꥟˚｡Plot - Two years after a horrible accident, YN is left paralyzed but secretly finds purpose in a quiet job. The stranger who saved her life reappears unexpectedly at her workplace, stirring emotions and memories she thought were buried. Their fateful encounter raises questions about second chances and unspoken connections.
꥟˚｡Genre - Angst, Trauma, Hurt, Comfort, Fluff
꥟˚｡Warnings - Mention of accident, blood, trauma, paralysis, anxiety, insecurities of yn, mention of the word gore, hurt to comfort, au, non idol au, Strangers to lovers au
꥟˚｡Word Count - 10.8 K ꥟˚｡Screenshot Count - 4
꥟˚｡A/N - Staymas Episode 2 is here! Dive into Y/N’s emotional journey of healing and rediscovery after life-altering events, and witness how Minho’s unwavering love and support become her guiding light. A story of resilience, love, and finding hope again. ( Inspired by Japan's Dawn Robo Cafe for disabled workers ) It's just slightly proofread so apologies for any mistakes 🙂↕️
꥟˚｡SKZ Masterlist ꥟˚｡Staymas Masterlist
The neon lights of Tokyo stretched endlessly, their vibrant colors blending together in the misty evening air. As you hurried down the crowded sidewalk, your breath formed small clouds, visible in the crisp chill of early winter. The rain from earlier had left the pavement slick, creating mirrors that reflected the glow of countless shop signs, vending machines, and the steady stream of passing cars. The city felt alive, buzzing with energy, but all you could focus on was the time ticking away. You were late…again.
“They’re going to kill me,” you muttered under your breath, gripping the straps of your bag like a lifeline. You had promised to be on time for the movie night, yet here you were, rushing through the streets twenty minutes after it had already started. The culprit? A last-minute customer at the café, who wanted all of the last stock left for the puddings.
Your phone vibrated incessantly in your pocket, no doubt another flurry of teasing texts from your friends. They loved to give you a hard time for always being late, and this would only add to their ammunition. You didn’t dare check the messages yet; it would only slow you down.
The crosswalk ahead blinked green just as you reached it. A small blessing. Without hesitation, you broke into a jog, your footsteps echoing faintly against the damp asphalt. The weight of guilt pressed heavily on your chest as your mind scrambled to come up with a plan.
"Should I bring snacks to make up for it?" you thought, already considering a detour to the nearest convenience store. "Maybe that’ll soften the blow. But what if they’re already too annoyed to let me in?"
Pulling your phone from your pocket, you quickly typed out a message to your friends, asking if they wanted anything specific. Your thumb hovered over the send button when a sharp, blaring horn shattered your concentration.
The world seemed to freeze.
Your head snapped up, and your eyes locked onto a truck barreling toward you, its headlights glaring like twin suns cutting through the darkness. Time moved in slow motion as panic gripped your entire body. Instinctively, your legs pushed you forward, trying desperately to cross the street, but it was too late.
This can’t be happening.
The impact came like a thunderclap, a brutal force that knocked the air from your lungs. Pain exploded through your body as you were flung backward. The world spun wildly,a chaotic blur of neon lights, muffled screams, and the distant screech of tires. When your body finally hit the ground, the cold, unforgiving pavement sent a jolt through you.
You tried to breathe, but each inhale was shallow and sharp, like your ribs were made of glass. Every part of you ached, your arms, your chest, your head. But what terrified you most was the eerie numbness in your lower body.
Your legs.
You tried to move them, but they wouldn’t respond. Panic clawed at your throat as the realization sank in. Something was horribly wrong.
Before your mind could spiral further, you felt a pair of strong arms scoop you up from the pavement. Warmth flooded over you as your cheek pressed against someone’s chest.
His scent-woodsy, clean, and faintly familiar,calmed you in a way you couldn’t explain.
“Stay with me,” he said, his voice deep and steady, cutting through the haze of pain and confusion.
You squinted, trying to focus on his face, but the pounding in your skull blurred your vision. All you could make out was the faint outline of his jaw and the shadows of his features against the streetlights. It seemed like you've seen him before, but where ?
“Who… who are you?” you managed to whisper, your voice trembling with pain and fear.
“Can you hear me? Are you okay?” he asked, his tone gentle but urgent. He shifted you slightly in his arms, cradling you as if you were made of glass.
“My… my legs,” you stammered, tears spilling over as you struggled to get the words out. “I can’t… feel them.”
His grip on you tightened just slightly, a quiet curse escaping under his breath. “Don’t worry about that right now,” he said, his voice firm yet soothing. “We’re almost there. Just hold on.”
The sound of approaching sirens grew louder, mingling with the distant hum of the city. Each step he took was deliberate and steady, as if he was determined to keep you safe no matter what.
Your vision blurred as the voices of the paramedics grew louder, their words a distant hum against the roaring chaos of your mind. The relentless pain and exhaustion finally overwhelmed you, lulling you into a deep, heavy sleep. The darkness took hold, pulling you further away from reality.
The last sensation you felt before slipping into unconsciousness was his hand,warm, firm, and undeniably reassuring, gently squeezing yours. His voice followed, low and steady, like a lifeline in the storm.
Minho stepped off the bustling train platform in Tokyo, the city’s vibrant energy hitting him like a wave. It was a stark contrast to the quieter streets of Seoul, where he'd spent the last couple of years, working tirelessly to climb the ranks at his job. And now, he was back in Tokyo, taking on a new position. Not even two weeks into the job, and already, he found himself buried in meetings and overwhelmed by tight deadlines, leaving him exhausted.
One evening, with no work to occupy his mind, Minho decided to take a stroll around the city to clear his thoughts. The cold December air hit him sharply as he stepped out of his apartment, but there was something in the atmosphere that urged him to walk. Whistling a soft tune, he wandered through his neighborhood, which, to his surprise, was unusually quiet even in the early evening hues of 6 pm. Of course, people were likely busy, either shopping for the holidays, nestled in the warmth of their homes, or working, just as he had done for most of his days.
After hours of aimless walking, he found himself on a street that seemed strangely familiar. At first, he couldn’t place the memory, but as the traffic light turned green and he crossed the street, it hit him like a truck. This was the same street where the accident had occurred,the one where he had saved that woman….
Two years ago, Minho's friends were having a get-together, and he had one simple task: bring dessert. Yet, as always, he had forgotten. Panic set in as he rushed through the streets, desperately searching for any café or restaurant still open that evening. Unfortunately, the city seemed to have shut down after 8 PM. He ran through neighborhood after neighborhood, street after street, but every café he passed was dark and locked up tight.
Finally, in the last neighborhood, feeling defeated, he was about to turn back when a soft glow from an establishment caught the corner of his eye. It looked like a café from a distance. His legs moved automatically in that direction, hoping, praying they still had any desserts left. Huffing and puffing, he pushed through the door, the sudden entrance startling the woman who was packing up some boxes for closing.
"Sorry," Minho said, breathless as he approached the counter.
"We’re about to close, sir," she replied, her voice distant, her attention still on the boxes.
"I’m so sorry for barging in last minute," he blurted out in a rush. "I completely forgot to bring dessert to a get-together with my friends, and every café in the neighborhood seems to be closed. If it’s possible, could you sell me any puddings you have left? I’ll take them all and be on my way."
He spoke so quickly that he almost didn’t pause for a breath, but still, she didn’t look up. The sincerity in his voice, however, seemed to reach her, and she paused her work, glancing up at him. She walked over to the counter, her gaze softening as she met his eyes.
"We’re closing, sir. I don’t think it’s possible," she said gently, though there was a hint of regret in her voice.
Minho felt a pang of disappointment but couldn’t help but notice how sweet her voice was, like honey. He blushed, and the warmth spread across his cheeks as he looked back at her. "I’m so sorry, I humbly request just a couple. I’ll pay, and I’ll be out of your way, I promise. It won’t take long."
The man in front of her looked to be about the same age, his face a perfect mix of soft features and a sharp jawline. Even in a basic hoodie, sweat dripping from his face from his rush, there was an undeniable handsomeness about him. She felt a sudden catch in her throat, and for a moment, she was at a loss for words.
"Is that okay?" he asked again, his voice pulling her out of her daze.
"Y... yeah," she stammered, shaking herself from the shock. "We have a couple of puddings left. How many do you need?"
"Thank you," Minho replied, a grateful smile lighting up his face. "Could you pack 20, please?"
She nodded, quickly starting to pack a box full of puddings. Under her breath, she cursed as she glanced at the clock, she was running late.
Half an hour had since passed and Minho was rushing back to his friend's apartment when the scene unfolded in front of him. A truck barreled down the street, and there she was-the same woman from the café-standing frozen in its path. His heart dropped as he realized what was about to happen. Panic set in as he scrambled to help her, dropping the box of puddings he was carrying. But it was already too late. The truck struck her with full force, throwing her into the air. Her body slammed into the cold pavement with a sickening thud, and a pool of blood began to spread from beneath her head.
Minho didn't hesitate. He ran to her side, desperately trying to scoop her up. His phone was in his hand, but when he tried to call an ambulance, no one picked up. The nearest hospital was ten minutes away, and he knew carrying her was the only chance he had to save her. Adrenaline surged through him as he lifted her into his arms and began running, each step feeling like a race against time.
He spoke soothingly to her, trying to keep her awake. " Stay with me! She stirred beneath his touch, murmuring softly, "Who are you?"
Minho felt a rush of relief when he saw that she was still conscious. His voice, though gentle, carried a trace of urgency as he asked, “Are you okay? Can you hear me?” His words, meant to comfort, felt hollow, as if they couldn’t reach the depth of his fear. Panic surged through him once more when she whispered that she couldn’t feel her legs.
“Don’t worry about that right now,” he said, his voice steady but laced with an underlying tension. “We’re almost there. Just hold on.”
Even as fear twisted in his chest, Minho forced himself to believe in the calm he was trying to project. He spoke with more confidence, hoping that the reassurance would reach her, and that it would somehow settle his own racing heart.
When Minho reached the hospital, the building seemed eerily quiet, almost deserted. Panic clung to him like a second skin as he rushed inside. Before he could make it to the emergency room, the paramedics arrived and took over. They moved quickly, whisking her through the double doors, their voices urgent but steady. Minho stood frozen at the entrance, unable to do more than hold her hand one last time. Giving it a soft squeeze, he whispered, “You’re going to be okay,” his voice trembling with determination, even as fear gnawed at him.
As the paramedics disappeared into the depths of the hospital with her, Minho finally released a shaky breath. His hands were still trembling, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he stared at the now-empty hallway. Moments later, the quiet was shattered by the sound of hurried footsteps and frantic voices. A group of people burst through the hospital doors, their faces etched with panic and fear.
“Y/N! Y/N, please wake up! You’re going to be okay! Just stay with us!” a young woman cried, her voice breaking as she rushed toward the direction the stretcher had gone. Her desperation was palpable, raw, and it hit Minho like a wave.
Minho, still standing at the door, desperate to be of any help, quickly picked up on her name. Y/N. It echoed in his mind, anchoring him in the chaos. “Y/N, hang in there,” he whispered softly, as if somehow his words could reach her through the walls.
Turning to the young woman, her sister, he realized.Minho tried to offer what little comfort he could. “I was there,” he said gently, his voice low but steady. “I saw the truck coming. It swerved out of nowhere. I… I got her out of the way just in time.” His voice faltered as the memory replayed in his mind. “But the impact… I’m so sorry.”
Her sister’s tears streamed freely as she listened, clinging to every word. She nodded, her voice trembling as she whispered, “You saved her. You saved my sister.”
When Y/N was finally wheeled into the operating theater, her sister turned to Minho, her face streaked with tears, her eyes glistening with gratitude and heartbreak. “Thank you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re her guardian angel. I don’t even want to imagine what could’ve happened if you hadn’t been there.”
Minho nodded mutely, overwhelmed by the weight of her words. He couldn’t find the right response, couldn’t process the mix of emotions swirling inside him,the relief of knowing he’d done what he could, the fear of what might come next, and the raw ache of seeing a family on the verge of losing someone they loved.
As the night stretched on, Minho stood outside the hospital, his figure silhouetted against the dim glow of the streetlights. A strange mixture of hope and helplessness washed over him. Her name, Y/N, echoed in his mind, repeated like a lifeline, tethering him to the present moment
Even after the chaos subsided and he returned home...
Minho's throat ran dry as he recalled the scene unfolding in front of him that day.Her face remained etched in his mind. He often wondered if she had fully recovered, if her life had returned to normal after the tragedy…
"Focus," Minho murmured to himself. The past was just that, the past. He couldn’t change it, and now, his craving for something sweet tugged at him. Even though he had tried to forget her, a persistent voice in his head urged him to seek out the café she once worked at. He never had the chance to taste her desserts after he’d accidentally dropped them to save her. The memory lingered, but he couldn’t quite shake the need to return to that place, to experience what he missed.
As he wandered through the winding backstreets, he found himself standing at the corner where the café had stood two years ago. But instead of the familiar cozy spot, there was only a pharmacy now. The café was gone,nothing more than a distant memory. His heart sank in disappointment, and he sighed, deciding to head home. The chill in the air was becoming sharper by the minute.
Taking a shortcut through a narrow alley, he walked into a quieter street, the contrast to the bustling lanes he had passed earlier striking. It was much calmer here, with the glow of a few lit shops casting soft, warm lights onto the pavement. As he neared the corner, a café sign caught his attention. The bold letters “Open” gleamed back at him, and curiosity bubbled inside him.
He approached and stepped inside, greeted by a rush of warmth. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and pastries filled the air, the soft hum of machinery a backdrop to the quiet atmosphere. A curious name adorned the café’s front: Twilight Robo Café. Minho raised an eyebrow. The name intrigued him.
The interior of the café was unlike any he had seen before. Robots, sleek and small, glided around with surprising grace. They served drinks, delivered snacks, and interacted with customers in a way that blurred the lines between technology and humanity. Their screens displayed animated avatars, mimicking emotions with perfect accuracy. It was futuristic, yet oddly comforting.
Minho chose a seat by the window, gazing out at the winter landscape as snowflakes began to fall, casting a soft veil over the world outside. He could feel the warmth of the café against the chill creeping into his bones. He exhaled, content for the moment.
Moments later, a small robot wheeled up to his table and stopped in front of him.
"Welcome to Twilight Robo Café!" the voice chirped brightly, warm and inviting. "What can I get for you today?"
Minho froze. There was something about the voice, something unnervingly familiar. His mind raced, but he couldn’t place where he had heard it before.
"Sir?" The robot’s voice broke his train of thought.
Minho blinked, shaking himself from his stupor. "Uh, I’ll take a pudding... and a black coffee, please."
“May I know whose name it’s going for?” the robot voice asked.
“Minho,” he replied.
“A pudding and a black coffee for Minho, coming right up!” The screen flashed a wide smile before the robot zipped away.
Minho stared at the empty space where the robot had been, confusion clouding his thoughts. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the voice belonged to someone he knew, or at least someone he had once met.
Minutes passed, and soon enough, the robot returned, carefully placing his coffee and pudding on the table. "There you go! Anything else I can do for you?" it asked, the screen flashing another bright, animated grin.
Minho leaned forward slightly, his curiosity piqued. "Um, this might sound strange, but your voice... do you choose it yourself?”
The robot's head tilted in a quizzical way, that made it seem almost human. Behind the screen, you were controlling it, your fingers hesitating on the joystick as your heart skipped a beat. There he was, he was here. The man who had rushed to your aid that night, the one you had tried to forget, yet never could. The same man who had been by your side when everything had fallen apart. You hadn’t expected to see him again, let alone hear his voice now.
Sitting in your dimly lit apartment, you blinked twice, your eyes wide in disbelief. Was this really happening? It couldn’t be him... but it was. The man from that day. The one you had barely spoken to but had thought about constantly since then. How was it possible that he remembered your voice? That day, your words had been barely audible, lost in the chaos of the accident. Your voice had been raw and broken. You had been a mess…scattered emotions and fear. And after everything, after your accident, your life had changed so drastically.
You had become a shadow of the person you once were, paralyzed from the waist down, the scars marking your body and face a constant reminder of everything you had lost. The woman you once were, vibrant, full of life, running the café you owned, with ease and a warm smile, was no longer. Now, you hid behind the screen of a robot, controlling its every movement, its every expression from the confines of your small apartment. It was the only way you could still interact with the world, without the fear of frightening people with your appearance. The very face that had once greeted customers with warmth now carried the weight of painful memories, and you couldn't bear to see the looks of pity or fear in the eyes of those who might recognize you. So, you stayed behind the safety of the screen, crafting your persona through the robotic avatar, a small semblance of the woman you used to be, but never fully seen.
But there he was, still as handsome as you remembered. His smile hadn’t changed, and it made your heart ache. You hadn’t expected him to recognize your voice, yet here he was, doing just that.
Minho knocked gently on the screen, as though checking if the robot was malfunctioning. The action snapped you back to the present, your palms suddenly clammy. You quickly moved the controls, realizing you’d left the robot on idle for too long.
"I certainly do," you replied, trying to sound nonchalant, keeping your voice light. "It just... your voice sounds oddly familiar. Like I’ve heard it before."
Minho’s brows furrowed as he tried to place the voice. "Maybe I just have one of those voices," you deflected, not wanting to reveal too much.
"Maybe?" Minho murmured, taking a sip of his coffee and watching the world outside with a contemplative look on his face.
For the next several minutes, Minho continued asking questions, trying to get to know the person behind the robot. Each answer you gave was carefully measured, trying your best to keep your emotions in check. You couldn’t risk revealing your identity, not yet.
"So," Minho asked, setting his coffee down and leaning forward, "how does this work? Are you controlling it remotely?"
"Yes," you replied, trying to keep your tone even. "I control it from home. Everything you see, the movements, the voice, the expressions, it’s all me, just through a robot."
"That’s amazing," Minho said, his lips curling into an impressed smile. "Does it feel weird... interacting with customers like this?"
"Not really," you answered. "At first, it was awkward. But after a while, you get used to it. And maybe it’s a nice way to interact with people in ways I couldn’t before."
Minho nodded, tapping his fingers thoughtfully on the table. "Do customers ever forget there’s a person behind the robot?"
You laughed softly, a genuine chuckle that escaped without you meaning to.
"Of course! You’d be surprised how many people forget and just say things like, ‘This robot has great customer service.’ Like it’s some kind of AI program," you giggled. "It’s fun, though."
"Yeah, seems like you enjoy your workplace," Minho replied with a grin, taking a bite of the pudding. His eyes lit up as the sweetness of the caramel and the creamy texture hit him. It was the perfect balance of flavors, nothing too overwhelming. He closed his eyes for a moment in pure satisfaction. Behind the screen, you couldn’t help but smile, warmed by his enjoyment.
"Miss, may I know who made this?" he asked eagerly.
You smiled, pride swelling in your chest. "It’s my family’s recipe. I just control the robot to make it perfect here. After a couple of trial and errors, we finally got it just right."
"It’s delicious!" Minho exclaimed, his smile widening.
"Thank you," you said, pleased to see him enjoying it.
The conversation continued to flow naturally, the lighthearted exchanges easing some of the tension you’d felt earlier. But then Minho asked a question that made your heart stutter.
"Did your family own a café?"
Your breath caught in your throat. You had almost said too much. You froze, but then tried to cover up the slip.
"Yes... they did, but I did, too. It was just around the... " You stopped yourself mid-sentence. The words you almost let out were too dangerous.
Minho looked at you, confused. You quickly recovered, the warmth on your face barely hiding the panic you felt. "I mean, yes, it was a family recipe turned into a business... but not anymore," you added awkwardly, forcing a smile.
Minho nodded, his attention returning to the pudding. "That explains the taste."
Minho leaned back in his chair, his eyes still on the robot, as though he were studying it for answers. "So, do you get a lot of people like me? The ones who ask too many questions?"
You laughed more genuinely this time, the sound like music in the quiet café. "You’d be surprised. So many of them treat me like a therapist, venting about their day and asking for advice. Others just make small talk about the weather."
Minho chuckled at one of your stories, the conversation feeling more relaxed. It almost felt like you could breathe again.
But then he asked something that made your heart race once more.
"Do you think we’ve met before? I can’t help but think your voice reminds me of someone."
Your heart skipped a beat. You froze, not sure how to respond.
"Maybe I just have one of those voices?" you said, your voice light and carefully measured.
"Maybe?" Minho replied, though his tone carried a hint of doubt. "But I can't shake the feeling that that's not it... The way you talk, it's just too personal."
Minho tilted his head slightly, studying the robot as though the answer might be hidden there, etched into its smooth surface.
Your grip on the controls tightened, and your pulse raced in your ears. A wave of heat flushed over you, making it feel like you were trapped in a sauna. Every part of you screamed to deny it all, to retreat, but your heart, oh, your heart, yearned for him to remember you.
"Well," you said, forcing a light smile, "It's a small world. Maybe we've crossed paths before?"
Minho’s gaze narrowed, his expression thoughtful. "You think so? Tokyo's a big city. Anything's possible."
Your voice softened as you responded, "Maybe."
Minho’s next question caught you completely off guard. "Do you ever wish you could meet the person you're talking to? In person, I mean?"
You hesitated, fingers trembling slightly as you processed his words. "Sometimes," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. "But it's complicated."
Minho didn’t interrupt. He just kept looking at you with that same, unwavering curiosity, as though he could see beyond the surface, searching for the truth that you had buried deep within.
"I believe it's easier for people to connect when they don’t see the messier parts of someone's life," you said quietly. "The robots, they make things simple. No judgment. No awkwardness. And I'd like to keep it that way."
Minho frowned. "That's not fair, though. Everyone has a messy past. That's what makes us human."
You were left at a loss for words once again. How could he say such things so easily? The very reason you applied for this job was to avoid letting anyone see who you really were. They couldn’t see you like this, not when you were too broke to even afford to hide the scars on your face. Not when going outside felt more like a monumental task. It was exhausting, living without the use of your legs.
A tear slipped down your cheek, but you wiped it away quickly. You had no answer for him. The silence between you felt deafening.
"It’s just..." you finally managed to croak, "Not everyone thinks like you."
Minho tilted his head, his gaze thoughtful. "Maybe they should..."
He smiled gently. "I’d like to meet the wonderful lady behind this voice as well."
It was almost 10 p.m., closing time for the café. Minho was disappointed when another robot politely told him it was time to leave. The robot he'd spent so much time talking to was now busy attending to another customer. Maybe it was his questions. Maybe he had overstepped or overwhelmed her.
She had excused herself to tend to others, and Minho was left standing there, contemplating the conversation. As the clock ticked closer to 10, a thought struck him,one that seemed silly but lingered in his mind. He wasn’t sure if anything would come of it, but he wanted to know more. It had felt nice talking to her.
Before he left, he handed the next robot worker a note addressed to the wonderful robo Missy.
‘It was nice talking to you. I’m really sorry if I overstepped. Call or text me if you ever need to vent.”
"It was nice talking to you. I'm really sorry if I overstepped. Call or text me if you ever need someone to talk to or vent."
You stared at the note for what seemed like an eternity, the words dancing in front of your eyes but never quite sinking in. Weeks had passed since your last encounter with Minho, yet you couldn’t stop replaying that moment over and over. He had wanted to meet you, to know you, but you had been frozen in place, unable to say a word. You had scrambled for an exit, seizing the first opportunity; A last-minute customer ordering takeout. You had apologized to him, your voice a strained whisper, as you quickly steered your robot towards the new customer. You avoided his gaze, his eyes, still burning into your back, full of something you couldn’t quite read.
And now, you were holding this in your hand, a simple note with his number scrawled across the bottom, an apology for something Minho didn’t even know he had done. He had respected your boundaries, your silence, even when everything in you had screamed for him to see you, to understand you. But you couldn’t bring yourself to speak up, to make it clear that you were not just the voice behind the screen.
Yesterday had been one of those days, the kind that chipped away at you slowly, piece by piece, until you were left wondering how much more you could take. The café was bustling as usual, but the warmth that typically filled the air had been replaced with an unsettling, tense energy.
A group of rude customers had strolled in, their voices cutting through the usual hum of the café like a razor. At first, it was subtle. They made snide remarks about the novelty of the robot café, their laughter sharp and mocking. But soon, their jabs became more pointed, their words carrying an edge that sliced deeper than you wanted to admit.
One of them leaned in close to your screen, his sneer almost palpable. "Oh, how lucky you are to be working from home," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm as if your reality were some kind of twisted privilege.
Another chimed in, her tone laced with venom. "Really? Don’t you think you’re being ungrateful? Life handed you a golden opportunity, and you’re complaining?"
Their words stung far more than they should have. Because they didn’t see you. Not truly. They didn’t know the reality behind the screen. The daily battles you fought, the pain of waking up in a body that no longer obeyed your will. They didn’t know how exhausting it was to perform even the smallest tasks, how something as simple as getting dressed could feel like scaling a mountain. They didn’t know the humiliation of needing help for the most basic functions, or the way the world seemed so much larger, harsher, and more inaccessible now.
They didn’t know about your sister, your fiercely loyal, stubborn sister, who had taken on the role of caregiver without hesitation, even when you begged her not to. You had pleaded with her to chase her dreams, to live her life without the shadow of your limitations hanging over her. But she refused. And every time you saw her push her own happiness aside for your sake, guilt gnawed at you, sharp and unrelenting.
Life before the accident felt like another lifetime, a fleeting memory of who you used to be. Back when you were independent, whole, and full of possibilities. That person felt like a stranger now, someone you’d never quite find your way back to. And days like today only widened the chasm between who you were and who you had become.
Their cruel words echoed long after they had left, bouncing around in your head like a relentless reminder of everything you had lost. You had kept your voice steady, your responses professional, but inside, you were crumbling. The mask you wore was cracking, and you didn’t know how much longer you could hold it together.
Later that night, as the silence of your apartment pressed down on you, your eyes landed on the letter Minho had left at the café. His handwriting was neat and careful, but the words… they were like a lifeline thrown to you in the middle of a storm. An invitation, a chance to connect, to be seen. You had read it over and over, the lines blurring as doubt crept in.
What if he didn’t mean it? What if he had only written it out of politeness or guilt? The idea clawed at you, feeding the insecurities that always lingered just below the surface. But another thought followed, quieter and far more dangerous. What if he truly meant it? What if he actually wanted to know you, not out of pity, but because he cared? Because he saw something in you worth knowing?
That thought scared you more than anything. Because you weren’t the same person he had saved two years ago. That version of you had been whole, bright, and full of potential. Now, you were a patchwork of scars and insecurities, trying desperately to hold yourself together. Would he even recognize you? Would he still care if he knew how much you had changed?
You stared at the letter for what felt like hours, caught between fear and hope. The weight of the day pressed heavily on your chest, and the idea of reaching out felt impossibly daunting. But something in Minho’s words lingered, a warmth, a sincerity that made you want to believe, even just for a moment, that someone might see you for who you were now, not who you used to be.
Finally, you whispered to yourself, your voice barely audible in the stillness of the room,
"What if?”
You wiped a tear from your cheek, your hand trembling as you stared at the number Minho had written at the bottom of the page. It had been days of battling conflicting thoughts, of wondering whether you should even try to reach out.
Part of you wanted to hear his voice again, to feel that connection, but another part of you warned against it. What if you burdened him with your pain? What if he thought you were just being dramatic, that you were too much to handle?
The weight of yesterday pressed down on you, suffocating and relentless. Every word, every sneer from the café replayed in your mind like a broken record. Tonight, the walls of your apartment felt closer than ever, the silence too loud to bear.
With trembling fingers, you found yourself reaching for your phone. You hadn’t planned this, hadn’t even allowed yourself to consider it. But now, your hand moved as if it had a will of its own. You scrolled through your contacts until you found his name. For a moment, your thumb hovered over the call button, doubt creeping in. What if this was a mistake? But before you could overthink it, you pressed down, the ringing filling the void.
It felt endless. Each tone seemed to stretch on for an eternity, echoing in your ears and amplifying the pounding of your heart. With every ring, a fresh wave of nerves rolled over you, making you question what you’d even say if he picked up.
And then…voicemail.
A deep sigh escaped your lips, a mix of disappointment and relief. The automated message played, his voice absent, replaced by a mechanical tone inviting you to leave a message. You hesitated, the silence on the other end daring you to speak. But the words you wanted to say felt caught in your throat, tangled with fear and uncertainty
"Of course," you whispered to yourself. "He’s probably busy. Why would he want to hear from me?"
You set the phone down, shaking your head at your foolishness. He had saved your life that day, yes, but that didn’t mean he wanted to hear about the mess your life had become. Slowly, you changed into your pajamas, ready to crawl into bed and let the darkness of sleep take over.
Just as you settled beneath the covers, your phone buzzed in your hand. The soft vibration startled you, and when you glanced at the screen, your heart skipped a beat. Minho. His name, glowing in the dim light of your room, sent a wave of panic and excitement through you.
For a moment, you froze, staring at the screen as if it might disappear. Should you answer? Could you? What if he didn’t remember you? What if this was just a courtesy call, and he’d forgotten everything? Doubts swirled in your mind, threatening to paralyze you. But before you could overthink any further, your fingers moved on their own, and you pressed the green button.
“H-Hello?” you stammered, your voice shaky with nerves.
There was a pause on the other end, one that felt like an eternity, before a familiar voice filled the line. “Who is this?”
The breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, you couldn’t find the words. “I… I’m the robot voice you talked to the other day,” you finally managed to say.
“Oh, yes, Robo Café Missy!” he said with a soft chuckle, the warmth in his tone instantly melting some of your anxiety. “You really rushed off that day. I barely got a chance to say goodbye.”
“Yeah,” you admitted, a nervous laugh escaping your lips. “My manager was giving me this concerned look for talking to a customer so long.”
“Sorry about that,” Minho said, a note of humor in his voice. “Didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”
“It’s alright,” you said quickly, your nerves easing slightly. “I just… I got your letter, and I’m sorry if I’m bothering you, but I was having a bad day, and… I thought I’d call. I didn’t know who else to talk to.”
His tone softened immediately. “You’re not bothering me, Robo Missy,” he said gently. “But before we dive into your day, how about we properly introduce ourselves?”
You hesitated, biting your lip. Sharing more of yourself felt terrifying, like peeling back a layer of armor you’d grown so used to. But there was something about Minho’s voice, its warmth, its sincerity,that made you want to take the leap.
“I’m… Y/N L/N,” you whispered, barely audible.
There was a brief silence on the other end, as if he was processing the name. Then, he let out a soft laugh, tinged with disbelief. “Y/N? That’s a crazy coincidence. Someone I used to know had the same name as you.”
You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around the phone.
This was it
“Minho… it’s not a coincidence.”
The silence that followed was heavier this time, charged with anticipation. You could almost feel the shock on the other end of the line.
“I… I’m Y/N,” you said, your voice trembling. “It’s me.”
There was a sharp intake of breath, followed by a stunned, “Wait… what? Y/N? That Y/N?”
“Yes,” you confirmed with a hesitant laugh. “That’s me.”
The line went quiet for a beat, and then Minho exclaimed, “Oh my God, Y/N! It’s you! I can’t believe this!”
You chuckled nervously, the sound more of a release of tension than amusement. “Yeah, it’s me. Thank you for saving me that day, Minho. I never got the chance to properly thank you.”
“I’m just relieved you’re alright,” he said earnestly. “You made a full recovery, right? Everything’s fine now?”
Your smile faltered, and you took a shaky breath. “Umm… about that…”
Minho’s voice softened instantly, his concern palpable. “What do you mean?”
You hesitated, the words caught in your throat. But then, with a deep breath, you began telling him everything. You told him about the accident, the surgeries, the endless therapy, and the long, grueling days of learning to live in a body that no longer worked the way it once did. You told him about the guilt you felt watching your sister sacrifice so much to help you, about the nights spent crying in frustration and pain, and about the fear that you’d never be seen as anything but broken.
Through it all, Minho listened silently, not once interrupting. His quiet attention was steady, grounding, as though every word you said mattered deeply to him.
When you finally finished, your voice cracked, tears threatening to spill. “I… I didn’t want to tell you all this. I didn’t want to bother you or make you feel sorry for me. But today was just….”
“Y/N,” Minho cut in, his voice firm yet impossibly gentle. “You’re not bothering me. And I don’t feel sorry for you. I’m just… I’m glad you called. I’m glad you trusted me enough to tell me.”
Tears welled in your eyes again, but this time, they weren’t from sadness. They were from something warmer, something that felt a lot like hope.
“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion.
“No, thank you,” Minho said softly. “For calling me. And for being honest. You don’t have to go through this alone, you know.”
You smiled faintly, clutching the phone tightly to your ear. Maybe, just maybe, you didn’t have to.
Your fingers hovered over the video call button, trembling slightly. Since that phone call last Christmas eve, Minho had become an undeniable presence in your life. Whether it was his casual phone calls, random texts checking in on you, or the silly messages that always made you laugh, he was there, ensuring you never felt completely alone.
But last week, something changed.
“Why don’t we have a movie night?” he had texted casually. “We can video call while watching.”
You froze at the suggestion, your immediate response a firm, resounding no.
"Come on,” he coaxed gently. “It’ll be fun. I want to see you.”
And that was the problem. You didn’t want him to see you.
The thought of showing your face made your stomach churn. What if he was disappointed? What if he looked at you differently after seeing what the accident had done? You tried every excuse you could think of, but Minho’s quiet persistence was hard to ignore.
“I won’t push you,” he finally said, his tone soft yet resolute. “But I don’t care what you think you look like. You’re Y/N, and nothing will ever change that for me.”
His words lingered all week, pulling at the corners of your mind whenever your insecurities screamed louder than your hope.
And now, here you were, sitting in front of your phone, staring at the glowing call notification. Your heart raced, your palms damp as you adjusted your hair for the fifth time. Every buried doubt clawed its way to the surface.
Don’t do this. He’ll regret staying in touch, your mind hissed.
But another voice, softer yet stronger, whispered, He cares. He won’t leave.
With a shaky breath, you pressed the button. The camera flickered on, and you quickly angled it so only the top of your head was visible.
“Y/N?” Minho’s voice came through, soft and cheerful.
“Y-Yeah, it’s me,” you stammered, still too afraid to tilt the camera lower.
“I can’t see you,” he teased lightly. “What, are you hiding from me?”
You hesitated, your thumb hovering over the "end call" button. But something in his tone....so patient, so warm...nudged you forward. Slowly, you lowered the camera, revealing your face.
“There you are,” Minho said softly, a smile spreading across his face.
You braced yourself for disgust, disappointment, anything that would confirm your worst fears. But his reaction wasn’t what you expected. His expression didn’t falter, his smile didn’t waver, and his eyes held nothing but warmth.
“You look beautiful,” he said simply, as if it were a fact, not a compliment.
Tears stung your eyes as you looked away. “Don’t say that,” you whispered, your voice trembling.
“I mean it,” he replied firmly. “I’m not just saying it to make you feel better. You’re Y/N, and you’re beautiful to me. Always have been, always will be.”
His words chipped away at the walls you had built around yourself. He wasn’t looking at you with pity or discomfort, he was just looking at you.
For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself a small smile. “Thank you, Minho,” you murmured.
“Now,” he said, his tone shifting to playful. “Are we watching this movie, or are you going to keep hiding from me?”
You chuckled softly, wiping a tear from your cheek. “Alright, alright. Let’s watch.”
As the movie began, the tension in your chest slowly eased. Minho’s occasional sarcastic comments or soft laughter warmed you in ways you didn’t fully understand. The awkwardness that had gripped you at the start of the call melted away, replaced by a rhythm that felt natural.
During a quieter part of the movie, Minho spoke, his voice cutting through the momentary silence. “This feels nice.”
“What does?” you asked, glancing at the screen.
“Being able to see you while we talk. It feels... more real.”
His honesty caught you off guard, and you fiddled with the edge of your blanket. “I guess,” you mumbled.
“Don’t downplay it,” he chided gently. “You don’t realize how much I’ve missed this, just spending time with you.”
Your heart thudded at his words. “Minho, you barely knew me before the accident…”
“And yet,” he interrupted, his tone soft but unwavering, “I’ve always felt like I knew you. The way you smiled at the hospital, even through the pain. The way your sister shared pieces of your life with me that day, the struggles you faced, in the hospital. You left an impression, Y/N. And no matter how much time passed, I couldn’t forget you.”
His confession left you speechless. You opened your mouth to respond but couldn’t find the words.
Minho smiled faintly. “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know.”
The movie ended, but neither of you hung up. The conversation drifted to lighter topics, your favorite foods, places you’d love to visit, funny childhood stories. You found yourself laughing, surprised at how easy it was to talk to him, how intently he listened to every little thing you said.
When the clock struck midnight, you yawned, trying to stifle it.
“Am I keeping you up?” Minho teased.
“No, I’m fine,” you lied, but your sleepy tone betrayed you.
“You need to rest,” he said with a soft laugh. “But… can I call you again tomorrow? Or, you know, whenever you’re free?”
The warmth in his voice made your chest ache in the best way. “I’d like that,” you admitted quietly.
“Good,” he said, his smile evident even through the screen. “Sweet dreams, Y/N.”
“Goodnight, Minho,” you replied, ending the call and setting your phone aside.
As you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the events of the night replayed in your mind. For the first time in years, you felt a little lighter. A little less alone.
You didn’t know where this connection with Minho would lead, but tonight, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that he saw you, not just your struggles, but you.
Over the next few months, Minho became your lifeline. What started as casual conversations and video calls grew into something deeper. He was patient, funny, and warm,someone who made you feel seen, heard, and cherished. For the first time in years, you felt like you could breathe again. It wasn’t something you could pinpoint, a singular moment where your feelings for Minho shifted from gratitude to something deeper. It happened slowly, quietly, like the way the first hints of dawn creep into the night sky.
At first, you told yourself it was nothing more than admiration. Minho had saved your life, after all. When you woke up in the hospital, groggy and disoriented, the nurses told you about the stranger who stayed by your side, ensuring you received the care you needed. That alone had been enough to etch his name into your mind.
Months later, when you heard his voice again at the robot café, your heart stumbled. It was almost embarrassing how much his presence, even through the robot’s camera and speakers, stirred something inside you. He spoke to you with such warmth, such genuine interest, that it felt like you were more than just a disembodied voice behind a screen.
But it wasn’t until the letter he left for you that the walls you’d so carefully built around your heart began to crack.
You read it so many times that the edges were worn from your fingertips. His words weren’t overly flowery or poetic, but they were sincere, making you feel seen in a way you hadn’t felt in years. He didn’t just write about how thankful he was bout the customer service, he wrote about you. That you can call or text him anytime you wanted to vent.
From that point on, every phone call, every text, chipped away at the fears you’d held so tightly. At first, you were careful, guarded. You kept your responses light, your conversations surface-level. But Minho had a way of disarming you without even trying. He’d slip in questions about your favorite childhood memories or tease you until you laughed. And before you realized it, you were sharing pieces of yourself you hadn’t shown anyone in years.
And then came the video call.
You almost didn’t do it. The idea of letting him see your face, the scars that made you feel like a stranger every time you looked in the mirror, was too much. But Minho had been gentle in his persistence, assuring you that he just wanted to watch a movie with you, nothing more.
When you finally turned on the camera, your hands were trembling, and you could barely meet his eyes on the screen. You braced yourself for the shift, for the flicker of discomfort or pity that you were so used to seeing.
But it never came.
Instead, Minho smiled, his gaze soft as if he were looking at something beautiful. “Hi,” he said, his tone light and full of warmth, as if this were the most natural thing in the world.
And in that moment, something inside you shifted. The fear that had kept you isolated for so long began to loosen its grip, replaced by something warmer, brighter.
He made you feel normal. He made you feel seen. And over time, you realized it wasn’t just gratitude or admiration anymore.
You were falling for him.
You tried to fight it at first, convincing yourself it was foolish. Someone like Minho...a man who could light up a room with just his presence....could have anyone. Why would he choose someone like you, with your scars and limitations?
But then he’d call you late at night, just to ask how your day went. Or he’d send you pictures of stray cats he’d found, knowing how much you loved them, just like he did. Or he’d make you laugh so hard you’d forget, even for a moment, about all the things you thought made you unworthy.
And then, over the course of the next few weeks, something unexpected started to take root inside you. At first, you brushed it off as fleeting, an echo of loneliness mistaken for something else. But it grew, steady and undeniable, a strange, fluttering feeling in your chest every time Minho’s name lit up your phone.
You found yourself lingering on his texts longer than you should, re-reading them late at night when the world was silent. His words, simple and casual, had a way of making your heart race. And those calls? They were becoming the best part of your day. It wasn’t just his voice....it was the way he laughed, the way he said your name, like it held a special place in his vocabulary.
He looked different to you now, too. Or maybe you were just seeing him for the first time. Handsome didn’t even begin to describe it. There was something magnetic about the way he carried himself, a quiet confidence that made him seem untouchable, yet he was so real with you. So patient, so kind.
And that’s when the panic set in.
Because how could you fall for him?
It wasn’t fair. Not to him. Minho was everything you weren’t: free, whole, untethered. He could have anyone he wanted, someone who could walk beside him in the park without needing a wheelchair, someone who could dance with him instead of watching from the sidelines.
You hadn’t left the house in years. The thought of facing the world outside, with its prying eyes and unspoken judgments, made your stomach churn. How could you expect someone like Minho to accept that? To accept you, when even you struggled to accept yourself?
Your scars felt like barriers, visible proof of the life you used to have and the one you were forced to live now. You’d lost the power in your legs, and sometimes it felt like you’d lost the power to dream, to hope for something better.
And yet, Minho made you hope.
It terrified you, this fragile thing blooming in your chest. Because if you allowed yourself to fall for him, truly fall, what would happen if he didn’t catch you? Could you handle the heartbreak? Could you bear to see pity in his eyes where kindness now shone?
You tried to push the feelings down, bury them beneath the weight of your fears. But they wouldn’t stay hidden. Every text, every call, every laugh chipped away at your resolve until you were left raw and vulnerable, clinging to a question you were too afraid to answer. Will Minho even accept you?
That evening during the video call, Minho dropped a bombshell.
“Y/N, let’s meet,” he said casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
You froze, blinking at the screen. “What?”
“I want to see you,” he repeated, smiling. “In person. How about a café date and a stroll in the park? I know a quiet spot, not too crowded.”
Panic surged through you. You hadn’t left your house in years....not since the accident. The thought of people staring at you, noticing your scars, filled you with dread. You opened your mouth to protest, but Minho’s gentle expression stopped you.
“Take your time,” he said softly. “You don’t have to decide now. But I’d really like to spend time with you, Y/N. No pressure.”
Minho ended the call with a hopeful smile on his end when you told him you'd think about it.
For the next few days, you agonized over his request. Part of you wanted to see him, to feel the sun on your face and experience the world outside your walls again. But the fear of judgment and rejection was overwhelming. Finally, with a shaky breath, you agreed.
Minho had never been the type to hesitate when it came to the people he cared about. But with Y/N, everything felt different....delicate, like holding something precious in his hands that could shatter if he pushed too hard. The past month of video calls and late-night texts had been like a breath of fresh air for him. He loved how she spoke, how her voice softened when she was relaxed or brightened when she talked about something that brought her joy. But he could also sense the walls she’d built around herself, her hesitations woven into every interaction. It didn’t matter to him, though. He’d seen enough in her to know she was worth the patience. The idea to meet her in person had been bubbling in his mind for weeks. He missed being able to see her face beyond the tiny camera frame, to hear her laugh without the digital lag of a call. And more than anything, he wanted her to know she didn’t have to hide anymore...not from him, not from anyone.
When she’d finally agreed, he’d been careful not to show just how thrilled he was. He knew it wasn’t an easy decision for her, and he didn’t want to add to the weight she was carrying. Instead, he spent the days leading up to their meeting planning every detail, choosing a quiet café and a serene park where she wouldn’t feel overwhelmed.
The day of the date, he arrived early, checking his reflection in the café window to make sure he looked okay. Not that it mattered much to him, he just wanted Y/N to feel comfortable.
Whereas you, on the other hand, were on a completely different wavelength altogether.
The days leading up to this moment had been an emotional tug-of-war within yourself. A part of you longed to experience something new, something outside the prison of your four walls. But the other part...the one that whispered cruel reminders of your scars, your limitations, and the judgment of others...fought to hold you back.
The night before the date, you barely slept. You paced your room, questioning everything. Why would Minho even want to be seen with me? He’s kind, patient, and could easily find someone who isn’t a mess like me. What if people stare? What if I embarrass him?
You looked at yourself in the mirror that morning, pulling your favourite hoodie over your head and adjusting it. The scars that stretched across your temple and cheekbone felt like they screamed at the world, a constant reminder of the accident and how different you were now. You sighed deeply, pushing down the lump in your throat. You can’t back out now. He’ll think you don’t trust him.
When your sister wheeled you to the café and you saw Minho waiting, his face lighting up the second he spotted you, something in your chest softened. You weren’t used to people looking at you like that...as if you weren’t just enough, but more than enough.
“Y/N,” he said, his voice full of warmth, “you look beautiful.”
Beautiful? The word echoed in your mind, foreign and almost laughable. You glanced away, unable to accept the compliment, but his sincerity made it impossible to dismiss.
The café was quiet, the conversation light and easy. Yet, no matter how much you tried to relax, the anxiety simmered under your skin. Every time someone walked by or glanced your way, your fingers twitched, wanting to pull your hood further down. They’re staring. They’re judging. They’re wondering why someone like him would bother with someone like me. Minho noticed the anxiety in your face. He squeezed your trembling hand, comforting you. Nodding silently, as if to tell you it’s okay.
You calmed down a little and asked him if you could leave early. He agreed and suggested a walk in the park. You hesitated but eventually agreed. The park was peaceful, the fresh air soothing, but the nagging voice in your head wouldn’t let you rest. You kept your hood pulled tight, your eyes darting to every person who passed. They’re all looking. They can see right through me.
And then, it happened.
A strong gust of wind swept through the park, catching your hood and pulling it back. You gasped, immediately reaching to fix it, but your trembling hands froze as you noticed the stares. Strangers’ eyes lingered, their expressions unreadable, but in your mind, you could hear their judgment loud and clear.
Hide. Cover your face. Run. You don’t belong here.
Your breathing quickened, panic rising in your chest. Your vision blurred as tears welled up, and you wanted nothing more than to disappear.
“I....I can’t do this,” you choked out, barely able to form the words.
Before you could spiral further, Minho was by your side. His hands rested gently on your shoulders, grounding you.
“Y/N,” he said softly, his voice cutting through the noise in your head. “Look at me.”
You hesitated, but his calm, steady presence drew your eyes to his. The world seemed to fade, leaving only his warm gaze and the reassurance in his expression.
“You’re okay,” he said, his voice firm yet soothing. “I’m here. Forget about them. Just focus on me.”
“But they’re staring,” you whispered, tears spilling down your cheeks. “They’re looking at my face… at my scars…”
“Let them stare,” Minho said firmly, his hands squeezing your shoulders gently. “What they think doesn’t matter. What matters is you. And you’re perfect just the way you are.”
His words pierced through the storm in your mind, and for a moment, you could breathe again. He guided you to a nearby bench, sitting beside you and giving you time to calm down.
As your breathing steadied, Minho knelt in front of you, his gaze unwavering.
“Y/N,” he began, taking your hands in his. His touch was warm, steady, and grounding. “I know this is hard for you. I know you’re scared, and I know you think you’re not enough. But you need to hear this.”
His eyes searched yours, filled with an unshakable sincerity that made your chest tighten.
“It’s always been you,” he said softly. “From the moment I met you, I knew you were someone special.”
“Min, what are you...?” you began, your voice trembling with uncertainty.
“Let me finish, Ynnie,” he interrupted, a small smile tugging at his lips. The tenderness in his tone silenced your protest, and your breath hitched as he continued, his voice heavy with emotion.
“Your strength, your kindness, your heart....those are the things that matter to me. Not your scars, not your disability. Just you. And I still can’t believe it… how someone so intelligent, so beautiful, and so powerful came into my life. I can’t believe how lucky I am.”
He paused, his grip on your hands tightening just slightly as if grounding himself.
“You brought color to my mundane life, Ynnie,” he said, his voice trembling now. “And I love you. I love you so much.”
Tears spilled down your cheeks as his words settled into your heart, breaking through every wall you had built. But once again, a part of you wanted to retreat from this. Minho deserved someone better. Not you.
And so, with a heavy heart, you asked, “Why me?” Your voice barely above a whisper. “You could have someone better. Someone who isn’t… disabled or disfigured. Someone who could give you more.”
His grip on your hands tightened as he shook his head. “No one could ever be better than you. No one else is you. And I don’t want anyone else. I want you. Scars, fears, everything. You’ve been through so much, and you’re still here. That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
You were at a loss for words, overwhelmed by the sincerity in his voice and the love in his eyes.
“So, Y/N,” he said, his voice softening, “will you let me stay by your side? Will you be my girlfriend?”
The words hung in the air, and for a moment, the insecurities tried to creep back in. But then you looked at him...truly looked...and saw nothing but love and acceptance.
With a shaky breath, you nodded. “Yes.”
“I love you too, Min!”
“So much!” Happy tears spilled down your cheeks.
A bright, almost boyish smile spread across his face as he leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with affection. He kissed you softly, a tender, lingering touch that made your heart flutter. The moment was quiet, but it felt like the world had paused, leaving only the two of you in this space of peace and understanding. As he pulled you into a gentle hug, his arms wrapped around you, warm and steady...like a shield that protected you from everything outside of this moment.
For the first time in years, you let go of the fears and doubts that had held you captive. You allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, you were worthy of love. His embrace was a reminder that you didn’t have to hide or be afraid anymore. In Minho’s arms, the weight of the world seemed to lift, leaving only the soft warmth of his love surrounding you, filling you with hope that, no matter what, you were never alone again.
As he held you, you realized that this moment was everything you had been longing for. It wasn’t just the comfort of his touch, but the genuine care in his heart, the way he made you feel beautiful...scars and all. It was a love that didn’t ask for perfection, only for you to be yourself. And in that truth, you found the strength to believe in the future, to believe in the love that was growing between you.
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꥟˚｡ENDNOTE - Everything Here is a work of fiction and my own imagination. This does not represent the real life characteristics of Stray Kids. Make sure to like, reblog comment, and follow me for new updates!
𐙚 ˚Plot - YN returns to Seoul after three years, leaving behind her boyfriend for a work project, and finally gets transferred back just before Christmas. Excited to reunite, she decides to move into her boyfriend’s place, only to discover it isn’t his house at all. To make matters worse, she learns her Christmas gifts have been going to the wrong address all along—leading to an unexpected twist.
𐙚 ˚Genre - Angst, Hurt, Healing,Comedy, Fluff
𐙚 ˚Warnings - Hurt, betrayal, breakup, neighbor au, non Idol au, healing, comfort, Strangers to lovers
𐙚 ˚Word count - 8.7 K 𐙚 ˚ Screenshot Count - 2
𐙚 ˚A/N - Ahh! I'm so excited to share the first episode of Staymas! Dive into this fun mix of Christmas gifts, neighborly banter, and the spark of something deeper. This is just Slight proofread. So apologies for any mistakes 🙂↕️
𐙚 ˚SKZ Masterlist 𐙚 ˚Staymas Masterlist
It was a quiet winter afternoon in Seoul. The capital city, once blanketed in snow just weeks ago, had now settled into the crisp, dry embrace of December air.
The crunch of the remaining snow under your boots brought you back to the present as you stepped out of the taxi. You were home. After three years of relentless overtime, endless meetings, and the nonstop pace of Tokyo, you were finally back in Seoul. Back to the city you had always called home.
Your overseas transfer to Tokyo had been your first project as a lead. While life in Tokyo matched the speed and intensity of Seoul, you missed your home; and, more than anything, you missed your boyfriend, Chris Han.
You had just started dating Chris four years ago after a chance meeting at a club. He had been everything you could hope for: caring, attentive, and loving.
But things took a turn when you mentioned your transfer, barely a year into your relationship. He resisted the idea vehemently, arguing that long-distance relationships never worked. But this was your dream project, and you were determined.
Reluctantly, he agreed, and you left with tears in your eyes, clinging to the hope that distance would strengthen your bond.
At first, it did. Video calls became your lifeline, and you were grateful for his support despite the miles between you. Each Christmas, you went out of your way to send him thoughtful gifts: hand-knit sweaters, heartfelt letters, and cookies you baked yourself. You imagined him opening them, smiling, and feeling less alone.
But as time passed, the calls became less frequent, and the distance began to weigh on you. Yet, your heart remained steadfast, filled with love for Chris. Now that you were back, you couldn't wait to celebrate your first Christmas together in years.
Standing in front of the apartment building, you took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing nerves. You had gone to great lengths to make this moment a reality, even renting an apartment in the same building as his, though he had no idea yet. This was meant to be a surprise, something special that would bring you closer in a way he wouldn’t expect.
Unbeknownst to him, you'd taken the opportunity to secure a place in the very same building, arranging everything during a video call with the tenant. You had even wired some advance money to her, securing the apartment without him ever suspecting a thing.
The elevator doors opened on your desired floor, and you stepped out, the faint hum of the building filling the quiet space around you. The tenant, the one you had finalized everything with, was waiting for you to complete the paperwork.
She smiled warmly, gesturing for you to come inside. As you hesitated in the hallway, your eyes darted nervously around, scanning for any familiar faces. You didn’t want to risk your boyfriend finding out about your arrival just yet, so you made sure to move cautiously, stepping inside and out of sight, ready to finalize this surprise and begin a new chapter.
You signed the last documents, handed over the remaining deposit, and took the keys to your new home. The apartment, though sparse, felt cozy and warm, just as it had seemed in the calls. After a quick shower, you put on the sweater Chris had once gifted you, applied light makeup, and prepared for the moment you’d been waiting for.
Clutching a box of homemade chocolate chip cookies, your heart pounded as you approached apartment 504- Chris's place. Smoothing your scarf, you knocked on the door, excitement bubbling inside you.
You pictured the scene perfectly: Chris opening the door, stunned, before pulling you into his arms with a cheesy line like, "I can't believe you're mine forever now." The two of you would share cookies, cuddle, and watch movies like you used to. It was the perfect surprise.
But when the door opened, it wasn’t Chris who greeted you....
“Uh, hi?” The man at the door blinked at you, clearly confused. He was tall, with soft, dark hair that framed his strikingly sharp features. He looked effortlessly attractive, dressed in casual sweatpants and a hoodie, as if he’d just stepped out of a photoshoot.
You froze, your brain scrambling to make sense of the situation.
“Is Chris here?” you asked hesitantly.
The man tilted his head, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah… Who’s asking?”
“I’m Y/N, his girlfriend,” you replied nervously. “He lives here, right? Apartment 504?”
The man blinked at you, his confusion deepening. “M-My girlfriend? Sorry, but… do I know you?”
Your stomach tightened in a knot as you stared at him. Maybe Chris Han hadn’t told his friends about your relationship. Or maybe this guy was some distant relative visiting. But wait, he said “My girlfriend?” That didn’t make any sense, you thought. Chris Han was your boyfriend, not this stranger standing in front of you with a perplexed look on his face.
The silence between you both was deafening as you locked eyes. You couldn’t help but admire his features again. This guy was effortlessly handsome in a way that felt almost unfair. His eyes glinted with amusement as he studied you just as you did him. His skin, with a warm golden undertone, glowed faintly in the soft light spilling from the apartment. His jawline was sharp and defined, like a sculptor’s dream, and his high cheekbones gave his face an almost regal quality.
The air hung thick, suffocating in its silence. Yet, you couldn’t tear your gaze away from him, just as he couldn’t from you. It felt like something needed to break the tension before you’d be trapped in this awkward loop forever.
“Yo, Chris?” a voice called from inside. “What’s got you so caught up?”
The stranger snapped out of his thoughts and suddenly burst into laughter. Embarrassed by the situation, you stepped back, ready to leave.
“Wait, wait,” he said, holding up a hand to stop you. “You think I’m your boyfriend?” He grinned, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Hate to break it to you, but I’m not. I’m Chris Bang. And unless I’ve somehow gotten into a relationship I didn’t know about, I think you’ve got the wrong guy.”
Your cheeks burned red with embarrassment. “What?! But… this is apartment 504! Doesn’t Chris live here?”
“Yeah,” Chris Bang said, nodding. “That’s me. Chris Bang. Single. Not your boyfriend.”
The realization hit you like a freight train. “Oh my god,” you mumbled, backing away. “I… this is so...this is a mistake. I’m so sorry!”
“Wait, wait, wait!” Chris called after you, laughing as you turned to flee. “Don’t run away yet! I want to know how this happened. Did you just knock on the wrong door, or did your boyfriend ghost you and give you my address instead?”
You whipped back around, glaring at him. “He did not ghost me! I—” You froze in confusion. Wait. If this wasn’t Chris Han’s apartment, then where…?
Chris Bang watched as the realization painfully dawned on you. “Wait… are you the new neighbor who moved into apartment 404?”
“Yeah,” you muttered, your voice filled with regret. “Apparently, across from you.”
“Well, this is going to be fun,” Chris said, clearly enjoying your humiliation. Before you could respond, the elevator dinged down the hall, and a door opened just a floor above yours. Stepping out of apartment 604 was Chris Han—your boyfriend.
A wave of relief washed over your face. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach again as you watched him approach the elevator. “Babe!” you called out, waving, while simultaneously giving your new namesake neighbor an apology. Chris Bang just smiled and waved it off, closing the door behind him.
“Chris, babe!” you called again, louder this time. At the sound of your voice, Chris Han looked down, his eyes widening in surprise as they landed on you.
“Y/N?” Chris Han called out, his voice thick with confusion. His steps were hesitant as he descended the stairs toward you.
“Chris, babe, surprise!” Your smile widened as he stepped closer to you. You opened your arms, eager to embrace him, hoping he’d pull you into his warm, comforting hug. But he didn’t. Instead of the excitement you’d expected, his gaze remained distant—cold, even. “You’re here?” he asked, his voice stiff. “When did you come back?”
“Just this morning! I wanted to surprise you!” you chirped, trying to break the palpable tension. “And guess what? I even rented an apartment here. So we’re neighbors now!” You pointed toward your apartment door with a nervous smile. “Maybe just a floor apart,” you added, awkwardly scratching your head.
“You rented… an apartment? Here?” Chris’s voice was flat, lacking the warmth you had expected.
“Yeah,” you said softly, feeling your heart sink. “I missed you, Chris. Three years is a long time, and I thought… Well, I thought it was time for us to be close again.”
“And this thought occurred to you… after three years?” Chris’s gaze was sharp, colder than you had ever seen it, and it hit you like a physical blow to the chest.
“Well, the project finally wrapped up, and now I’m back...to you. Won’t you welcome me?” Though your voice lacked some of the earlier enthusiasm, there was still hope in your words.
“You know what? Let’s talk inside.” Chris sighed heavily. “It doesn’t feel right to say this in a public space.” Nodding, you followed him upstairs, your chest tightening with each step.
You stepped into Chris’s apartment, quickly glancing around. The place was neat, but it felt cold, uninviting. It wasn’t the home you had envisioned for the two of you. It looked more like a temporary crash pad than a place filled with warmth and love. There wasn’t a single Christmas decoration in sight, not even with Christmas Eve just two days away. The only decoration was a solitary string of fairy lights on a corner shelf.
“Oh, you didn’t decorate for Christmas?” you asked, trying to keep the disappointment out of your voice. Chris shrugged. “Haven’t had the time. Last-minute work before the holidays has been crazy.”
“Maybe we can decorate it together?” you suggested, forcing a smile.
Chris let out a long, weary sigh before turning back to you. “Look, Y/N, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this, but it didn’t feel right to say it over the phone. Now that you’re here, I think it’s best we just move on.” He paused. “From us.”
You stared at him, stunned. “So… you’re breaking up with me? Two days before our anniversary? After three years of making it work long distance?” Your voice cracked with rage as you glared at him.
He hesitated again, his voice soft but sharp, like daggers to your heart. “Look, Y/N, I’m really sorry, but I think… maybe we’ve been holding on to something that’s not really there anymore. I’m sorry, but… this… us… it can’t work anymore.”
The ground beneath you shook violently as you absorbed the words spilling from Chris’s mouth. Everything you had planned, everything you had believed, crumbled in an instant. After a long stretch of silence, you exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding back.
Chris stared at you, uncertain, hesitant about what to say next.
"I thought you loved me..." you whispered, your voice trembling, barely audible over the pounding of your heart. Chris stood before you, his gaze fixed on the floor, unable to meet your eyes. The silence between you was suffocating, each second stretching endlessly.
“I didn’t mean for it to happen like this,” he finally said, his voice low and thick with regret. “I’m sorry, Y/N.”
You stood there, frozen in place, the words echoing in your mind like a cruel mockery. The sting of betrayal tightened in your chest, making it hard to breathe. Your hands clenched at your sides as you fought back the tears threatening to spill.
Finally, a bitter laugh escaped your lips, cold and sharp like shattered glass. “Thank you, Chris. Thank you for ruining everything.” Your voice broke, and your chest ached from the weight of your own words. You took a shaky step back, your vision blurring.
You added, with venom laced in your tone, “Merry fucking Christmas.”
Without waiting for a response, you turned and walked back toward your apartment. As you passed Chris Bang’s door, it suddenly opened, startling you. He looked at you with an expression mixed with concern and curiosity.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice softer this time.
You didn’t answer. Instead, you pushed past him and into your own apartment. The warmth that had once filled the space now felt distant, as if the walls were closing in on you. The contrast between how it had felt just an hour ago and the suffocating coldness now was striking. Closing the door behind you, you sank to the floor, beside the doorframe, tears streaming down your face.
Two days later, it was Christmas Eve. You hadn’t yet moved on from that painful conversation with Chris. Determined to fix things, you decided to meet him later. One awkward conversation wasn’t going to be the end of everything. Maybe you could work through it. Maybe everything would be okay after this.
You hit send on the message, asking him to meet you at 8 in the evening at his favorite restaurant. He agreed, and you smiled at your phone, slipping it back into your pocket.
Since you were meeting him at 8,three hours after your shift ended, you decided to treat yourself to a little coffee at the cozy cafe beside your new apartment. It wasn’t long before you were settled inside, the warmth inside a welcome contrast to the biting winter wind outside. Ordering a cappuccino, you took a seat by the window, sipping your drink as you stared out at the wind-whipped scene.
Not long after, something caught your eye. Across the cafe, a familiar silhouette of a man and a woman sat at a table just a little farther away. You squinted, just to be sure.
And there he was—Chris Han—feeding an unknown woman a piece of cake. The woman, with long brown hair, blushed and laughed at something Chris must have said. They looked so comfortable with each other, so intimate, and Chris smiled at her with the same warmth he used to smile at you three years ago. And then they kissed.
Kissed ?!!
A sharp pang of betrayal struck your gut. Your mouth hung open in shock. Rage boiled inside you, and before you could stop it, your legs carried you over to their table.
"So this is why you decided to move on, huh?" you called, standing at the edge of their table.
"Y/N?!" Chris exclaimed, clearly caught off guard. "What are you doing here?"
"Me?" you scoffed. "Oh, I don’t know, maybe I’m just waiting to meet my boyfriend after his shift to fix things."
"And look what I find! He’s here all along, kissing and feeding cake to another woman, like the past three years meant nothing to you." Your voice dripped with sarcasm.
"Chris, who is this?" The woman looked awkwardly between the two of you.
Chris sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Y/N, now’s not the time."
"Not the time?" you trembled. "So, this is why you said ‘it’s not going to work,’ is it?"
"You were cheating on me all along, and now that I’m back, you’re too scared to admit it. So, you fake this 'it’s not going to work' nonsense!"
"This is the reason I told you long-distance doesn’t work for me, Y/N. But you didn’t listen to me back then!" Chris shot back.
"Our relationship meant nothing to you, did it? I was just a fool, believing our love was still alive!" you spat bitterly.
Chris sighed again, looking at you with something that resembled pity. "I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t want it to happen like this, but… I’ve moved on. " " I told you my answer remains the same"
"Unbelievable!" you blinked back tears, refusing to let him see you cry. "I hope she’s worth it," you said coldly, turning on your heel and storming out of the cafe.
You clung to your jacket as you waited for the elevator, feeling the weight of the evening pressing on you. It was uncomfortably cold in the lobby. Maybe it was because of what had just happened—that the warmth and hope you once carried for a fresh start had been snuffed out, leaving you broken and alone.
Just as you were about to step into the elevator, a voice called out, "Hey, wait for me!" You looked up to see Chris Bang rushing toward the elevator. Quickly, you wedged your hand between the doors to stop them from closing as he hopped in.
"Thank you," he panted, taking deep breaths to steady himself after running. You nodded, acknowledging him silently. You just wanted to be alone, but the elevator seemed to take forever to reach your floor. The tears you’d been holding back threatened to spill as you replayed everything that had happened. Was it your fault? Could you have prevented it? If you hadn’t taken on the new project, if you hadn’t been transferred… maybe this wouldn’t have happened...
These thoughts clouded your mind as the elevator slowly ascended. When it finally reached your floor, you stepped out, your head still in a daze.
"YN, is it?" Chris suddenly asked. You nodded, barely meeting his gaze.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.
You realized you must look like a mess,your mascara smudged, your hair disheveled, your eyes red from holding back tears. You sighed and gave a shaky laugh. "Not really."
Chris tilted his head, his sharp features softening. "Wanna talk about it? I’ve got cookies, and I promise I don’t feed cake to random people in cafes." He smiled, his warmth surprising you.
You blinked, taken aback. How did he know? But he wasn’t teasing you. There was no smug grin or sarcastic quip, just sincerity.
"Cookies?" you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper.
Chris smiled, a soft, lopsided grin that felt genuine. "Yeah, cookies. And hot chocolate. The perfect cure for whatever mess you just walked away from."
If this had happened on any other day, you would’ve brushed him off and retreated to your apartment to cry in solitude. But something about the warmth in Chris's expression, the absence of judgment, just pure sincerity, made you pause and truly look at him. Maybe it was because it was Christmas Eve, or maybe it was the way his dark oceanic eyes and his sincere smile spread warmth inside you. You sighed, quickly wiping your eyes. "You know what? Sure. Why not."
You motioned for him to lead the way as he opened the door to his apartment. Reluctantly, you stepped inside after he gestured you in. Despite your lingering embarrassment, curiosity got the better of you as you glanced around.
The apartment was cozy, though not overly decorated. It was minimalist at best. A single gray couch sat in the living room, with two plush cushions resting on it. In front of it was a wooden coffee table with what looked like an empty mug of coffee. Yet there was a festive vibe in the room: small fairy lights twinkled around the window and shelves, and a medium-sized Christmas tree stood in the corner, neatly decorated with baubles and stockings. It felt inviting, almost like home.
You awkwardly sank into the gray couch and waited for him, as Chris disappeared behind the kitchen counter for a few moments, telling you to make yourself comfortable.
The scent of vanilla and chocolate soon filled your nostrils, making your stomach rumble. You hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast; the last-minute workload had kept you too busy. Save for a couple of sips of cappuccino at the café, you hadn’t had solid food all day. You hadn’t even realized how hungry you were until Chris placed a plate of cookies and a cup of hot chocolate in front of you. Your mouth watered at the sight.
"There you go, YN," Chris smiled, handing you the cup of hot chocolate he’d made. "Please, help yourself."
"Thank you," you muttered, taking a sip. The sweetness of the hot chocolate melted away the bitterness in your heart, filling you with warmth. “Hmm, it’s so good,” you sighed in satisfaction.
“It sure is,” Chris hummed, settling beside you on the couch.
"So..." Chris leaned back, studying you carefully. "If you’re comfortable sharing... is it boyfriend trouble, or...?"
"More like ex-boyfriend trouble now," you interjected, a bitter laugh escaping your lips.
He raised an eyebrow but didn’t interrupt.
"Actually, we met four years ago. A year later, I had to leave Seoul for a project in Tokyo. I had to lead a new company project."
"He didn’t want to do long distance. It led to a lot of disagreements, but somehow, we agreed to give it a shot. But when I came back two days ago, he didn’t seem too happy about it." You paused. "He told me it wasn’t working anymore..." You looked away, trying to hide the tears that were threatening to fall. "I thought our love could withstand the distance, but I guess I was wrong."
"And today, you saw him with someone else, right?" Chris asked gently.
You whipped your head back toward him, stunned. "H..How’d you know?"
"It’s the only café in the neighborhood. I was there for my daily coffee and happened to witness it," he said, glancing at you with an apologetic look. "I’m sorry if I intruded on your space."
Your cheeks burned in embarrassment, but somehow, you still wanted to keep talking. "Yeah, that’s how I became single on Christmas Eve," you said wistfully, a small smile forming on your lips.
"That’s rough. I’m so sorry," Chris winced.
"Yeah, I was an idiot for holding onto it for three years," you said with a bittersweet smile. "Maybe I shouldn’t have taken the transfer. Maybe things would have been different. Maybe we wouldn’t have broken up..."
"YN," Chris said softly, turning you to face him. "Look at me."
You met his eyes, and he continued, "I know, for what it’s worth, that it’s not your fault. That Chris Han... he can go screw himself for letting go of someone like you."
His words caught you off guard. "Now, aren’t you going a little too far ahead of yourself?" you replied with a half-laugh, half-smile. "You barely know me, Mister. How can you say that?"
"I know for a fact, YN," he said, his voice calm and sincere. "I know how much you loved him, and how unappreciative he was. I know he didn’t care about you." "For what it’s worth, from my two cents as your new neighbor, I believe you deserve so much better. Way more, YN," Chris smiled at you.
"How do you know, for a 'fact'that I loved him?" you asked, half-smiling, half-curious.
"Because of all the love you poured into those gifts you sent..." he smirked.
"Gifts?" you asked, confused.
Chris nervously scratched his head, realizing he may have said more than he intended. You raised an eyebrow, and that’s when it clicked.
"Don’t tell me..." you gasped.
"Promise me you won’t be mad, YN?" Chris smiled sheepishly.
You gave him a stern look as he got up and pulled a cardboard box from the cupboard. Inside were neatly wrapped packages with handmade bows, festive papers, and labels that read: "To Chris, Merry Christmas Love, YN."
You stared at him, stunned. "Chris Bang! Why?" you glared at him. "You promised me you wouldn’t be mad!" he nervously chuckled.
"How can I not be mad when you’re literally stealing my ex’s gifts?" you protested. "For the past three years, you’ve been stealing them, and you didn’t even think to check if they were yours or not!"
He just silently stared at you, nonchalantly, as if this was the most normal thing in the world. His boyish grin didn’t help either. In fact, it made this bizarre turn even harder to comprehend.
"Let me get this straight," you said, holding onto the edge of the couch to steady yourself as you leaned back. "You’re telling me that for the past three years, you’ve been getting the Christmas presents I meant to send to my ex? And instead of, I don’t know, returning them, you just... kept them?"
Chris rubbed the back of his neck, his expression somewhere between amused and sheepish. "I mean, technically, yeah. But in my defense, your handwriting on the shipping label was pretty bad. It just said ‘Chris,’ no last name, and my address."
Your mouth hung open. "Now you’re blaming my handwriting for this?"
"Not entirely," he admitted, his grin widening. "I figured it out eventually, probably by the second gift. But by then... well, I didn’t have the heart to send them back. Plus, they were really thoughtful gifts. And I thought, hey, maybe the universe just wanted me to have them."
You gaped at him, caught between disbelief and reluctant amusement. "The universe wanted you to have my ex’s gifts?"
"Okay, when you put it like that, it sounds pretty creepy," he laughed lightly. "But come on....who wouldn’t keep the presents? It’s Christmas!"
"Unbelievable," you scoffed. "Maybe this is the reason Chris Han broke up with me... He didn’t get my special handmade gifts, thanks to a certain gift thief..."
Chris laughed, clearly enjoying your reaction. "Hey, don’t be too mad. You kind of made my Christmases a lot less lonely. I mean, who wouldn’t love surprise presents from a stranger? It’s like I had a secret admirer."
"I wasn’t your admirer, Chris," you snapped back, your face flushed with embarrassment.
"Well, technically, you were, even if you didn’t intend to," he chuckled. "But seriously, thank you for the gifts every year, YN. The handmade cookies, the blue scarf, the mugs, and that beautiful coat you sent really made me feel at home. I wore them all winter and used the mug every day."
"Don’t tell me you read the letters too..." you groaned, burying your face in your hands.
"I did, YN," he said softly. "And they just gave me a sense of fulfillment, a sense of not being alone... like someone was with me."
"Thank you for making my Christmases unintentionally," he added with a huge grin, his eyes shining. A smile so sincere it made your stomach do flips, and your cheeks turn a shade of red you couldn’t explain. What was happening to you? It was too early to be swooning over a guy you just met. Or maybe it was because his hand brushed against you for a second?
"And even if you think that gifting those things to Chris Han would’ve made things better," Chris continued, looking at you seriously, "I believe you’ve got a lot to learn before dating guys who cheat behind your back."
"Backstabbers will always be the same, YN. Even if you think they’ve changed, they won’t."
At his sincere confession, you looked at him, realizing he was right. Chris Han was an utter POS.
You laughed, genuinely, and even surprised yourself. "Oh, and I suppose you think you set the bar higher?"
He grinned, leaning back and resting his arm on the back of the couch. "I mean, I’ve been told I’m a decent neighbor."
You rolled your eyes. "Yep, a decent neighbor who steals other people’s gifts” you smirk
"Flattery won't save you, you know..." you laughed, your voice light but teasing.
"Wasn't trying to save myself either," he replied, leaning back casually against the couch with a carefree smile. "Just telling the truth."
You busied yourself nibbling on another cookie, pretending to focus on the snack while trying to ignore the warmth spreading across your cheeks. "Okay, Chris," you said, your lips quirking into a small but genuine smile, the playful banter making you feel oddly at ease.
Suddenly, an idea popped into your head, making your smile widen mischievously. "As an apology, why don't you bake me these delicious cookies and hot chocolate every day until New Year's?" you suggested, raising an eyebrow, your voice playful yet sincere.
"Sounds like a deal, YN," he replied with a grin, his eyes twinkling.
"But before that," you added, a hint of mischief in your voice, "how about you close your eyes for just a couple of seconds?" You could see the flicker of curiosity in his expression, and you couldn't help but smile.
Chris raised an eyebrow. "Now, if you're trying to kidnap or murder me, I can, you know..." you said, throwing a couple of playful air punches in the air as you chuckled, enjoying the light-hearted moment.
"Wasn't tryin' to do that, but thanks for telling me anyway," he laughed, shaking his head, clearly entertained by your antics.
Something soft was placed in your hand, and after a brief moment of waiting, you slowly opened your eyes. To your surprise, there was a small gift bag resting in your palm. You raised an eyebrow, your mind racing with confusion and curiosity.
"You're returning the wrong Chris' gifts?" you asked him, half-joking, half-puzzled.
A smirk curled onto his lips as he leaned forward slightly. "More like giving you one," he replied, his voice filled with a touch of mystery.
Just as you were about to respond, the clock in the room struck twelve with a soft chime, followed by the cheerful cuckoo bird popping out and singing its song. The atmosphere felt like it belonged in a holiday movie, warm and comforting.
"Merry Christmas, YN," Chris grinned at you, his smile wide and sincere.
"Merry Christmas, Chris," you replied with a smile that felt more real than anything you'd said in a while. It was a moment that you wanted to hold onto, even if it was fleeting.
"And what's this?" you asked, nodding toward the gift bag, still trying to figure out the meaning behind it.
"This?" He held it up between his hands, looking down at it with a gentle expression. "This one’s for you."
Your brows furrowed in confusion as you took a closer look at the bag. "For me? Why?" you asked, your voice laced with curiosity.
"I figured out two days ago that you're the one who's been sending me the gifts for the past three years..." He paused for a second, his eyes softening, as though the weight of the moment was sinking in.
"Consider it my way of saying thank you—for three years of accidentally making my Christmases a lot less lonely," he said, his tone sincere but tinged with something that made your heart ache slightly.
"Lonely?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, the word lingering in the air. This was the second time he had mentioned his loneliness in the conversation, and it made you wonder about the deeper layers of his feelings.
For just a fraction of a second, his smile faltered, and you noticed his gaze shift as if lost in thought. The change was so brief, but you could tell there was something he wasn’t saying.
"Australia is my real home," he said quietly, his voice distant. "And I'm settled in Seoul now for work. I miss my family, my sister, my brother, and my dog, Berry, so much. Christmas is when I miss them the most, but it is what it is..." His words trailed off, and there was an unspoken weight behind them, something raw that he hadn’t fully expressed.
Your chest tightened unexpectedly. There was something in his tone, something guarded, like he didn't want to reveal too much. You didn’t press, giving him the space he needed, and the silence between you both was comforting, almost as if you both understood what the other was feeling.
Wanting to change the subject and give him a bit of relief, you spoke softly, "Okay, let’s see what you’ve got."
He handed over the bag, and as your fingers brushed briefly against his, you ignored the flicker of warmth that spread up your arm. You focused on the bag in your hands, pulling out the tissue paper with careful movements. When you revealed the contents, your breath caught in your throat: it was a beautiful bag in your favorite color - blush pink. The sight of it made your heart skip a beat.
"Chris, how do you know?" you asked in surprise, your voice a mix of awe and wonder.
He shrugged casually, his grin widening. "I may have done some detective work," he said, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "One of your letters mentioned the bag color," he added with a wink. "Thought it might mean something to you..."
You stared at the bag, your fingers gently brushing over the smooth, polished handle. It was a stunning blush pink crossbody bag, perfectly suited for going out to dinner nights or for the holidays. It was exactly the type of bag you’d been admiring for months, and yet, you’d never mentioned it to him.
Of all the gifts you’d sent in the past three years, none had ever felt this thoughtful or this personal. It was as if he truly understood you in a way you hadn't even realized.
"Wow," you murmured, your voice a little breathless. You looked up at him, your smile widening with genuine appreciation. "That’s... actually really beautiful and sweet."
A wide grin spread across his face as he leaned back a little, clearly pleased with your reaction. "Sweet enough to make up for the whole 'stealing your ex’s gifts’ thing?" he asked, his eyes sparkling with teasing amusement.
You laughed, shaking your head in disbelief. "Not even close," you said, a playful smile tugging at your lips. "But it’s a start."
As the night continued, you felt the weight in your chest slowly lighten. You weren't ready to move on yet, but sitting there, sharing cookies and banter with your neighbor Chris, felt like a step in the right direction. The conversation flowed effortlessly from there, transitioning from light teasing to stories about each other’s lives. Chris had a way of making you laugh, even when you felt like crying. By the time you left his apartment, you realized you were looking forward to seeing him again, something you hadn't expected just a few days ago.
The days following Christmas blurred into a whirlwind of family gatherings, catching up on work, and the bittersweet calm that often followed the holiday rush. Yet amidst the festive cheer and the soft lull of post-holiday routine, there was a lingering ache—the heartbreak Chris Han had left behind. It was a quiet, constant presence, one that refused to be ignored despite your attempts to distract yourself. Happy couples strolling hand in hand, cheerful holiday music playing in every store, and glowing lights in every window served as unwelcome reminders of what you had lost.
But then there was Chris Bang, your accidental neighbor and self-proclaimed Christmas gift stealer. Against all odds, he became the unintentional solace you hadn’t realized you needed. He had a knack for showing up at just the right time: bumping into you in the hallway with a witty comment about your landlord’s questionable taste in decorations or surprising you with coffee and cookies when your day felt particularly heavy. "Caffeine and cookies cure everything," he’d say with that mischievous grin that never failed to draw a reluctant smile from you.
One day, when you were especially weighed down by the sight of happy couples and the ache in your chest seemed heavier than ever, Chris knocked on your door, insisting you come with him to the fair. At first, you refused, wrapped in your own melancholy, but his persistence wore you down. And so, hours later, you found yourself laughing in the crisp winter air, your hands full of hot cocoa as Chris tried, and failed,repeatedly to win you a plush teddy bear from a claw machine. You teased him mercilessly for his lack of skill, and his mock frustration only made you laugh harder. The ache in your chest lightened, and for the first time in days, you felt like yourself again.
He never left your side, even as work got busier and the New Year dawned. Whether it was a simple message, a casual phone call, or a surprise invitation to take a walk in the park when the sun came out, he made sure to check in, offering little moments of comfort when you needed it most.
With time, you learned more about the man who had unexpectedly found his way into your life. He told you about growing up in Australia, how Seoul had never been part of his plan until his online friends Jisung and Changbin lured him here with the promise of his dream job as a music producer, so he moved across the world. How he had an impressive art collection from his best friend Hyunjin, an artist he was incredibly proud of, and how he’d used the holidays to stay in and unwind from a stressful year. He’d been surprisingly open, sharing details of his life that he usually kept close to his chest.
For your part, you had shared a lot with Chris, your work, your best friends (who were instantly curious about him), and how your parents had been gently pushing you to settle down, despite the fact that you were struggling to imagine your life on anyone else’s timeline. You were beginning to realize how much you enjoyed these quiet, meaningful conversations with him, especially considering how effortlessly everything seemed to flow. Even the things you thought might make you feel vulnerable, you found yourself talking about with surprising ease.
Chris, in turn, had opened up more about his family life. He talked about the playful dynamic he shared with his sister, how they loved to tease each other and how he cherished the annual trips back home to visit. He shared stories about his dog, Berry, whom he missed dearly. There were other little details too, how much he had been adapting to life in Seoul and the adjustment from his home in Australia. Each time he shared something new, you found yourself appreciating him more, and the more you learned about him, the deeper your connection seemed to grow.
You shared your hesitations, your dreams, and the small quirks that made you who you were. It felt natural, easy, even the things that had once felt like guarded secrets seemed safe with him.
And Chris listened, truly listened. He never rushed you or offered hollow reassurances. Instead, he met you where you were, matching your vulnerability with his own. Slowly but surely, the cracks in your heart began to mend, and in their place, something new and unexpected began to grow.
Each shared moment, each quiet laugh, and each tender look made you realize just how much Chris had come to mean to you. The heartbreak that had once defined your days began to fade, replaced by the warmth of his presence...
As December 2024 arrived, you found yourself surprised at how quickly the year had passed. It was as if time had slipped through your fingers, leaving you wondering how the months had gone by in a blur. Despite a rocky beginning to the year, one thing was clear, Chris Bang had been a steady and reassuring presence in your life, his bad jokes, comforting smile, and unassuming nature making 2024 a lot more bearable than 2023. And now, every time he spoke, you found yourself struck by how his voice, that familiar warmth, could make your heart flutter in a way you hadn’t expected. His smile, his presence,it was beginning to feel like something more than just a friendship, something you weren’t sure how to define yet.
So, when Chris invited you over for his Christmas Eve gathering, you decided to go all in. You wanted to make this night special, just as much for him as for you. You crocheted him a sweater, carefully stitching his initials into the fabric. You baked cookies, filling your kitchen with their delicious scent, and chose a red dress that made you feel both confident and beautiful. As the evening approached, your nerves kicked in, the anticipation of seeing him making your heart race.
When you finally arrived at his door, you knocked lightly, trying to calm the fluttering feeling in your chest. The door opened quickly, and to your surprise, it wasn’t Chris standing there. Instead, it was his friend Han Jisung, whom you’d met briefly a few months ago. His bright smile was instantly familiar, putting you at ease.
"Hey, YN!" Jisung greeted warmly. "Come on in!" he added, stepping aside to let you enter. You walked inside, immediately feeling the cozy Christmas atmosphere. The living room was stunning, with a large tree in the center, its lights twinkling softly against the backdrop of garlands and ornaments. It felt so festive, and for a moment, you forgot about the nerves that had plagued you moments ago.
Chris and his friends were in the middle of a lively conversation when you stepped into the room. But the moment Chris saw you, everything else seemed to fade away. He froze for just a moment, mid-sentence, his eyes wide as they locked onto you. The effect you had on him was immediate, and you couldn’t help but feel a rush of warmth in your chest.
You were standing there in your red gown, your hair styled in soft beachy waves that cascaded down to your shoulders. The sight of him standing there, visibly taken aback, made your cheeks flush with warmth. You couldn't help but smile shyly, and when you caught his gaze, his expression softened, his lips parting as if searching for words.
"Hyung!" someone called out, a playful voice that broke the moment. You turned to see a big, muscular guy, probably Changbin, giving Chris a teasing look. "A fly will enter if you don’t close your mouth."
Chris's face immediately turned a shade of red that matched your dress, and he shot a mock glare at Changbin. The others burst into laughter, but Chris quickly composed himself, a sheepish grin replacing his flustered look. "Welcome, YN," he said, his voice warm and inviting. He gestured for you to sit next to him on the couch, his eyes still lingering on you with a mixture of admiration and affection.
You nodded shyly and walked over to the couch, your heart racing as you sat beside him. But as soon as you did, the teasing began. The others couldn't resist. "Ooooooh!" they shouted in unison, their voices full of playful mischief.
You and Chris both erupted into giggles, trying to stifle your laughter. It was clear that no matter how much you both tried to pretend otherwise, the chemistry between you was undeniable. As the teasing continued, you both found comfort in the easy banter, laughing together until the weight of everything else seemed to disappear.
The night unfolded like a beautiful dream, with the flickering lights of the Christmas tree casting a soft glow over the cozy room. Laughter echoed through the space, mixing with the gentle hum of conversations and the clink of glasses. You were surrounded by the warmth of good friends, but there was something about the way Chris's presence seemed to fill every corner of the room, making everything feel just a little brighter. Of course, his ever-present humor kept the atmosphere light, and his jokes, though admittedly cheesy, had everyone laughing, including you.
"Do you know this man right here is a Christmas gift stealer?" you said, pointing toward Chris with a playful grin, recounting the story of how you met him to the group.
"No way!" Hyunjin exclaimed, his eyes wide with surprise as he absorbed the details of the story.
“We thought you were the new neighbor, and that’s how he met you,” Changbin added with a teasing tone, looking at Chris as if he’d just discovered some hidden truth about him.
“I had better expectations of you, man,” Jisung laughed. “But you’re no different than the rest of us.”
Chris sighed dramatically, playing along with the teasing. “Hey, in my defense,” he said, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “How was I supposed to know that gift wasn’t meant for me? It said ‘Dear Chris, love YN’ with my address on it. I thought the universe had decided to bless me with early Christmas gifts.”
The entire room erupted in laughter, some of the guys doubled over, clutching their stomachs. Chris sat back in his chair, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck, his dimples making an appearance as his signature smile spread across his face.
“You guys act like I planned it,” Chris protested, though his playful tone made it clear he was enjoying the moment. “It’s not my fault the universe decided to shower me with gifts every Christmas.”
“Free gifts?” you raised an eyebrow, not letting him off the hook that easily. “You’re lucky I didn’t press charges for theft, Christopher Bang!”
The room burst into another wave of laughter, the sound so infectious it had you all grinning ear to ear. Chris shook his head, chuckling. “Alright, alright,” he said, holding up his hands in a gesture of defeat. “But those gifts were too nice to ignore. I figured I must have been extra good that year.”
Hyunjin leaned forward, a playful glint in his eyes. “Or maybe someone was really in love with you and you didn’t even know it.”
Chris’s cheeks immediately turned a shade of pink, and he hastily averted his gaze to the floor, mumbling something incoherent. The group caught on to his sudden shyness and burst out with a loud, collective “Ooooooh!”
“Wait a second,” Jisung interjected with a raised eyebrow, now eyeing Chris in mock disbelief. “So you’ve been using scarves, mugs, and all those gifts knowing full well they weren’t even yours?”
Chris’s grin widened mischievously. “Hey, they came with my name on them. Technically, they were mine.”
Changbin leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, looking at Chris as if he were a detective revealing a crucial piece of evidence. “You’re lucky YN didn’t track you down sooner. This could have turned into one of those true crime documentaries where the victim is the ‘mystery gift giver.’”
You shook your head, chuckling softly at the thought. “Trust me, I almost did. But now, I’m starting to think the universe had its reasons.”
For a moment, the laughter died down, and the room grew quieter as your eyes met Chris’s. There was something in his gaze, something softer than the playful teasing that had filled the air just moments before. The noise of the room seemed to fade, and all you could hear was the rhythmic beat of your own heart. His smile remained, but there was a depth to it now, a quiet understanding that seemed to bridge the gap between you. It felt like the world was holding its breath as you shared a moment that was just for the two of you.
As the clock inched closer to midnight, the lively chatter in the room began to fade, replaced by the soft hum of smaller conversations and the gentle melodies of Christmas tunes playing in the background. The festive atmosphere lingered, cozy and comforting, as the glow of the Christmas tree bathed the room in warm, golden light.
You found yourself nestled beside Chris on the couch, a glass of wine cradled in your hand. He seemed relaxed, his attention caught by a show playing softly on the TV. But your focus was elsewhere, on the small, carefully wrapped package resting in your lap.
Gathering your courage, you turned to him and gently nudged his arm. "Here," you said, offering him the gift with a shy smile.
Chris’s eyes sparkled with curiosity as he looked down at the neatly wrapped present in your hands. "For me?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. "Or did you forget the right address again?"
You laughed, rolling your eyes at his teasing. “Shut up and open it!”
As the paper fell away, his face lit up with genuine delight. Nestled inside was a periwinkle sweater, his initials lovingly stitched into the fabric, alongside a neatly arranged box of homemade cookies. His grin widened as he looked between the gift and you, his eyes sparkling with warmth.
"You made this?" he asked, his voice soft with wonder.
You nodded, biting your lip nervously. "I did. Took me a while, but... I wanted it to be special."
Chris held up the sweater, admiring the intricate detail, before carefully setting it aside along with the cookies. His gaze returned to you, his smile softer now, almost reverent.
Chris carefully set the sweater and cookies aside, his attention fully on you. He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering, as if the room around you had faded away and there was only the two of you left in this quiet, intimate space. “YNnie,” he whispered, the nickname he had given you rolling off his tongue with such warmth that it sent a shiver down your spine, “I don’t think you realize how much you’ve changed my life this past year.”
You blinked, your heart suddenly racing in your chest, caught off guard by the weight of his words. “Me?”
Chris nodded, his hand moving gently to brush a loose strand of hair from your face, his touch tender and almost reverent. “When I met you, I thought it was just some funny coincidence, a mix-up that led to free gifts and good laughs. But you... you turned out to be so much more than that. You’re thoughtful, kind, ridiculously talented, and you've made this year brighter in ways I can’t even put into words. And I’m not just saying that because you bake the best cookies.”
You let out a soft laugh, a tear threatening to spill as his words wrapped around your heart. “You’re just saying that because I made you a sweater,” you teased, trying to deflect the overwhelming emotion building in your chest.
“No,” he said firmly, his eyes never leaving yours, his voice unwavering. “I’m saying it because it’s true.”
The room felt smaller now, the Christmas lights casting their soft glow around you, wrapping you both in a bubble of warmth and intimacy. It was as if time had slowed down, and all that mattered was this moment, the two of you. His hand found yours, gently resting over it, his touch grounding you.
“You’ve made me laugh when I didn’t feel like laughing,” he continued, his voice rich with sincerity. “You’ve reminded me that life doesn’t have to be perfect to be beautiful. And every time I look at you, I’m reminded that maybe, just maybe, the universe finally got it right.”
Your breath hitched in your throat, tears threatening to spill as you absorbed the weight of his words. “Chris…”
Your cheeks burned as you gazed at him, unable to deny the depth of the feelings that had been quietly building between you over the past year. The way he had supported you, respected your space, and been there when you needed him, all without hesitation. How had you never realized before just how much he had changed your life? Maybe, just maybe, he was the one you had been waiting for all along.
When Chris leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low, intimate murmur, you felt it,the certainty that the so-called mix-up, the mistake that had brought you into each other’s lives, was anything but coincidence. It was fate. A quiet, unspoken connection that had led you here, to this very moment.
Your breath hitched as the distance between you disappeared. Without hesitation, you closed your eyes, surrendering to the magnetic pull of his presence. His lips brushed against yours, featherlight at first,hesitant, almost as if asking for permission. When you didn’t pull away, the kiss deepened, unfolding with a slowness that spoke of intention and meaning. It was tender yet passionate, every movement deliberate, as though he wanted to savor every second.
His hand gently cupped your cheek, the pad of his thumb tracing delicate circles against your skin. The warmth of his touch grounded you, even as your heart threatened to soar. You melted into him, losing yourself in the quiet intimacy of the moment. For that brief, perfect moment, the world outside ceased to exist. Nothing else mattered,only him, only this.
When you finally broke apart, both breathless and overwhelmed, Chris rested his forehead gently against yours, his tender smile radiating warmth. “Merry Christmas, YNnie,” he whispered, his voice low and filled with affection, as though the words were meant for you and you alone.
“Merry Christmas, Chris,” you murmured in return, your voice trembling with emotion. Your heart felt impossibly full, and the heat in your cheeks lingered, a reminder of the moment you’d just shared.
As the world around you softened, wrapped in the glow of twinkling Christmas lights and the quiet hum of holiday melodies, you leaned into the comforting presence beside you. In that stillness, a profound realization settled over you. Sometimes, the most precious gifts in life aren’t the ones you meticulously plan or chase after. They’re the ones that catch you off guard...the ones that find you, that feel like fate wrapping itself around you in the most unexpected, beautiful way.
And tonight, that gift had come wrapped in a heart, a dimpled smile, and a name that had become your favorite sound....
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𐙚 ˚ENDNOTE - Everything Here is a work of fiction and my own imagination. This does not represent the real life characteristics of Stray Kids. Make sure to like, reblog comment, and follow me for new updates!
Knowing what we know about BangChan, it is so hard for him to love himself. So the fact that the reader shows him that he can through the gift of a sweater..... I'm in tears
Do you ever like physically feel yourself pass your mental breaking point and then all you can think is “oh these next few days are going to be interesting”
Like you’re just sitting there silently and on the outside you seem fine and gathered but in your head you’re like “oh this is gonna hit me like a train any second”
i NEED more bts texts… so like maybe one where reader leaves in the night and he’s frantic thinking she left but she actually had some kind of emergency (family or other) and FLUFFFFFF!!!?
any of the boys idm or all if you want? idk anyway ily and ur work <3333
here you go!! I hope it's alright, I got a little carried away with it lmao. there's 21 screenshots 💕
It IS true that being on here gives you a tumblr accent. This morning my mother asked me something and i replied "i don't know i've never heard these words in that order" and she nearly choked laughing. It wasn't even that funny
at my old job i had a coworker who was tired and made a coffee with like 6 or 8 shots of espresso and i just casually went up to them like “are you trying to meet god?” and not only was this absolutely hilarious to them but they brought it up in future conversations they thought it was so funny but to me this was just as casual as saying “woah that’s a lot of coffee”
Being funny on Tumblr and then going to be funny in real life is like traveling to a foreign country and baby the currency exchange rate is biased in your favor
Needy nerd Seungmin who has a crush on you but he’s sure you don’t even know he exists. Jisung drags him to a party and you’re there. He hides behind a corner to look at you dancing with your friends, he’s so focused he doesn’t notice someone slamming into him so suddenly his glasses fall.
Needy nerd Seungmin who’s surprised when, while searching for his glasses, he sees a blurry hand offering him the aforementioned glasses. The moment he puts them on his nose, your face is brought into focus. He’s so embarrassed he just stands still looking at you, mouth agape and blinking rapidly. “Have fun!” you wish him as you leave and he wants to hide.
Needy nerd Seungmin who’s sitting in class and is ready to be an asshole to whoever just sat near him because people talk during class and he hates it, but when he raises his head he sees you and he’s back to the party, motionless save for his eyes that are blinking a bit too fast. You give him a small smile and get ready to listen to your prof.
Needy nerd Seungmin who spends the whole class trying to come up with something to tell you, only to end up speechless when, the moment class is dismissed, you turn to him and ask “Seungmin, right? Do you want to study together?” He can only nod, trying not to make a fool of himself. What he doesn’t know is that you’ve been trying to get his attention for the best part of this semester.
Needy nerd Seungmin sitting near you in a corner of the library, it’s empty and quiet because it’s a Friday night and almost everyone else is partying and living their college lives. He’s only pretending to study because you are wearing a skirt and he can see the skin of your thighs. He wants to know what it’d feel like under his hands, under his mouth.
Needy nerd Seungmin who whines way too loudly when you grab his hand and put it on your thigh, looking at him under your lashes. “You can move your hand a centimeter for each page you’ll actually study.” He’s already hard in his slacks, but now that he has a goal, he's gonna be a very fast student.
Needy nerd Seungmin who whimpers when, hidden behind a bookshelf, you suck on his neck. You touching his cock through his slacks, palming him, is too much for him, and he comes pressing against your hand.
Needy nerd Seungmin who’s like a puppy the moment after he just came:, licking at your neck, nosing at your skin and begging you to let him touch you properly.
When I tell you that I am absolutely foaming and frothing in my mouth over Nerdy Seungmin...
There's just something about him like even pre-debut he's just so adorable. I am having major cuteness aggression.
Cuteness aggression like just look at him. I also want him to completely ruin my insides. Take away my ability to walk. Woman's rights "I am not an object, I deserve to be heard" Wrroongg for Kim Seungmin I AM an object. Self respect? non-existent.
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