping closer.
“Every time it happens, I stop. Everything stops. Because it feels like my body remembers you even when my head doesn’t.”
You stayed silent, arms wrapped around yourself.
“I’ve been drowning in work, trying to get back on track with everything Stray Kids missed,” he continued, eyes glistening. “And it helps. It really does. But then these fragments of you keep cutting through, and I… I don’t know what to do with them. They hurt, but they also feel like the only real thing in all this mess.”
He lifted his hand like he wanted to reach for you, but let it fall.
“I know you told me to move on. I know I’m not the person who loved you before. But tonight, when I was in the studio alone, I caught myself reaching for my phone to send you a voice note. And it hit me… even without the memories, the thought of you walking away completely is tearing me apart in a way I can’t explain.”
His voice cracked, raw and desperate.
“I’m not asking you to wait forever. I’m not even asking you to love me again right now. I just… I need you to know that these little pieces of you keep finding me. And every time they do, I stop and wonder what kind of idiot I must’ve been to have someone like you and not be able to remember it.”
He looked at you, eyes pleading, the rain still clinging to his lashes.
“So I came here. Because I’m scared that if I keep drowning in work and ignoring these feelings, I’ll lose the only parts of you that are still trying to come back to me.”
The hallway light flickered above you both. Chan stood there, vulnerable, no longer the confident leader who had thrown himself into schedules to forget the emptiness.
Just a man chasing fragments of a love he couldn’t fully recall — but was starting to feel all over again.
You didn’t speak right away.
The words you’d said weeks ago still hung between you — I think you should just move on. You had meant them. You still did, in a way.
It wasn’t that you didn’t want to help him remember you.
God, you wanted that more than anything.
But you refused to force something he didn’t truly feel. You wouldn’t become an obligation, a task he tackled out of guilt or responsibility.
“I…” Your voice came out small. “I don’t want to push you into this, Chan. If we try, it has to be because you want it. Not because you feel like you owe me the past. Not because the members are watching or because it’s the ‘right’ thing to do. If the feelings aren’t there… if they never come back… I can’t survive watching you pretend.”
Chan’s breath hitched. He stepped closer.
“I know,” he whispered. “I’m scared too. But these fragments… they keep pulling me toward you. And the thought of you walking away for good — it hurts in a place I don’t even have memories for. So yeah… I want to try. Please. Let me try.”
You searched his face for any sign of doubt. There was none — only raw, uncertain hope.
Slowly, you nodded.
The moment you did, Chan closed the distance and pulled you into his arms, holding you tight against his chest. His uninjured arm wrapped around your back with surprising strength, his face buried in your hair. For the first time since the accident, he held you like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
The following weeks became a careful, exhausting blur.
Stray Kids eased back into light activities now that Chan was healing well — short dance practices, vocal sessions, and group meetings where they revisited old concepts without pressure.
Chan threw himself into it with renewed fire, the small sparks of recognition coming faster now.
A familiar chord progression. The way his body instinctively knew the new choreography. Late-night studio sessions where melodies he’d half-forgotten started flowing again.
Each tiny victory lit him up, pumping him with the drive to keep going.
But every evening, he came back to you.
You helped him relearn your relationship in the gentlest, most painful way possible — piece by fragile piece.
You sat together on the couch late at night and went through old photos on your phone.
“This was the night you cooked for me,” you’d say softly, showing him a blurry selfie of burnt pancakes and both of you laughing.
He’d stare at the image, brow furrowed, then quietly ask, “Did I make you laugh like that a lot?”
You told him stories about your first real fight, how he’d shown up at your door the next day with flowers and apologies. How he used to trace little stars on your wrist when he was anxious. He listened to every word, sometimes reaching out to touch your wrist absentmindedly, as if his fingers remembered what his mind didn’t.
Small memories kept surfacing — triggered by scents, sounds, touches.
One night, while you were cooking together, he unconsciously started singing the exact silly song he used to make up for you when you were stressed. He stopped mid-verse, eyes wide, and whispered, “That was for you, wasn’t it?”
You nodded, throat tight. “Yeah… it was.”
But it wasn’t all gentle progress.
There were nights when nothing came back. Nights when he looked at you with that lingering distance, frustration and guilt etched across his face.
“I’m trying,” he’d say, voice cracking as he held your hands. “I swear I’m trying so hard. But sometimes it still feels like I’m reaching for someone else’s life. And I hate that I’m hurting you while I do it.”
You’d pull him close then, letting him bury his face in your shoulder. “I know. I’m not asking for perfect. Just… don’t force it if it’s not there.”
Yet every time he held you tight — like he had that first night at your door — something in him seemed to settle. His arms remembered the shape of you even when his mind was still catching up.
The members watched quietly, supportive but worried. Changbin would text you encouraging messages. Minho would leave snacks for both of you with a small note: Take it slow.
Chan was getting better every day — stronger, sharper, more like the leader they all knew.
The memories of Stray Kids’ recent year were slowly knitting back together.
But the memories of you came slower, softer, like fragile threads he was terrified of snapping.
Still, he kept reaching for them.
And every night, when the apartmenr grew quiet, he’d pull you into his arms again, holding you like you were the one thing anchoring him to the missing pieces of himself.
“I don’t remember all of it yet,” he whispered one night, lips brushing your temple as rain tapped against the window. “But the parts that are coming back… they feel like they belong to you. And that scares me. Because what if I remember everything… and it still doesn’t feel enough? What if I remember how much I loved you… and I can’t love you the same way again?”
You closed your eyes, heart breaking and mending at the same time in his tight embrace.
“Then we’ll figure it out,” you whispered back.
Because loving Chan had always hurt a little.
And forgetting him — even for him — hurt even more.
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
In the quiet dark of his apartment room at 3 a.m.
Chan had fallen asleep exhausted after another long night of catching up on Stray Kids’ schedules.
The members were giving him space, the apartment unusually still.
He’d been replaying old voice notes on his phone — ones he didn’t remember recording — trying to force the pieces together.
His body gave out before his mind did.
In sleep, the dam finally broke.
It started as fragments, the same small ones that had been teasing him for weeks: the taste of strawberry candy on your tongue, the way you always took your coffee, the soft sound of your laugh in the empty practice room.
Then the flood came without mercy.
He saw everything.
The nervous way he’d asked you out that first time, heart pounding louder than any stage.
The rainy balcony where he’d kissed you so hard he forgot how to breathe.
The nights he’d crawl into your arms and whisper “I love you” like it was the only truth that mattered.
The promise ring, the way your fingers trembled when he slipped it on.
The way you looked at him like he was more than Stray Kids’ leader — like he was just Chan, your Chan.
Every memory slammed into him at once, vivid and merciless.
The love.
The laughter.
The fear of losing you to his idol life.
The way he’d promised you he’d always fight for “us.”
Chan woke up gasping, tears already streaming down his face before he was fully conscious. His chest heaved like he’d been drowning and finally broke the surface.
The room spun.
His heart hurt so badly he clutched at it, nails digging into his hoodie.
He remembered.
He remembered everything.
And you weren’t here.
The realization hit harder than the accident itself — you were ten minutes away in your own apartment, probably trying to sleep after another day of quietly helping him while protecting your own breaking heart.
He had left you alone with the weight of his amnesia for weeks. He had looked at you like a stranger. He had made you say the words “maybe you should move on.”
Chan didn’t think. He didn’t change clothes. He didn’t even grab an umbrella.
He ran.
The streets were slick with rain, neon lights blurring through his tears as he sprinted the short distance between the his and your building.
His lungs burned. His legs ached from the healing bruises. But none of it mattered. The only thing that existed was the desperate need to reach you — to hold you before the guilt swallowed him whole.
He reached your door, soaked to the bone, chest heaving, knuckles slamming against the wood with shaking hands.
You opened it after the third frantic knock, eyes wide with worry, still in your pajamas, hair messy from sleep.
“Chan? What’s wrong? Are you okay—”
The moment he saw your face, the face he now remembered loving with every fiber of his being, something inside him shattered.
He lunged forward without a word.
His arms wrapped around you so tightly it lifted you slightly off the ground. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, body trembling violently as broken sobs tore from his throat. Rainwater dripped from his hair onto your shoulder, mixing with his tears.
“I remember,” he choked out, voice raw and cracking. “I remember everything. Oh God, baby… I remember.”
His hold tightened, almost desperate, like he was afraid if he let go even an inch you would disappear the way his memories had. His fingers dug into your back, clutching the fabric of your shirt as if it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the present.
“I’m so sorry,” he sobbed, the words muffled against your skin. “I’m so fucking sorry I forgot you. I forgot us. I forgot how you sound when you laugh, how you feel in my arms at 4 a.m., how you made the whole world quiet for me. I looked at you like you were nothing and you stayed. You stayed even when I didn’t deserve it.”
He pressed his wet cheek harder against yours, lips brushing your ear as more tears fell.
“I remember the roof. The ring. The way I promised you I’d never let you feel alone. I remember loving you so much it terrified me because I thought being an idol would take it away… and then it did. It took me away from you.”
His voice broke completely, shoulders shaking with the force of his cries.
“Don’t let me go,” he begged, holding you even tighter, rocking you both gently in the doorway. “Please. I know I hurt you. I know I made you think you were forgettable when you were the best thing that ever happened to me. But I’m here now. I’m me again. And I love you. I love you so much it hurts.”
He pulled back just enough to cup your face with both cold, trembling hands, thumbs desperately wiping at your tears even as his own kept falling.
His eyes — red, swollen, but finally, achingly familiar — locked onto yours with devastating clarity.
“I’m home,” he whispered, voice hoarse and shattered. “I came home to you.”
Chan looked at you — really look at you — his hands still cupping your face like you were something fragile and irreplaceable. His eyes, red and swollen from crying, searched yours with a depth that hadn’t been there for weeks.
No more polite distance. No more careful stranger.
Just raw, devastating recognition.
And then he kissed you.
It wasn’t gentle.
It was desperate — the kind of kiss that tasted like relief and regret and eight months of love he’d lost and suddenly found again. His lips pressed to yours with trembling intensity, salty from the tears still streaming down his cheeks.
More tears fell as he kissed you, hot and endless, mixing with the rainwater on his skin.
He made a broken sound against your mouth, half-sob, half-whisper of your name.
The moment your lips met, something deeper unlocked inside him. More memories flooded in, sharper and more vivid than before.
The way you used to kiss him backstage after stressful performances — quick and secret, just enough to ground him. The slow, lazy kisses on lazy mornings when he’d sneak you into his bed. The way you tasted when you smiled into his mouth. The way your fingers always found the back of his neck, pulling him closer like you never wanted to let go.
His heart ached in the best and worst way possible — a beautiful, crushing ache that reminded him exactly how much he had loved you, how much he still loved you, and how terrifyingly close he had come to losing it all forever.
He kissed you harder, tilting his head, pouring every unspoken apology and every recovered memory into it. His thumbs brushed your cheeks, wiping away your tears even as his own kept falling.
When he finally pulled back for air, forehead resting against yours, his breathing was ragged and his voice came out wrecked.
“I feel it,” he whispered, lips brushing yours with every word. “I feel everything again.”
Another tear slipped down your cheek and landed on your lips. He kissed it away immediately, soft and reverent, then kissed you again — slower this time, deeper, like he was trying to memorize the feeling all over again.
“I’m so sorry I made you wait,” he murmured between kisses, voice thick and trembling. “I’m so sorry I looked at you like you were someone I didn’t know. You were my everything. You are my everything.”
He held your face a little tighter, eyes squeezing shut as fresh tears spilled. The ache in his chest bloomed wider — not painful in a bad way, but overwhelming in its intensity.
Love. Guilt. Gratitude. Longing.
All of it crashing through him at once because of one kiss.
“I love you,” he breathed against your mouth, the words shaky but certain. “I love you so much it hurts right now. In the best way. Like my heart is finally waking up and it’s screaming because it missed you this whole time.”
He kissed you once more, lingering, pouring every recovered memory and every new feeling into it. His arms wrapped around you again, pulling you flush against his soaked body as if he could fuse the two of you together so nothing could ever separate you again.
In the quiet doorway, with rain drumming against the walls and tears still falling freely, Chan held you and kissed you like a man who had been given back his entire world — aching, grateful, and terrified of ever forgetting again.
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
The rain had finally stopped by morning, leaving the world outside your apartment quiet and washed clean.
Chan woke first, just like he used to.
Soft morning light filtered through the curtains, painting your bedroom in gentle hues of gold and pale pink. He lay still for a long moment, heart full and aching at the same time, simply watching you.
You were curled tightly into his side, face pressed against his chest, one leg draped over his, your hand fisted loosely in the front of his hoodie like even in sleep you were afraid he might slip away again. Your breathing was slow and even, warm against his collarbone.
Everything from last night came rushing back — the flood of memories, the desperate run through the rain, the way he had lunged into your arms crying, the kisses that tasted like tears and second chances.
His chest tightened with overwhelming gratitude.
He didn’t move to wake you. Instead, his hand found the curve of your back and began stroking slow, soothing lines up and down your spine — the exact gentle rhythm he used to use when you couldn’t sleep after a long day.
His fingers were careful, reverent, tracing every dip and rise like he was relearning the map of you.
With his other hand, he threaded through your hair, playing with the strands, twisting a lock around his finger before letting it fall softly.
He pressed a feather-light kiss to the top of your head, then another to your forehead, his lips lingering as if he could pour every ounce of love and apology into your skin.
“I’m here,” he whispered against your hair, voice low and hoarse from last night’s tears. “I’m right here, baby. I remember you. I remember everything now.”
He kissed your temple, then the bridge of your nose, then the corner of your closed eye where a dried tear track still lingered.
“Thank you for not giving up on me,” he breathed, lips brushing your cheek. “Thank you for staying even when I looked at you like a stranger. You’re so strong… so patient. I don’t deserve you, but God, I’m so grateful I have you back.”
Another kiss, this time to your jaw, then just below your ear — random, tender presses wherever his lips could reach without waking you.
“I love you,” he murmured between kisses, the words spilling out like a quiet vow. “I love you so much it still hurts in the best way. You’re my safe place. The only one who makes the noise in my head stop. I missed you even when I didn’t know how to miss you.”
His fingers kept stroking your back in slow circles, while his other hand continued playing gently with your hair. He nuzzled closer, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head, then your shoulder, then the spot where your neck met your collarbone.
“You make me want to be better,” he whispered. “Not just for Stray Kids. For you. I promise I’ll never take this — take us — for granted again. Never.”
You stirred then, a soft sound escaping you as consciousness slowly returned. Your body shifted against his, eyes fluttering open, still heavy with sleep.
The second you moved, Chan tightened his hold, pulling you even closer until there was no space left between you. Both arms locked around you protectively — one hand still buried in your hair, the other splayed wide across your back as if he could shield you from every painful week you’d endured.
“Shh… don’t go anywhere,” he murmured, voice warm and thick with emotion, lips brushing your forehead again. He pressed another kiss there, then to your temple, holding you tighter as you fully woke in his arms.
“Stay right here with me. Just a little longer. I’ve got you.”
His fingers resumed their gentle strokes along your back, playing with your hair, while he scattered more random kisses — your cheek, the tip of your nose, the corner of your mouth — each one soft and full of quiet joy.
“I’m so happy,” he whispered against your skin, voice cracking just slightly. “I’m so happy I remember. I’m so happy you’re mine again.”
He held you like that, tight and unwavering, heart beating steady and full against yours — grateful, happy, and finally home.
Yang Jeongin hates physical touch. But finally meeting Bang Chan's best friend has him reconsidering...
Words: 1.8k
A/N: Bad day at uni means you guys get a oneshot, i hope you enjoy it! If i survive the camera training tomorrow, i might post the next part of Duty Calls...
Everyone in the building already knew you before you stepped foot into their world. And that was entirely Bang Chan’s fault.
Nightly facetimes in the studio where he’d get your opinions on a lyric, ask how everything was back home, tell you how much he missed having his best friend beside him. You’d laugh and tell him you’d be there soon, very soon.
The others waved enthusiastically when Chan showed them the screen and you’d wave back politely. Felix would steal the phone and run around the practise room, trying to escape the wrath of his leader while asking you if he was your favourite.
“She’s never even met you!” Chan screamed, and you hid a small smile.
Now as you walk through the crowded airport, luggage dragging behind you, you can’t contain your excitement, almost spiriting to the exit where eight men anxiously await.
“There she is!” Chan’s voice booms, mask pulled down to his chin. Your legs struggle to keep up, but soon enough you’re standing in front of him, hand stretched out. He swats it away and pulls you into a tight hug. “Since when did we do handshakes.”
“You’re crushing me Channie” Your words fall on deaf ears as he continues squeezing you, as if you were there for only him.
Felix groans, “Let go, I want to meet her!’ He rushes over, making you pull away from Chan with a wide smile.
“Felix! It’s so nice to finally see you!” He hugs you like he’s known you for years, his body vibrating with excitement.
Soon enough everyone follows. Han side-tackles you, causing you to almost tumble. Changbin wraps one arm around you and the other around Lee Know, “You owe us a cook off.”
Even Seungmin, who was stood away from the others embraced you, muttering something like, “Finally someone who can keep up with me.”
It all felt easy, familiar.
Then you turn to the last one. Jeongin was standing behind the others, hands stuffed in his pockets.
You had seen him before, but not often. He was quiet, only saying hello when Chan urged him to. He looked different in person. You didn’'t know if it was the air or just the shock from seeing them all, but he looked quieter, more shy.
You smile and open your arms instinctively. There’s a flicker, something in his eyes, and he steps forward, hands coming out of his pockets.
But then someone speaks, “Careful.” Hyunjin warns, “He’ll push you away if you even try go near him.” He laughs, and you freeze mid step, arms falling to your sides.
“Oh my god- I'm so sorry,” You laugh awkwardly, “I didn’t mean to assume.” You offer your hand sheepishly, “Handshake?”
For a second, he just looks at you, his shoulders deflating. Then he takes your hand, his grip warm and welcoming.
“Yeah,” he says quietly, “I don’t really like that stuff.” The words taste bitter on his tongue, but he says nothing. When you pull away, his lips part, as if he wants to say something else, but nothing comes.
It became a pattern after that.
You had always been affectionate, but it had increased tenfold since you arrived. Hugging Chan when you passed him in the hallway, leaning into Felix to see his phone- even Lee Know let you fall asleep on his shoulder one night.
But with Jeongin, you were careful, you kept your distance. If he sat close, you shuffled away and sent him a reassuring smile. You always left a space on the couch, and when his hand brushed yours, you’d flinch back and apologise. You thought you were being considerate, respecting his boundaries and never pushing him.
He thought you were just avoiding him. You laughed loudly with Han, but with him you just smile, politely and careful. Jeongin should be glad for the space, but it felt like torture, especially since he had liked you before you turned up.
All those glances at Chan’s phone late in the night had intrigued him. He listened out for your laugh through the speakers and heard every time you had scolded Chan for staying up late. He had talked to you a few times, when you were asking if an outfit looked weird, and his leader just handed him the phone, expecting Jeongin to handle it.
“You look nice, don’t worry.” he had whispered, and he swears he saw your cheeks flush.
So, when you hugged everyone so easily but him, something tightened in his chest. Every time the boys teased him for pushing them away when they got near, you’d defend him and his heart would thump louder and his longing to reach for you would grow stronger.
He didn’t hate affection; he hated not being chosen. It wouldn’t be like that with you, he thought to himself.
Weeks pass quickly, and you grow closer to everyone. Jeongin starts trying then. It’s subtle at first. Picking the seat next to you at dinners, standing next to you in the line as you wait at the cafe. But each time, you’d notice the closeness, and shuffle away.
“Sorry, didn’t realise how close I was.” You’d chuckle and go back to talking to whoever was taking up your time.
During dance practice, he’d sit on the floor with you, thighs touching and his fingers itching to feel you. For a few moments, you didn't notice the warmth of him beside you, and he silently cheered, maybe this was it. Jeongin opens his mouth to talk.
“Jeongin-ah, break ended.” Lee Know’s voice boomed in the room, startling you and drawing your attention to the presence next to you.
You don’t say anything to him, just look into his eyes with a guilty look. He wishes you hadn't looked at him that way. Had you not whipped your head away, you would have seen the pleading gaze swarming in his eyes.
It happens again at the dorms a few days later. “Could you pass me a glass of water please?” Your voice called out to him from the living room. Jeongin comes through a few seconds later, and hands you the drink, your fingers brushing against his. A spark flies both of you, but you still flinch back, “Sorry.”
He takes a seat next to you on the couch, his knee bumping yours. You shift in your spot, tucking your legs beneath you instead. The smile you flash drives him crazy, like you were protecting him from something. Jeongin had to be more obvious.
You were alone in the hallway, a rare moment where it was just the two of you. You were mid-laugh, recounting something Chan had said earlier that day. Jeongin wasn't really listening, ideas swarming in his head as he watches your lips move.
He shuffles closer to you, an action that goes unnoticed by you. He leans in closer to you, and for once you don't shuffle back, instead letting him enter your space.
Jeongin swallows nervously, but catches your eye, and he leans in. His hand hovers just above your waist. Your breath hitches, and Jeongin smirks- finally.
And then-
You place your hand on his chest. Not hard, just enough to stop him but also send shivers down his spine at the contact. You were still treating him as something untouchable.
Worry swarms on your face, “Are you okay? Do you feel faint?”
The words land like a slap on the face, and his shoulder drop. He steps back quickly, his expression shuttered. He lets out a hollow laugh, “Yeah, sorry.”
You don't understand why your chest tightens at his tone.
The breaking point came a few days later, in the practise room.
You were laughing with Felix in the corner, then he pulled you into a side hug without warning. Jeongin watches as you melt into his side easily and jealousy blooms in him.
Later, when you’re stood beside the mirrors with him, you reach out to fix a stray piece of hair. You’re cautious, and he can tell, but he lets you ruffle his hair, savouring the brief contact.
It felt safe- for both of you.
Then, his hand shoots out, grasping your wrist. Not tightly, but firm, enough to feel the heat radiating off his body.
You blink at him, “What?”
“Why do you keep doing that?” Jeongin’s voice is low as he asks, his haze darkening ever so slightly.
You swallow, “Doing what?”
“Moving away.”
“I’m not-”
“You are. I’m not fragile but you treat me like I am.”
The room felt cold and the silence wraps around you like thorns. He’s still touching you, and eyes you expectantly, waiting for a response.
“You don’t like stuff like that.” you say carefully.
“I don’t.” he replies immediately, and the words stings more than you expect. You try release your wrist from his grip, but he doesn’t let go, instead tugging you closer to him. He adds quietly, “Not with them.”
“What?”
Jeongin drops your wrist and takes your hand instead. “I don't like it with them.” You remain silent, and he exhales loudly, “You were going to hug me that day, and I was going to let you.”
Your mind flashes to the first meeting. How he had stepped closer and taken his hands out of his pockets. Then everything starts piecing together. Every time he had sat close, every time his fingers brushed yours and he looked deflated when you pulled away. And, oh my god he had tried to kiss you. The realisation hits like a wave. You hadn’t been protecting him, you had been rejecting him.
“Oh my god...” You step closer, deliberately this time. “If I don’t step back...will you?’
Jeongin shakes his head, and you drop his hand. His eyes flicker, but when he feels you wrap your arms around him, they soften. He pulls you closer to him, burying his head in your hair as he lets out a content sigh.
“I’m sorry I made you wait so long.” You whisper.
Jeongin pulls back, his hand finding your waist as he leans into you. You could feel his breath mixing with yours, and you wanted more. “Are you going to move away?” He says quietly, and you shake your head.
He presses his lips to yours, gently at first. It was hesitant, like he was waiting for you to pull away like every other time.
But you didn’t. You tilted your head slightly, deepening the kiss enough to erase all the misunderstandings. When you finally part, his forehead rests on yours, and you let out a breathy laugh.
“You know,” you begin quietly, smile tugging at your lips, “For someone who doesn’t like this...”
˚ ༘ 🎞️ ⸝⸝ ⋮ in which you have feelings for seo changbin, and you’re absolutely, positively, a hundred percent certain that he could never, ever like you back.
or… your best friend, kim seungmin, insists that he reciprocates your feelings, yet you refuse to listen.
seo changbin x fem!reader · category : angst & fluff · contents : feat. seungmin & jeongin (cameo). she fell first, he fell harder. eventual romance. friends to lovers. body insecurities. self-loathe. reader always talk negatively of herself. pining. hurt/comfort. kissing. strong language. reader’s discretion is advised. · word count : 14.5k
💬 … lynsbng speaking ⸝⸝ another anon request! just a gentle reminder that you are beautiful just the way you are. every body is different, every body is beautiful! 💕 requests are open!
proceed to navigation? < yes. > · join the taglist? < click me! >
(for accounts that are tagged in a different color, i somehow can’t tag your account.)
THE FIRST TIME YOU MET SEO CHANGBIN, you were pretty sure you had made a bad impression.
or so you thought, at least.
the jyp entertainment building loomed over the busy seoul street like any corporate giant, yet the cafe on its ground floor, your current workplace, was a world away from the polished, high-pressure energy of the floors above. it was your sanctuary, your little pocket of warmth in the city, you had worked part-time for the past year, ever since your cv required a little more padding and your bank account required a little more cushion. what started as a necessity had become a comfort, where the scent of freshly ground coffee beans had become synonymous with a life that existed outside of your own spiraling thoughts.
you loved it here. the way the afternoon sun slanted through the large windows, casting golden light across the wooden floors. the way regular customers, especially idols, smiled and greeted you when they saw you behind the counter. the way the chaos of the entertainment world swirled just upstairs while you remained in your quiet, cozy bubble. it was cozy, it was inviting.
you were wiping down the counter, humming along to a mellow piano piece, when the little bell above the door chimed. you looked up, a practiced smile already forming on your lips, ready to greet the customer.
“welcome–”
and then, your brain just… short-circuited.
not in a panicked, static-noised kind of way. more like the way the world goes silent right before a first snowfall. everything else in the coffee shop, the hiss of the espresso machine, the dull roar of small talk, all of them just… faded.
he was average height, sure, yet the way he stood made him feel like the only solid thing in a tilting room. his shoulders were broad, not in an intimidating way, but in a way that they seemed to carry the weight of the world in the most attractive way possible. the simple black hoodie looked impossibly soft, his jeans worn perfectly, and a black mask that covered the lower half of his face.
but it was his eyes that got you. god, his eyes.
they were sharp, almost too sharp for a place this ordinary, scanning the menu board like he was solving a puzzle. there was a warmth behind the intensity, though, a quiet fire that made you wonder what it would be like to be the sole focus of that gaze. and then, as if he felt the weight of your staring, his eyes dropped from the menu.
and they landed on you.
thump.
your heart didn’t just skip a beat; it stopped entirely, forgot its rhythm, and then started again in a completely new tempo meant only for him. you almost forgot how to breathe, almost forgot your own name.
you had seen those eyes a thousand times on your phone screen. in music videos. in variety shows. in the photos your best friend, kim seungmin, occasionally sent you from their dorm, captioned with things like ‘this idiot fell asleep on the couch again’ or ‘this greedy motherfucker ate the entire chicken and left me with nothing.’
seo changbin was literally standing three meters away from you, and you were already a sweating mess.
“hi,” he greeted, his voice slightly muffled by the mask yet still undeniably warm, a rich baritone that seemed to resonate somewhere deep within your chest, “can i get an iced americano, please? and a tuna salad sandwich.”
“of course,” you managed, mentally proud that your voice only wobbled slightly. you tapped his order into the tablet with his fingers that definitely weren’t trembling. “that’ll be 10,300 won.”
the card reader beeped. he tapped it once, twice, then slipped it back into his wallet with hands that looked like they had been drawn by someone who understood art–okay, y/n, keep your shit together.
you told him you would call his order number and he nodded. just a dip of his chin. just a small thing. it shouldn’t have made your stomach drop.
then he moved.
you watched him thread through the cafe, watched him choose the table by the window like it had been waiting for him his whole life, watched him comfortably settle into the chair. the light loved him immediately–of course it did, everything would, now.
you watched for exactly three seconds. long enough to memorize the way his shoulders relaxed against the chair. long enough to burn the image behind your eyelids. long enough to admire.
then you forced yourself to look away.
number one-four-three. your hands found his cup, and you began to make his order as if the axis of your world hadn’t just permanently tilted towards a window seat.
concentrate, you told yourself firmly. it’s just coffee. you’ve made thousands of coffees. this one is no different. he’s just a customer.
except, it was different, and you knew it, and your stupid hands knew it too.
you made his iced americano with painstaking care, measuring the espresso shot twice, making sure the water ratio was exact. you placed the sandwich on a small plate with the kind of reverence usually reserved for offering sacrifices to ancient gods. you took a deep breath, steading yourself before calling out his number.
“order number one-four-three?”
he looked up from his phone, and even through the mask, you could see the slight crinkle around his eyes that suggested a smile. he rose from his seat and walked towards the counter, and with every step, your heart pounded harder against your ribs.
just hand him the order. that’s it. hand him the order and walk away.
you set the tray on the counter, “one iced americano and one tuna salad sandwich, enjoy!’
he reached for it, his fingers brushing against the edge of the tray, and you quickly pulled your hands back as if burned.
“thank you,” the words unfurled slowly, warm honey dripping into the space between you, and you wanted to bottle them, keep them, play them back on every cold morning for the rest of your life. his voice didn’t just reach your ears, it settled into your bone, made a home there, started building furniture.
you nodded and smiled. you felt it split your face open–too wide, too bright, the kind of helpless expression that belongs to people who have just realized they’re in a huge, huge trouble.
then you turned away because staying would have been impossible.
the espresso machine waited for you, cold and patient, and you ran a cold over its surface like you could smooth away the shakiness in your hands–news flash, you couldn’t. you didn’t. your pulse was a metronome counting time to a song only your heart could hear.
out of the corner of your eye, you watched him. you watched him carry his tray back to the window table, watched him settle in, watched him pull down his mask to take that first sip.
and then you watched him pause.
his eyebrows drew together slightly. he looked at the cup. took another sip. look at the cup again.
your stomach dropped.
no. shit. nonono.
you glanced at the order screen on your tablet. one-four-three: iced americano, tuna salad sandwich. you swore you had made it correctly. you had been so careful. you–
he was looking at you now. not angrily, not even with frustration. just… confused, slightly puzzled.
you walked over before you could stop yourself, your feet moving on autopilot. you could feel a hard lump stuck between the depths of your throat, “is everything okay?”
his eyes remained fixated on you, and even confused, even puzzled, his eyes were so incredibly kind.
“sorry,” he began, his voice without the mask was even deeper, even warmer, even more unfairly attractive, “i think there might be a mistake. this tastes like… vanilla syrup?”
you stared at him. stared at the cup. stared back at him.
and then your gaze snagged on something over your shoulder; a flash of wood, a drink sitting lonely on the counter behind you. the vanilla latte, made for the woman at the table across, who was now craning her neck, scanning the cafe, looking around like she had been forgotten.
…shit.
“oh my god,” you breathed, your face instantly flooding with heat, “i am so sorry. i mixed up the orders—i gave you the wrong drink. i don’t know how–i was so sure… i’m so sorry, i’ll make you a new one right away.”
you reached for the cup, already mentally kicking yourself, preparing for the sigh, the eye roll, the cold dismissal that someone like him… someone important, someone famous, someone who had places to be and people to see, would surely give to someone like you, someone who couldn;t even get a simple coffee order.
however, instead, he laughed.
it was soft, barely more than an exhale, yet it was genuine. his eyes crinkled at the corners in that way you had only ever seen in videos, and it was even more beautiful in person.
“it’s okay,” he breathed, “honestly, it’s a nice surprise. i was expecting bitter, and yet i got something sweet instead.”
he took another sip, and his eyes–those eyes, sparkled with amusement. “not bad. but i was really looking forward to that bitter kick.”
you stared at him, momentarily speechless. he wasn’t annoyed. he wasn’t rude. he was just… kind. patient. human.
“i’ll get you a new one,” you repeated, your voice steadier now, touched by his unexpected grace, “right away, i promise!”
“thank you… y/n.”
he said your name.
he said your name.
his eyes had dropped to your chest; to the small rectangle pinned to your apron, the one you had worn a thousand times without thinking, the one that now felt like the most important in the entire universe. he had read it. he had looked at it. he had formed the letter in his mind and then let them fall from his lips like they belonged there.
y/n. the same name you had been called your entire life.
and yet, hearing it from him was like hearing it for the first time. as if no one had ever said correctly before. as if every other person who had spoken your name had been practicing for this moment, and he was the first one to get it right.
something fluttered in your chest.
scratch that. something ignited. something small, warm, and terrifying, like the first spark of a fire you wouldn’t be able to control. it fluttered, yes, but it also burned. it settled into the space between your ribs and started growing roots.
you looked at him.
he was still watching you. still patient. still kind. still impossibly, devastatingly there, with your name still hanging in the air between you like a gift you hadn’t earned.
“r–right away!”
you rushed back to the counter, and made a perfect iced americano, ensuring that it wouldn’t contain any syrup or other condiments. you then grabbed a chocolate chip cookie from the display case, before bringing everything back to him, setting it down with trembling hands.
“again, i’m so sorry for the mix-up,” an apologetic smile hovered your lips, “the cookie is on me, a peace offering.”
his gaze remained on the cookie, before diverted back to you. for a moment, he just stared, and you could feel your cheeks burn under his gaze. then slowly, he smiled–a real smile, full, and warm.
“my, you really didn’t have to,” a soft chuckle escaped his lips, the cookie now within his grasp, “we make mistakes all the time. thank you, i love chocolate chip cookies.”
you let out a shaky laugh, “i’m glad. i mean–i’m glad you like them. i mean–”
you idiot. stop talking. you’re so embarrassing.
“i mean… i’m just glad you’re not.. mad.”
his smiles widened, his eyes crinkling into those beautiful crescents. “that will be unnecessary. thanks for fixing my drink.”
you nodded, managed to say something that might have been ‘enjoy your coffee,” and practically fled back to the counter. from there, you had him under your scrutiny as he ate his sandwich, sipped his coffee, and scrolled through his phone. he also ate the cookie, taking large bites and looking genuinely pleased with it.
when he finally got up to leave, he paused at the counter on his way out, “have a good day, y/n,” giving a small wave.
“you too. please come again–”
and then he was gone, the little bell chiming softly behind him, leaving you in a daze with a heart that refused to stop racing.
that was the moment. the exact moment your heart began to stutter for seo changbin.
YOU DIDN’T TELL SEUNGMIN ABOUT IT. it felt too silly, too insignificant. it was just a three-minute interaction, for fuck sakes. yet you couldn’t stop thinking about it. the kindness in his eyes. the soft laugh. the way he had looked at you like you were an actual person, not just an average part-time worker who had messed up.
a week later, seungmin invited you over for game night at his apartment. it was a regular occurrence; you had been friends with him since high school, and his groupmates had become familiar faces over the years. through him, you had grown close with jeongin, which you often played mario kart with (who definitely cheated during the games), and you had deep conversations with the two of them at two in the morning about life in general. you were comfortable there, a part of the furniture in their chaotic, lovely world.
you arrived on a friday evening, two large tteokbokki takeouts in each hand. seungmin opened the door, his round glasses on, looking like the epitome of a cute, studious nerd.
except, he was the complete opposite–that menace, you hate him. (affectionately, of course.)
“hey! what took you so long?” he demanded, already reaching for the bags, “i’ve been waiting forever. jeongin’s been complaining about the controller for twenty minutes straight. my ears are bleeding.”
you rolled your eyes, pushing past him into the apartment, “you’re living in seoul, idiot–traffic exists. also,what happened to ‘hi, hello?” nice to see you, seungmin. i’m fine, thanks for asking.”
“yeah, yeah, whatever. now give me my tteokbokki.”
you held the bags above your head, grinning at his glare. “say please.”
“please,” he said flatly, without an ounce of sincerity.
“woooow. so heartfelt. i’m moved.”
“y/n.”
“seungmin.”
he lunged for the bags, and you dodged, cackling as you ran into the living room where jeongin was sprawled on the couch, controller in hand, looking betrayed by the game on screen.
“noona,” jeongin perked immediately, his face splitting into a wide grin, “you actually brought food! i take back every bad thing i have ever said about you.”
“you what?” a scoff followed your inquiry as you dropped onto the couch next to him, the bags clutched to your chest.
“in my defense, only when you beat me at mario kart. which is never, by the way, because i’m simply amazing.”
“you cheat,” you and seungmin sang in unison.
jeongin gasped, clutching his chest in mock offense, “this is slander! defamation! i’m hurt!”
“you’re annoying,” seungmin corrected, finally wrestling the tteokbokki from your grip and settling on your other side, “now shut up and eat so we can play.”
the night progressed as it always did, with jeongin somehow winning at every round of mario kart, seungmin complaining about unfairness, and you comfortably existing in the middle of the chaos, laughing until your stomach hurt.
it was around ten when you heard the front door open and close.
jeongin perked up, “is that–”
“hey! how can you guys order tteokbokki without me!”
the voice came roaring from the hallway–loud, indignant, and absolutely unmistakable. it was deeper than you had heard back in the cafe, rougher around the edges, laced with playful outrage.
you froze, your hand hovering over the controller.
changbin burst into the living room like a man on mission, his eyes scanning for the source of the spicy and savory scent that had clearly been tormenting him sinc he walked through the door. he was in a loose gray t-shirt and sweatpants, his hair slightly damp, as if he had just got back from the gym. his expression was one of exaggerated betrayal.
“i can smell it from the elevator! you guys are so inconsiderate, i’ve been starving all evening and you–”
he stopped dead on the tracks.
his eyes had found you.
you watched the realization dawn on his face–the shift from playful indignation to startled recognition. his mouth, which had been agape mid-complaint, slowly closed. his ears, you noticed with a strange sense of detachment, were turning slightly pink.
for a suspended second, no one moved. the mario kart soundtrack played cheerfully in the background, completely oblivious to the tension crackling through the room.
jeongin, bless his chaotic heart, was the first to break the silence, “hyung, you’re so loud! also, there’s still some left. noona brought two large portions.”
“...noona,” changbin repeated, his voice now significantly softer than the roar that had preceded it, he was still looking at you, and you watched as he seemed to piece everything together; you, on the couch, holding a controller, seemingly a close friend to his younger members, very much not behind a coffee counter.
you raised your hand in a small, awkward wave. “hi…i… also brought the tteokbokki. sorry. for existing–i mean, with the food. that you can smell.”
kill me now, literally.
however, instead of looking annoyed or embarrassed, changbin’s face broke into that same genuine smile from the cafe–the one that crinkled his eyes and made your heart do dangerous things.
“miss best barista strikes again,” he observed, warmth curling through his voice like steam off fresh coffee. no trace of annoyance, “first coffee, now tteokbokki. you’re going to spoil me.”
“you two know each other–”
you shot a glare at seungmin. a playful smirk hovered his lips by that exchange, his eyes dancing with mischief behind those round glasses. he knew exactly what he was doing.
“we’ve met,” changbin said easily, finally tearing his gaze away from you to look at seungmin, “at the cafe downstairs. how about you? you’ve never formally introduced me to your friend.”
the accusation in his voice was mild, yet there was something underneath it–curiosity, maybe, interest. seungmin, the traitor, just shrugged.
“didn’t think you’d be interested,” he uttered casually, and you wanted to strangle him.
changbin’s eyebrows rose, “why wouldn’t i be interested in meeting my favorite dongsaeng’s oldest friends?”
favorite dongsaeng. the term of endearment made something warm flutter in your chest, even though it wasn’t directed at you.
seungmin gestured vaguely between you and changbin, “well, now you’ve met. y/n, this is changbin hyung, you know him. changbin hyung, this is y/n, a close friend from high school.”
you managed a small wave. again. “hi. officially.”
changbin’s smile widened, his teeth peeking through his plump lips, “hi, officially.”
jeongin, who had been watching this exchange with the attention span of a caffeinated squirrel, finally interrupted, “so, are we gonna play mario kart or? the tteokbokki’s getting cold and my winning streak is getting lonely.”
seungmin threw a pillow at him, “you don’t have a winning streak. you cheat.”
“i don’t cheat! i’m just talented!”
changbin laughed, and the sound wrapped around your heart and squeezed gently, as if it was testing whether you were real. he moved towards the couch, settling onto the floor across from you with the kind of casual grace that made everything look effortless, “i haven’t played in awhile, you have to go easy on me.”
“i don’t go easy on anyone,” jeongin declared, “victory shall be mine–”
“this brat–”
you couldn’t help but laugh, and when you looked up, changbin was watching you again with that soft expression. this time, he didn’t look away when you caught him. he just smiled; a smaller yet more intimate smile, and something warm bloomed within your chest. something that felt like the first real thing you had felt in years.
the night progressed in the familiar chaos of races and trash talk. you learned that changbin was surprisingly quiet bad at video games, or just mario kart, despite his confident claims, that he had a habit of biting his lip when concentrating, and that his laugh was even more fun and beautiful up close.
you also learned that he was kind. when seungmin got frustrated with a difficult course, changbin was the one who calmed him down. when jeongin made a self-deprecating joke, changbin was quick to reassure him. and when you accidentally knocked over your drirnk, he was the first one to grab paper towels.
and without you knowing, seungmin was already documenting the entire scene. that asshole.
“don’t worry about it,” he said, kneeling beside you to wipe up the mess, “accidents happen.”
he was so close you could smell him. you could feel your cheeks burning, could feel the heat crawling up your neck, staining your ears, betraying every calm thought you had ever had.
“...thanks,” you managed, the smile on your lips trembling.
he looked up at you, and for a moment, the world seemed to pause. his eyes were dark and warm, and you could see yourself reflected in them.
“anytime,” he exhaled softly.
seungmin’s voice shattered the moment, “is it just me or is it getting hotter here? get a room, you two!”
you jerked back, face burning.
changbin shot him a dirty look, despite his ears turning pink, “dude, shut up!”
both seungmin and jeongin looked at each other, mirroring each other’s grin.
by the time midnight rolled around, jeongin was yawning, and seungmin was checking his phone with a grimace.
“i should go,” a soft yawn accompanied your words, starting to gather your things, “thanks for having me. this was really fun.”
seungmin stood up, “i’ll walk you–”
“i’ll do it,” changbin offered immediately, “it’s late, i need air anyway.”
seungmin looked at him, then at you, that knowing smirk playing on his lips, “suuure, hyung.”
you grabbed your bag, avoiding seungmin’s gaze. as you headed for the door, you heard jeongin’s loud whisper: “noona’s down bad, isn’t she?”
the door closed behind you before you could hear changbin’s response, and you were figuratively, metaphorically, dying inside.
you wanted to melt into the floor of the hallway and never resurface.
the walk to the lobby was short, barely five minutes, yet if felt charged with a new, electric energy.
“it was really nice talking to you tonight, y/n,” changbin was first to break the silence as you reached the shelter. the night air was cool, and he stood with his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, looking down at you.
“you too,” you replied, and you meant it with every fiber of your being, “i had a lot of fun.”
his signature smile returned, “maybe we can do it again sometime? not a game night, necessarily. just… talk more in general. about music, or movies, or anything.”
your heart soared. this man will be the end of me.
“i’d like that,” you whispered, your voice full of a hope you were terrified to feel.
“great… that’s great! i’ll reach out to you, of course,” a sigh of relief slipped past his lips, “i’ll see you then, y/n.”
your taxi rumbled into view, its headlights cutting through the darkness. you climbed in, turning back to wave. he was still standing there, under the streetlight, a figure who had somehow, in the span of a single evening, managed to capture a piece of your heart you hadn’t even known was available.
as the taxi pulled away, you pressed a hand to your chest, feeling the wild, erratic beat beneath your palm.
oh, you were so screwed.
THE MONTHS THAT FOLLOWED WERE A MONTAGE OF STOLENT MOMENTS AND GROWING FEELINGS. it started with messages. he would send you little snippets of songs he was working on, asking for your honest opinion, and you would send back voice memos of your thoughts; voice cracking slightly, too shy to call.
and then the messages changed.
they became life updates. mundane thing such as what he ate for lunch, a funny thing seungmin said, a picture of the sky from his studio window. however, tucked between the ordinary were photographs of him: messy hair after gym sessions, sleepy eyes over morning coffee, that same smile he had always given you every time you meet.
and of course, you couldn’t help but to admire him even more. an idol was literally sending you messages for free, and that also happened to be the man you had grown feelings for.
he would reply with long advice when you were struggling, or compliments that landed soft and warm within your chest. and you would find yourself smiling at your phone like an idiot; on the subway, on your breaks, in bed at three in the morning.
and then came the casual meet-ups–the coffee ‘dates’, although neither of you would necessarily call that a date. you would meet at a small cafe in hongdae, and you would talk for three hours without realizing it. about music, movies, your families, your dreams. he would tell you about his producing process, and you would tell him about your studies, and somehow, impossibly, the conversation had never once felt awkward.
after that, it became a pattern. coffee dates turned into walks by han river. walks turned into late-night calls that stretched into the early morning. late-night calls turned into him showing up at your cafe during your shifts, just to say hi and make you laugh.
and with every shared moment, every lingering glance, every comfortable silence, you fell deeper and deeper in love with him.
it was quite a kind of falling. the kind that happens without a drama, without any announcement, without any of the fanfare you had always imagined love would bring. just the slow, steady gravity of wanting someone. just the soft, relentless pull of his existence against yours.
you fell like the rain into the ocean, like dusk into night, like you had never been anywhere else, never wanted anything else, never knew what it meant to be whole until he walked into your coffee shop and looked at you like you were worth looking at.
and yet.
you knew, a hundred percent certain, that he would never feel the same way.
you were just… ordinary.
just a barista who made him the wrong coffee. just a stranger who happened to be there. just someone who laughed too loud, smiled too wide, and loved too easily. just ordinary.
and that fact hurt a lot.
yet the feelings remained growing until they were a physical presence in your chest, a constant, aching thrum of affection and longing. you couldn’t keep it to yourself anymore. you had to tell someone.
so, on a rainy thursday afternoon, you found yourself sprawled on seungmin’s couch, staring at the ceiling while he sat on the other couch, typing on his laptop.
“...i think i’m in love with him, seungmin,” you mumbled into the silence.
the words fell out of you like something heavy you had been carrying too long. like a confession you had whispered to yourself so many times it had worn grooves in your brain, and now it was finally loose in the world, vulnerable, real, and terrifying.
having feelings for someone had always been terrifying.
you waited for the shock, the questions. for the careful unpacking of a secret you had protected with everything you had.
seungmin didn’t even look up from his screen, “with seo changbin? yeah, i know.”
the world stopped.
you sat up so fast the room tilted. your heart slammed against your ribs like it was trying to escape, like it knew it had been caught, having nowhere left to hide.
“how do you know?” the words came out too high, too fast, too desperate, “am i that obvious?”
seungmin finally turned, pushing his glasses up his nose with a sigh that carried the weight of someone who had been watching this ongoing disaster unfold for weeks and was frankly exhausted by it.
“y/n,” his voice was patient. too patient. the kind of patient that meant he was about to say something devastatingly obvious, “you’ve been going on these ‘dates’ with him. you talk about him all the damn time. you always have this dreamy, faraway look in your eyes whenever he’s around. you get so flustered easily. it’s not exactly a state secret.”
you deflated.
all the air left your body in one long, defeated exhale, and you flopped back onto the pillows like a puppet with cur strings. the ceiling stared down at you, blank and indifferent, and you stared back at it, wishing it would swallow you whole.
you could never fight with kim seungmin on this. he saw too much. remembered too much. cared too much to let you pretend.
“well, fuck,” the word came out flat, resigned, “i’m screwed, huh?”
“not exactly,” seungmin was quiet for a moment, before continuing, “so, what are you going to do about it?”
the question landed in your chest like a stone.
you laughed; a hollow, humorless sound, “what am i going to do about it? nothing. absolutely nothing.”
the silence that followed was different, heavier, you could feel his gaze on you, could feel him turning something over behind those glasses, could feel the exact moment he decided this conversion wasn’t over,
you heard the soft click of his laptop closing, the creak of his chair as he turned to fully to face you.
and you knew, with the kind of dread that sits in your stomach like lead, he wasn’t going to let you off that easily.
a frown grazed over his features, “why not? he clearly likes you. he mostly spends all his free times with you. not to mention how he always light up whenever you walk into the room–”
“no.”
the word came out sharper than you intended, sharp enough to cut through the gentle concern in seungmin’s voice. you felt it leave your mouth like a dagger, felt the way it landed in the space between you, felt the way it made him stop mid-thought,
“he doesn't,” your voice was brittle now, cracking at the edges. you couldn’t hear this. “he's just being friendly. he’s a kind person, seungmin. he’s like that with everyone.”
he’s like that with everyone.
the words hung in the air between you, fragile and false, and you hated how they sounded out loud. hated how they tasted like excuses. hated how even as you said them, a small, traitorous part of you was remembering the way he looked at you, the way he smiled at you, the way he treated you right.
but that didn’t mean anything, didn’t it?
it couldn’t mean anything.
“no, he’s not,” seungmin insisted, his voice firm. “he’s polite to everyone. but with you? it’s a whole different world. he’s softer, more open. i’ve known him for years… i can tell.”
you shook your head. the familiar wave of self-consciousness washed over you, cold and heavy, dragging you under. it whispered in your ear, that agitating voice, the one that knew you better than anyone: you’re not special. why would he even have feelings for you? have you seen yourself? stop humiliating yourself further.
you sat up slowly, pulling your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around them like they were the only thing keeping you together. like if you held tight enough, you could protect the small, fragile thing inside you from hoping. from believing. from getting hurt.
“seungmin, look at me,” you muttered, your voice laced with an old, familiar pain, “really, look at me.”
he did, his expression patient yet puzzled.
“i’m not…” the words stuck in your throat, stumbled over years of careful swallowing, of biting back, of learning to smile through the quiet devastation of never feeling like enough.
you struggled to find them; the ones that had been whispered by cruel voices in your head as long as you could remember. the ones that had been reinforced by a thousand tiny cuts from a world obsessed with a narrow definition of beauty. magazine covers, movie screens, the way people’s eyes slid past you in rooms full of people who looked like they were born for the covers.
“i’m not the kind of woman someone like him falls for. he’s seo changbin. he’s talented, successful, and painfully gorgeous. he could have anyone. any of those perfect, thin, out-of-this-world beautiful women. why would he ever look twice at someone like me?”
seungmin’s frown deepened, “what do you mean, ‘someone like you’?”
“you know what i mean,” your voice trembled–just slightly, just enough to betray the years of careful composure you had built around this particular wound. you gestured vaguely at your body. at the curves you had spent years learning to hide. at the softness that had been pointed out to you as a flaw. your hand moved through the air, encompassing everything you had been taught to hate about yourself.
“i’m not… i’m not physically attractive. not in the way that matters. i’m not thin. i’m not pretty. i’m just… me. and me isn’t enough for a man like him. he wouldn’t, couldn’t, ever love a woman with this body.”
the words hung in the air between you; they were ugly, raw, and bleeding, like wounds you had picked open in front of someone who actually cared.
you couldn’t look at him. couldn’t bear to see the confirmation in his eyes, the quiet agreement that you had finally said out loud what everyone must have been thinking all along.
yet as the silence stretched too long, you risked a glance.
seungmin’s expression had shifted. the gentle confusion was gone, replaced by a dawning, horrified understanding that made your stomach drop. he got up from his seat and sat next to you. the mattress dipped under his weight, pulling you slightly towards him, and you hated how even that small act made you want to cry.
“y/n…” he called, his voice gentle, the way he used to talk you down from panic attacks back in high school, “that’s the most ridiculous thing i’ve ever heard you say.”
“it’s not ridiculous, it’s true–”
“it’s not,” he insisted, “do you think changbin hyung is that shallow? that he only sees the surface? the guy who spends hours talking to you, hangs out with you during his free times, visits your every shift, buys you gifts, that guy–you think he only cares about what you look like?”
“he cares about me as a friend,” you mumbled into your knees, “that’s different.”
“it’s not different!” the words burst out seungmin with a force that made you flinch. you knew it wasn’t anger, never anger, but it was definitely something close to desperation. like he was watching you drown and couldn’t understand why you wouldn’t take the rope he kept throwing.
“ attraction isn’t just about one thing. it’s about everything! it’s about how you laugh, how you listen, the way your eyes light up when you talk about something you love. it’s about who you truly are. not what you look like. not the number on a scale. not whether you fit into some impossible standards that wasn’t even healthy in the first place,” his voice softened, just slightly, just enough to crack something even open in your chest.
his eyes were boring into yours, “and changbin hyung is head-over-heals for who you are. i’m telling you, he likes you back. he’s crazy about you.”
you wanted to believe him. desperately. but the voice of insecurity was too loud. it kept taunting you for far too long.
“you’re a good friend, seungmin,” you whispered, learning your head on his shoulder, “but you’re wrong. he could never like me. not like that. and i would rather have him as a friend than not have him in my life at all. so i’m just going to… i’m going to be okay with that.i have to be.”
a long, frustrated sigh escaped seungmin. he wanted to argue, you could tell. however, he also knew you well enough to know that when you had built a wall like this, pushing against it would only make it stronger.
“okay,” he exhaled softly, wrapping an arm around you for comfort, “okay, fine. but for the record. i think you’re beautiful. and i think you’re wrong about him. one day, you’ll see.”
you closed your eyes, letting your best friend’s warmth comfort you.
yet, the cold knot of insecurity remained, coiling tightly within your chest.
THE UNIVERSE, YOU DECIDED, HAD A SICK SENSE OF HUMOR. not even a week after your conversation with seungmin, it decided to test your fragile resolve in the cruelest way possible.
you were at the company building on a tuesday afternoon, having just dropped a jacket that changbin had lent you during one of your walks by the han river. it had been cold that night, and he had wrapped it around your shoulders without a second thought, insisting he was fine even as you watched him shiver.
you remembered laughing. it had bubbled up out of you, helpless and warm, watching that gorgeous man freeze for your sake.
“you’re a terrible liar, changbin,’ you teased, and he just smiled; shrugging like it was nothing. as if you were worth freezing for.
you remembered the way laughter had faded into something softer when he looked at you. the way the city lights had reflected in his eyes. they way you had wanted, so badly, to reach out and pull him close, share the warmth of his own jacket.
you hadn’t, of course. you just walked a little closer, let your shoulders brush, pretended that was enough.
the jacket was safely delivered to the security guard now, with a small note tucked into the pocket: ‘thanks for keeping me warm. – y/n’
simple. innocent. friendly.
you were heading towards the exit, your head down, scrolling through your phone to check bus times–just another ordinary tuesday, just another mundane task, just another moment in a life that had been carefully, painfully returned to normal.
the elevator doors slid open.
and there was changbin.
the world stopped. your thumb froze over the screen. your heart forgot its rhythm and stumbled into something chaotic and desperate.
he was walking out with a woman.
she was beautiful–of course, she was. tall and slender, with the kind of effortless elegance that made you feel like a shadow just by standing near her. her hair caught the light like it was paid to. her smile resembled helen of troy’s, the kind of smile that could make a thousand men forget themselves and burn cities to the ground.
and all you could do was stand there, ordinary and invisible, watching her exist in the same space as him like she had every right to.
like she was born for it.
she was probably a producer. or a friend. or a girlfriend.
it didn’t matter which. the evidence was right there in front of you. your worst fear made flesh.
she was laughing at something he had just said, her head tilted back slightly, her hand resting lightly on his arm as if it belonged there.
changbin was smiling. not his polite, professional smile, yet a real one–warm and genuine, his head tilted towards her, listening intently to whatever she was saying. his free hand was gesturing as he spoke, animated in that way he got when he was comfortable with someone.
they looked perfect together.
your heart didn’t just drop. it didn’t skip a beat. it shattered into a million tiny pieces, each one a sharp, cold shard of confirmation that lodged itself deep in your chest.
see? the shards whispered, smug and cruel. seungmin was wrong. this is who he eventually chooses. she’s someone you’ll never be.
you could feel them settling between your ribs. could feel the weight of them pressing against your lungs, making it hard to breathe. could feel the sharp edges cutting into everything soft you had left.
this is what you were afraid of.
this is why you never told him.
this is why you never left yourself hope.
because hope was dangerous. hope was a knife you handed to the universe and prayed it wouldn’t use. and now, you were bleeding out in the middle of the lobby, watching the person you loved walk away with someone who was in all aspects, especially physically wise, better than you, and all you could do was walk away.
you fled the building.
you didn’t run, that would have drawn attention. yet you walked faster than you had ever walked in your life, bursting through the glass doors and into the chilly afternoon air. you made it half a block before you had to stop, pressing yourself against the side of a building, your hand over your heart as if you could physically hold the pieces together.
you didn’t cry. you were too numb for tears. you just felt a hollow, aching emptiness where the warmth of your feelings for changbin used to be.
of course, you thought, the voices in your head now sounding almost reasonable. of course he has someone. did you really think someone like him would be single? did you really think he was spending time with you because he wanted more than friendship. he’s seo changbin, for fuck sakes.
you thought about all those walks you did with him. all those late-night conversations about your lives. all those times he had looked at you like you were the only person in the room. all those messages, the shared playlists, the way he remembered your coffee order even when you weren’t at work. the jacket. the way he had wrapped it around your shoulders so carefully, so tenderly.
just friendly. that’s all it ever was. you just read into it because you wanted it to be more. because you’re desperately, lonely, and pathetic.
the walk home was a blur. you don’t remember the bus ride, don’t remember getting into your apartment, don’t remember collapsing onto your bed. you just remember staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours, the image of the them burned into the back of your eyelids.
that was the beginning of the end.
you began to set barriers, just as you had told seungmin you would. it was the only way to protect yourself, the only way to survive this. you couldn’t keep going the way you had been, couldn’t keep letting yourself fall deeper and deeper when there was no safety net at the bottom.
you started with small things.
and speaking of the devil, changbin texted you that night.
binnie : hey, thanks for dropping off the jacket
binnie : you didn’t have to wash it you know
binnie : it smells like your detergent now and i’m not complaining lmao
binnie : also i saw your note, you’re so cute ~
binnie : you know you can always keep it, right?
you waited an hour to reply. then two. then you sent a simple: glad u got it back! talk soon!
no emojis. no playful banter. no opening for conversation.
binnie : you free this weekend? there’s this cafe in hongdae i wanted to check out. thought you might like it!
binnie : heard the food’s great
ah, i have a crazy week ahead. maybe another time!
binnie : oh okay
binnie : no problem, just let me know when you’re free!
okay! 👍
the thumbs up emoji felt like a betrayal of everything you failed. but it was safer than a heart, safer than the smiley faces you used to send, safer than the ‘i’d love to’ that was screaming inside your chest.
he tried again a few days later.
binnie : i found this indie band today, they remind me of that playlist you made me
binnie : can i send you their stuff
sure
he sent three songs. you immediately added them to your playlist, listening to them on repeat for hours. it was the only way to hold onto a piece of him without reaching for all of him, the only way to love him quietly, safely, from a distance where he couldn’t see you aching.
and when morning came, you replied with three words that buried everything.
nice! added them!
nothing more.
after two days, he started showing up at the cafe again.
the first time, your heart lurched with that familiar, painful mixture of joy and despair. he walked in, ordered his usual iced americano, and flashed you his smile when he saw you behind the counter.
“y/n, hey.”
you served him with a tight, professional smile, “hi, changbin. the usual?”
something flickered within his eyes–confusion, maybe, at the formality. at the distance you had carefully crafted between your words. at the wall you had built brick by brick since the last time you saw him.
yet, he nodded, “yeah, thanks.”
you made his drink in silence, your hands trembling as you worked–measuring, pressing, pouring, each of your movements felt mechanical. the espresso machine hissed. the milk steamed. your heart cracked a little more with every second that passed without either of you speaking.
when you handed it to him, you didn’t linger. you didn’t ask how he was, didn’t mention how your day has been, didn’t do any of the things you used to do. you just simply, handed him the cup.
your eyes didn’t meet his. your fingers didn’t brush against his. your usual bright smile was nowhere to be found. you were terrifyingly indifferent, and it shook his poor heart.
“have a good day,” you mumbled, already turning to the next customer.
“y/n–” he started, yet you were already gone, busying yourself with the espresso machine, your entire physique hidden from him.
when you finally risked a glance, he was standing there for a moment longer, holding his coffee, staring at you with an expression that you unfortunately couldn’t read. then he turned and left.
the second time, you hid in the back room until one of your coworkers took his order.
the third time, he didn’t come at all.
his messages became more frequent, more confused.
binnie : hey, is everything okay?
binnie : you seem differently lately
all good! just busy.
for a moment, just a moment, the little bubble appeared. read. the words stared back at you, utterly devoid of the panic rising in your throat.
and for a second, you thought you were already losing your mind. he had to know that you were lying, and jokes on you, you weren’t fully mentally prepared.
then, a message appeared.
binnie : are we still on for our walk this weekend? the weather’s supposed to be nice
a trembling exhale escaped your lips, carrying the weight of everything you couldn’t say as you read his message. your thumb trembled, not from cold, not from nerves, but from the sheer effort of holding yourself together when all you wanted was to fall apart.
your thumb moved before your brain could stop it.
typing…
sorry i can’t
family stuff
there. it was a lie. you had nothing planned for the weekend. it was a lie wrapped in something almost believable. almost innocent. almost enough to explain why you were pushing him away without actually explaining anything at all.
binnie : oh okay
binnie : just let me know if you need to talk about anything
binnie : i’m always here
damn you, seo changbin
thanks
one word. after months of paragraphs, of shared thoughts, inside jokes, and late-night rambles, you could only manage by giving him one word.
the typing indicator appeared immediately. disappeared. appeared again. you watched it as if you could see him pacing outside of your door, afraid to knock on.
then his message came through.
binnie : y/n… did i do something?
the ellipsis hung there like a held breath. like he was scared to ask yet more scared not to.
binnie : if i upset you somehow, i’m really sorry
binnie : just tell me and i’ll make up for it
you stared at that message for a long time, your thumb hovering over the keyboard. you wanted to tell him everything. you wanted to scream that he hadn’t done anything wrong, that it was a ‘you’ problem, that you were just scared and didn’t know how to be around him without falling apart.
but you didn’t. fear wouldn’t let you.
what are u talking about lmao
u didn’t do anything wrong. dw about it
binnie : if you say so
binnie : but i do worry. about you. you know that right?
i know. thanks.
another brick in the wall, final.
TWO WEEKS PASSED LIKE THIS. fourteen days. three hundred and thirty-six hours. thousands of minutes stretched thin with short replies, avoided encounters, and a growing, aching silence that filled every space you used to share.
two weeks of you dying a little more inside every day–slowly, quietly, the way flowers die when you forget to water them. two weeks of him growing more and more confused, more hurt, more desperate with every unanswered question. every casual deflection,l every door you closed in his face.
you told yourself it was for the best.
you told yourself a lot of things.
and then you saw him. you were crossing the street, head down, invested in your phone, when something made you look up.
he was there. across the street, standing outside with jeongin, both of them laughing about something. his head was thrown back slightly, his smile wide and real, his whole body loose with the kind of happiness that used to make your chest ache in the best way.
for a moment, you forgot to breathe.
he looked happy. he looked like he was moving on. he looked like your absence didn’t affect him at all, as if you were just a footnote in a story he had already finished reading.
good, you told yourself, the word sharp and cold in your chest. that’s good. he has his life. he doesn’t need you.
you believed it. almost.
and then he looked up.
across the crowd, across the distance, across the cars, the people, and the weeks of silence, his eyes finally found yours. like they knew where to look. like they had been searching for you without permission. like some part of him had been waiting for this moment even when he didn’t know it.
god, the look on his face.
his smile faltered first. flickered. died. then his eyes went soft, achingly familiar, with something that looked like… longing. like confusion. like hurt. like he was seeing a ghost he had been trying to forget and realizing he had never stopped hoping she was real.
it almost broke you.
right there, in the middle of the street, with people pushing past on you both sides and the light about to change–the look alone almost broke you.
you couldn’t do it. couldn’t watching him cross the street. couldn’t hear his voice. couldn’t let him close enough to shatter what was left of you.
so you turned. you walked away.
behind you, you didn’t hear his footsteps. didn’t know if he had started towards you. didn’t let yourself look behind to find out.
you just walked.
and somewhere behind you, changbin stood frozen, watching you disappear into the crowd, wondering what he had done to lose you and why you wouldn’t talk to him.
the breaking point came on a thursday evening.
you were walking from work, your head down against a chilly autumn wind, your work bag heavy with the weight of your uniform and the extra pastries your manager had insisted on taking home. the days had blurred into a gray mess and self-recrimination, and you were so exhausted. so incredibly, bone-deep exhausted.
the cafe had been busy that evening; a constant stream of customers ordering seasonal drinks and desserts, their happy chatter grating against your frayed nerves. you had smiled, nodded, and made drinks on autopilot, your mind somewhere else entirely. somewhere with dark eyes, a warm laugh, and a hand that used to find yours.
you had checked your phone approximately forty-seven times during your shift. each time, hoping for a message from him. each time, telling yourself you didn’t deserve one.
he stopped texting three days ago.
and the silence was torturing you mentally.
you did this. you had pushed him away, built your walls, retreated behind a mask of politeness and distance. and now he was gone, just like you had known he would be. just like you had prepared for.
this is better, you told yourself for the thousandth time. this is what you wanted. to protect yourself. to protect the friendship.
however, it didn’t feel better. it felt like someone had dug into your chest and hollowed you out, leaving nothing but echoes and ache.
the street was quiet this time of night, most of the officer workers already home, the usual bustle reduced to the occasional taxi and the distant hum of traffic, a soft lullaby for a city that never quiet slept.
you welcomed the solitude.
it meant you didn’t have to pretend. didn’t have to smile when someone asked if you were okay. didn’t have to perform the exhausting charade of being fine when every step you took felt like walking through water.
the night air was cool against your skin. the streetlights cast long shadows on the pavement. your footsteps echoed in the silence, steady, rhythmic, the only sound besides your own breathing.
you were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t hear the car until it was right beside you.
the familiar purr of the engine made your heart stop.
you recognized that sound.
you would know it anywhere—in a crowded parking lot, in the middle of a song, in your sleep. it was the sound of late-night convenience store runs, of drives to scenic overlooks where you'd sit for hours just talking, of that one time he had driven you home at 3 am because you had fallen asleep on his couch during a movie marathon and he hadn't had the heart to wake you.
it was the sound of him.
you didn’t look up.
you couldn’t. if you looked up, if you saw him, if you let yourself acknowledge that he was here–right here, within arm's reach, you would break. you would shatter into a thousand pieces right here on the sidewalk, and you would never be able to put yourself back together.
so you kept walking.
your pace quickened. your eyes stayed fixed on the sidewalk ahead, on the cracks in the pavement, on anything that wasn’t the dark car gliding alongside you.
the car matched your speed.
of course it did.
the window rolled down. the sound was soft, just a mechanical hum, yet it might as well have been a gunshot in the silence. it echoed in your chest, in your ears, in the space you had been trying so hard to keep empty.
you felt him there. felt his presence like a gravitational pull, like the tide being drawn towards the moon, like every atom in your body screaming at you to turn around.
you didn’t look, and you heard the car kept moving.
the window stayed down.
and you kept walking, heart pounding, breath caught, waiting for the sound of his voice to finally destroy you.
“y/n.”
his voice. that warm baritone that used to make your heart soar, now making it clench with a painful mixture of longing and dread. you could hear the exhaustion of it, the confusion, the hurt.
you kept walking, the upcoming words came out smaller than you intended–fragile, thin, barely held together, “i’m fine. it’s a short walk–”
“y/n,” his voice was firmer now, yet still gentle. always gentle with you. even now, even after weeks of distance, he was still gentle, “it’s late at night. please, get in.”
you shook your head–a small movement, quick and dismissive. you couldn’t trust your voice, couldn’t trust that if you opened your mouth, something other than words would come out. a sob, maybe. a confession. a broken, desperate ‘i have feelings for you and it sickens me’ that you would never be able to take back.
the car stopped.
you heard it. the soft deceleration, the click of the gear shift, the sudden absence of movement beside you. then, his door opened.
heavy footsteps chased behind you, steady, determined. closing the distance you had been trying so hard to maintain.
and then his hand found your arm, his fingers wrapped around your elbow; not gripping, not trapping, just there. just enough to stop you. just enough to turn you around.
you didn’t resist.
his touch, his warm… it undid you so easily. it unraveled weeks of careful construction in a single second. it remind you of everything you had been trying to forget.
you turned reluctantly, and there he was.
changbin. standing in the middle of the quiet street, the streetlight casting shadows across his attractive face, his gorgeous eyes searching yours, looking for answers to his unanswered questions.
he looked tired as well. there were shadows under his eyes, deep purple crescents that spoke of sleepless nights and restless thoughts. a tension in his jaw that hadn’t been there before, a tightness around his mouth that made him look wearier, like someone carrying a weight they didn't know how to put down. he looked like he hadn’t been sleeping either, and that hurt more than anything.
you had convinced yourself that you were the only one suffering. that your absence alone was a final gift, a mercy, a kindness that allowed him to move on without the burden of your feelings, you had told–reminded yourself he was fine, happy, moving forward into a future that didn’t have to include you.
however, standing here now, looking at the exhaustion etched into every line of his face realized how wrong you had been.
“please,” he begged once again, softer this time. “just… talk to me. five minutes. that’s all i’m asking.”
you looked at him, really looked at him, and your heart fissured, cracks spreading like spiderwebs. the walls you had been so carefully building crumbled in an instant, leaving you raw and exposed, and so, so tired of running.
you nodded.
he led you back to the car, his hand was still on your arm–gentle, guiding, like he was afraid you might disappear again if he let go. he opened the passenger door for you, a small gesture something he had done a hundred times before, and you slid into the warm interior.
the scent hit you immediately. laundry detergent. something faintly woody. that familiar, impossible combination that was so uniquely him. it wrapped around you like a memory, like a hug you hadn’t known you needed, like everything you had been trying to forget suddenly flooding back all at once.
it made your heart ache further.
that deep, hollow longing you had been suppressing for weeks; it rose up like a tide, threatening to drown you right there in the passenger seat of his car. you gripped your hands together in your lap, knuckles white, and tried to breathe through it.
he pulled over to the side of the road, into a small parking lot near a closed convenience store. the engine idled softly, the heater hummed, and the world outside the windows felt very far away.
then, he turned to face you.
his dark eyes were intense–searching, desperate, hungry for answers you had been starving him of for weeks. they moved across your face as if he was trying to read a brook written in a language he didn't understand.
“what’s going on?” he began. his tone was cautious, as if he was approaching something wounded, “did i do something wrong?”
the question was a knife to your heart. it slide between your ribs with surgical precision, finding the softest parts of you, the places where all your fears lived, he thought it was his fault. he had been carrying this for weeks, thinking he was the reason for the ordeal.
and you had let him.
“...no,” your voice barely above a whisper. you looked down at your hands, at the white-knuckled grip you had on yourself, “you didn’t do anything wrong.”
the silence stretched between you, heavy with everything you weren’t saying out loud. you could feel his gaze on you, his confusion, his desperate need to understand. you could feel him waiting, always so patient for you to give him something, anything, to hold onto.
however, the truth was too big. too messy. too terrifying.
“then why?” the hurt in his voice was raw, undisguised, stripped of all the careful composure he had been holding onto. it was the kind of hurt that couldn’t be hidden, couldn’t be smoothed over.
“why are you avoiding me? why do you barely talk to me anymore?” each question landed like a blow, as if he was listing wounds he didn’t know how to treat. “whenever i see you at the cafe, you can’t get away from me fast enough. you used to–”
a pause, his jaw tightening; that muscle jumping beneath his skin, the one you watched flex a hundred times when he was concentrating, when he was frustrated, whe he was trying not to feel too much.
however, he was feeling it now. all of it.
“i thought we were close. i thought–”
he ran a hand through his hair, a gesture so familiar it made your chest cave in. frustration. confusion. the kind of helplessness that came from wanting to fix something and now knowing how.
“did i misread everything?” his voice came quieter now, more fragile. as if he was bracing for the answer, “were we not… were not friends the way i thought we were?”
friends.
the word hit you like a slap–a reminder. like everything you had been afraid of, crystallized into seven letters.
he thought this was about friendship. he thought you were pushing him away because you didn’t care enough, didn’t value him enough, didn’t want him in your life the way he wanted you.
he had no idea.
he had no idea that you cared too much. that you wanted him too much. that every moment near him felt like standing too close to a fire; beautiful, warm, and absolutely capable of melting you.
“no!” the denial tore out of you before you could stop it–sharp, desperate, and raw in its own way. you finally glanced up at him, finally let yourself see him, finally stopped hiding behind your own walls.
and the look on his face–god.
it was hope, desperation, and fear all tangled together, mirroring your current emotional chaos; the same storm you had been drowning in for weeks, now reflected back at you in his eyes.
“you didn’t… you didn’t misread anything. you’re my… you’re one of the best friends i’ve ever had, changbin–”
“but?”
you took a shaky breath. this was it. the moment you had been dreading. you had to say something, and the words were stuck in your throat like shards of glass.
“but i can’t do this anymore,” you whispered, “i can’t keep pretending.”
changin’s brows furrowed, “pretending what?”
you looked down at your hands, twisting together in your lap like they could anchor you to something solid. the tears were already coming, hot and traitorous, spilling down your cheeks before you could stop them.
"pretending that i don't—" your voice cracked. "pretending that you're just my friend. pretending that every time you text me, my heart doesn't race. pretending that when you smile at me, i don't forget how to breathe. pretending that i haven't been falling in love with you since the moment we first hung out.”
you looked down at your hands, twisting together in your lap like they could anchor you to something solid. the tears were already coming, hot and traitorous, spilling down your cheeks before you could stop them,
you couldn’t look at him. you couldn’t bear to see the pity, the awkwardness, the careful let-down that was surely coming. so you just kept talking, the confession spilling out of you like water through a broken dam.
“i know i shouldn’t feel this way. i know i’m not–” you, yet again, gestured vaguely at yourself–at your body, at everything you had seen as insufficient, “i’m not what someone like you want. i know that. i’ve always known that. but i couldn’t help it. i tried so hard to just be your friend, to just be happy with what we had, but every time i was with you, i wanted more. i wanted things i have no right to want.”
a sob escaped you, and you turned your attention towards the window, trying to hold it in.
“and then i saw you with that woman at the company. she was so pretty, so perfect, and i realized–” a sad laugh broke through your lips, “i realized that that was it. that was my wake-up call. you have a life, changbin. a real life with real people who belong in your world. you are loved. and i’m just.. just some girl who works at a cafe. i don’t belong there.”
you finally looked up at him once more, your eyes swimming with tears, your heart laid bare and bleeding between you.
“so i tried to give you space. to make it hurt less when you eventually–” you swallowed hard, “when you eventually found someone who was actually good enough for you. i thought if i did it first, if i created the distance, maybe it wouldn’t destroy me when you left.”
another tear fell.
“but it didn’t work. nothing worked–regardless, i still love you. i still think about you constantly.”
silence.
heavy, terrifying silence.
you waited for him to speak, to let you down gently, to explain that he was sorry but he only saw you as a friend. you waited for the kindness you knew he possessed to deliver the rejection in the softest way possible.
yet, he didn’t speak.
he just stared at you, his eyes wide, his expression frozen somewhere between shock and something you couldn’t name. something softer. something that looked almost like wonder.
“i’m sorry,” you breathed, the words falling like stones–heavy, clumsy, irreversible, “i’m so sorry. i shouldn’t have–i know this makes things weird. i know you probably don’t–”
you couldn’t finish.
you reached for the door handle, desperate to scurry away, “i’ll just–i’ll go. we can pretend this never happened. i’ll understand if you don’t want to–”
his hand caught your wrist, warm fingers circling the place where your pulse was trying to beat its way out of your body.
“y/n. stop.”
his voice was rough, strained, nothing like the gentle tone you had expected, you turned to look at him.
his chest was rising and falling too fast. his jaw was working around words he hadn’t said yet. his eyes were burning with something that looked almost like… relief.
“that woman,” he murmured slowly, carefully, “the one you saw me with at the company.”
you nodded miserably, mentally preparing yourself for the impact.
he let out a shaky breath, as if he was trying to suppress his… laugh?
“that was my cousin.”
cousin.
“she’s a stylist,” another breath, steadier this time, “she’s married.”
one second. two. your brain turning the words over, examining them from every angle, trying to find the catch, the lie, the evidence you were missing.
then the blood drained from your body.
“she’s–”
“my cousin,” he nodded, and something flickered in his eyes–something that looked almost like a smile, almost like disbelief, almost like he couldn’t believe this was the reason, “my cousin, y/n–who, by the way, has been asking about you for weeks because i may have mentioned you plenty of times.”
you stared at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air, “but–”
“i was telling her about this girl i’ve been spending time with. this amazing, beautiful, incredible girl who makes me laugh, listens to my music, and definitely the best cook. this girl who i’ve been falling in love with for months.”
all of the sudden, the world tilted. the car felt too small, the air too thin, your body too fragile to contain everything that was suddenly blooming inside you. your heart literally stopped.
“i wanted to introduce you, i wanted you to meet her, to meet my family, to–” he stopped. swallowed, before starting again, “but you were gone before i could get to you. and then everything changed.”
his thumb traced a slow arc against your wrist–the same wrist he was still holding, still grounding, still keeping you here when every instinct was screaming at you to run or cry… or even both.
“you started pulling away, and i didn’t know why. i kept thinking–” his voice cracked, just slightly, “i kept thinking i had done something. said something. pushed too hard or moved too fast. i really thought i had lost you.”
“...changbin–”
“no, let me finish,” he inhaled another shaky breath, his thumb still tracing those gentle circles on your wrist–an anchor, the only thing keeping you from splintering apart completely, “i replayed every conversation in my head, every moment we spent together. every laugh, every look, every stupid joke you made that i still think about when i can’t sleep.”
a broken laugh, soft and self-deprecating.
"i kept asking myself where i went wrong. what i could have done differently. because losing you—" his voice fractured, the words splintering on the way out. "losing you felt like losing something i never even got to have. something i wanted so badly it hurt. something i didn't even know i was allowed to want until it was gone.”
you shook your head, fresh tears spilling over, carving warm paths down your cheeks.
“you didn’t do anything wrong,” your voice came out fragile, trembling on the edge of breaking. it was the most honest thing you had said in weeks, stripped bare of all the restraints you had put on yourself, “nothing. it was never you.”
“then talk to me,” his eyes searched for yours, desperate, “please, whatever it is, just tell me. i need answers.”
you looked at him. at the shadows under his eyes, the tension in his jaw, the way his hand was still wrapped around yours like he was afraid you would disappear if he let go.
the truth sat on your tongue, heavy and bitter.
“because you deserve better.”
your answer fell into the silence like heavy stones into deep water, irreversible, sending ripples through everything.
his brows furrowed, “what?”
“you deserve better,” you repeated, voice cracking, “you deserve someone beautiful. someone thin. someone who looks like she belongs next to someone like you.”
you gestured at yourself, your body, at everything you had been taught to hate, “not this. not me.”
“y/n–”
“i’m not pretty, changbin,” the tears came faster now, “i’m not any of the things that you should want. and i thought–”
a sob caught in your throat, “i thought if i let myself love you, it would only hurt more when you finally figured it out. when you finally saw me the way everyone else does.”
“everyone else?”
“everyone else. you don’t understand,” you pulled your hand away, now wrapping your arms around yourself like you could hold the pieces together, “i’ve spent my whole life being looked at and looked through. being told i’m too much in some ways and not enough in others. i’ve made peace with it, or i thought i had.”
you wiped your tears with the back of your hand, sucking in another deep breath, “but then… you came along. and you looked at me. really looked at me. like i mattered. like i was worth seeing–and i didn’t know how to handle that, didn’t know how to be someone worthy of that look.”
silence.
he didn’t speak for a long moment. didn’t. just sat there, his eyes never leaving yours.
then, slowly, he reached out.
his hand found yours again, gently prying it away from where you were clutching your own arm. he held it in both of his, warm and steady.
“can i tell you something?” he asked gently.
you nodded.
“when i first met you,” he began, shifting closer to you–close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him, could smell that familiar scent that had haunted your dreams for weeks, “i thought you were cute. adorable, even. the way you smile like you couldn’t help it. like happiness just spilled out of you whether you wanted it or not.”
a tiny, sad smile tugged at his lips, “and so incredibly sincere. you wore your heart on your sleeve in a way i had never seen before. no pretense. just… you.”
he paused, his gaze mapping your features as if he was trying to memorize every detail.
“and i remember thinking, ‘i hope she keeps looking at me. i hope she keeps smiling like that. i hope i get to be the reason for it someday.’”
his hand came up, cupping your cheek with a gentleness that made your breath catch.
“i fell for you ever since game night. when you laughed at one of jeongin’s stupid jokes and your whole face lit up. when you talked about movies like it was something you felt in your bones. when you paid attention to the subtlest changes about me. i fell for you because of who you are.”
a tear slipped down your cheek, and he caught it with his hand.
“not who you think you should be. not who the world tried to tell you to be. not some edited, polished version of yourself. you, the real you.”
he leaned closer, his forehead almost touching yours. you could feel his breath warm against your lips.
“and you,” he continued, “you are the most beautiful person i’ve ever met. not just on the outside–although god knows i could spend an entire day just looking at you–but inside is where it counts. your heart. your kindness. the way you care about people, about me.”
his words settled in your chest like warmth, like light… it was something you had wanted to hear.
a sob escaped you–yet it was different, it bubbled up from somewhere deep and joyful, somewhere that had been locked away for so long you had forgotten it existed. it was a sob of relief. of disbelief. of hope.
"you're so silly." the words came out wet and wobbly, tangled up with laughter and tears and everything in between. a smile broke through despite everything—despite the crying, despite the weeks of pain, despite the walls you'd built so carefully. it split your face open, too wide and too bright, the way it always did when you couldn't help yourself. "how can you say things like that?”
he smiled back—that small, intimate smile, the one he saved just for you.
"because they're true." he shrugged, simple and honest and utterly devastating. "and because someone needs to say them. someone needs to tell you, every single day, until you finally believe it.”
his thumb traced your cheekbone, feather-light, “and i volunteer. full-time. no days off.”
a laugh bubbled out of you—wet and surprised and absolutely genuine. it felt strange in your throat, after weeks of nothing but silence and sorrow. it felt like coming home.
“god, i love you,” you breathed, the confession coming easier than ever, “i love you so much.”
a soft giggle bubbled up from his chest, warm and infectious, “say it again.”
“i love you.
“again.”
“i love you, seo changbin,” his name on your tongue felt like a prayer, something sacred, “i love the way you make me laugh. even when i’m sad, even when i’m scared, even when i’m trying so hard to push you away–you still find a way to make me smile.”
a watery laugh escaped you, genuine.
“i love the way you listen. really listen when i talk. like what i’m saying matters–like i matter. you don’t just hear my words, you understood everything underneath them. the things i’m too scared to say, the feelings i can’t put into words. you hear me.”
his breath caught. you felt it in the way his chest stilled, in the way his hand tightened ever so slightly against your cheek. you could've swore you could see his eyes glistening.
“i love the way you look at me. like i’m the only person in the world–”
“you are,” he cut in, his voice rough, almost breaking, “the only person in my world. have been for a while now.”
“changbin…’ another tear slipped down your cheek, and he caught that one too.
“it’s true,” his voice was fierce now, desperate in needing you to believe his words more than he had ever needed anything. “don’t you dare try to deny it. not for a second.”
a soft laugh escaped you. you shook your head, a reflexive motion, years of self-doubt wired so deep into your bones that even now, even with him saying his truths, your first instinct was to push back. to deflect.
“chang–”
he didn’t let you finish.
his hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck—slow, deliberate, like he had all the time in the world and wanted to savor every second of this. his fingers threaded gently into your hair at the nape, tangling in the soft strands there, and the touch sent a shiver cascading down your spine like the first notes of a melody you'd been waiting your whole life to hear.
and then he kissed you.
it wasn’t a frantic desperate kiss. it was something far more devastating.
his lips met yours with a tenderness that felt like a question and an answer all at once. it was soft, warm, a whisper of pressure that seemed to ask ‘is this okay?’ even as it promised ‘i’ve been wanting this forever.’ he hovered at the edge of you, giving you time, giving you space, giving you every chance to pull away if you needed to.
as if you had ever wanted to pull away from this.
he kissed you as if he was memorizing you. there was no rush in the way his lips moved against yours. he was a dedicated scholar, and it seemed as though the curve of your lips was a sacred text he intended to learn by heart. every angle, every soft sigh, every tiny movement you made… he absorbed it, catalogued it, stored it away in the deepest parts of his memory.
he traced the seam of your mouth with his own, a slow exploration that was more intoxicating than any rush. his upper lip brushed against your lower, then the reverse, a gentle push and pull that made your head spin and your knees weaken despite being seated.
one of your hands rose to rest against his chest, seemingly on its own initiative. your palm pressed flat against the solid warmth of his, fingers spaying slightly over the fabric of his shirt.
you could feel the frantic, staccato beat of his heart beneath your palm, and it shattered the last of your resistance.
whatever walls you had been clinging to, whatever voices in the back of your mind still whispered that this couldn’t be real, they all crumbled into dust, carried away by the truth of his heartbeat against your palm.
you kissed him back with everything you had.
your hand fisted gently in his shirt, pulling him slightly closer. your lips parted against his, inviting him, welcoming home. a soft sigh escaped you, and he swallowed it like a man dying of thirst, like you were the only thing that could sustain him.
his hand tightened in your hair, not pulling, just holding, just keeping you close. his other hand splayed over your waist, drawing you against him until there was no space left between you, until you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began.
when the kiss finally ended, it wasn’t because either of you wanted it to. it was simply that you both needed to breathe, needed to come up for air and remind yourselves that the world still existed outside of this moment.
he pulled back slowly, his lips lingering against yours even as he moved away, like they couldn’t bear to break contact completely. his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm and uneven, mingling with yours in the tiny space between.
you opened your eyes and just looked at him, at the man who had just rearranged your entire universe with a single kiss. your hand was still on his chest, rising and falling with every breath. the shiver he had sent down your spine had settled into deep, resonant warmth in the very core of you.
“that…” you exhaled, a toothy smile touched your lips–unguarded and real, “what a way to shut me up, seo changbin.”
a laugh rumbled in his chest beneath your palm–low, warm, and a little bit breathless.
“been wanting to do that for a while,” he murmured softly, his voice intimate in a way that made your stomach flip. his thumb traced a slow, absent-minded pattern on your waist, like he couldn’t stop touching you, like he was still reassuring himself you were really here.
your face flushed hot, the heat crawling up your neck and settling in your cheeks like it had every right to be there. you ducked your head slightly, a flustered smile tugging at your lips. you gave him a light, playful shove on his chest.
“shut up,” you mumbled, yet there was no heat in it. only embarrassment and the giddy, overwhelming rush of being wanted by him.
changbin stumbled back, a hand flying to his chest right where you had hit him, his eyes going wide with theatrical offense.
“ow,” he breathed, genuinely, like you had actually wounded him, “right in the heart. direct hit. you’re a dangerous woman, y/n y/l/n!”
you laughed, rolling your eyes even as your smile grew. your tears had dried up by now, replaced by the warm, bubbling joy that seemed to fill every corner of your chest whenever you were around him. the weight that had settled there earlier, the years of self-doubt and insecurity, felt lighter now. it was as if he had somehow shouldered some of it without you even noticing.
“dangerous,” you repeated, shaking your head at him, “it was just a little tap.”
“a little tap, huh?” he clutched his chest with both hands now, staggering another distance for good measure, “i think you cracked a rib. i might need medical attention!”
“hah, funny,” you crossed your arms, attempting to look unimpressed, yet the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you completely, “okay, drama queen. should i call an ambulance?”
he nodded solemnly, still clutching his chest, “yes. but only if the paramedic looks like you. and performs CPR exactly like you do.”
your face went red again–so quickly, so fiercely, that you could feel the heat radiating from your own skin. you opened your mouth to respond, to fire back with something witty, yet nothing came out. just a sputter. a flustered, embarrassed sputter.
changbin’s expression shifted instantly, the playful theatrics melting into something softer, more tender.
“god, y/n, you're so cute,” before you could react, his fingers were pinching your cheek–gently, of course. he squished your cheek slightly, his grin widening as your lips pursed into an involuntary pout.
“stop,” you mumbled through your squished cheek, yet it came out sounding more like sthob and that only made him laugh harder.
“can’t do, princess,” another squish, “you’re stuck with me.”
princess. oh, he’s gonna’ be the death of me.
the thought barely had time to form before changbin’s eyes lit up with that familiar mischievous spark. his head tilted, studying your face with exaggerated curiosity, “cat got your tongue?”
your heart, yet again, did a full somersault in your chest. your face flushed even deeper, if that was possible. you tried to look away, to break free from his knowing gaze, yet his hands on your cheeks held you gently in place.
“n–no,” the stutter gave you away completely.
his grin widened.
“no?” he repeated, his voice was honey and mischief all at once. he finally released your cheeks, only to let his fingers trail slowly down to your chin, tilting your face up towards his, “then, can i kiss you again?”
you should be used to this by now. the way he looked at you. the way his touch made your skin tingle. the way his voice dropped just slightly when he was about to do something that would ruin you in the best way.
but you weren’t used to it. you didn’t think you had ever get used to it.
“…yes,” you whispered, your voice barely audible even in the quiet of the car.
when his lips finally met yours, it was like the first time all over again.
soft. warm. perfect.
he kissed you like he had all the time in the world, like there was nowhere else he would rather be, like you were the only thing that mattered. his hand stayed on your chin, while the other found its way back to your cheek, gently cradling your face.
you melted into him.
your hands found his shirt again, fisting in the soft fabric, holding on as the kiss deepened. you could feel his smile against your lips, and you couldn’t help but to reciprocate it.
when he finally pulled back, it was only by a breath.
“i love you, y/n,” he whispered against your lips.
you couldn’t help but to press your lips against him once more, a gentle peck.
“i love you too.”
he captured your lips once again, before his kisses left a burning trail on your forehead, cheek, and jaw. returning to your lips once more.
“be my girlfriend?” he whispered against your lips, his bottom lip brushing against your upper as he spoke.
your heart stopped.
then started again, faster than before.
“yes,” an immediate response. the word tumbled out of you before you could think, before the doubts could creep in. for once, your heart spoke before your fears could silence it.
“yeah?”
“yeah,” you were smiling now, happiness radiating from every part of you, “yes, changbin. a thousand times yes.”
he smiled once more, before leaning in once again.
your eyes fluttered close.
not because you were scared. not because you were hiding. not because you were trying to block out the world.
because for the first time, you didn’t need to see to believe.
you could feel him–his warmth, his love, his unwavering certainty. the gentle pressure of his lips against yours. the way his hand cradled your cheek preciously. the steady beat of his heart against your chest, syncing with your own.
pairing: joan garcía x female!reader | fluff | situationship | wc: 3,116 | warnings: none | note: none
joan garcia was a very simple man. well established and happy in his chosen career, he had few ambitions beyond it. nothing too far-fetched or impossible to achieve, even for someone in his position. he would've stayed with his previous team if they'd decided so, but he couldn't deny his dream of playing for a bigger team, which came true a short time later. he didn't imagine that he would be so well received by the barcelona fans, let alone by his teammates, who embraced him as if he had always been part of that family.
since then, his micro goals, as he used to call them, were being achieved. small ambitions that were being fulfilled through his effort and dedication, such as becoming the team's main goalkeeper, when he thought he had been hired only to be a substitute. not that he didn't have as much prestige in his previous team, but it was a different feeling. a dream. because that's what barcelona was for many players: a dream.
his professional life was going well, very well, he had nothing to complain about. if he were to be honest, perhaps this was the best phase of his career, so he dedicated himself to enjoying it to the fullest, with no idea if he would ever experience a similar phase again; the world of soccer was full of inconsistencies and impossible to predict, which was perhaps why he enjoyed being part of that universe so much. the unpredictable always seemed a little more attractive than the predictable, but he was starting to change his mind. because when it was a matter of unpredictability, he didn't like it when it came to you.
you, who were right now in his bathroom, with the door open, fixing your hair in front of the oval mirror hanging on the wall above the small sink. you were wearing his old brown t-shirt and only tiny panties, your bare feet against the cold marble floor. from the bed, he had a privileged view of you. it wasn't very common for you to spend the night, but he'd grown to like it when you did.
“i have an invitation for you," he said suddenly, breaking the silence, his words echoing until they reached you.
you tied your hair back the way you wanted and turned your face just a little toward him, arching one eyebrow in genuine suspicion. you hardly ever accepted his invitations, except for those that meant getting into his bed immediately.
“don't make that face, it's a good invitation,” he shot back, adjusting himself on the bed.
“i don't know, joan, you've been having some ideas that are a bit. . .”
“we've been at this for what? six months?”
you bit your lip after splashing water on your face and drying it with a small towel. you left the bathroom and leaned against the doorframe, not taking your eyes off him for even a second. you had the impression that you had had this conversation before, maybe a month ago.
“that's about right. maybe,” you replied, even though he had gotten the exact time right.
was six months a long time? a short time? reasonable for casually sleeping with someone? you had never had many long-term relationships, and because your job wasn't stable, your relationships didn't last. not really. not that long.
“that's half a year, y/n.
you sighed. hanging the towel back in the bathroom, you said:
“make the invitation."
the goalkeeper dragged the blanket to the side, patting the bed, silently calling you. you offered a small smile, nodded, and walked back to the bed, sitting down in front of him with your legs crossed. joan scratched the back of his neck; there was a hesitant smile on his lips, his beauty subtly softened, you had no doubt that he was handsome.
“come watch the supercopa final,” he finally asked.
you had been waiting for this. it was strange that you knew him so well at this point, but joan wasn't exactly a mysterious guy; in fact, he tended to be a little transparent. you could almost guess his thoughts sometimes.
“you remember that i'll be working, right?” you pointed out.
he was aware of that. somehow, though, he wanted to be foolish enough to try the approach. since you started seeing each other, you had never formally attended the games, let alone the important ones. at first, he didn't mind; after all, what you had wasn't anything special. every now and then you were together, but you always went your separate ways afterwards. however, joan realized at some point during those months that things were changing. he began to enjoy your company more, wanted to have you around more often, and always found some excuse to get you to go to his apartment or the hotel where he was staying.
you never accepted invitations to dates, casual dinners, or anything like that, always claiming that you didn't want too much exposure. getting involved with players, especially from big teams, always meant constant harassment from fans.
“can't you, i don't know, trade with someone?” he tried.
at that moment, joan didn't understand how his heart was beating so fast and so hard in anticipation of an answer. he wasn't that stupid; he had been trying to make it clear to you that what they had wasn't working for him anymore because he wanted more. he tried to bring up conversations about relationships, trying to understand what you were thinking, but unpredictability always hung around you. he understood your fears, obviously, it made perfect sense, but he couldn't help but wonder about giving it a try.
he liked you enough to make it work.
“i don't know if anyone would want to trade covering the final of el clásico for covering a simple rayo vs. mallorca match,” you joked, hiding your expression.
you made up an excuse, of course. you would be working on another game on the day of el clásico in the super cup, but if you wanted to, you could find someone to trade with. even though it was an important game and a classic rivalry, there was always someone with whom you could negotiate a swap in your line of work, but you didn't know if you wanted to.
being there would mean... a lot.
joan realized this, let out a low sigh, but didn't abandon the smile on his face. on the contrary, he just pulled you a little closer, touching the base of your face in a caress. the intimacy of the gesture melted you, and you didn't know how much longer you could keep acting like an idiot just because you were afraid to try and not succeed, collecting yet another failed relationship.
“i would be very happy if you were there, watching me, but i also understand, y/n, ” he said, his voice gentle, his heart gradually calming down. “it's okay. when you feel ready. you know how i feel.”
you swallowed hard, but forced a smile and returned his kiss on your lips, while your mind became a little messy again in terms of thoughts, because even though he had never said a single word directly about his feelings for you, he was right. you knew it.
you just pretended you didn't.
⚽⚽
the coffee was untouched. the cup remained in the same place you left it thirty minutes ago, cold and untouched. your computer screen was fixed on some website you didn't pay attention to, something like an article about the next game you needed to cover, but the words just weren't making sense to you. the office wasn't busy that day, most of the journalists were out in the field, which gave you some freedom to act as if you weren't thinking straight.
your mind was swirling with a million thoughts. at some point, you sighed and rubbed your face with both hands, trying to shake off your thoughts, spinning your body in your office chair. quite close by, on the other side, kaylen and ben, your two colleagues, exchanged glances. neither of them needed to say anything to get up at the same time and walk straight over to you.
“okay, spill it,” ben said, coming up on your left, leaning against your desk.
kaylen just joined him on your other side, dragging her chair closer. you took your hands away from your face and stared at your two friends, looking at them both in confusion.
“spill what?”
“you’ve seemed distracted since you got here,” kaylen explained. “you haven’t taken a single sip of your coffee, you didn’t complain about the last game you covered, and you can’t even concentrate enough to write a simple article.”
“what happened?” ben asked.
you huffed again.
“nothing happened, it's stupid and. . .” you were about to say, but stopped when you saw the look on their faces, which showed they didn't believe your words. you sighed, realizing very quickly that it would be useless to try and lie to them, so you leaned back in your chair, crossed your arms, and said, “it's the guy i'm seeing.”
“the mysterious hottie?” kaylen wanted to know.
you almost laughed.
“you don't even know if he's hot.”
“well, i may doubt everything, but not your good taste,” kaylen shrugged.
“so what about the mysterious hottie?” ben brought the subject back.
you thought there was no way to explain the situation without revealing the identity of the mysterious hottie, so you decided to come clean. ben and kaylen knew how to keep a secret, even if you didn't want to tell them before.
“the mysterious hottie is joan garcia,” you revealed. “and he wants me to go watch him in the spanish super cup final.”
ben's eyes widened.
“you're dating the hot barcelona goalie?!”
kaylen almost laughed at her friend's reaction.
you started to explain the context of the whole situation, confirming that, yes, it was the hot barcelona goalie. they didn't need many details, because even though you hadn't told them who you were dating, they always knew what was going on.
“okay, hold on, you didn’t say yes?” kaylen asked.
“i didn’t say no directly, i used the work excuse, which isn’t exactly an excuse, because i’ll be working that day,” you explained.
“what game are you covering?” ben wanted to know.
“rayo and mallorca.”
“give me a fucking break, y/n, you know i'll cover for you,” he complained. “what's the real reason you don't want to go? exposure? the inevitable fame of the players? you don't like him?”
you took a deep breath, uncrossing your arms. to outsiders, your decision was simple and easy, but they weren't in your shoes. you couldn't downplay your fears; you had made that mistake once and were trying not to do it again.
kaylen stared at you for a moment.
out of the three, she was the most perceptive. she understood her friend's fears about relationships, they were all valid, but she also realized that you were too attached to something that could be hurting you. you deserved to experience all of that, you didn't even realize you were sabotaging yourself.
“y/n,” she called, turning her friend's chair to face hers, “i know you have fun with him, but it's also time for you to admit to yourself that this stopped being just sex a long time ago. you always walk away when you realize that casual is no longer casual, so what makes this guy different?”
you blinked and swallowed hard, seeking ben's gaze, who just shrugged, silently agreeing.
“you don't have to answer that now, just... maybe it's worth giving him a chance, even if it comes with public exposure and everything, because, girl, you like this guy,” kaylen continued with a smile. “it's clear, and i think it was always inevitable.”
“besides,” ben interjected, "i think the exposure of him going public with you will be the least of your worries compared to how stupid you would be called for letting a hottie like that get away."
you and kaylen laughed, cursing him under your breath. you stared at them both, your smile faltering.
“what if it doesn't work out?” you whispered.
kaylen squeezed your hand, but it was ben who smiled and replied:
“what if it does?
⚽⚽
he was the star of the match.
the stadium couldn't have been any different on a day of el clásico: packed with fans from both teams, the singing and cheering louder than any other sound echoing in the environment. you used your position as a sports journalist, working for a renowned company that covered both teams' games, and entered as part of the crew, wearing a badge that identified you, but you weren't working.
ben insisted on covering the game that would be yours that day and did not accept that you were going as a journalist to the game, but as a personal guest of one of the players, which explained why you were wearing a barcelona shirt with joan garcia's name on the back, something that was not very common, since he was the team's goalkeeper and had his own uniform color.
this also meant that you weren't in the usual crowd. you preferred to be close to the vip area and didn't tell joan you were there. he had no idea, and you chose to reveal yourself only at the end of the game, preferably with his team taking the cup in that fierce final.
both teams were taking advantage. the score was tied, pointing to a possible overtime, so barcelona and real madrid increased the pressure, both teams trying to turn the game around to gain the upper hand at the end and secure the title.
even with barcelona down a player, the players did not seem shaken. you were one of the voices shouting joan garcia's name, watching him excel in the game. when barcelona finally turned the score around and broke the tie, gaining the advantage to secure the title, real began to press at the end of the second half. stoppage time was an important part of the goalkeeper's performance, as he continued to defend clear scoring chances by carreras and asencio, keeping barcelona ahead on the scoreboard. joan showed throughout that he was secure between the posts, confident in his own defensive work, his performance being crucial to his team's 3-2 win.
when the referee blew the whistle, securing the title for barcelona, you finally took a deep breath, letting go of that tension. for a moment, you really thought the game might go into extra time or that maybe they wouldn't come out on top. you watched the culé fans cheer in the stadium and kept your eyes on him on the field the whole time. you waited a moment before starting to leave the section, taking the path that led to the field.
you wanted to find him before the title was awarded.
on the way, you greeted some familiar faces, genuinely happy to be there, as if a few days ago you hadn't been racking your brains with doubts, which made you think you were making the right decision. when one of the security guards allowed you to pass onto the field, your hands sweated a little, your pulse quickening. you looked around; you had lost sight of him along the way, but he always stood out in that uniform color, so he would be easy to find.
and so it was.
a little further ahead, he was talking to pedri and ferran. you walked towards them, ferran seeing you first, but you asked for silence, receiving a nod from him. joan didn't see you because he had his back turned, and you took advantage of that. getting closer, you stood on your tiptoes and stretched out your hands, covering the goalkeeper's face.
“man, that's not…” he started, but stopped when he touched your hands. he felt the texture, but what gave you away was the scent of your perfume, which he noticed right after, dismissing that it was just one of the boys trying to mess with him. “y/n?”
pedri smiled at you and pulled ferran away to leave you alone.
you kissed joan's shoulder and took your hands off him. he turned to you, his face genuinely happy, his eyes surprised by your presence.
“i thought you weren't coming,” he said. “did you just get here?”
“no, i watched you from the beginning,” you replied, biting your cheek. “i think you should win mvp of the match.”
the sound of his laughter made your smile even wider.
he broke the distance, touching the side of your face.
“that means more to me coming from you than actually being awarded mvp,” he confessed.
you stared at each other for a moment, letting the silence prevail between you, even though there was a lot of noise around. you felt his tenderness on your cheek and held him by the waist. you were fully aware that you were right in the middle of the world's spotlight, in front of hundreds of cameras, but you didn't care.
all you cared about was being there with him, being the target of that smile. you raised one hand and placed it on his chest, feeling the goalkeeper's heartbeat, which wasn't normal.
“is all this because of me?” you joked.
but joan took it seriously, swallowing hard.
“i just won my first title with barcelona, and even so, i'm ecstatic because of you,” he confessed, quietly, just so you could hear. “i'm going to kiss you, y/n, here in front of everyone, may i?”
instead of answering, you kissed him. he held you so tightly, as if afraid it was a dream, that you almost lost your breath. he kissed you as if no one was watching, as if you were alone, as always, in your own space, not caring about the stares or comments around you.
“what does this mean?” he asked after breaking the kiss.
you licked your lips and turned your back just a little, just enough for him to see his number and your name on the shirt you were wearing. you felt something different, something you couldn’t explain, wanting to freeze that moment right there.
“it means whatever you want it to mean,” you replied, reaching out your hand to him.
without thinking twice, joan garcia accepted it, because if it meant what he wanted it to mean, then from that moment on, everyone would know he was yours.
✮ 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.
