Summary: âPeople don't stay. They inspect the wreckage, realize how much work you are, and walk away.â
A one-shot about anxiety, the terror of being truly loved, and learning that some people refuse to let go, no matter how messy the wreckage gets. âïžâïžđ
Playlist : Hard to love ; Shadow ; Lighters ; Ghost town
"Hey ! Wait !" His voice shouted out loud.
I left. I fucking ran away. My lungs burned with a frantic, useless rhythm, screaming for oxygen I couldn't force inside.
In. Out. Why couldn't I breathe?
My fingers went numb and tingly, and the world began to tilt. My heartbeat boomed in my ears, drowning out my own footsteps. The air tasted like copper and static. I clawed at my collarbone, desperate to rip open some space, but a vice gripped my ribs and locked them solid, while my heart hammered hard enough to blur my vision.
He wasn't the problem. I was.
I hated myself for that. But it wasn't his fault. It was mine, and mine only. I was better away from him...
In fact I was probably better away from anyone.
The asphalt blurred beneath my chaotic footsteps, the cold night air tearing at my throat, yet I couldn't stop. Every breath felt like inhaling shards of glass, my chest constricting tighter with every frantic stride. The panic attack was peaking, stripping away my defenses, leaving me raw, exposed, and entirely overwhelmed by the suffocating narrative in my own mind: You are too much, and yet never enough. Anyone who stays long enough will eventually leave. They always ended up leaving you.
My knees buckled. Gravity suddenly felt ten times heavier, and the pavement rushed up to meet me.
But I never hit the ground.
Strong arms caught me around the waist, hauling me backward out of my desperate, stumbling sprint and yanking me firmly against a broad, solid wall. A familiar, grounding warmth enveloped me, cutting through the static in my brain.
San.
A sharp intake of breath brushed against my hairâhis breath.
"Hey, hey, heyâlook at me," Sanâs voice cracked, laced with a raw, terrifying edge of panic I had never heard before. "Don't do this. Please. Look at my eyes."
I didn't deserve this.
"I've got you," his voice murmured, desperate yet steady against my ear.
Iâve got you.
The words echoed in my skull, dangerous and sweet, sparking a terrifying ache in my chest.
How many times had I heard variations of that lie before?
People always said they had youâuntil things got too messy, too heavy, too broken.
One of his large hands slid up to cup the back of my neck, while the other banded tightly around my ribs, anchoring my trembling frame.
"Match my breathing, okay? Just try. In... and out."
He didn't let go, even as my body shook with the violent aftershocks of the panic. He stayed right there, holding me together when I was entirely convinced I was shattering into pieces.Â
It infuriated me how safe I felt in his arms. It terrified me even more. His touch only made the walls cave in harder.
Why are you holding on? I wanted to scream. Just let go. Everyone always does.
Yet the frantic noise in my head was quieting down enough as I was staring blindly at the fabric of his jacket, my mind drifted backward, retracing the steps that had led us to this agonizingly intimate precipice.
How did I let him get this close?
How did we even get here? How did I end up here in his arms? How did I let a strangerâsomeone who smiled so brightly it hurtâslice past every defense I had so carefully built?
It started on a âtypical and boringâ Tuesday that felt like every other invisible day of my life. I was sitting in the corner of that cramped little cafe where nobody ever looked twice at me. My phone buzzed with a cancellation text for the third time that weekâsomeone else picking a better option, leaving me stranded as usual.
I had tried to blink back the stupid, predictable sting of tears, staring blindly at my laptop screen.
"Is this seat taken?"
I had looked up to find him standing there, balancing an iced Americano in one hand and a ridiculously bright smile on his face. Tilting his head with those dark, yet soft and curious eyes.
"No," my voice had come out far too small, my thumb instinctively rubbing over the screen of my phone where the cancellation text still stared back at me like a tiny monument to my own irrelevance.
He didn't just sit down; he settled in with an easy, unbothered grace, pulling out his laptop and earbuds, giving me all the space in the world. He didn't pry. He didn't offer pity. But somewhere between that first accidental Tuesday and the following weeks, he started showing up at the exact hours I buried myself in my laptop. At first, it was just polite nods, a shared table when the shop was packed, and the occasional soft-spoken observation about the miserable weather. Then came the afternoon he slid a strawberry milk across the table because he somehow noticed I usually went for it, but that day I just ordered tap water.
"On me," he had said, flashing that warm, crinkly-eyed smile that made it physically impossible to protest. "You look like you need something sweet today."
That was the first crack in the armor.
It wasn't a grand, sweeping romance. It was a slow, stubborn erosion. He became a fixture I hadn't asked for, but secretly didn't know how to live without. We bumped into each other at that same cafe the next Tuesday, and the Tuesday after that.
Weeks melted into a strange, hesitant rhythm. We became the kind of quiet fixtures in each otherâs routines who didn't know each otherâs names yet, but knew how the other took their coffee.
At some point we ended up exchanging names. Then social media handles. Then late-night text threads about nothing at all.
He learned my boundaries without me ever having to spell them out. If I went quiet, he didn't demand explanations; he just sat beside me in comfortable silence. If I canceled plans because my anxiety spiked, he didn't guilt-trip me, but he still checked out on me with a simple text.
When I pulled late nights at the library or the cramped corner of a diner, a steaming cup of tteokbokki or a convenience store hot pack would magically appear on my desk, accompanied by a little sticky note with a poorly drawn smiley face.
He didn't rush me. When my walls went up, when I went silent for days out of sheer panic that I was becoming a burden, San never pushed. He simply waited patiently on the other side of my defenses, respecting every invisible boundary I drew, yet refusing to drift away.
Before I realized it, he became an impossible habit to break. He didnât back away from my awkward silence or my guarded glances. He showed up with convenience store snacks when he knew I was pulling late hours. He texted random, stupid photos of stray cats just to see me smile. He made me feel seen in a world where I was usually invisible.
And that was precisely why it was terrifying.
Never let them get too close, a cynical voice inside my head warned me every time my chest fluttered around him. People don't stay. They inspect the wreckage, realize how much work you are, and walk away.
It was a lesson life had taught me early and often.
Childhood flashed behind my eyelids: being the afterthought choice for group projects, the kid picked last in gym class, the perennial loner who spent her lunch breaks hiding in the school library while everyone else laughed outside.
Then came the past friendships: people who claimed they loved me, right up until my anxiety, my heavy silences, or my constant, desperate need for reassurance became "too exhausting" to handle.
And romantic relationships? Non-existent. Either because I wasn't pretty enough to look twice at, or because I preemptively locked the door before anyone could ever get close enough to reject me.
I was a ghost walking through my own life, convinced I was fundamentally unlovable.
You can't miss what was never truly yours to begin with, right?
So why did San's persistent warmth feel like a sun I desperately wanted to step into, even though I knew it would burn me to ash?
I remembered the first night he stayed past midnight just because I couldn't stop shaking from a nightmare. I remembered the way he looked at me across the kitchen table few weeks ago, smiling like I hung the stars, while my chest tightened with a cold, creeping terror.
How could he look at me like that when I was still picking up the jagged pieces of myself? People like San didn't stay with broken things. They fixed them just enough to leave.
Every laugh, every soft touch, every whispered secret had felt like building a house on a fault line.
"You know, you look at me like I'm holding a ticking time bomb," San had said one rainy afternoon, sliding a steaming cup of coffee across the small wooden table toward me.
I had looked away instantly, feeling the familiar prick of defensive shame.
"Maybe you are. I'm not easy to deal with, San."
San hadn't looked frustrated or put off, as others had in the past. Instead, his dark eyes had softened with a depth of patience that terrified me more than any anger could have.
"Let me decide that for myself," he had said softly, resting his hand over mine on the table. Even then, my instinct had been to pull away, to invent a flaw or pick a fight just to make him walk away first.
The memory evaporated, pulling me violently back to the cold pavement, pressed tight against the solid warmth of his chest.
My breathing was finally steadying, the jagged edges of the panic attack receding into a dull, throbbing ache behind my eyes. But the emotional storm was just beginning.
I hated how his arms felt like home. I hated how much I wanted to believe him when he said he had me.
With a choked gasp, I shoved my hands hard against his chest, breaking away from his embrace. The sudden loss of warmth left me shivering, the biting night air rushing in to fill the space between us.
San stumbled back half a step, his hands hovering in mid-air, a look of sheer bewilderment and hurt flashing across his features.
"Heyâwhat's wrong?" he asked softly, his voice dropping into that gentle register that always made my defenses crack. "I've got you. You're safe."
"Stop saying that!" I snapped, my voice breaking on a sob as tears finally spilled over my lashes. I wrapped my arms tightly around myself, building the wall back up with shaking hands. "Stop holding on to me, San! Stop showing up! You don't know what you're dealing with."
"Try me," he urged, taking a slow, careful step closer, refusing to back down. The warmth of his arms felt both like a sanctuary and a trap.
"Let me go, San," I choked out, my hands trembling as I tried to pry his fingers away from where they were locked protectively around my jacket. The closeness was suffocatingânot because of the panic, but because it felt entirely too good. Too safe.
And that terrified me more than anything else.
"I'm not letting you go anywhere," he murmured fiercely into my hair, his grip tightening rather than loosening as my knees wobbled again. "You don't have to run from me. I'm not going anywhere."
"You don't know me!" I sobbed, the ugly truth finally clawing its way out of my throat. "I am not worth staying for, so stop trying!"
He went still behind me. For a second, the only sound was the harsh rattle of my breathing. Then, slow and deliberate, he turned me around so I had no choice, finally, but to look into his eyes.
"Why are you still here?" I whispered, my voice cracking, barely audible over the wind. "Why didn't you just let me run?"
San pulled back slightly, his thumbs gently wiping away the stray tears tracking down my cold cheeks. His gaze was fierce, steady, and entirely unconditional.
"Why are you running away from the one person who actually wants to stay?" San said, his voice thick with emotion.
"I'm too broken, okay?" I cried out, the ugly truth tearing its way out of my throat after years of keeping it buried. "I ruin things! Nobody chooses me first, San, and they never will! Everyone always leaves me eventually, and I am so tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop. I'm saving us both the trouble. Just leave. Walk away now, before you realize how exhausting I actually am."
San stared at me, the streetlights catching the shimmer of disbelief in his eyes. For a terrifying second, I thought he would do it. I thought he would look at the mess of me, recognize the burden, and finally turn around.
Instead, he closed the distance between us. He didn't ask for permission this time; he simply captured my trembling hands in his warm, steady grip, pulling my fingers away from my defensive cross-chest barrier. He pressed my hands flat against his chest, right over his steady, beating heart.
"Listen to me," San whispered, fierce and unwavering, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that stole the remaining air from my lungs. "You think you're too broken to be loved, but you don't have to fight me away to protect yourself anymore. I'm not them. I didn't wander into your life by accident, and I'm sure as hell not looking for an exit."
He brushed a stray tear from my cheek with his thumb, his touch achingly tender.
"You're terrified because you're used to being an option," San continued, his voice softening, wrapping around my bruised heart like a bandage. "Let me show you what it feels like to be someone's first choice. Every single day. I'm not going anywhere."
For the first time in my life, looking into his eyes, the armor chipped away completelyâand I finally let myself believe him. Standing there in the grip of someone who refused to let me fall, a terrifying, impossible thought crept past my defenses: Maybe... just maybe... he isn't going to leave.
âïž Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading! This one took a little piece of my heart to write. San deserves all the softest hugs, and so do you if you're feeling a little heavy today.
Drop a comment or reblog if you enjoyed this! Alsos do not hesitate to send me request ans let me know what you want to see next! âșïž (But please read my pinned post to see my rules before sending any requests!)
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đ§ Playlist: Hard to Love â Black pink | Shadow â Austin Mahone | Lighters â Bruno Mars | Ghost Town â Benson Boone
â„ Genre:Â MDNI 18+ | established relationship, angst
â„ Word count: 400+ (sorry)
â„ Notes: this is my first one shot/fic ever so please read it with grace and if thereâs anything i should work on please let me know :) !
Youâre doing your usual spring cleaning around the houseâthe normal mopping, wiping down everything, and I mean everything. You feel like being a little extra today, so you decide to dust the cabinets.
Grabbing your duster and climbing your step ladder, you swat away the dust when something catches the corner of your eye: something blue. Itâs a blue box with a ribbon.
What could it possibly be? âWhat the hell-?â you say, wearing the most peculiar look on your face. You open the box. Pictures. There are pictures of a coupleâa happy couple. You look closer and realize that one of those people is your boyfriend. Mingyu. Why would he keep these? Why would he hide them?
You rush down the step ladder and into his office.
âBaby, I was just comingââ he starts, but stops speaking when he notices the hurt in your eyes. âY/N, whatâs wrong?â
You donât respond. He looks up from his desk, his expression shifting from focus to surprise as he sees you holding the box. His eyes widen slightly, recognizing what youâve found. Mingyu stands quickly, a mix of guilt and anxiety crossing his face.
âY/N... I can explainâŠâ You cut him off.
âIâm going to ask you one question, and Iâm only going to ask it once.â He waits for the words to leave your mouth, bracing for whatâs to come. âDo you still love her?â you ask, a cry escaping your throat.
âY/N itâs complicatedâŠI-â He breathes out with a piece of guilt attached to it.
âYou didnât answer my questionâŠâ You say looking deep into his eyes but it doesnât connect because his eyes are fixed on the box in your hand.
He closes his eyes briefly, the truth evident in his pained expression. When he opens them again, they meet yours directly. âYesâŠâ His admission is quiet but honest, as though it physically hurts him to say it out loud.
You canât even make out the words; your mind is running all over the place. All you can do is cryâa sound that escapes your throat.
His face crumples at your cry, guilt washing over him. He reaches for you instinctively, but stops himself midway. âI never wanted to hurt you with this. I tried to move on completely. I really did. For you.â
Your feet start moving before you even realize it, and you slowly back away from him.
âY/N, look at me⊠please,â he says, reaching for you.
Before you know it, your body hits the floor, your knees pressing against your aching chest, and your lungs feel like theyâre going to burst out of your chest.
He lowers himself to your level. âYou have to believe me. What I had for her is nostalgicâŠâ
genre: non-idol au, mulan/military au, reader pretends to be a man to replace their father during conscription, depictions of physical violence (battles and death), sexualised language, smut in future parts but will be highlighted in chapter warnings, everyone is a little in love with reader regardless of presenting gender
summary: you joined the army as hyunjin to save your father and found a place that you never imagined for yourself. now, they know youâre a noble lady and you have to find a new peace amongst them, with a new title and some feelings that you arenât fully prepared to confront.
a/n: my first SVT fic. it was supposed to be a short fic, just figuring out how to write for SVT before I started a collab fic (coming in september!) but instead, it's become this four part series. i hope you like it! please reblog and comment, and let me know if you want to be added to the fic taglist!
chapter 2
series masterlist / main masterlist
network: @andlinked
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The floor was hard when you were dropped on to it, your knees cracking at the landing. You tried to keep your back straight, to look visibly strong even if you didnât feel it, but the impact sent a wave of discomfort ricocheting through your nerves and you wobbled.
Your bound hands reached out and kept you from dropping face first into the mat. You grit your teeth through any sounds of pain. The noises you make are just as much as victory for the enemy. Seungcheol - Captain Choi, you corrected yourself - had told you that.
The same man who was now staring down at you from the war table, expression blank, eyes dark and unreadable. It was strange to think that he was the enemy now, enjoying your pain in the way heâd warned you about. It hurt in that uncomfortable way when you knew you were the reason for a betrayal and just had to live with the guilt.
You couldnât say you hadnât intended to lie. Youâd come here already rewriting the story of your life - your name, your history, your future. All reworked and conveyed to every person you met.
You broke their trust and, in the imperial army, trust was paramount.
Around the captain were his generals, the privates and petty officers that you had trained with, laughed with, fought with. They were a lot easier to read than their leader - eyebrows furrowed, watching you like a wild animal, lips pursed.Â
You could have laughed - it was like theyâd never seen a woman before.
You felt more than watched Mingyu crouch at your side. His hands hovered but didnât quite touch the bandage heâd wrapped around your chest. He murmured a curse to Jun and Vernon, the two who dragged you in. âIf you ripped open her stitches, weâre going to have a problem.â
Jun averted his gaze, embarrassed, and Vernonâs jaw tightened.
âItâs fine,â you whispered and cursed yourself for how your voice trembled.
It was strange how in one moment, you were brave, strong and full of adrenaline. The you from before would never have jumped in front of an arrow, would never have been quick enough to get there anyway, but the way you were now, you think youâd do it again in a heartbeat. Without it, your Captain wouldnât be looking down at you now and you couldnât bear the thought.
Maybe it was better your battalion looked at you with disgust and hurt than in grief and devastation. You think you could take that.
It was Mingyu who had found out first, the battalionâs lead medic. Heâd stripped you with the efficiency of a skilled doctor and then flushed to the tips of his toes at the sight of your tits. Youâre pretty sure they all got a good look, before Seungkwan had swung into action, ordering privacy with threat of testicle removal.
When youâd cried - in pain from the embedded arrow head in your right side, heartbroken at the truth and terrified of the consequences - Seungkwan had held your hand against his chest. Youâd called him âpretty boyâ and heâd given you a wet smile.
You almost wished for that Seungkwan now, the one who could actually look at you.
In the end, it was Jeonghan that spoke to you first. âSo itâs true, you really are a woman.â He didnât say it like an insult, like you were something less than, but still you bristled.
âWas it the tits that gave it away?â You snapped. Like old times, like you were allowed that kind of familiarity.
You werenât, not anymore. Wonwoo tensed, hand flexing around the handle of his sword. Jeonghan though, he just grinned in wryly amusement. âAre you saying that as Hyunjin or the real you?â
Hyunjin. The name you had given yourself to match your male identity, the name your parents would have given you if you were born masculine.
âCanât it be both,â you challenged.
âWhatâs your birth name?â Joshua asked. He stood further in the group, looking every bit like the ideal soldier despite the fighting theyâd all barely recovered from. Youâd resent him for it if he wasnât so sweet.
You hesitated and then gave your name, the one you hadnât spoken to yourself or others in 4 months. It felt wrong to say, clumsy on your tongue.
âPretty,â Chan said, mild and perfunctory, âit suits you.â
You winced. âPlease, donât.âÂ
The soft words werenât ones they had ever shared with you but now that your true gender was revealed, it was like talking to a distant suitor. It made your skin crawl and chest ache.
Seungcheol shifted in his chair and eyes snapped to him instinctively. It was a show of how well trained you all were and how respected the captain was.
âWhy did you come here?â he asked quietly. He didnât have to shout for you to know he was angry.
âI was conscripted,â you stated. The same as them all.
Seungcheolâs eyebrows knitted together. âThe eldest son was conscripted.â
âAnd my father has no son, only me,â you pushed. âHe... he barely survived the last war and I couldnât let that happen. Not if I could help.â
âSo you became a man,â Jeonghan said.
You sighed. âI became Hyunjin. Hyunjin is me.â
âBut heâs not, is he?â Soonyoung interjected, shoulders tense, âHyunjin is - was, the eldest son, ready to die for his country and you - if youâd died, youâd be someoneâs daughter that would be devastated that you died in their place.â
You swallowed. You tried not to think about your mother and father, holding the secret of your disappearance to hide the shame, to stop the punishment that no doubt would come for you. It was illegal for women to fight in the imperial army and it was treason to infiltrate the military. Youâd known that at the time you cut your hair short, stole your fatherâs horse and galloped off to meet the recruiters.
âIâd do it again,â you said, unexpectedly honest. For your father, youâd do anything to keep him safe just as he had your entire life. For your mother, youâd do anything to ensure that the love of her life was always there for her - you remembered how much it had broken her during the first war. And, selfishly, you think youâd do it again for the power you didnât know you could hold and for them. Each and every one of those soldiers youâd met and cared for. You couldnât imagine a world where you didnât know them, even if they would come to regret your presence here.
It was Jihoon who said the quiet part aloud. âYou should be executed for this.â
Your heart leaped fearfully in your chest before you could control it. You watched the uneasy shuffle of legs, the eyes that widened and looked away, the slow closing of fists. You watched Jihoonâs expression and how his eyes seemed so sad. You didnât like him looking at you like this.
Minghao was the first to object. âHyung, Captain,â he corrected himself, âyou canât-â
âItâs the law,â Jun interjected.
âThe emperor would destroy us if he found out,â Seokmin pointed out, the first thing heâd said in your presence since he found out. He still wouldnât look at you, even now. Youâd shared a tent with him, spent the most amount of time with him as they marched in formation, and maybe that was why he was taking it the hardest. To see the usually so happy man like this was painful.
âI didnât patch her up just for you to end her,â Mingyu said.
âWhat are we supposed to do?â Soonyoung challenged, âSheâs not a pet.â
You looked at Seungcheol, at the man you respected more than you ever thought possible. âIâll accept your judgment, Captain Choi.â
His lips twisted into a bitter smile. âYou havenât called me that in months.â You didnât answer. You werenât sure if you were supposed to. His eyes flickered to Mingyu, âHow long is recovery expected?â
âAnother three weeks at least for me to feel comfortable,â the medic explained.
Seungcheol looked back at you. âConsider this a debt paid. A life for a life,â he murmured, âHyunjin will stay with us on the march to the capital until Medic Kim says that youâre well. Then youâll leave and never come back.â
It was the best scenario and yet the mercy only made disappointment curl in the pit of your stomach. âYes Captain.â
âWe donât speak of this,â Seungcheolâs eyes landed on each in his battalion, men he trusted more than anything.
The room saluted. âYes Captain.â
-
On the nights where the negative thoughts become too much, you think living like this might be a bigger punishment than execution. You hadnât been alone in months and now the sudden absence felt like missing a limb.Â
You still had your tent, the same one youâd been assigned to that first day but Seokmin had left it almost as soon as the decision to keep you around had been made - youâd caught him as he left, canvas bag thrown over his shoulder. Heâd avoided looking at you as he scurried to Seungkwan and Mingyuâs tent. It shouldnât have hurt as much as it did, shouldnât have brought a lump to your throat or had tears burning the corner of your eyes. You didnât sleep that night, trying desperately not to cry.
The next day, he still came to help you put down the tent after breakfast, preparing for the next day of marching. You murmured your thank you but got no response in turn, just the swing of the rolled up tent onto his broad shoulders.
You still had your meals given to you by Chan but now you were the last one to eat, just on the outskirts of the warmth of the fire. Your fingers accidentally brushed the younger officers when you took the bowl and he nearly dropped it in the dirt in his eagerness to get away from you.
You couldnât do basic training. Youâd tried but Jihoon had stopped you with a tightness in his expression. âI think itâs best if you ask if Mingyu has something you can do.â Mingyu had given you a list of herbs to organise so it wasnât that you were bored, but it was another line of separation that highlighted just how little they wanted to do with you.
You hated that it hurt you so much. As the only child of a great family, you were alone a lot of the time, time taken up by ceremonies and responsibilities that were suitable for a daughter. You did them with a smile because you had to. Running about to join the army might have been the first thing youâd actually done for yourself. You hadnât expected to love it, to love the routine and the power it gave you, to love watching the sun rise and set as you marched through landscapes you never thought youâd see in your lifetime.
And the people. You adored them in a way you didnât think it was possible to love those who werenât in your family line.
You missed Seokminâs laugh, how it shook his whole body and he had to lean on you for support. You missed Seungkwanâs singing at the most inopportune times, especially during the night watch. You missed Soonyoungâs jokes and Jihoonâs tired acceptance of them.Â
You missed Vernonâs quiet correction of how you hold your sword and how Jun seemed to know exactly what you were feeling before you could even formulate the words yourself. You missed Jeonghanâs teasing and how Joshua fell into the trap every single time.Â
You missed drinking tea in the early morning with Minghao after a long night patrol and joining Chan to hunt whatever animal was available to eat in the mountains. You missed Mingyu getting just a little too drunk on moonshine and spilling one too many secrets of his own secrets. You missed the shy way that Wonwoo smiled when his battalion teased him before cutting them down with the driest comments. You missed the way Seungcheol used to watch over you all, softness in his eyes.
Youâd never get that again, you thought, but you couldnât bring yourself to regret it. No, the pain of what you had lost would just stay with you for the rest of the life your Captain had determined you got to keep. A lifetime of punishment indeed.
-
Itâs on the fifth day of your social isolation that the camp was ambushed. You were in your tent when the noises started, familiar enough that they scratched down the back of your mind like a physical wound. You were up, moving instinctively. You grabbed at your sword - you still sharpened it daily, like youâd be taught, even if you werenât being actively trained anymore - and pushed open the tent flaps to carnage.
Hun. A unit like yours, likely on their way to the battle front as you had been, and now reconvening further into the country. An attack of opportunity because how could anyone resist their enemy so unsuspectedly waiting for them?
Adrenaline thrummed through you and you were taking a step forward, ready to jump in, before you were blocked.
âStay behind me,â Wonwoo insisted, already using his broad form to shove you where he wanted.
âI can fight,â you reminded, already skirting around, before the firm hand of Joshua pushed you back.
âStay back,â he ordered firmly. âWe canât let you get hurt again.â
âHurt saving your sorry arses,â you reminded him. There was something about the way he said it that stunk of âman protects womanâ and you wanted to scream. âIâm fine.â
âWould you just listen for once?â Soonyoung complained.
You pushed through again, back into formation. âYou would never have let me sit out of a fight.â
âThat was before,â Joshua murmured bitterly. His body was already moving to block you again, so you shoved him hard in the right shoulder.
âYour sudden realisation that I have tits does not determine whether I can stab someone,â you snapped. âYou guys trained me. Do you have no faith in your skills?â
Wonwooâs jaw tightened. Soonyoung looked like he wanted to strangle you. Joshuaâs gaze danced around your face before sighing in defeat. âJust...stick close, okay?â
You tried not to let the relief thumping through your body show on your face. âYes sir.â
Soonyoung spluttered. âAre you crazy?â
âSheâll follow us anyway,â Joshua sighed, âAt least this way we wonât be distracted.â
âSpeak for yourself,â Wonwoo grumbled but you ignored him.
It was strange how, when fighting, you felt more at peace than you had all week. Your side pulled uncomfortably around your stitches and you had no doubt that you might have opened it again but you didnât care. How could you when you could almost pretend that things were back to normal?
If you dodged, another swung their sword to cut down the enemy. When Soonyoung ducked, you were swinging over his head, a clean cut across the jugular. An axe head clipped you before you could put more distance between you but Wonwoo was already there, delivering a pommel blow to the side of the attackerâs head. Joshua made formation calls and you all slipped into them instinctively, muscle memory.
Around you, you could see the others of your battalion, weapons blurring at the speed they are moving. You watched a Hun soldier kick Jun in the chest and Minghao jump in from the side, diverting attention to himself. You caught Chan using nearby branches as offensive weaponry so Jeonghan could cut at the tendons on the back of a heel.
It was bloody. It was exhausting.
You felt like you could breathe easier.
You didnât move fast enough.
Oxygen was punched out of your chest by an arm, the owner shoving you until your back slammed against the trunk of a tree. You gripped at his hand, suddenly so aware of how much bigger the Hun were than you, and tried to use your legs to kick out. He took the blow with a wince and pressed down harder.
âA pretty boy,â he breathed, words twisting in an insult, âever taken Mongolian cock before?â
He tightened his grip enough that you could see spots. Over the fur covered shoulder, you see your captain barrelling closer. âYou ever,â you wheezed, âhad your throat cut before?â
You could see the confusion flash through his eyes before they were replaced by shock and the sharp end of a blade through the side of his neck. The grip on you tightened and then loosened as he was shoved away, heavy body dropping like lead on the dirt floor. You landed unsteadily on your feet and coughed through sharp inhales.
âWhat are you doing here?â Seungcheol snapped.
âWhat I was trained to do, Captain Choi,â you rasped.Â
You could see the vein in his forehead pulsing, but he couldnât comment any further because there was another sword being thrust at him.
The fight continued until Mingyu put an axe head into the back of the last member of the Hun unit. Post-fight silence rose up to surround them and you couldnât hear anything except your own heartbeat. Your eyes scanned over each of them, taking a mental stock of bruises and cuts and ultimately the fact that each one was still on two feet. A momentary relief, of familiarity, before eyes snapped to you and an irate captain was storming across the bloody ground towards you.
You straightened up instinctively, falling to attention.
âWhat the fuck were you thinking?â Seungcheol demanded, âyou should have stayed inside.â
âAnd let you fight the Hun without me?â you retorted, âNot a chance of that in hell, captain.â
âDo you have a death wish?â
âMy death would bring honour to my family name,â you said firmly.
Seungcheol pinched the bridge of his nose. âAnd what exactly would happen to my name if I brought home your fatherâs daughter in a body bag?â
It hurt you to think about them, so you tried not to. âThey would know I died for my country.â
Somewhere over his shoulder, you heard Seungkwanâs long groan of âweâre terrible influences.â
The captain clearly heard it too, his lips twitching upward in the corner before he could stop himself. It had been so long since youâd been on the receiving end of such a look and you held on to it greedily. You tried not to tremble at the way Seungcheolâs eyes dragged down you, assessing, heavier than they had been before.
âWe should leave you at the next village,â he mused.
You retorted quickly, âYou canât.â
Seungcheol arched an eyebrow. âAnd why is that?â
âA life for a life,â you whispered. âI have a life debt. I will not be dishonoured.â
Seungcheol looked at you incredulously before laughing, this breathy and full body thing that made you feel warm all over. You hadnât heard him laugh like that before. âYouâre the strangest woman Iâve ever met,â he commented, âto willingly stay in a warzone.â
âIt is my honour,â you explained.
âAnd mine too, I suppose,â Seungcheol sighed and then groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. âThis is insane. Youâre insane. Iâm insane.â
âSo we really are going to keep her as a pet,â Soonyoung commented and then yelped when Jihoon elbowed him in the side. âFuck, hyung, that hurt.â
âDo you have any idea how to talk to women?â Jihoon hissed.
âOnly his mother,â Chan teased and let himself get pulled into a headlock by Soonyoung.
Seungcheol was still watching you. He didnât quite look like your commander any more, expression softened at the edges. It was enough to make you feel breathless. âDonât think youâre going to get out of clean up duty,â he commented.
âSeokmin is the one who keeps taking the tent roll,â you challenged.
The man in question squeaked, eyes wide as if caught under cannon fire, and a flush crossed the bridge of his nose. âI canât just let her carry it,â he insisted, âitâs not right.â
âI did before,â you reminded me.
âMy father would be so disappointed, I canât,â Seokmin shook his head.
âWait until he finds out that you slept next to an unmarried woman for 3 months,â Jeonghan joked. His words were light but the implication was clear.
âNothing happened!â Seokmin insisted.
âI wouldnât,â you said at the same time.
Your old tent mate looked offended. âWhat do you mean, wouldnât? Iâm a handsome guy!â
It was true. In your life before, everything about Seokmin - about any of them really - would have been positive in the list the matchmaker gave you. Heâs from a good family, too genes, pretty smile, would treat you right. The thought had occurred to you that if you brought any one of these men home with the promise of grandchildren, your parents might forgive your transgressions that lead to this moment.
You forced your thoughts away from there immediately. âDo you want me to want to fuck you?â
Seokmin looked like a fish out of water, gapping at you. Mingyu looked a mixture of delighted and disgusted. Jun had pushed his lips together to try not to laugh so obviously.
Seungcheol rubbed his temple. âNo one is fucking anyone.â
Minghao booed. Jihoon cuffed the back of his neck.
âYouâd be so lucky,â you said and rolled your eyes to the heavens so you didnât collapse into a ball of embarrassment.
âMingyu, check her stitches,â Seungcheol ordered, raising his voice in a very pointed change of subject, âand then weâre moving on before another unit tries to corner us. We move in 10.â
âYes captain.â
-
Even before the truth came out, there was something about you that Mingyu found powerfully attractive.Â
It made sense, he thought, that you werenât who you originally claimed to be. It was in the way that you spoke, your view of the world and those around you. It was how you held everything with such gentleness, except for your sword. It was in how you smiled and he felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest.
Mingyu had known for a long time that he liked pretty things and you just happened to be one of the prettiest in this dark time.
You sat on the edge of his sleeping mat, undershirt tugged up so that he could reexamine your injury. He tried not to touch you too much - heâs never bandaged a woman until you, and there was some rule about decorum shouting at the back of his mind that sounded suspiciously like his old teacher. Seungkwan rested against his own, back to you, taking the privacy as a time to rest before they start their march again - âand to keep you honest,â he had teased, making Wonwoo flush and demand that Mingyu explain himself.
Youâd laughed, another pretty thing, at his embarrassment.
Now, adrenaline slipping through your fingers and the confidence youâd had in front of their captain was disappearing, you had only anxious sadness.
âDo you think itâll go back to normal?â You muttered, a sweet confession that made Mingyuâs chest hurt.
He had been in a unique position of straddling the line between you, the woman they didnât know, and the others, the men who didnât know how to handle the lie. Heâd had to, being the only medic in the unit and, in all honesty, he thought he liked you too much by then to actually keep his distance.Â
Youâd not said it but it was easy to tell how the last days had cut at you. When Jihoon had removed you from basic training, youâd come to him, as ordered, and sat in gloomy silence as you organised herb packets and lotions at his request.
Mingyu didnât want to lie. âMaybe,â he answered, âbut I do know what it didnât feel right until we were fighting with you at our side.â
Seungkwan snorted. âThat's so cheesy Gyu.â
Mingyu flushed in embarrassment but you laughed. âI love the cheese,â you promised. Your hand reached for his and squeezed, and he tried not to focus on how much bigger he was compared to you. Looking at you this close, he wondered how many one ever thought you were the eldest son at all.
âJust keep a few ingredients unstocked for me, just in case,â you said. It was hard to tell if you were joking or not but Mingyu answered with all honesty.
âOf course. Always.â
Seongkwan coughed as if that could cover the giggle he let out. The back of Mingyuâs neck warmed. You grinned at him and released your grip. He shouldnât have missed it as much as he did. âSo howâs the stitches looking?â
Mingyuâs eyes flickered down and back again. âIn tact but barely.â
You winced. âSorry to ruin your hard work.â
âItâll scar if you donât let it heal properly,â he pointed out.
âYou all have scars, I should get a few of my own,â you commented. Mingyu bit down the urge to say itâs different when itâs you, the eldest daughter of a noble family. Instead, he cleaned the weeping edges of the wound and redressed it quietly. You thanked him, said you were going to repack and disappeared beyond the tent flaps.
Across the tent, Seungkwan tied the string on his bag. âYou could be less obvious,â he teased.
Mingyu whipped his head around to his old friend with wide eyes. âDo you think she noticed?â
âI think sheâs too polite to say anything, but she isnât stupid,â he commented, âneither is anyone else.â
âDo you think the others,â Mingyu paused, as a thought occurred to him. âwait, do you -â
Seungkwan groaned when he stretched, slipping the drawstring back onto his back. âI think,â he said, choosing his words carefully, âLady Jin doesnât realise how much power she has over us. All of us.â
Mingyu thought about your smile again, the way it brightened every facet of your face, and the startling truth that heâd spill blood willingly to keep you happy. He pressed down on his knuckles, working out the cramp rising there. âAll of us huh?â He mused.
Seungkwanâs lips stretched into a bashful smile and gave a one armed shrug. âWhat can I say? Thatâs a girl worth fighting for.â
Mingyu barked out a laugh. âNow whoâs being cheesy?â
-
âAre you sure about this?â Jihoon murmured.
Seungcheol sighed. âWhat choice do I have? You heard the lady.â
It still felt strange to say. When you had stumbled into the camp, imperial summons in your hand, Soonyoung had thought you did not look like a solider. But then, thatâs the problem with conscription - boys with luxuries and those without food in their bellies showed up in equal measure, and it was part of his job as a General to make them war ready. It wasnât something Soonyoung enjoyed but it was something he was proud of.
Hyunjin had been weak. Makes sense now, he thought, because no noble family would have their eldest daughter doing any activity to build muscle or stamina. You were smart though, heâd recognised, could reroute the unit in a moments notice, and determined. You picked up the sword when you dropped it. You walked on shaking legs. You fell over tree roots and got back up.
Soonyoung respected you.
âThat lady shouldnât be here,â he said, firm.
The Kwon family was one of nobility and as the second son, a career in the military was expected. As a child, heâd grown up with all the rules and expectations and social agreements drilled into him. âYour honour,â his father had said, âis everything.â
Soonyoung had never felt so dishonourable than when you were dragged before them, a wound in the side of your torso and the damning truth that you werenât Hyunjin after all.
Lady Jin.
We should have protected her, he thought with a tight jaw. He knew he wasnât the only one who thought so. They had all been dealing with the new truth in some way - the reality that bumped up against their previous understanding, the closeness they had gained, the feeling of betrayal at being lied to by someone who they considered family.
âBut sheâs here now,â Jihoon reminded. His lips flickered into a fond smile, only recognisable to those who knew him well. âWith a life debt.â
âSo she stays,â Seungcheol repeated, âuntil we get to the imperial city and can send her home.â
It was what he wanted and yet it still struck him uncomfortably. Home meant not here, not with them. Soonyoung shook the thought away - he was not ready to follow it to an unfortunate conclusion.
âLady Jin is Hyunjin to whoever asks,â Seungcheol added, âif someone were to find outâŠâ
âThey wonât,â Jihoon was confident, âthis unit wouldnât do anything to put her at risk.â
âHow can you be sure?â Soonyoung asked.
The shorter General laughed, his grin stretching wide. âHavenât you seen how they look at her? Everyone thinks theyâre being so sly.â
âEveryone?â Seungcheol arched an eyebrow. He didnât sound upset, only surprised by the revelation.
âNot me,â Soonyoung was quick to refuse.
Jihoonâs eyes flickered to him and gave a small shrug. âWhatever you say, Soonie.â
Pairing: mingyu x reader
Summary: After a painful four-year relationship, you aren't looking for love. Unfortunately for you, your best friend has other plans. Enter Kim Mingyuâthe architect with too many flowers, too much affection, and absolutely no intention of leaving.
Warning/s: -
Note: This is part of my you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love series!
Song: honeybee by olivia rodrigo
drop dead | stupid song | honeybee
SOMETHING NEW
You lay in bed while staring up at the ceiling. You were still hurting from your relationship. After all, four years was no joke. You were numb and you were sick and tired of everyone telling you that it'll pass.
There were only so many times someone could tell you that you'd be okay before those words lost its meaning. It had been three months since the breakup. Three months since you packed the last of his things into a box. Three months since you watched him walk away. You never asked him to stay. Three months was long enough for everyone around you to assume you'd moved on.
You haven't. Not really.
You were inconsolable before, but now, you were sort of a functioning citizen. You went to work, answered messages, laughed at the right moments, and even remembered to water your plants by the windowsill. But every now and then, usually when you were alone, you'd catch yourself wondering when your heart would stop hurting.
A knock on your door echoed through your apartment, making you slowly sit up. You doubted it was him, but you still kind of hoped it was. The person knocked again and with a heavy sigh, you got out of bed and answered the door. As soon as you unlocked it, Seungkwan was already inviting himself inside with a bunch of stuff (i.e., food, drinks, care kits you might need, etc.).
"You look alive," he announced, slipping off his shoes. "That's an improvement."
You blinked. You weren't expecting him. Heck, you weren't expecting anyone. "Well, hello to you, too."
"I'm serious." He glanced around the apartment before setting everything on the coffee table and dropping onto your couch. "You've officially spent enough time moping."
"I haven't been moping."
"You reorganized your bookshelf alphabetically and by color." Seungkwan nodded towards your bookshelf.
You sat next to him. "It was therapeutic."
"It was concerning."
You rolled your eyes, but a small, reluctant smile tugged at your lips. Seungkwan noticed immediately. "There she is," he pointed dramatically. "I knew my best friend was still in there."
"I hate you."
"No, you don't."
He fully turned to you. "So."
You narrowed your eyes. "No."
"I haven't even said anything!" Seungkwan whined.
"You've got that scheming look on your face. What are you plotting, Boo?" You eyed him suspiciously.
"Fine!" Seungkwan said exasperatedly. He leaned over the coffee table, grabbed a bag of chips, and opened it. He grabbed a piece and ate it while you stared at him, waiting for whatever scheme he had to say. "I want you to go on a blind date. I swear, I think I've hit the jackpot this time. So much so, you'll name your first born after me."
"Absolutely not." You shook your head.
"Aw, c'mon. Don't be like that!" Seungkwan huffed, eating another chip. "He's tall, ridiculously handsome, a great cook, he's such a giver! Give him a chance!"
"Seungkwan, please." You groaned. "I'm not ready. Besides, what if he's just likeâ"
"Don't compare him to Jeonghan, Y/N. They're different guys." Seungkwan said, leaning back and continued eating chips. "I'm a Jeonghan anti, but I guess he's not totally evil. He's just... built different."
"The answer is no."
-
"I want you to go on a blind date. I swear, I think I've hit the jackpot this time. So much so, you'll name your first born after me." Seungkwan smiled, repeating the same spiel to Mingyu.
Mingyu looked up in thought. "Okay, but what if our child is a girl? We can't name her 'Seungkwan'."
Seungkwan's eye twitched. The different answers he got gave him whiplash. "Then name her Boo Youmi."
"Boo Youmi?" Mingyu made a face. "Shouldn't it be 'Kim Youmi'? I'm the dad, not you."
Seungkwan pursed his lips, "Boo Youmi is a cute name. 'Kim Youmi' sounds incomplete. Name her 'Kim Boo Youmi'."
"Absolutely not." Mingyu shook his head.
"How about 'Kim Youmi Boo'?" Seungkwan asked.
"Kim Youmi is final, Kwannie."
"Ugh, we're getting sidetracked!" Seungkwan exclaimed. "So, go on this blind date with my best friend. She'sâ"
"Sure." Mingyu said with zero hesitation. Seungkwan was expecting Mingyu to whine. He didn't expect such a direct answer.
"...That's it? You're not going to make me beg?" Seungkwan eyed him suspiciously.
Mingyu shrugged. "Yeah, that's it. Unless..." Mingyu smirked. "...Unless begging is a kink of yours that you weirdly want me to fulfill. If so, I'm honored, Kwannie."
"Ew! Shut up, himbo!" Seungkwan said, causing Mingyu to laugh. Seungkwan gave Mingyu a dirty look. He tried to keep it that way, but it's been a while since he heard Mingyu laugh. Like you, Mingyu's heartbroken, too.
When Mingyu's laughter died down, he cleared his throat and looked at Seungkwan. "I think I'm ready to meet someone."
Seungkwan gave him a small smile. "Yeah?"
Mingyu nodded. "I mean, I don't think I'll ever be ready." He rubbed the back of his neck. "But I don't want one relationship deciding what the rest of my life looks like."
"You're SO gonna love me for this, Kim Mingyu."
-
Saturday arrived faster than either of you expected. You didn't know how Seungkwan was able to persuade you into going on this date with some rando, but here you were. You stood in front of your closet with your arms crossed, staring at the clothes hanging inside.
"...Seriously?" You sighed. "So many clothes, yet nothing to wear."
Nothing looked right. You pulled out a sweater, too casual. A dress, too much. A blouse, too boring. With a sigh, you tossed everything onto your bed until half your wardrobe was scattered across the comforter. Somewhere in the pile, your phone buzzed.
[kwannie đ]: don't cancel.
You rolled your eyes.
[y/nie <3]: I'm genuinely thinking about it.
Three dots appeared almost immediately.
[kwannie đ]: no, you're not :p
-
Across town, Kim Mingyu was experiencing a crisis of his own. Three shirts were laid neatly across his bed. He held up the first one.
"...No."
The second.
"Ew, definitely not."
The third.
"...Maybe."
Unsure, he snapped a picture and sent it to Seungkwan.
[mingoo]: quick! blue or white???
The reply came within seconds.
[seungkwannie]: white.
Mingyu stared at the message.
[mingoo]: that's what I was thinking, too!
[seungkwannie]: asdfghjkl then why'd you ask?!
[mingoo]: for emotional support, ofc!
-
You settled on something simple. Cute enough to make an effort. Comfortable enough to leave in if the date went terribly. Standing in front of the mirror, you adjusted your sleeves before letting your hands fall to your sides. You looked... fine. Not amazing. Not terrible. Just fine. That would have to do.
-
Mingyu buttoned the last button of his shirt before taking a step back from the mirror. He frowned.
"...Maybe I should change."
Five minutes later... He was wearing the exact same shirt.
One spray of cologne. He paused. "...Too much?"
He sniffed his wrist. "...Maybe one more."
Another spray. A beat. "Okay, that's definitely too much."
-
You grabbed your bag, checked for your wallet, keys, and phone. Everything was there. Good.
You reached for the doorknob. Stopped. Exhaled. You could still text Seungkwan that you weren't coming. You could crawl back into bed. Pretend this never happened. Your phone buzzed again.
On his way to the restaurant, Mingyu slowed down when he spotted a small flower stall on the corner. He walked past it. Kept walking. Stopped. Turned around and walked back to the flower stall.
"Would flowers be weird?" He asked himself as looked at the wide array of flowers.
The elderly florist smiled knowingly. "First date?"
Mingyu scratched the back of his neck. "Is it that obvious?"
"A little." She laughed.
He left the stall with a small bouquet wrapped in brown paper. Halfway to where his car is parked, he looked down at the bouquet and turned back around.
The florist looked at him from across the stall. "You're not returning those, are you?"
"I... wasn't?"
The florist shook her head, "Keep them, and give it to your date. It's never too much to give flowers on a first date."
"Okay." Mingyu said, turning back to walk to his car. He turned to face the florist and walked backwards, "Thanks, wish me luck!"
-
You arrived first. Of course you did. Better to wait than make someone else wait. You sat near the window, fingers wrapped around a glass of water you hadn't touched, rehearsing all the ways this evening could go wrong.
-
Mingyu took a deep breath before entering the restaurant that Seungkwan ever-so-kindly booked for the two of you. Mingyu looked around and spotted you before you spotted him. Well, he's never seen you before, but his gut was telling him that it was you.
He approached the table with a small smile on his face while smoothing out imaginary wrinkles on his shirt. "Y/N?"
You looked up and nodded. "Mingyu?"
"Hi." Mingyu smiled.
"Hi."
A beat. Then, he awkwardly held up the bouquet he'd been hiding behind his back. "I, uh... these are for you."
You blinked.
"For me?"
"Unless Seungkwan set me up with someone else, then this could get awkward."
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it. "No, I'm definitely Y/N."
"Good," he sighed dramatically before taking a seat in front of you. "That would've been embarrassing."
You accepted the flowers carefully, fingertips against the brown paper wrapped around the stems.
"They're beautiful."
"I'm glad you think so." He said, his shoulders visibly relaxing. His eyes sparkled and you almost forgot what it felt like to be on a first date. For the first time in months, you stopped wondering how long it would take for someone to leave.
-
Dinner was... easy. Much easier than you expected. Mingyu talked enough to fill the silence but never so much that you couldn't join in. He asked questions, actually listened to your answers, and somehow turned even the most ordinary stories into something worth laughing over.
By the time the waiter cleared your plates, you realized you hadn't checked the time once.
Seungkwan wasn't lying," Mingyu admitted, leaning back on his chair.
You tilted your head in wonder.
"He said you laugh with your whole face."
"...He said that?"
"Mhm."
You looked away, smiling despite yourself. "I'll have to yell at him later."
"He'll probably thank you."
The evening stretched naturally into a walk. The city had quieted by then, leaving only the occasional passing car and the glow of streetlights overhead. Mingyu matched your pace without thinking.
"So..." he glanced over. "How bad do I rank on the blind date scale?"
You pretended to consider it. "Hm."
He gasped. "The hesitation already tells me everything."
"I was going to say you're somewhere in the top two."
"...Out of?"
"Two."
He laughed so loudly that a couple walking past turned to look. Worth it.
A cool breeze drifted between the buildings. Without thinking, you rubbed your hands together. Mingyu noticed immediately. "Here."
Before you could protest, he slipped his jacket over your shoulders.
"Keep it." He smiled while he adjusted his jacket on you. Your eyes widened in shock, "What?"
He gave you a small smirk, "I'll get it the next time I see you."
A memory surfaced before you could stop it.
"I'm freezing." You shivered. Your teeth chattering so hard, you were scared that it would fall off.
Jeonghan glanced at you briefly before stuffing his hands deepers into his own pockets. "You should've brought a jacket. You didn't even wear gloves, Y/N. You knew it'd be cold outside tonight."
The memory disappeared as quickly as it came. You looked down at Mingyu's jacket around your shoulders.
"...Thank you."
"No problem." He smiled.
By the time your apartment building came into view, neither of you seemed particularly eager for the night to end.
"Thanks for driving me home," you said.
"I was going this way anyway."
You raised an eyebrow. "Weren't you parked in the opposite direction?"
"I didn't know you paid close attention to me, Y/N." Mingyu teased.
You laughed.
"There it is again."
"What?"
"That laugh."
Heat crept up your neck. "Oh."
"I like it."
For a second, you forgot how to respond. Then your phone buzzed in your pocket, pulling you back to reality. You glanced at the dark screen before looking up again.
"...I should head inside."
"Right."
He took a good look at you and smiled. "Goodnight, Y/N. It was a pleasure being your date tonight."
"Likewise. Goodnight, Mingyu." You got out of his car, and watched him turn the corner before unlocking your apartment.
Your flowers found a home in the only vase you owned. Mingyu's jacket still carried a faint trace of his cologne. You caught yourself smiling. Then, another uninvited memory.
It was all over the internet. 'Just because' flowers are now making rounds on social media. You weren't fond of flowers yourself, but seeing all those people receiving flowers made you happy for them. You wondered if Jeonghan would buy you 'just because' flowers. After all, you've been together for so long. Surely, he'd thought of that, right?
"Hannie?"
"Hm?"
"Would you ever buy me flowers?" You asked.
He looked at you with knitted brows, "What's the occasion?"
"Nothing." You shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. "It's just a question. Would you ever buy me flowers even if there's no occasion?"
Maybe it was your fault for being hopeful because your heart sank when he laughed at your face.
"Baby, they're going to die in a week or less. It's not practical." Jeonghan chuckled, shaking his head.
"But Seungkwan buys me flowers sometimes. He even bought me a small bouquet for Valentine's Day." You said.
"Then go date Seungkwan." Jeonghan said. His tone was light, but you knew it was off. You stared into each other's eyes and you knew it was time to drop the subject. You gave him a tight-lipped smile, "You're right. It'll just die. Waste of money, am I right?"
Jeonghan's eyes lit up. "See? I knew you'd understand. You're so smart, baby. Anyway, what's for dinner?"
You looked up at the bouquet sitting on your kitchen counter. Maybe the flowers would die less than a week, but they were beautiful and goddammit, you deserved it, anyway.
Your phone buzzed.
[Mingyu]: Hi!
You smiled.
[Y/N]: Hi
Three dots appeared almost immediately. Disappeared. Appeared again. Finallyâ
[Mingyu]: I'll just shoot my shot here đ Can I see you again?
You stared at the message longer than you'd like to admit. Your fingers hovered above the keyboard. Maybe this was the part where you should slow down. Maybe this was how people got hurt.
But then... you thought about the way he'd looked at you across the dinner table. The flowers. The jacket resting over your hair. The way he'd never once made you feel like you had to earn his attention.
Your thumbs moved before fear consumed you.
[Prettiest Girl]: I'd like that, actually :))
[Mingyu]: đ„°â„ïž
You couldn't help but smile. Maybe, just maybe, this could be something new.
STICKY SWEET LIKE HONEY
Somewhere between coffee dates that stretched well past sunset, late-night drives with nowhere in particular to go, and Mingyu insisting on driving you to your apartment every single time, the two of you had quietly become inseparable.
One month became two. Two became three.
Neither of you could remember whose idea it was to stop calling them dates and simply start calling each other boyfriend and girlfriend. Your first outing as an official couple came sooner than you expected.
"Just a few friends," Mingyu assured you while driving to the restaurant. "Nothing scary."
You chuckled nervously, "You say that now."
He laughed as he parked his car. He removed his seatbelt and fully turned to you, "I promise they're nice."
As soon as the two of you entered the restaurant, five heads turned toward your direction. Your eyes widened. You immediately leaned over to whisper to Mingyu. "You never told me your friends were all models."
"Hm?" Mingyu looked at them before looking back at you. "They're not, hon."
"Gyu, they're literally glowing!"
He let out a laugh before leading you over to the table. "Y/N, this is everyone." He gently rested a hand against your lower back. "Everyone, meet Y/N. My prettiest girlfriend ever."
A chorus of greetings followed.
"Hi!"
"It's nice to finally meet you."
"We've heard SO MUCH about you."
You smiled nervously before bowing your head slightly. "It's nice to meet all of you, too."
Then you leaned toward Mingyu again.
"Mingyu-yah," you whispered, "if I'd known your friends looked like this, I would've dressed up better."
The entire table erupted into laughter as you both sat down. Mingyu frowned, "Why?"
"Because they're all ridiculously attractive."
He blinked before looking around the table. "...Them?"
"Yes," you nodded. "them."
"Nah." He waved his hand dismissively. "They're just normal guys with normal jobs."
You looked at him. Then at them. Then back at him. There's no way these people had normal jobs. "You're telling me none of you are CEOs? Models? Nepo babies?"
"Absolutely not," Jaehyun laughed. "We hate nepo babies."
Mingyu nodded in agreement and let out a small "true" before moving his seat closer to yours and putting his arm around your shoulder.
Seokmin pointed at himself. "I'm Seokmin, an elementary school music teacher."
Your jaw dropped, and you shook your head. "No, you're not."
"I am." Seokmin laughed. "I spend my weekdays convincing eight-year-olds that the recorder is a real instrument."
Minghao raised his hand next. "I'm Minghao, and I own a pottery studio."
"Oh? You make bowls and stuff?" You asked, causing Mingyu to chuckle next to you.
"I make aesthetically pleasing bowls and stuff." Minghao corrected. He took a sip of his tea before smiling, "But thank you for assuming I'm a model. I'll take that as a compliment."
"Jungkook. I'm a physical therapist," Jungkook said, taking a bite of the appetizer.
"Seriously?"
"I help people recover from injuries." Jungkook nodded.
You looked at Mingyu, and he nodded. You looked back at Jungkook and gazed at his muscles before looking at his face, "I thought you lifted buildings for a living."
Jungkook chuckled, "I only lift patients who have trouble walking."
Your gaze landed on a quiet man, "Please tell me you at least work in fashion."
He smiled and shook his head. "I'm Eunwoo, and I'm actually a librarian."
Your eyes widened in shock, "You're kidding, right?"
"Nope." Eunwoo shook his head. "I spend most of my day reminding people to whisper."
"I'm Jaehyun, and I work in finance." Jaehyung grinned.
"You... willingly stare at spreadsheets?"
"Unfortunately." Jaehyun chuckled. "I like it, though. Besides, I handle these guys' finances. I can do yours too, if you want. Totally free. These guys just buy me samgyeopsal, or they treat me to a buffet every six months."
"Yah, she doesn't need it." Mingyu pouted. "She has me. Besides, we'll be having a joint account when we get married."
The table fell silent. You slowly turned to look at him.
"What?" Mingyu blinked innocently.
Jungkook looked at him over the rim of his glass. "It's only been three months."
"So?" Mingyu frowned. Minghao sighed into his tea, choosing not to say anything. After all, he meditated earlier that day.
Seokmin sighed. "Ignore him. He's always been like this. Once he likes someone he's all in."
"No, I don't!" Mingyu defended.
"You do," Jaehyun nodded. "It's actually kind of impressive."
You laughed as Mingyu reached for your hand.
"Anyway," he smiled sheepishly, "I'll handle everything. Don't want your pretty mind to be tired."
Seokmin lightly nudged Jaehyun. "Tell her."
Jaehyun sighed dramatically. "My parents couldn't afford college, so I studied hard to get a full-ride scholarship."
"Wow!" You nodded, impressed. "You must be pretty athletic, too, huh?"
Mingyu laughed, "Honey, he's not athletic enough to get through at least one sport. Not even table tennis."
"It's true," Jungkook nodded in agreement, cheeks full of food. "He's terrible at sports."
"I was dirt poor before I became a teacher," Seokmin said with a big grin. "Worked my ass off and everything."
"Same," Minghao nodded. "We all worked our asses off to get where we are."
"Amen." Mingyu raised his glass before drinking. "There are times when I'd hate my fucking job, though. Being an architect is a pain in the ass, but then I realized that this is literally what I prayed for, so I'd cut myself some slack."
You looked around the table once more as Mingyu fixed your hair for you. "So... no trust funds?"
Five heads shook.
"No secret billionaire parents?"
"I wish," Seokmin said.
"No hidden royal family?"
"Unfortunately." Eunwoo sighed.
You laughed. "I seriously can't believe any of you."
"Neither can we," Jungkook muttered, grabbing a piece of kimchi.
Everyone started eating, then another question popped into your head. "How did all of you become friends? I mean, I doubt you were co-workers, given that your line of work is completely different."
Without warning, Seokmin shot up from his seat. He pointed dramatically toward absolutely nothing. "GOTTA CATCH 'EM ALL!"
He even threw in a fist pump for good measure. The entire restaurant fell silent. A little kid from another table gasped excitedly, while their mother sighed.
Minghao closed his eyes. "I don't know him."
"You've known me for almost ten years." Seokmin laughed as he sat down again.
"I've tolerated you for almost ten years." Minghao corrected.
Jungkook rubbed his temples. Eunwoo offered an apologetic smile to the surrounding tables. You looked at Mingyu, "Is he always like this?"
Mingyu smiled as he reached under the table to intertwine his fingers with yours. "This is actually one of his calmer days."
"You're joking, right?"
"I wish I were, baby."
You couldn't help but laugh. And just like that, the nerves you'd carried into the restaurant quietly disappeared. As all of you fell into casual conversation, a memory resurfaced again. As much as you want to shake it off, it started playing in your head.
The first time you'd met Jeonghan's friends. Joshua and Seungcheol had welcomed you politely enough.
"It's nice to meet you."
"You too."
For a moment, you'd thought the night would go well. Then the conversation shifted. University stories, military enlistment, old classmates. Inside jokes that had everyone at the table laughing.
You smiled whenever everyone else did, hoping it looked natural. Every now and then, Joshua would glance your way with an apologetic smile, almost as if he realized you'd been quiet for a while.
Seungcheol tried once. "So, Y/N, what do youâ"
Before you could answer, Jeonghan interrupted with a story of his own. The conversation drifted away again. You spent the rest of dinner pushing your food around your plate, wondering if anyone had noticed you'd barely spoken at all. By the time you got home, you couldn't remember if Joshua and Seungcheol knew anything about you other than your name.
"Y/N, you're coming next week, right?" Jaehyun asked.
"Sorry, what's next week?" You asked, turning to Mingyu. He smiled and held your hand, "We do this every week, baby. It's okay if you don't want to go, but just know that the invitation is always open."
"You're so whipped." Jungkook teased, handing his card to pay the bill.
Seeing this, you quickly grabbed your wallet, but Mingyu stopped you. "Don't. Jungkook is paying this week. Next week is on Seokmin." He turned to Jungkook and said, "Also, I don't care. She's my person."
You smiled to yourself, quietly slipping your wallet back into your bag. It wasn't just the way Mingyu said things. It was how naturally they came to him.
"My prettiest girlfriend."
"She's my person."
He never hesitated; not once. Never second-guessed himself. If there was one thing you'd quickly learned after dating Kim Mingyu, it was that he loved loudly. Within an hour of making things official, his lockscreen had changed. By dinner, his profile picture followed. By the end of the night, his Instagram bio proudly read: â„ïž @yourusername.
Seungkwan kept telling you that you shouldn't compare Mingyu and Jeonghan, but you couldn't help it. They were just... different. Seungkwan would argue that they both loved differently and the way you love is just more in tune with Mingyu. He'd often tell you, "You and Hannie hyung are just way too different."
"What if we matched profile pictures?" You asked Jeonghan.
Jeonghan glanced up from his phone. "...Why?"
"I don't know." You shrugged. "It'd be cute. Besides, everyone would know that we're together."
"Y/N, I don't really see the point." Jeonghan huffed. "I mean, everyone knows we're dating. There's no need to publicize it on Instagram. I'm barely online, anyway. What matters is I love you, and you love me, right?"
Not wanting things to escalate, you gave him a small smile and decided to tease him, "Okay, Barney the Dinosaur."
Jeonghan laughed. "Wow!"
You were dropped off by Mingyu an hour ago. You were just grabbing a snack when you received a notification that Mingyu changed his profile picture. To your surprise, it was a picture of the two of you at dinner a while ago. The picture was taken by Jungkook, and it was a great candid shot.
[Prettiest GF]: Kim Mingyu
[Handsome]: â„ïžâ„ïžâ„ïžâ„ïž
[Prettiest GF]: You're unbelievable. Can't believe your pfp is a candid photo of us đđ
[Handsome]: HAHAHAHA, but I'm YOUR unbelievable, though. I'll pick you up at work tomorrow, okay? Get some sleep, pretty. Good night. I love you so much â„ïž
Your smile slowly faded. Then, before you could stop it, another memory surfaced.
It had only been a few months into your relationship with Jeonghan. You'd spent the entire evening convincing yourself to say it. When he walked you to your apartment, you took a deep breath.
"Jeonghan?"
"Hm?"
"I... I love you." You stuttered.
The words slipped out before you could lose your nerve. Jeonghan looked at you. Then, he smiled. A small, almost amused smile.
"You do?"
You felt your cheeks warm and nodded. "I do."
He tucked his hands into his pockets and looked down for a second. "I think," he started, searching for the right words. "it's still a little early for me to say that."
Your smile faltered for the briefest moment. "Oh."
"It's not that I don't like you." He was quick to clarify. "I just don't say things unless I'm completely sure."
You nodded. "Right."
"I don't want to tell you I love you because it feels like the right time." He reached over and gently squeezed your hand. "When I say it, I want to mean it."
You smiled. "I understand."
And you did. You really did. It just didn't stop your heart from sinking when you got home.
You stared at your phone. Your thumb hovered over the keyboard. I love you, too. The words came so easily in your head. Your fingers, however, refused to type them. Instead...
[Prettiest GF]: Good night, Gyu â„ïž
HERE'S TO HOPIN'
Being loved by Kim Mingyu was easy.
He'd show up outside your office with an iced coffee before work because he'd remembered you mentioning you were tired the night before. If you forgot an umbrella, he'd somehow already have one waiting in his car. When you complained about skipping lunch, he'd quietly drop off your favorite food with a sticky note that simply read: eat â„ïž
He loved loudly. Somehow, that scared you more than you'd ever admit. It wasn't because he was too much. It was because every day, he gave you another reason to believe he'd stay. And a tiny part of you kept wondering what it would feel like if one day, he didn't.
The following Friday came around quicker than expected. Like clockwork, Mingyu was waiting outside your office building. The moment he spotted you walking out, his face lit up.
"There she is." Mingyu smiled, jogging over to you.
You smiled despite yourself. "Have you been waiting long?"
"Nah." Mingyu shook his head, grabbing your bag from you.
You took a good look at him, squinted your eyes suspiciously. "You've been here for twenty minutes, haven't you?"
"Hm," Mingyu scratched the back of his neck. "maybe."
You laughed before slipping your hand into his. "You're unbelievable."
"But I'm your unbelievable." He grinned, swinging your hands as you walked, making you laugh.
Dinner with the boys felt as chaotic as ever. Seungkwan somehow invited himself this week. No one really minded. They all liked Seungkwan, anyway. He was their gossip dealer, and what's life without any gossip?
"I'd just like everyone to know," he announced proudly while taking a seat, "that this relationship exists because of me."
"Here we go," Jaehyun sighed.
"I changed two lives." Seungkwan said, pretending to cry.
"You set up one blind date, Seungkwan-ah." Jungkook corrected. "You didn't cure cancer."
Minghao took a sip of his tea. "The Nobel Peace Prize committee must've missed your email."
"I deserve a medal!" Seungkwan exclaimed, while grabbing some food to put on his plate.
"I'll buy you dinner, Kwannie," Mingyu offered.
"I want a statue." Seungkwan said, taking a bite of food.
You laughed, looked at Mingyu, and then at Seungkwan. "I'll name our first born after you."
Seungkwan gasped dramatically, giving Seokmin whiplash. Seungkwan was practically shaking in his seat. "You mean it?"
"No." You said. The table erupted into laughter. Mingyu quietly placed another piece of grilled meat onto your plate.
"You haven't eaten enough," Mingyu said quietly.
"You worry too much." You chuckled lightly. Mingyu pouted, "I know. Sorry."
You looked at him and cupped his face with your hands. "Don't apologize for caring. I appreciate that you worry about me."
His smile returned instantly.
After dinner, the two of you sat on the hood of Mingyu's car overlooking the Han River. The city lights danced across the water. Neither of you spoke. It wasn't awkward. It never was.
Mingyu was staring at the river. "Can I ask you something?"
You turned toward him, and nodded. "Of course. Ask away."
He stayed quiet for another moment. You waited patiently. He took a deep breath and looked at you. "Do I... love you more than you love me?"
Your stomach dropped. "What?"
He laughed softly. "I know how that sounded, and I'm not asking because I'm upset."
"Mingyu..."
He rubbed the back of his neck. "I've just been thinking." He looked over at you. "You never say that you love me back. I mean, you smile, you hold my hand, you kiss me, you call me when you get home, you do all these things..." He smiled. "but you never say it."
Your chest tightened. You didn't know what to say, truly. He quickly shook his head. "I'm not keeping score, I promise. I just..." His smile faded. "Sometimes it feels like you're always waiting for something bad to happen."
"Gyu, I..."
"Honey, I don't know how to convince you that I'm not already halfway out the door. I feel like you're already grieving something that hasn't happened yet, like you're waiting for me to leave before I've even gone anywhere." Mingyu said sadly.
Your eyes immediately welled with tears. "No, Gyu..."
He reached for your hand instinctively. "I know you care about me."
"I do."
"I know." Mingyu gave you a small smile before he looked away. "I just... sometimes I wonder if I'm loving you too loudly."
The words shattered something inside you.
"No." Your voice cracked. "It's not you, Gyu."
He looked back. You took a shaky breath. "It's me."
He looked at you and patiently waited for you to explain your side.
"I know you're not Jeonghan."
His expression softened immediately.
"I've never compared you to him because I wanted to." You said, another tear rolled down your cheek. "I compare you because... I'm scared. So, so scared."
You laughed weakly through your tears. "I didn't think I'd survive that. I barely did. I mean, that was four years of my life."
Mingyu nodded in understanding.
"Then you came along." You smiled at him. "You loved me so easily, so openly, so fearlessly. It's all so new to me because it wasn't like that with Jeonghan."
You looked down at your intertwined hands. "Every time you tell me you love me, a tiny part of me keeps thinking, 'what if this is the last time?", and I don't want to know how you'll leave me. I don't ever want to know what you'll look like when you leave."
Your voice was barely above a whisper. "I love you a lot, Mingyu. I've been too scared to say it out loud."
For a long time, Mingyu didn't say anything. He simply looked at you. Then, he cupped your face with both hands. His thumbs brushed away your tears.
"I'll stay with you," His forehead rested against yours. "for as long as you want me to be."
You closed your eyes.
"I can't promise that we'll never fight. I can't promise I won't disappoint you. I can't promise that life won't get hard." A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "But I can promise you one thing..."
"Yeah?"
"I'm not looking for an exit."
A sob escaped your lips. You wrapped your arms around him. "I love you."
You felt him smile against your hair. "I know."
You pulled back just enough to look at him. "No, you don't."
His eyebrows lifted as you laughed through your tears. You took a deep, trembling breath, "I love you so much."
For the first time since you'd known him, Kim Mingyu was speechless. He simply pulled you into another hug. Holding you as though you had all the time in the world.
"For the record," he smiled. "I also hope I never see what you look like when you leave either." He gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.
"I mean, the Lord knows I've memorized your face so well, and I'd search for it everywhere until my next life." A tiny laugh escaped him. "You're it for me, honey."
a/n: tysm for all the love you've sent my way for the hoshi installment of this series! i hope you give mingyu's installment the same love i gave while writing it xo
Series taglist: @joongtime @neotannies @seungkwanglazer
mdni 18+ â do not be self deprecating around chan
âfuckâ just like that. say youâre sorry.â
chanâs hips have been snapping against yours for the latter half of the hour tonight. really, you shouldnât have done what you did. it was a quick, off handed, self deprecating remark about yourself, and just like that, chan had enough.
he was already feeling on edge from the studio. and now he felt like he failed you to not reassure you enough. thatâs how you got yourself here.
you canât apologize. not because youâre being a brat or doing anything on purpose, but rather because chan has you laid prone on your stomach as his hips feverishly snap against your ass. making it quite literally impossible to reply outside of breathy moans being punched from your lungs. repeated motions that have had you crying into the pillow your face is sunken into.
âcâmon baby, you can do it⊠say âiâm sorry channieâ⊠f-fuckinâ hell!â
chanâs body slowly comes down onto yours, his chest flush against your back as his arms ensnare around your shoulder. his head drops to the back of yours, his voice a low rasp of heavy breathing. his hips slow to grind against the plush of your ass, rocking and rutting into the wetness of your arousal. his panting turns into a low growl at your refusal.
âpretty girl⊠sweet baby, say it. say it and iâll make you cum so good.â
meanwhile, youâre just a mess under him. head turned slightly as his bicep wraps under your chin, hands clawing at his strong arms. eyes bleary and wet with tears from how good it feels every time he quickly bottoms out and fills you so right. the sounds are obscene, salacious squelches as he drags every drop out of you. and youâll do just the same to him if you keep fluttering around him like that.
ââm s-sorry, chaâ haahâ channie! it feels so good, so good, please donât stop!â
chan smiles to himself as he drags out a moan from his chest, laughing in a way that pinches off at the end in a high whine. his brows furrow and eyes close, slowing his movement down to fuck himself deeper.
âthat wasnât so h-hard now, was it, pretty thingâŠ?â chanâs tongue swipes over his bottom lip to catch himself from drooling down your back. his hands pin your lower back down to the bed, forcing a nasty arch that makes you sob in equal parts relief and overstimulation.
âwhoâs my good girl, yeah? is that you? am i fucking my good girl stupid right now? huh? m-my beautiful good girlâŠâ
chanâs sentences are punctuated with deep strokes, feeling his pelvis thrust and rock against you in languid motions. his words are overwhelming but thatâs what he wants. you were just being so mean to the woman he loves, which is you.
âare you going to keep fighting with yourself or let me fuck you good, gorgeous?â chan heaves out, his chest pressing against your shoulder blades as he kisses into your hair. he ducks his head to lick a stripe up your spine to your neck, and chuckles a moan when he feels how squirmy and whiny you get. your moans are almost sobs from how his plush mushroom tip is kissing against that sensitive spot inside.
âsweetheart,â he drawls out, almost in a singsong voice. âyouâre so⊠very precious⊠perfect girl, yeah? thank you f-forâ fuckâ sharing this perfect body.â
those deep strokes are reciprocated with your pussy squeezing him so tight chan swears he might be able to taste the stars. and because chan knows how to elevate your orgasmâŠ
âsh-shit baby, breathe⊠breathe, just breathe, let it happen babygirlââ
a few inhales and exhales, and chan is wrapping that bicep around to grab your face. he loves that teary look in your eyes, like it feels too good to do anything but cry. your pussy is clenching on him like a vice, the sweet slapping and mixing of fluidsâŠ
he canât help it, chan brings his lips hovering over yours, whispering, âi love you, sweetheart⊠cum for me.â
thereâs a ringing in your ears when it happens, the churning of the knot builds so quick, you donât even have time to think. chanâs groan bleeds into a whimper the second he feels your tight cunt shudder with shocks, milking him and causing his own release. the hiccuped sobs of moans you release have him praying the walls are thick enough to hide from neighbors. chan wants them all to himself.
he presses as deep as he can to flood you with hot cum, kissing all over your face from tears. your skin is tacky with sweat and stunning in the afterglow. chan runs his hands over your sweat slicked forehead, pushing back anything still sticking to you.
âdonât ever say that stuff again, baby⊠yeahâŠ? you did such a good job, sweetheart⊠such a perfect and sweet girlâŠâ
chan smacks a kiss to your temple, laying his weight down on your back. your eyes are already drooping from contentedness while he traces patterns onto your hip. his initials. little hearts. swirls that never end.
âiâm here to protect you from all of that⊠always.â
â
author's note: well⊠this is unexpected! thank you for 900 followers i love you guys so much :â) final exams are biting my ass right now
Warnings: pain, cramps, medicine/painkillers and a mention of taking more than the label on the bottle says, doctors, anxiety, health anxiety, hurt/comfort, angst, medical discussion, nausea, mentions of vomit, very severe period symptoms (seriously if you relate to this pls see a doctor if you can! This much pain is not normal!!), friends to lovers (not explicitly discussed tbh but they all love each other already), reader is older than Jeongin but age is not otherwise mentioned, polyamory (mxm and fxm), mentions of burning oneself, cursing, implied!vampire/hybrid!skz (itâs barely touched on honestly, but maybe one day Iâll build on it xD), soulmate!skz (Iâm incapable of writing non soulmate stories ig), (this is more of a ramble than a coherent piece of literature, so be warned)
Word count:Â 9.9k
Summary: plagued by terrible, ER-trip-worthy period symptoms, you schedule a nerve-wracking doctorâs appointment that takes months to arrive, and Chan, your best friend of many years, promises to take you because he knows youâre feeling anxious about it all. Morning of said appointment, however, he bails, leaving you wrecked with pain and nausea, and anxious beyond belief. Who will you call to help you now?Â
a/n: hello! welcome to raspberry leaves pt. 2! Long time no see I guess? Sorry for disappearing, life got a little crazy :O Iâll update you all soon on me and LTM book progress I promise! I just had this sitting in my drafts for a year or two and finally decided to post it even though itâs had no edits for a while xD sorry if itâs incoherent lol it's mostly just a very long ramble :DD
âHey, baby, Iâm really sorry but Iâm not going to be able to make it to your appointment today,â Chan starts the voicemail with a somber voice. âSomething came up this morning and I have to take care of it before the kids get back.â The kids, as in, the other boys. âI know you were worried about it, so Iâm really sorry I wonât be there for you, angel. I hope everything goes well and you get some answers, okay? Call me when you get back home. I love you, bye.âÂ
The dial sound that cuts off his voicemail makes your stomach sick. Fuck. Chan was right, you have been very anxious about the doctorâs appointment today. Itâs probably the seventh time youâve been into the office in the past two months, yet you still have no answers to your long list of problems. Chan knows this. You told him so. But youâre not so certain he knows to what degree this problem has been making you worry.Â
The week of your period was always a struggle. When you were young, it was just the cramps. You could handle cramps, especially with the convenience of painkillers, a hot water bottle, and the lovely invention of raspberry leaf tea. But then it started to get worse. And worse. And now you dread the three-week long endeavor entirely. With the symptoms you get before your cycle to the week after? It was hell. Hours upon hours of cramps that throb so deeply that no painkiller could save you, nausea that sends you weeping into the toilet seat, hot sweats, chills, mood swings, bloating⊠You truly could not win, could you?
And no doctor was yet to give you any answers.Â
At first, you were furious. You went in and out of the office, calling specialists and waiting weeks for appointments. Indignation burned beneath your skin and frustration swelled in your stomach. Why was no one willing to help you? It was always âcall us back if it gets worse,â or âhave you tried ibuprofen?â As if you didnât spend twenty minutes telling them that âyes, it has gotten worse, thatâs why Iâm here,â and âyes, I take too much and it worries me.âÂ
But now? Now, you were just tired.Â
Tired and in so much pain, you can do nothing but lay there on the tile bathroom floor, clutch the rim of the porcelain toilet seat, and hope you donât vomit last nightâs dinner. At least, by any standards, youâre grateful the cramps havenât started yet. Thereâs just the pressure in your pelvis, the bloating, the headache, the fatigue, and the rest of it.Â
At least you could still make your appointment. Hopefully.Â
But now Chan isnât going to be with you.Â
To pile on top of your uncertain ability to drive in this state, youâre more anxious than you have been in days. The notion of Chan being there with you was a balm on your nerves, and you could at least soothe the ache in your stomach with the thought of him being there with you. His presence was one of the very few who could sate your endless anxiety with a comforting squeeze and a few murmured words to rock you to sleep. Heâs your best friend. Well, technically, you have eight best friends, but something about Bang Chan has always been a blanket to your endlessly cold thoughts. Something about him made your heartbeat slow and your stomach settle and your chest stop aching andâ
And heâs not going to be there this time.Â
It makes another wave of bile swell in your tummy. You hate being nauseous. It spikes your anxiety like no other. A bead of sweat drips down your forehead from the flash of heat striking through your chest, and you finally choke on a silent sob as the weight of it all crashes over you. You feel weak and pathetic and tired and youâre tired of being tired andâ
You cut that thought off. Complaining is doing you no good.Â
Wiping your tears and the disgusting drip of snot from your nose, you fumble for your phone in your pocket. You donât want to be alone. Not for this. Thumbing the screen, you open the keypad and dial the first number you can think of.Â
It barely has the chance to ring before he picks up.Â
âBunny? Whatâs up? I thought you had a doctorâs appointment soon?â
Changbin: the only man who could ever get away with calling you âbunny.â
You sniffle weakly at the sound of his voice and sigh. âBinnie.âÂ
Somehow, whether itâs the sound of your snuffle or the tremble of your voice, he knows something is wrong.Â
âBaby? Whatâs wrong? Are you okay?âÂ
His voice drops to that low murmur he only does when heâs serious, and you hear the dull sound of something being dropped to the floor as keys jingle in the background. A voice calls out, and guilt rolls through you. Another heavy sigh trembles through your chest as you try to hold back tears.Â
ââM okay, Binnieââ An obvious lie. âI justâAre you busy right now?âÂ
The keys jingle again. âNever too busy for you.âÂ
You almost smile.Â
âCan you drive me to my appointment?â The words come out choked and breathy like they cannot resist being said. Yes, Chan may be a balm on your nerves, but Changbin is the wind beneath your wingsâthe current keeping you afloat. âPlease. I was going to take myself, but Iâm just so nauseous and sick and Iâm worried about driving like this and I wonât be able to get another appointment for months if I cancelââ
âWoah, slow down, bunny, itâs alright.â You exhale through another wave of sickness. âI thought Chan was going to take you?â
You hum a vague sound of disagreement. âBusy. He left me a voicemail.â
Someone curses in the background, but you canât tell who it is.Â
âIâll be there in twenty minutes. Iâve gotta drop Lino off at the house and Iâll be right there, okay? Take a deep breath, baby. Itâs gonna be alright.âÂ
You shake your head before realizing you have to open your mouth if you want Changbin to understand you. âIâm sorry I interrupted you, Binnie. Are you and Minho at the gym?âÂ
âHey, donât worry about it, sweetheart.â Minhoâs there. His soft voice makes the ache in your chest dampen. Pressing your sweaty forehead into your hands, you sigh and groan through another wave of sickness and pant weakly. Minho murmurs something you canât hearâperhaps meant only for Changbinâthen his dulcet voice meets your ears again. âHereâs whatâs gonna happen. Youâre going to find the strength to get into the bathânot the shower. Please donât try that without one of us around. If you fall we wonât be there to help.â
âMinââ
âSweetheart.â He matches your tone firmly. âPlease, the warm water will help, I promise. By the time youâre done, Bin and I will be there and weâll take you to your appointment, okay? Eleven oâclock, right? Weâll get it all sorted out for you.âÂ
He sounds so sure of himself that you almost feel better. Maybe you needed thatâsomeone to take the reins for a minute. Youâre so stubborn, you know? Always taking care of others but never stopping to let yourself be taken care of.Â
With a gentle sigh and a nod of determination, you exhale a confirmation, âOkay, Min. Thank you.âÂ
âAlways. Weâll be there in twenty, okay? Donât worry.âÂ
Minho jumps out of the car before Changbin even has a chance to put it in park.Â
âSweetheart,â he murmurs as he takes long strides to meet you at the door. The tote bag slung over your shoulder with all your necessities is taken from you before you can open your mouth. Wrapping a casual arm around your waist, he drops a tender peck to your forehead. âHow are you feeling? Any better?âÂ
âYeah. The bath helped a little. Iâm not so nauseous now,â you hum quietly, thoroughly exhausted, and nod your head. Itâs not unusual for them to be so casually intimate with you; youâve been friends for years, and lord knows they donât spare physical affection amongst each other. The kissing, on the other hand, is a little new for Minho.Â
âHmm, Iâm glad. You smell good too. You use that vanilla cinnamon lotion Lixie bought you?â
 A vague, tired nod is all Minho gets in answer, but it makes him smile. Rubbing your hip gently with a firm palm, he hums and pecks your forehead again.
âAlright, câmon, sweetheart. Letâs get going, weâve got a bit of a drive, right?âÂ
You bite your lip to stop the flush from taking over your face. Minho opens the passenger side door for you just as you reach for the backseat. Shaking his head while you protest, he ushers you into what was once his seat, and then he slides into the back.Â
âHey, bunny,â Changbin greets as you drop into the seat. Heâs already reaching over you for your seatbelt, clicking it into place as you open your mouth to respond.Â
âYou donât have to do that, Bin.âÂ
Dark, messy curls fall into Changbinâs eyes when he shakes his head and smiles. You love his natural, curly hair. âOf course I do. We love you, you know?âÂ
You ignore the tumble in your stomach in favor of squeezing his arm. He offers you another sweet, dimpled smile, before he turns back to the road, ready to drive. You try not to stare when his bicep flexes as he tosses it behind your head to reverse out of your driveway.Â
âMeds are in the bag by your feet if you havenât taken them yet. Thereâs some of those ginger crackers in there too if youâre able to eat anything. Put the heat pack on your stomach, drink some water, and relax, okay? Weâll take care of everything else.âÂ
Low and behold, in the bag at the foot of the passenger seat, thereâs a pill case with each of the emergency medicines you use, a set of heat packs, one of Binnieâs hoodies, and a bottle of your favorite electrolytes. When you dig around in the bag, you even find the weighted chick plush Felix bought you last year. They keep it at their dorms, and you often find yourself using it when you spend the night at their place for dinner or movies. You brush your fingertips over it with a soft, heart-squeezing sigh.Â
âChangbinââ
Without looking at you, Changbin drops his right hand into your lap and squeezes your thigh. You stare at his fingers as they grip the meat of your inner thigh, trying desperately not to let the heat beneath your skin show on your face. Now, that is a tumble in your stomach you cannot ignore.Â
âYou donât have to say anything, bun. Just rest. Try not to think about your appointment in the meantime, alright? Your kindle is somewhere in that bag too if you need a distraction. You left it at our place last week.âÂ
âI think Jinnie stole it,â Minho confides from the backseat. âI caught him reading it this morning.âÂ
You make a disgruntled sound in the back of your throat and smile. âReally? Iâve been looking for this all week. That bastard.âÂ
A chuckle from the backseat makes the buzzing beneath your skin finally settle. Despite all their rambunctiousness and their chaos, Minho and Changbin are arguably two of the most dependable members of your friend group. Youâre more than grateful theyâre with you now. If Chan couldnât be with youâŠ
You push that thought away. It doesnât matter what Chan would have done. Heâs not there.Â
You canât stop picking at your cuticles. Itâs a nasty habit that Seungmin has been trying to make you break for years. On your left hand, your thumb is already sore and the other nails have not been spared. When you pull into the lot of your doctorâs office, there are no empty spots open out front. Changbin comes to a stop by the entrance and glances into the backseat, making silent eye contact with Minho. They exchange looks quickly, then Minho is unclicking his seatbelt to get out.Â
âOh, Minho, you donât have toââ
âCâmon, sweetheart, letâs get you checked in.â Opening the door for you, he holds out his hand and offers you a gentle smile. You gnaw on your bottom lip to stop the grin from spreading across your face.Â
âOkay.âÂ
Minho leads you into the office, your bag on his shoulder, and his thumb rubbing gentle circles on the back of your hand. You speak to the man at the front desk and find a seat in the waiting room in the meantime. In the sterile, wallpapered office, the anxiety returns tenfold, and Minho is quick to set his opposite hand on your bouncing knee.Â
âHey,â he whispers, leaning close and rubbing another circle over your leg. âDonât pick. Here.â
He offers his palm, face up, and allows you to twist the rings on his fingers back and forth in place of your nervous scratching. In the quiet of the waiting room, he murmurs quiet conversation to you, not expecting you to answer. Heâs so patient, you have half a mind to thank him just for sitting with you.Â
Then a nurse opens the door, calling your full name.Â
You perk up, hand unconsciously seizing around Minhoâs as you stand. âThatâs me.âÂ
âWeâre all ready for you to head on back! Oh, I see you came with someone today. Would you like your boyfriend to sit in with you?âÂ
The fire beneath your skin ignites, and you bashfully begin to correct the nurse when Minho coughs. Turning back to him with nervous eyes, you watch the corner of his mouth quirk up gently into a soft smile. He meets your gaze with his sweet, dark eyes that shine too much like boba pearls. Your heart stutters.Â
âDo you want me there with you, sweetheart?âÂ
He doesn't correct the nurse. Maybe thatâs just because they probably wouldnât allow him in the room if he wasnât your partner, but a tiny part of you hopes itâs for another reason. Maybe thatâs selfish considering the feelings you harbor for his friends. But thatâs a problem for another time.Â
âAre you comfortable with that?â you find the courage to tease. âThereâs going to be a lot of talk about periods and cramps andââ
âMy masculinity isnât going to take a hit if I hear you talk a little bit about blood, love.â The corners of his mouth stretch into a smirk as he rests one hand onto your hip. âIâll be damned if my best friend canât talk about her debilitating medical symptoms in front of me without me whining like a teenage boy hearing the word cuââ
âOkay!â you cut him off. âIâm gonna stop you right there. You definitely learned that one from Felix.âÂ
Minho chuckles in that low, smooth voice that makes your pulse sigh his name. Squeezing your hand sweetly, he looks up at you like a curious kitten. âItâs up to you, bub. Do you want me there?âÂ
The mood dampens with the weight of your nerves returning tenfold with the prospect of being in that sterile, white-walled room alone. You glance once at the nurse who gives you an encouraging smile, then you lick your lips, squeeze his hand tightly, and nod. âYes please. If youâre comfortable with that, Iâd really like it if you were there with me.âÂ
Minho smiles. âI wouldnât want to be anywhere else.âÂ
Thereâs so much information but still no answers.Â
Youâre overwhelmed and anxious and disappointed and frankly, just so damn tired. You are walking out of that doctorâs office with the same amount of answers as when you walked in.Â
Minho says nothing to Changbin when he holds the door open for you as you leave. They both exchange a look as Minho escorts you back to the car, and Changbin is too emotionally intelligent to bother you when you donât want to talk. Instead of stepping into the passenger seat, Minho opens the door to the backseat and helps you settle in. Then he steps around the car to slide into the other side, buckling himself in beside you and leaving the passenger seat empty. Changbin says nothing. He just passes your bag to Minho and starts the car after offering a gentle rub of your leg and a comforting smile.Â
The cramps start on the ride home.Â
You can feel the twinge in your lower belly, beginning to radiate down your legs. Before you can dig around in your bag, Minho is uncapping the bottle of your painkillers and fishing out three. Without looking up, he deposits them in your hand, uncaps your water bottle, and drops a packet of ginger cookies in your lap.Â
âEat,â he murmurs beneath his breath sternly, and you know he means business. Lee Minho does not play when it comes to your health. âYou canât take these without food.âÂ
You nod, saying nothing, and begin to idly chew on the cookies while Minho messes around in your bag. As he gets things organized, you finish your food and take a full swig of water as you swallow the painkillers. How he knew you needed three rather than the usual two is beyond you, but youâre not going to ask. Putting a name to that intrinsic feeling between the nine of you will never be able to encompass all that is your bond to each other. Minho watches you with an arched brow, making sure you drink more than just a sip of your water.Â
He takes too good care of you; itâs almost annoying.Â
âMinââÂ
âYou donât have to say anything, sweetheart.âÂ
âI know.â You drop your head, staring at the chipped paint on your nails and exhaling deeply. Fidgeting your thumbs, you finally look back up at him and swallow. âThank you, though. For coming in with me. And picking me up. And everything else. You too, Binnie.âÂ
Changbin casts a glance in the rearview mirror, offering a gentle smile before he turns back to the road.Â
âOf course, baby. You donât have to thank us.âÂ
You shake your head, frowning as another cramp takes hold, and lean into Minhoâs side to quell your heartache. âI do. Youâre too kind to me. Both of you.âÂ
The expression on Minhoâs face falters. For a second, he looks pained, then he reaches for you and tucks you into his side. The seat belt digs into your side but he slides it out of the way so you can comfortably fit beside him. Your heartbeat kicks up a notch as he brushes his hand over your waist, but you canât find the energy to be flustered. Youâre just too tired. Eyes beginning to sag, you lay your head onto his shoulder and allow him to tuck your blanket around you.
âNo, sweetheart.â Minho shakes his head. His voice drops, as if he doesn't intend for you to hear the next part. âItâs not that. You just deserve so much more than youâre given.âÂ
You fall asleep with Changbin and Minho quietly watching over you, as they always will.Â
You wake with thankfully duller cramps. The roar of the car engine still hums in your ears, so you assume youâre still a ways from home. Beneath your cheek, Minho smells of bergamot and cedar. Too tired to pry open your fatigued eyelids, you sag further into Minhoâs side and continue to fitfully fall back asleep. If itâs any comfort for the pain, youâd prefer to rest. You feel Minhoâs arm tighten around you, as though trying to gently coax you back to sleep as you fidget. You almost succumb to the gentle rubbing of his thumb on your hip.Â
Then the quiet voices bring you back to the waking world.
âDid they say anything? Did she get any answers?âÂ
 A sigh of frustration echoes from beside you. âNo. They gave her a long list of things it could be and a referral for an ultrasound, but didnât give her anything to help today.â
Hyunjin makes a muffled sound into the receiver. âYou sound pissed, hyung.âÂ
âI am. They were so dismissive of her concerns, even when I was sitting right there to back her up. I mean, she called us in tears this morning, Hyunjin. Tears. She could barely find the strength to get into the bath and they just brushed her off like it was any other day.â
You remember that. It was obvious that Minho had grown increasingly frustrated through your appointment. At one point, his jaw clenched so tightly, you worried he would crack teeth. You appreciated having him there though. Truly. He advocated for you even when he didnât have to.Â
âSeriously? The doctor did that?â Thatâs Felix. You would know the lull of his deep voice anywhere.
âI mean, I think the exact words she used were âIt could be any number of things, but weâll need more time to diagnose those than we have today. Take some ibuprofen, use a hot compress, and call us back to schedule another appointment.â I could have strangled her, Felix. You should have seen our girlâs face.âÂ
Our girl. Their girl.Â
âWhat do you mean?âÂ
Minho makes another sound, something that sounds dejected and mournful. âI mean, the way she looked. She was just⊠She was so tired and it looked like she was trying so hard not to cry.âÂ
Itâs quiet for a long time, as if neither Felix nor Hyunjin know what to say. Then itâs Jisung, quiet and solemn, who whispers, âIs she okay? Right now, I mean?â
Minho exhales and you hear rustling and feel the blanket being tugged higher up your lap. Unbeknownst to you, Changbin glances in the rearview mirror, watching as Minhoâs eyes soften sweetly as he retucks the blanket around you and brushes a strand of hair from your face. A barely-there smile tugs at his lips.Â
âI donât think so, Ji.â Thereâs a resounding echo of silence. âShe was really overwhelmed when we got in the car, and then her cramps started a few minutes later. I tried to get her to sleep a little, but I donât know if itâs helping.âÂ
Changbin tightens his grip on the steering wheel. âWeâre bringing her back to the dorms.âÂ
âAre you sure? She doesnât usually like company on the first few days of her period,â Hyunjin murmurs into the phone. His voice comes out a little different through the device, but itâs undeniably Hyunjin.Â
âI know.â Minho swallows and glances back down at you, but you cannot see him. âMaybe Iâm being too selfish, but I canât bear knowing that sheâs in this much pain alone.âÂ
Your heart swells.Â
Inhaling another fragrant wave of Minhoâs cologne, you bury your nose in his shirt and find the courage to cling to him. Your efforts are reciprocated quickly, as Minho shifts in his seat to allow you the space to nearly crawl halfway into his lap. You wonder if he knows youâre awake now. Perhaps he does, because his hand drops lower to rub sweet circles across your abdomen, right where the worst of the throbbing is.Â
âIs Chan back?âÂ
The younger members hesitate. A crackle is heard over the phone. Jisungâs voice drops. âNo. He left really early this morning. We havenât seen him since.âÂ
You donât see the way Minhoâs jaw grinds.Â
âCan someone please call and try to get him home?âÂ
âWhat? Why?â
Minhoâs hand rubs another soft circle across your stomach. He blinks down at you, curled up too small in his lap. On any other occasion, this would be cute; you look awfully cat-like sprawled across him like this. But the way your features are curled up in pain and the way you squirm as another wave of cramps rolls all the way down your thighs⊠He just wants you better. And only Chan knows how to do that.Â
âShe needs him. Tell him itâs an emergency or something. Tell him you set the dorms on fire, for all I care. Just get him home.â
Hyunjin scoffs, as if personally insulted. Maybe he is. Heâs always been acutely attuned to you. When youâre mad, heâs mad. When youâre happy, heâs happy. And right now, he must feel every bit of indignation you have for the eldest. âReally? He ditched her this morning, Minho. Do you really think she wants to see him right now?âÂ
Minho is quiet when he answers, âHeâs the best at comforting her the way she needs.âÂ
âWe canââ
âHyunjin, please. Itâs going to get worse and you know sheâs going to want him.âÂ
He falters.Â
âFor her, Jinnie.â
You think you might hear his heart crack.Â
âYeah, okay,â Hyunjin relents. âIâll call him. For her.âÂ
You didnât realize they cared about you this much. You didnât know they knew all these things about you.Â
You love them so much.Â
Changbin must have carried you in from the car because you wake up in one of the beds in their dorms. You can tell itâs Seungminâs from the rich scent of his sheets. You bury your nose into his pillowcase and sink into the familiarity of him. He must have let you sleep here knowing no one would bother you in his room. A dull wave of agony squeezes the bottom of your stomach tight. You exhale sharply and roll over to face the fading sunlight coming in from the half-closed curtains.Â
âHey, sweet girl,â comes the soft mumble from the doorway. âFeeling any better?â
âHi, Minnie.âÂ
You donât look up at him when you say it. Buried in his dark blue sheets and voice muffled into the pillowcase, you grumble without turning to him. He lets out a soft chuckle and covers his mouth with his palm. âYou still sound sleepy, pretty baby. How are your cramps?â
Finally pulling your face from the bed, you turn over your shoulder to look at Seungmin with hot cheeks. He calls you that a lot: pretty baby. It never fails to make your stomach flip, even with the full, agonizing cramping sensation. The tall boy is leaning against the doorframe, a plate in his hands and a steaming mug in the other. When he steps into the room, he sets the mug down onto a coaster on his bedside table and lifts one leg to sit on his bed. The plate sits in his lap as Seungmin reaches forward to brush a messy strand of hair behind your ear. You look a little ruffled, having just woken up, but Seungmin thinks itâs cute. Messy hair, sleepy eyes, a pout on your lips⊠What he would give to kiss that look off your face.Â
ââS okay,â you grumble tiredly. âSix out of ten right now, I think.â
He tries not to wince. How a six out of ten on the pain scale is okay, will never make sense to him. Someoneâperferably a medical professionalâtruly needs to start taking your pain seriously. Seungmin hums, still focused on the sleepy look on your face. With a sweet smile, he licks his lips and glances down at the food in his lap. âI brought you some snacks before dinner. Tea is on the table and you can take some more meds now too. Theyâre in the bedside drawer. Can I refill your hot water bottle for you?â
You take a glance at your stomach, noting your favorite hot pad resting over your belly. Oh, you hadnât noticed that. Itâs probably Felixâs doing. He keeps it in his room for you.Â
âYes please.âÂ
âOkay, baby.â He leans down, rubbing a sweet hand over your cheek before dropping a tender kiss to your brow. âEat something, please? Just enough to take your painkillers. Iâll be back in a minute.âÂ
He takes the hot water bottle, fixes you with a knowing look, and disappears back down the hallway. In the time it takes for you to finally lift the toast to your mouth, Jeongin and Hyunjin are in the doorway. You donât get the chance to say anything before Hyunjin is crawling into the bed beside you, wiggling beneath the sheets and laying his head in your lap. Heâs careful not to rest too much of his weight there, but he does rub his fingers soothingly across the faint burn marks of your abdomen where the hot pad was just resting.Â
âThese are getting worse, baby love.â Hyunjin can tell. His forefinger hooks in the bottom of your shirt, lifting just enough so he can see your belly button. You ignore the flutter of your heart with a sigh. This kind of casual intimacy is normal for Hyunjin. The pad of his finger brushes over a particularly angry one, flushed with the heat that once rested against it. Heâd known you before you had those scars, and heâs tracked their growthâworried that doctors werenât taking you seriously when you went in with literal burn scars on your stomach from how boiling your hot water bottle was. You always said it felt better than the cramps themselves, but the notion that you preferred burning yourself against the sensation of your cramps was not lost on him. âCan I massage you a little? Or are you sensitive today?âÂ
Chewing slowly, you hum and nod. Swallowing the bite of your toast, you whisper, âJust a little. Everything is swollen and achy today.âÂ
âIâm sorry, lovely.â Hyunjin drops his chin to kiss beneath your belly button and rubs his thumb over the puffy, bloated bump of your stomach. If it were anyone else, perhaps you would have been insecure about that. Truly, in the past, it was an insecurity of yoursâthe pudge of your stomach. But youâve known the eight of them so long that youâve fallen in love with those parts of yourselfâthe ones you thought you hated. They made you love those pieces of yourself. Because you werenât a thing to be loved in fragments. Youâre a blessing to be worshipped and adored as a whole or not at all. Â
âIâll be careful,â Hyunjin murmurs as he kisses your belly once more. Then his palm is resting against your hip and his other hand is gently swirling careful circles across your abdomen, feeling the swollen pieces inside of you as they cry for relief. When his thumb skates along the bottom of your belly, he makes a sad sound, almost like your pain is his own. âOh, baby love, this feels so swollen. Iâm so sorry, honey. Is there anything we can do?âÂ
You sigh through your nose as your eyes flutter shut, trying to savor the softness of his hands and the pads of his long fingers. The hormones rushing through you in waves force a wave of salt to swell behind your eyes, forming tears quicker than you can blink.Â
âNo.âÂ
It comes quiet and broken, the confession. Thereâs nothing they can do.Â
And though they already knew the answer, it still sends a blow to the heart.Â
Jeongin drops onto the bed at your other side, silent but watching over you like he doesnât know what to do. And he probably doesnât. The others have taken care of everything already, so there isnât much for Jeongin to do in terms of finding ways to take care of you.Â
But that somehow makes him feel worse.Â
Because that means thereâs nothing for him to do but sit there and watch you suffer.Â
âNoona.â His voice cracks, and Jeongin winces. He tries to say something else but nothing comes out, and when you blink your eyes open tiredly, the look on his face is heart-wrenching.Â
âInnieâŠâÂ
Jeonginâs mouth is curled into a frown that wrinkles his pretty features and his eyes are swimming with tears. The dark, near-black color of his irises swell with the weight of his empathy, and you swear you can feel his aching heart within your own chest.Â
âAre you sure thereâs nothing else we can do?âÂ
Long fingers pull worriedly at the blanket tucked beneath your hips, and you blink sleepily as Jeongin rocks closer to you. Heâs not as physically affectionate as the others, but during a select few moments, you can catch him craving touch just like any of the boys. Like right now, when heâs practically pawing at your side for a sliver of your attention.Â
With a tiny smile, you open one arm out to the side and beckon him into your opposite side. âYou can stay. That will help more than anything, Innie.âÂ
âOkay,â he sighs swiftly, âI can do that. We can stay.âÂ
âThank you.âÂ
Jeongin tucks in your soft blankets around you and dismisses your outstretched arm in favor of curling onto his side so he can pull you against him. Hyunjin makes himself comfortable in the space between your open legs, still peppering kisses and smooth, tender rubs across your abdomen like he can massage the ache away. Between them your heart swells like a balloon, and you swear any more affection from them will make it pop.Â
âAlways, baby. Weâll be here as long as you need.â
And thatâs just the thing, isnât it? Because youâll always need them.Â
But thatâs okay.Â
Because theyâll always need you too.Â
âAny chance you didnât heat that up as much as she likes?âÂ
âNo shot,â comes Seungminâs muffled answer. âYou know she likes it like this, and Iâm not going to take away her only comfort right now.âÂ
A heavy sigh.Â
âI know.â Someone brushes their hand along the curve of your jaw and you sigh as you lean into it exhaustedly. âItâs just⊠itâs burning her, you know?â
âI know, Lixie.âÂ
Another weight sigh and a tired hum.Â
âI wish there was something else I could do. I hate that this is the only thing that helps.â
âYeah, baby, me too.â A quiet smack sounds, and you can only assume that Seungmin has kissed Felix on the head. âKeep your hand there in between her and the hot pad while sheâs sleeping if you want. Or the blanket if it gets too warm for you. She hopefully shouldnât need it as much when sheâs asleep.âÂ
âHmm.âÂ
A weight is dropped onto your lower belly, pleasantly warm and steady. Just after, a hand is cupping the bottom of your stomach between you and the hot water bottle, and despite the pain and swelling riddling you, the warmth of Felixâs hand is somehow even better than any heating pad.Â
âAny word on Chan?âÂ
âOn his way back.â Seungmin grunts the words beneath his breath like theyâve personally offended him.Â
âDonât give him too much shit, Minnie. He wanted to be here, you know that.âÂ
A scoff.Â
âBut he wasnât.âÂ
Felix exhales through his nose and funnels his attention into steadily rubbing the skin of your stomach to soothe you when you stir.Â
âYeah. He wasnât. But you and I both know he couldnât get out of that. The council needed him.âÂ
A gruff growl builds in Seungminâs throatâa sound youâve never heard him make. âYeah, well, so did she.âÂ
Yeah. You did.Â
The next time you wake, youâre alone in Seungminâs bedâa strange occurrence, if youâre entirely honest. Youâre not often left entirely on your own when youâre over at their dorms, especially when youâre in pain.Â
And, fuck, are you in pain.Â
The cramps have returned. Tenfold. The ache has transformed into a striking, burning, and sizzling sensation that tightens like a knot in your lower abdomen. Itâs like the cord is being tugged at both ends, cinching the knot ever tighter and tighter until it feels like something within you is going to pop from all the pressure. The sheer agony spreads from your belly to your thighs and into the small of your back, and tears immediately spring to your eyes without another second to think. Your legs clench tight like springs ready to snap, and you keen off the bed as another wave of crippling agony sends you off the bed and stumbling into the bathroom like a mad woman. Muscles weak and head woozy, you nearly crumple twice on your mission to the toilet, and by the time you drop beside the toilet, still clutching your hot pad like a lifeline, youâve already dissolved into sobs.Â
You donât know how long itâs been since youâve had any pain killers, but if youâre entirely honest, you know they wonât help. These kinds of crampsâthese sharp, crippling ones that rank a nine out of ten on your pain skill (maybe even a ten if you werenât so stubborn to admit it)âcannot be soothed by any amount of medicine. Youâve tried that. Youâve tried everything. Youâve done everything the doctors suggested. Youâve done everything the internet suggested. You tried the vitamins and the supplements and exercise and managing stress and all the other bullshit pain mitigation strategies the people on the internet tell you.Â
But there is no comfort to you right now, sitting on the bathroom floor, weeping, and clutching your hot water bottle to the agony in your belly like it will save you.Â
It wonât.Â
You know it wonât.
But thereâs nothing else to do.Â
Nothing to do but weep.Â
So you do.Â
You donât know how long you sit there.Â
You didnât bring your phone, and thereâs no telling any kind of semblance of time when youâre this delirious. Youâve dry heaved into the toilet thrice now, and the pain has only escalatedâa feat you didnât think possible. Youâve gone from weeping to muffling the spine-trembling sobs into your palm in an effort not to wake the boys. You donât want comfort right now. Wait noâmaybe thatâs a lie. Maybe you do.Â
You donât know. Itâs so hard to think right now.Â
The pain is making you woozy.Â
Choking on a wave of nausea and another crippling bolt of agony in the deepest pit of your abdomen, you cough on a violent sob and sag against the wall of the bathroom. The pain is getting worse. How could it possibly get any worse? It was already a nine out of ten. How was there any room left on the scale to climb?Â
Then, just at the pinnacle of the worst of it, you hear him.
âBaby?âÂ
The door to Seungminâs room cracks open. A shuffle of feet sounds, but youâre barely listening.Â
âBabygirl, are you in here?âÂ
Chan.Â
Chan is home.Â
He calls your name with that voice you love so muchâthe steady timber that ripples with the weight of his adoration. You love his voice. You love his laugh. Fuck, you wish the sound of his laugh could soothe your agony right now. But you canât answer him. Maybe you donât want to. Maybe youâre still mad at him for this morning. Or maybe you just canât. The pain is just too much. The words wonât build on your tongue. Theyâre right there, waiting in the back of your throat, but there is no strength left in your body to push them forward.Â
So you do nothing.Â
You sit there, weeping through another wave of agony and praying to anyone that will listen, that the pain will stop soon. Stop, you beg silently. Stop, just please stop. Iâll do anything. Â
âBaby?âÂ
Chanâs voice changes. The lull of his almost guilt-ridden tone warps to something quieter. Something worried. The thumping of feet enter the carpeted bedroom, and the door swings open against the wall softly.Â
âBaby?â
He almost exclaims it, despite his voice not raising above a frantic whisper. Chan never shouts. Not at you. Not at his members. He doesnât need to raise his voice to get his point across. A silent, frantic realization must reach Chan then, because thereâs muffled footsteps headed for the bathroom door, and you have the semblance to thank yourself for remembering to lock it. A dull knock sounds in the ensuite bathroom, but you donât answer. You just sit back against the wall, sweat building at your brow and staining the fabric of your shirt. Trembling sickly, you clench your fists and try with all your might to loosen the muscles youâve locked lest you pass out. You feel disgusting. And pathetic. Fuck, you wish you would stop crying. Snot is dripping from your nose from the weight of your sobs and your hair is mussed in ten different directions from running your fingers through it and seizing the strands in your fists. You must look like a mess.Â
âLove, if youâre in there, please answer me.âÂ
Nothing.Â
âPlease, baby, Iâm worried about you. The boys told me what happened and I need to know youâre okay.âÂ
You exhale through your nose and try to unlock the permanent wince that has screwed your face into an expression of agony. You want to answer him. Truly you do. Thereâs nothing you want more. You donât care about him missing your appointment anymore. Well, maybe you do. Fuck, you canât think right now.Â
You just want him.Â
But you canât reach up to unlock the door. That would mean having to move, and it hurts so badly you think your jaw might crack from how tightly youâve locked it.Â
A muffled thump on the other side of the wooden door sounds and feet shuffle. Chan is resting his head against it. A heavy sigh follows.Â
âMy love,â he sighs softly, ignoring the rolling in his stomach. âCan you at least let me know youâre in there?âÂ
Chan rocks on his feet again, trying to abate the anxiety eating at the pit of his gut. He swallows once in an attempt to quell the lump in his throat, but it does nothing. He just got home a few minutes ago: ten to midnight. Yeah, he knows itâs late. He knows he should have been home sooner. Especially when you needed him. But what could he do? When the council calls, heâs expected to answer. The lives of his clan are at stake. So Bang Chan, leader of his abnormal coven, left you alone that morning. Like an absolute asshole. And now heâs come home to an empty room and a pit of worry in his stomach so deep he thinks itâs making a home in his gut.Â
And he can smell your pain.Â
Itâs coming in waves. Seungmin told him they left you to rest after they managed to feed you most of your dinner, give you a few more painkillers, and tucked you in his fresh sheets with Felix clinging to your side. Said abnormal vampire left the bed an hour ago when the smell of your agony finally overwhelmed his empathic powers. The innate sense of your pain made him hurt so terribly he had to leave.Â
Now Chan is here: in an empty room, hovering outside the bathroom door, and praying to whatever god cursed him with immortality to unlock the knob.Â
âBaby, please. You can be mad at me if you want. You can yell at me and scold me and shout, but I need to know youâre alright. Please tell me youâre alright.âÂ
You wouldnât do that. Sure, you can hold a grudge, but you try your best to communicate your issues before it comes to shouting. Youâre a work in progress, but isnât everyone?Â
As another wave of pain sears through you like a strike of lightning, and you choke on a loud sob. It escapes you this time in the form of a pained moanânot the right answer.Â
âFuck, angel? Baby, is that you?âÂ
âChrââ Your voice cracks, fading to nothing.Â
A thump against the door, frantic now.Â
âHoney?â
You sag against the wall, feeling both cold and all too hot at once.Â
âAnswer me, honey, please. I wonât come in unless you let me, but Iâm getting really concerned here, baby.âÂ
âChrisâŠâ
And thatâs when Chan knows everything is all wrong. You never call him Chris. Not unless somethingâs wrong.Â
âBabygirl? Sweetheart? Are you okay?âÂ
âNo,â you weep, sobbing into your clenched fist. âHurts so bad, Chris.âÂ
âOh, my girl, Iâm so sorry, honey. Iâm sorry it hurts,â Chanâs forehead thumps against the door again, and he clenches his fist around the door knob, wondering what you would do if he used a tiny semblance of his supernatural strength to break it open. Itâs an invasion of your privacy, he knows, but fuck, he needs to see you. He needs to know youâre going to be okay. âCan you open the door fâme, baby? I canât help you from here.â
âCanât help anyway,â comes your sighed admission.Â
âI can try.âÂ
You sigh and feel your eyelids flutter shut against your will. Head sagging back against the wall, you try to unlock your clenched legs, but itâs no use. Muttering echoes beyond the bathroom door, but you canât make it out. Thumping your head back, the room spins in and out of focus and your heart pulses an angry rhythm in your eardrums. You taste spit building on your tongue and your breath comes quicker.Â
âPlease let me tryâŠâ
Smacking your dry lips together, you ignore the taste of bile on your tongue and shake your head tiredly. You donât want him to see you. Not like this. Not gross and sweaty and weeping and pathetic.Â
You donât want him to pity you.Â
The room spins. You donât realize how long itâs been since you answered Chan.Â
âBaby, baby!âÂ
You barely hear him. Everything is kind of muted now. Itâs hard to tell if Chan is outside the door or if heâs three rooms over.Â
âMinho! Min, get in here! Now!â
Heavy footsteps thump throughout the house. A door hits the wall of the hallway and then another slams open.Â
âBaby, do not pass out.âÂ
The order is redundant. You already know. Youâve been trying not to for hours now.Â
âMinho!âÂ
The shouting comes again, frantic and bellowing. It echoes through the house like a crack of thunder. Chan is panicking.Â
And you take it back. Maybe Chan can shout. All it takes is the right circumstances.Â
âDo not pass out, baby.âÂ
You try not to. You try so hard not to. You just want the agony to end. You want it to stop so you can sleep. You just want to sleep.
âBaby, what can I do?âÂ
You shake your head, willing the tears dripping down your cheeks to stop. You hate this. You despise it. You want it to stop. The cramps, the hot-flashes, the sweat, the tears, the nauseaâall of it. You just want it to stop.Â
Chan strokes his hand across the frame of the door, feeling his heart clench horribly beneath his ribs. Itâs cryingâhis heart is. Itâs weeping for you, desperately wishing it could do something to stop this pain. In the next second, the door to Seungminâs bedroom slams against the wall, no concern for the drywall behind it, then Minho is standing there with Changbin at his back and Hyunjin to his side. They stand in the doorway, dark eyes almost glowing and hands splintering the wood from how tight heâs clutching it. He doesnât know what to do. His un-beating heart is cracking within its bony cage, yet Minho can do nothing.Â
âSweetheart?âÂ
Thatâs Minhoâs voice. Minho, the steady ground beneath your feet. Minho, the gravity binding you to the earth.Â
âMin?â
You donât know why you say it. You know itâs him.
âYeah, âS me, pretty girl. Binnieâs here too. And Hyunjin.â
âHmm.â
Minho exchanges a look with Chan, and a knowing bolt of worry strikes through their chests. Â
âWhy did you lock the door, baby love?âÂ
Hyunjin this time. No one else calls you that.Â
You shudder through a terrible cramp, but you think theyâre coming slower now. They donât paralyze you like the ones before. Exhaling through your nose and trying to relax, you hum, ââM gross, Jinnie. Donât want you to see me.â
âNow thatâs just bullshit.â
âBinâ!â
âYouâve never been gross in all the years weâve known you, bun,â Changbin continues, ignoring the interruption. âWeâve seen you sweaty and crying and when you had food poisoning last year and couldnât leave the bathroom floor for more then ten minutes. And youâve never been gross. Youâve always just been you.âÂ
Another wave of tears swells behind your eyes with a steady pressure. Youâre forced to cover your mouth to muffle the sound of your sobs. Heart aching in tandem with your abdomen, you shiver and crawl closer to the doorway to stare weakly up at the handle like itâs personally offended you.Â
âWhat can we do, my heart?â Hyunjin begs. âPlease donât suffer alone in there. We want to help, even if itâs just to hold your hand while you cry.â
Please donât make us listen to you cry, he doesnât finish. The sound of your muffled sobs is killing him. His enhanced hearing canât tune them out. He hears every single one, no matter how desperately you try to cover them with your palms. Please donât make us listen to you suffer.Â
What can they do?Â
How can they fix this?Â
âI was so scared, Channie.â The words come out muffled into your fist as they begin spilling off your tongue like water burst from a dam. âI needed you there with me. But I think I was too selfish. I shouldnât expect you to drop everything fâme, âm sorry.â
If his heart hurt before, Chan cannot describe the crack that just cleaved through it.Â
âNo, baby, no.â His voice comes out quick and desperate and raw with the weight of his own tears. âYou canâyou can depend on me, okay? I donât care if I have to drop everything important to be there for you, I want to always be there.â
âChanââ
But heâs rambling now, and he cannot be stopped.Â
âI want to take you to your doctorâs appointments and scold them for not taking your concerns seriously. I want to remind you to take your meds on time, and I want to watch you fall asleep in my car on the way home while the boys whisper in the backseat. I want to be there for you when youâre crying and in pain because it hurtsâit physically hurts to hear you like this, babygirl.â
You let out a weak sound that makes Chan sick.Â
âI want to hold your hand when youâre scared, and I want you to squeeze it as tight as you can when your cramps are too much. I want to wipe away your tears and let you stain my shirt when you cry. I want to clean the sweat from your brow even when you try to stop me because you think itâs gross. I want those things. I want to take care of you. I want you.âÂ
âThen why werenât you there?âÂ
It comes out muffled and quiet, as if you didnât mean to say it at all.Â
Squeezing his eyes shut, Chan swallows back the lump in his throat. He tries to say something, but all that comes out is a mournful sound.Â
âI know, Iâm sorry, baby girl. Iâm so sorry. I should have been there. I should have been.âÂ
Another sob rolls through you, heavy and gut-wrenching. Chan feels another crack of his heart splinter, and suddenly he cannot take it anymore.Â
âPlease open the door, my girl. Please.â His forehead thumps against the wood again like it will connect him to you. He feels someone lay a warm palm across his spineâprobably Changbinâheâs always there when Chan needs him. âPlease let me help, baby. Let me see you.â
You swallow back a swell of nausea and cling to the toilet seat, terrified that the second you move, youâll vomit. Thighs throbbing with the tremendous wave of agony in your belly, you let out a choked sound. You just want it to stop: the cramps, the nausea, the hot flashes, the agonyâyou want everything to stop. Why wonât it just stop?Â
He knocks his head against the door again and tightens his grip on the doorknob.Â
âBabyâŠâÂ
âChannieâŠâ
âOpen the door, my love. Shout at me, scold me, hate me, just let me in.â He swallows, trying to soothe the clenching of his heart. âIâll explain everything, just let me be there for you now.âÂ
You exhale, blinking away the salt in your eyes and clutching the hot pad to your stomach. Another cramp takes you hostage, seizing in your gut and radiating down your legs and into your back. Clenching your eyes shut, you muffle the weak sound that almost leaves you. Itâs all too much. Youâre in so much pain and youâre so tired and you canât even be mad at Chan anymore.Â
You just want him to hug you and tell you everythingâs going to be alright. Even if it isnât.Â
You just need him.Â
The lock clicks.Â
âSo youâre a vampire?âÂ
A muffled snort echoes above your head.Â
âNot quite.âÂ
Burying your head deeper into Chanâs chest, you palm the thick muscle above his heart and feel it beat under your hand. Still flesh and bone and all Chan. He smells just like he always hasâlike expensive cologne and something you can never quite replicate. And he feels like he always has too. Blood still pumps beneath his skin and his cheeks still flush when heâs shy. That couldnât be a vampiric quality, could it?
âThen what are you?â you breathe into his collarbone, smiling when he shivers. The cramps have slowed to a quiet null thanks to the pain killers from Jinnie and the tea from Felix. Seungmin reheated your bottle and placed it on your belly, but made you promise to let him sit there and make sure it isnât too warm against your skin. You donât care; youâre just happy he wants to cuddle.Â
âA hybrid, actually.âÂ
âHalf vampire, halfâŠ?â
âWerewolf.âÂ
You grin and Chan feels it against the skin of his throat.Â
âDonât say it.âÂ
You giggle quietly, feeling loopy from the lack of sleep now that the pain has tempered. âI wasnât going to.â
Chan pinches your hip. âYou were thinking about it.âÂ
âOh, so you can read my mind now? Is that one of your freaky supernatural powers too?âÂ
âNo, thatâs mine,â comes Seungminâs rebuttal, murmured into the space above your hip. You drop your hand into his dark hair and begin idly scratching at his scalp, listening to him purr. The sound vibrates into your lungs and you can feel it soothing the ache from within. You wonder if youâre just imagining that.Â
âOkay, so reading minds is a thing. Thatâs cool,â you feign, terribly nonchalant about the whole thing. âAnd the purring?âÂ
âAnyone part vamp can do that.âÂ
You knock your head back to blink up at Jisung, who deposits another fresh cup of raspberry leaf tea on the coaster on the side table. Before he leaves, he rubs his forefingers across your jaw and pulls your cheek towards him so he can kiss your temple.Â
âThanks, Sungie.âÂ
âOf course, baby.âÂ
âSo you were smelling that I was in pain this whole time?â You whisper tiredly. âThatâs how you always know what I need?âÂ
Minho snorts as he shakes his head. âNo, sweetheart, we just know you that well.â
âBut yes,â Hyunjin interrupts, âwe can sense that youâre in pain. But itâs not always a âsmellâ thing. Itâs justâŠâ
âA you thing.âÂ
You tilt your head back up to look at Chan. âWhat do you mean?â
âItâs just a you thing,â he reiterates. âWe know what youâre feeling and what you need because we innately react to you. Thereâs an intrinsic connection binding us together.âÂ
âOh. Thatâs cool.âÂ
Someone snorts.Â
Minho rolls his eyes, but the smile on his face is undeniable. âYou are something else, sweetheart.â
âYou know youâre awfully nonchalant about thisâŠâ Felix raises one eyebrow across the room as he snuggles Jeongin on the couch. âShould we be concerned, orâŠ?â
Shaking your head and burying your nose into Chanâs collarbone, you sigh with a smile. âNo, I think Iâm a little loopy, honestly. We might have to have this conversation again in the morning.âÂ
Chan chuckles, and you feel it reverberate through his chest where itâs pressed against yours. He drags his palm over your hip, petting softly as he kisses your brow again. Heâs been doing that since he managed to get you into his arms. They all have, really. The kisses have been shared quick and easily between the nine of you without any ceremonious discussion. It all sort of just⊠happened. Minho kisses Jisung on the corner of his mouth and no one says a word. Felix drops a peck to Jeonginâs temple and Hyunjin kisses Changbin directly on the mouth, but itâs not strange. It feels like it was always meant to be this way. Maybe it always was and you just hadnât noticed.Â
âOkay, baby,â Chan chuckles, stroking a hand down your spine. âWe can talk about this again in the morning.âÂ
âOkay,â you acquiesce, already halfway into dreamland. âLove you, Channie.âÂ
âI love you too, baby.â He kisses your nose and the bow of your mouth with a tenderness you cannot fathom deserving. âLetâs talk in the morning.â Â
âMhm.âÂ
You fumble for Seungminâs wrist with your eyes closed and tug his hand into your heart so you can keep him there. He puffs a breath of air through his nose silently and strokes his hand over your breastbone. Kissing the nape of your neck quickly, he murmurs his goodnight and listens to your thoughts as they trail into comfortable silence.Â
âWhat a soulmate we ended up with, hm?âÂ
Felix grins as your serenity casts a divine warmth into the marrow of his bones. âYou can say that twice.â
the council: make a choice, bang chan. us or the readâ
chan: reader.
the council: ...
the council: sorry, we didn't finish. us or the reâ
chan: reader.
a/n: hi! I'm alive!! I hope you guys enjoyed this ramble that isn't really my usual coherent fic, but it's kind of just a rant at this point about my own experience with periods and the health care industry :") it might be a little too much for some ppl or weird, but it was honestly kind of just a comfort thing for me so I wrote it anyway :D
also! had quite a few ppl calling the reader in raspberry leaves "dramatic" and saying I was making a "big deal" out of periods cause they aren't that bad, and I wanted to clarify that 1. not all cycles are the same! It's great that your symptoms don't bother you much! that's how it's supposed to be! but unfortunately, not all women's (or uterus having persons') bodies are the same, and to some of our great misfortunes, some of us have symptoms on our periods that are debilitating (like cannot move from the bed debilitating). this is not normal, and if you are experiencing this (or even just experiencing a life where you have to plan your time around your cycle bc of extreme symptoms), you should try to see a doctor. and take it from me, it will probably be super frustrating to get answers or even be heard out by some doctors, but it is not normal to be in this much pain, and you should speak to someone about it. Do not let people downplay your pain. also 2. this is fan fiction and I like to be dramatic, so sue me xD
anyway sorry for the rant. I hope you enjoyed! I'll be answering my messages soon so thank you guys for all the love <33
Ë àŒ đïž âžâž âź âi only wanted to see you laughing in the purple rainâŠâ
in which you recently passed away in an accident, and you must board a train to the end of forever.
or⊠your trip to the afterlife happens to be incongruously soothing as death just so happens to wear the face of the one who got away.
grim reaper! bang chan x spirit f! reader · category : angst with a tiny pinch of fluff · contents : ex lovers. reader is referred as y/n. grief. mourning. mentions of terminal illness. blood. character death. kissing. this story is purely a work of fiction and for entertainment purposes only. reader discretion is advised. · word count : 15k
đŹ ⊠lynsbng speaking âžâž iâm not crying, you are!
see the other episodes? < yes. > · proceed to homepage? < yes. > · join the taglist? < click me. >
THE FIRST THING YOU BECAME AWARE OF WAS THE SILENCE. not the absence of soundâno, that would have been too simple, too clean. this was a silence with texture, thick and velvety as mourning cloth, pressing against your eardrums like the weight of water at impossible depths. it had presence, it had intent. the stillness wrapped around you, and held you the way grief holds the living; gentle, relentless, impossible to escape.
then came the cold.
it started at your shoulder, a point of pressure so familiar it bypassed your confusion entirely and spoke directly to something older, something buried beneath years of practiced composure and carefully constructed walls. the cold seeped through the fabric of your blouseâwas it always this thin?âand settled into your epidermis like a brand, like a benediction, like the memory of a hand that once knew the geography of your anatomy better than you knew it yourself.
and then the voice.
ây/n.â
your name, spoken the way only one person had ever spoken it. it sounded like a prayer, a secret, and the answer to a question you never expected to inquire yet again.
you would have known that voice in the wreckage of the world. you would have known it at the bottom of the ocean, in the heart of a fire, at the moment of your death. you had known it at the moment of your death, you realized dimly, though the thought slid off your consciousness like water off waxâslick, fleeting, impossible to grasp.
it was the voice that once whispered terrible, beautiful poetry into your hair at three in the morning, when the rest of the world slept and you two were the only people alive. it was the voice that laughedâthat bright, breathless sound like sunrise breaking over the ocean. every time you pulled him away from his producing dungeon by the earlobe, scolding him for forgetting to eat again. it was the voice that promised you forever in a hospital room that smelled of antiseptic and dying flowers, and you had believed him because how could you not? how could you not believe in forever when he looked at you like you had invented the concept just for him?
your eyes opened.
the world was grey. not the grey of depression, not the grey of rainy days or old photographs. this was a grey that existed between thingsâbetween light and shadow, between life and whatever came after, between the person you were five minutes ago and the person you were now. it was the grey of liminal spaces, of train stations at midnight, of hotel rooms in cities you would never visit again. it was the grey of almost and not quite and still waiting.
you were lying on cold asphalt. the surface was rough against your back, gritty with the debris of a thousand passing tires. the smell that filled your nostrils was an unholy cocktail of burnt rubber, gasoline, and something else⊠something metallic and sweet that your mind refused to categorize.
copper. iron. the building blocks of ichor. the taste of it lingered at the back of your throat, coppery and wrong, and you wondered vaguely if this was what dying tasted like.
above you, a figure stood silhouetted against lights that flashed and swirled; blue and red, blue and red, the colors of emergency, of urgency, of too late. the lights washed over him in rhythmic pulse, painting him in colors that seemed out of this world, and yetâ
and yet, it was him.
âŠit was⊠him.
chan stood over you like a fallen angel, like a prayer answered in the worst possible way, like every dream you ever had and every nightmare you couldn;t admit to wanting. his face was exactly as you remembered it: the soft, kind curve of his cheeks that made him look younger than his years, the worried downturn of his lips that appeared every time you so much as stubbed your toe, those deep, expressive eyes that once held your entire universe in their dark depths and refused to let go.
however, something was wrong.
something was deeply, fundamentally wrong, and it took you a long, suspended moment to understand what it was.
his skin. it was perfect; flawless, unblemished, the same neutral winter tone you used to trace with your fingertips for hours, memorizing every mole, every freckle, every tint imperfection that made him himâyet it glowed. not with the healthy radiance of life, not with the flush of exertion or emotion, but with an ethereal, internal light. the light of things that existed beyond the veil. the lights of moon, deep sea creatures, and concepts that were never meant to take human form.
and his eyes.
his eyes were the most⊠peculiar.
they were still his eyes⊠the shape, the set, the way they focused on you with that familiar devastating intensity. however, the color had drained away, replaced by something vest, something endless. they were voids now, his eyes, starless, hollow, and deep as the space between galaxies, and when you looked into them you felt yourself falling, falling, falling into an infinity that had no bottom, no top, and no sides, just the terrible, beautiful forever of oblivion.
he reached down and pulled you to your feet.
his hand was cold⊠so cold, impossibly cold, the cold of winter graves and forgotten attics and the dark side of the moonâbut it was real. present. in this grey, shifting world where nothing felt quite anchored, his grip was the one constant thing. the only thing you could trust.
you looked down.
your car was goneâno, not exactly gone. that was the wrong word. your car was there, but it no longer looked like a car.
it was a sculpture of violence, a testament to physics, momentum, and the terrible fragility of human engineering. metal had been folded like origami paper, wrapped around a lamppost that stood utterly unimpressed by the destruction it had wrought. glass sparkled across the road in a million crystalline fragments, each one catching the flashing lights and throwing them back like tiny, cruel stars.
the driver's side door was... somewhere else. you spotted it twenty feet away, torn from its hinges and lying crumpled against a parked car. the steering wheel had been pushed through what used to be the dashboard. and there, still partially inside, still strapped into the seat by a seatbelt that had done its job even when everything else failedâ
there was a figure, covered by a sheet.
white, pristine, untouched by the blood that pooled beneath the wreckage in a dark, spreading stain that seemed to grow even as you watched. the sheet had been placed with care, with reverence, with the particular gentleness of people who did this for a living and had learned that the dead deserved dignity even when the living couldn't give it to them.
you looked at it. you looked at it for a long, long time. the sheet rose and fell with nothingâno breath, no movement, no life. just the terrible stillness of something that would never move again.
and somewhere in the deep, survival part of your brain that had kept you alive for twenty-seven years, a switch flipped. a door closed. an understanding settled into your bones like cold water filling a grave.
oh, you thought, with a strange, distant clarity that felt almost peaceful. oh, that's me.
you turned back to himâto the man who wore your lost love's face like a mask, like a mercy, like the cruelest joke the universe could possibly play.
"chan?" you heard yourself ask, and your voice sounded wrong, thin and echoey, like it was traveling from very far away, like it belonged to someone else entirely.
he tilted his head.
it was such a small gesture, such a him gestureâthe slight cant to the left, the way his brow furrowed just slightly, the way his lips parted as if he was about to speakâthat your heart (did your heart still beat? you donât know. you couldn't really feel it anymore) clenched in your chest with a pain that was almost physical.
âi beg your pardon?â
his voice was his. it was his. the same timber, the same resonance, the same quality that used to make you close your eyes and just listen when he spoke, drinking in the sound of him like water in a desert. however, there was something layered beneath it now, an echo that hadn't been there before, a vibration that seemed to come from everywhere at once rather than from a single throat. it was the voice of something ancient, something eternal, something that had existed long before humans walked the earth and would exist long after they were gone.
âfor i am death, miss y/l/n.â
his introduction hung in the grey air between you, heavy as headstones, final as a closed casket.
ây/n y/l/n, you have met the end of life,â he paused, and something flickered in those moonless eyes; something that might have been gentleness, if gentleness could exist in a being of finality, âtime, 14:43 pm.â
you stared at him.
the words bounced off your understanding like coins off frozen groundâpinging, skittering, refusing to find purchase. you knew what they meant. you weren't stupid, you had a brain, you could process language. you knew what each word signified, individually, as a sentence.
however, the meaning of them, the weight, the implication, refused to settle. it was like trying to pour water into a cup that was already full. there was simply no room left in your consciousness for this information.
âwhat are you saying?â a huff of disbelief slithered through your lips, thin, and reedy. âthis isnât funny, chan.â
for a heartbeatâor whatever passed for a heartbeat in this place, something shifted in his expression.
it was there and gone so fast you might have imagined it, a crack in the perfect, still mask of his features, a glimpse of something raw and wounded beneath the surface of divine indifference. his eyes flickered for just a moment, the void replaced by something warm, brown, and achingly familiar.
and then it was gone, sealed over like ice forming on a lake.
or maybe⊠you were just being delusional. maybe this was your brainâs last desperate attempt to find comfort in the face of the incomprehensible, projecting familiarity on a stranger who happened to share the same exact features with your past lover.
maybe you wanted so badly for him to still be present that you were seeing thing that werenât real.
â...please come along with me, miss y/l/n.â
he extended his hand towards you. it was the hand that had pulled you into countless embraces, that had brushed strands from your face when you were sick, that had gripped yours so tightly during horror movies. it looked the same. the same long fingers, the same slight calluses from years of producing music.
a laugh bubbled up in your throat.
it wasn't a happy sound. it wasn't even a sad sound, really. it was the sound of a mind pushed past its breaking point, of a soul that had encountered something so fundamentally absurd that laughter was the only possible response. you laughed, and the sound echoed in the grey space around you, bouncing off buildings you couldn't see and returning to you distorted, wrong, like a funhouse mirror version of itself.
this was a dream. it had to be a dream. a hallucination brought on by the impact, by the blood loss, by the chemicals your dying brain was releasing in its final moments. any second now, you would wake up in a hospital bed, surrounded by beeping machines and worried nurses, and this would all be a story you told people at parties.
i saw my dead ex-boyfriend as the grim reaper when i died. can you believe it? god forbid a girl to die in peace.
to prove itâto prove that none of this was real, that you were still alive, that the universe hadn't actually become this cruel, you turned away from him, declining his hand, and started walking toward the crowd of onlookers gathered at the edge of the wreckage.
a man in a heavy coat ran straight through you.
there was no impact. no resistance. just a fleeting sensation of cold, like stepping through a curtain of ice water, and then he was on the other side, stumbling to a halt, his face pale as he stared at the wreckage with the particular horror of someone who had just realized they were witnessing something they would never be able to unsee.
he pulled out his phone with trembling hands and started filming. of course he did. everyone filmed everything these days. your death would probably be on the internet within the hour, viewed by strangers who would scroll past it with the same detachment they used for everything else.
you turned, slowly, and looked at the scene properly for the first time.
the flashing lights weren't just ambiance; they belonged to real vehicles, solid vehicles, fire trucks and police cars and an ambulance that had arrived too late. officers in crisp uniforms were redirecting traffic, their faces professionally blank, their movements efficient and practiced. paramedics stood in a small cluster near the wreckage, their postures slack with the particular exhaustion of people who had done everything they could and watched it amount to nothing.
one of them, a young woman with tired eyes and hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, was talking to a police officer, shaking her head. you drifted closer, drawn by some invisible current, and heard fragments of her report.
"...died on impact. nothing we could have done. the steering column... massive internal injuries... probably didn't feel anything."
probably didnât feel anything.
you wanted to laugh again, or cry, or scream. you had felt everything. you had felt the headlights blinding you through the windshield, the screech of tires that wasn't yours, the terrible suspended moment of knowing what was about to happen and being utterly powerless to stop it. you had felt the impact, the shattering, the brief, bright flare of pain that was almost beautiful in its intensity before everything went grey and quiet.
however, you hadn't felt this. this floating, this weightlessness, this strange detachment from the body that was yours only minutes ago. this was new. this was different. this was what came after.
the paramedic walked away, and you followed her gaze to the wreckage, to the sheet-covered form still strapped into the driver's seat.
no one was rushing to help. no one was prying open the door, cutting through the metal, trying to reach the person inside. there was no point. the person inside was gone. the person inside was you, and you were standing ten feet away, watching yourself be dead.
you exhaled a long, slow breath.
and instead of grief, instead of horror, instead of any of the emotions you were supposed to feel at the moment of your own death, a strange, profound relief washed over you.
it started in your chestâa warmth, a loosening, a release of tension you hadn't even known you'd been carrying. it spread outward, through your arms and legs, up into your face, until every part of you felt lighter, freer, easier than you had in years.
you were tired.
god, you were so tired.
you were tired of the life that you had to continue. you were tired of the career you had to pursue. you were tired of the impossible deadlines, the passive-aggressive emails, the endless meetings that could have been emails, the emails that could have been a single text message. you were tired of coming home to an empty apartment at 11 p.m., too exhausted to cook, too drained to do anything but fall into bed and do it all over again the next day.
you were tired of the silence.
the silence of a bed meant for two that only held one. the silence of a dinner table set for one, eaten alone, cleaned up alone. the silence of weekends stretching out before you like an endless grey desert, with no one to fill them, no one to share them, no one to make them mean anything.
you were tired of being alone.
and now⊠now you weren't alone anymore, were you? now there was someone here, someone who looked at you with eyes that might be empty but still saw you, still focused on you, still made you feel, for the first time in five years, like you existed in the same universe as another person.
death, it seemed, was a vacation you never knew you needed.
you turned back to him.
to death. to the being who wore your lost love's face like a second skin, like a gift, like a punishment.
ââŠokay," you said, and your voice was calm now, steady, the voice of someone who had made peace with something they couldn't change. "okay."
something flickered beneath that stone-cold demeanor. it was there and gone so fast you couldn't name it, couldn't categorize it, could only feel its passing like the brush of a ghost's fingers against your consciousness. surprise, maybe. curiosity. interest in a soul that didn't fight, didn't bargain, didn't scream.
he glanced down at his hand, and you watched as a pocket watch materialized in his palmâsilver, antique, etched with symbols you didn't recognize but somehow understood. the hands didn't point to hours or minutes. they pointed to something else entirely, something beyond the reach of mortal timekeeping.
he looked back at you, and for a moment⊠just a moment⊠his expression softened into something gentle, almost human.
âitâs time,â he announced, the words fell into the silence like stones into deep water, sending ripples through the grey.
he offered his hand once again.
this time, you took it.
his fingers closed around yours, cold, solid, and real, and in the space between one breath and the next, the world dissolved.
THE TRANSITION WAS SEAMLESS⊠one moment you were standing on a rain-slicked street, surrounded by the wreckage of your mortal life and the flashing lights of emergency vehicles that could no longer touch you; a tableau of tragedy you had already cited, akin to an actor watching the final scene of a play they had once starred in. the next moment, your feet found purchase on polished, grimy floor tiles, and the world reformed itself around you like water settling after a stone had been dropped into it.
you were in a train stationâat least, you thought it was just an ordinary train station. the architecture was right, the high, arched ceilings ribbed with iron, the long platforms stretching into darkness like fingers reaching for something just beyond sight, the tracks gleaming dully in the low light, twin silver ribbons leading nowhere and everywhere.
this was like no train station you had ever seen. the ceiling vanished into shadow so complete it felt solid, a weight of darkness pressing down from above like the lid of a closed casket. you could stare into it for hours, for days, for eternities, and never find its end. the tiles underfoot were white, or had been once; now they were veined with cracks, stained with the grime of decades, of centuries, of something that predated time itself. here and there, tiles were missing entirely, revealing only more darkness beneath.
the air was cool and still, carrying the faint, mineral scent of places underground; the breath of caves, of catacombs, of all the places where light feared to tread. it was the smell of buried things, of secrets kept, of journeys that had no return ticket.
and the silence⊠it was different from the silence of the accident site. the silence of the crime scene had been thick, muffled, the silence of shock and aftermathâa blanket thrown over chaos. the silence here was active. it hummed with a frequency just below hearing, a vibration you felt in your teeth, in your bones, in the place where your soul used to anchor to your body. it breathed in slow, patient rhythms, the breath of something vast and ancient that had been waiting here for longer than mountains. it listened. you could feel its attention on you, curious and detached, like a curator examining an art.
in the center of the platform, sitting motionless on the tracks, was a train.
it was oldâno, ancient might be the right word. the kind of ancient that spoke of craftsmanship that no longer existed, of an era when things were built to last forever because forever was understood to be a real and present concept, a destination rather than a word. the metal was dark, polished to a deep gleam that caught the light and held it hostage, refusing to let go. the windows were tall and arched, filled with glass that was slightly rippled, slightly imperfect. along the sides, brass fixtures glowed with a warm, muted light, their surfaces worn smooth fingers that had touched them across centuries.
and at the front, a single lantern burned with a flame that never flickered, never wavered, never died; a flame that had been burning since before your ancestors first walked upright, that would still be burning when the last star in the universe guttered into darkness.
it was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen⊠and the most terrifying.
beauty and terror, you were learning, were not opposites. they were two sides of the same coin, two faces of the same god. to truly see one was to glimpse the other, standing just behind it, waiting to be acknowledged.
âthis way,â death led you towards a small booth at the edge of the platform. it resembled the kind of ticket booth you might find in an european train station, the kind with a curved window and a little ledge for setting down your fare, the kind that had once been staffed by an old man with spectacles and patient eyes. however, there was no one inside. there was just a slot, dark and waiting, and above it, words covered into the wood with a permanence that felt like law:
PRESENT YOUR TICKET
you looked down at your hand.
a ticket lay across your palm.
you hadn't felt it appear. you hadnât seen it materialize. but there it was, as real as anything in this unreal placeâa small rectangle of heavy cream paper, the kind that felt expensive between your fingers, the kind that had been made to last. text ran across it in elegant, flowing script:
PLATFORM 9
DESTINATION: âââââ
VALID FOR: ONE SOUL
NON-REFUNDABLE
beneath the text, in smaller letters, was your name. your full name, the one your mother had given you, the one that appeared on your birth certificate, your driverâs license, and the headstone that would soon be carved in your memory.
you stared at it for a long moment.
then, without quite knowing why, you stepped forward and slid the ticket into the slot.
for a heartbeat, nothing happened. the ticket disappeared into the darkness of the booth, and you were left standing there, empty-handed, wondering if you had just made a terrible mistake.
then a soft click chimed from somewhere deep in the mechanism. a small barrier beside the booth, a wooden turnstile, old and ornate, swung open, inviting you through.
you had been approved. you wouldnât be a wandering spirit, trapped between worlds, unable to move forward or back. you had a destination. you had a place. you had, for the first time since waking up from a bloodbath, a purpose.
you stepped through the turnstile and onto the platform proper. the train had waited long for your arrival.
death walked beside you, his presence a constant coolness at your shoulder. he didn't speak, didnât guide, didnât direct. he simply was, a shadow that accompanied you without demanding anything, without expecting anything, without asking for anything in return, and you didnât mind. you were, instead, grateful.
the doors of the train slid open as you approached, noiseless and smooth, revealing a corridor of warm wood and soft velvet. you stepped inside, and the door closed behind you with a gentle hiss.
the interior looked even more pleasing than the exterior.
you stood in the corridor, taking in the details that your eyes had skimmed over in that first moment of entrance. each compartment was a small room unto itself, with seats of deep burgundy velvet arranged around small tables of polished mahogany. lamps glowed on the walls, casting long shadows that danced and swayed with the movement of the trainâalthough the train itself wasnât moving yet.
death stood beside you, waiting.
after a moment, he gestured towards one of the compartments, âyou may choose any seat. theyâre all reserved for you.â
you moved into the nearest compartment, sliding into a seat by the window. the velvet was soft against your back, cooler than you expected yet not that uncomfortable, like sitting on a cloud that had been left in the shade. it yielded to your weight perfectly, cradling you in a way that felt almost intentional, as if the seat itself had been waiting for you, had been shaped specifically for your soul.
death sat across from you.
for a long moment, neither of you spoke. your gaze remained on him, drinking him in. the familiar slope of his shoulders, the way arms were crossed above his chest, the particular set of his mouth that used to mean he was deep into his thinking. and he reciprocated yours, watching you with those dark, dark eyes that held nothing of the warmth they had once carried.
the silence between you was torture. you searched his face like a diver searching for air, desperate for some sign, some crack in the façade, some flicker of the man who had once held you through panic attacks and whispered that everything would be okay. you looked for the crinkle at the corner of his eyes and the adorable dimples when he smiled. for the way his lips used to be pressed against yours in the rain, in the studio, in the hospital when there were no words left to say. for the softness that would bloom across his features when he looked at you, like flowers opening to the sun.
and there was⊠nothing.
nothing but that quiet, detached curiosity, like a false god examining a mortal prayer they do not intend to answer. like a scholar studying an interesting specimen. like a cat watching a bird through a windowâmildly engaged, fundamentally unmoved.
this was not the silence of comfort, because there was nothing comfortable about this. about being trapped in an endless train ride with the face of your dead lover and the hollow eyes of something you had never known you feared until this moment. the train hummed beneath you, a low, constant vibration that seemed to come from everywhere at once, and the world outside the windows was only darkness, only void, only the absence of everything you had ever known.
he didn't recognize you. you figured it out in a harsh way, the way you figure out that a limb is broken when you try to use it and the pain tells you everything you need to know. there was no recognition in his gaze. no familiarity. no emotion at all, beyond that mild, academic interest. you were a soul. one of billions. one in a trillion. a face in an endless crowd of faces, all of them eventually forgotten, all of them eventually reduced to the same grey nothing.
it was the silence of a love that existed solely on one side now, a bridge that had collapsed halfway, leaving you stranded on the edge with nothing but memory to hold onto. you could still see the other side, still remember what it looked like, still feel the phantom weight of footsteps that would never cross again.
but he was gone... the man you had lovedâstill loved, would always love, could not stop loving no matter how many years passed, he had been gone for three years and seemed to remain that way. succumbed to his illness, to the terminal disease that had eaten him slowly from the inside while you sat helplessly by his bedside, holding his hand, pretending you couldnât feel it growing colder. you had kissed him one last time. you had accompanied him the whole time in his death bed. you had watched the light leave his eyes. you had stood at his grave and promised to move on, to live, to carry him with you without letting his absence destroy you.
and you had failed. you had failed so completely. you had just been too stubborn to accept it until now.
and this⊠this ancient being sitting across from you was making things far worse.
he tilted his head.
it was such a small gesture, such a him gestureâthe slight cant to the left, the way his brow furrowed just slightly, the way his lips parted as if he was about to speak. it was a ghost of the person he used to be, a muscle memory that had survived the transformation, a remnant of humanity that even the gods hadn't been able to erase completely.
it sent a knife through your heart.
"you're quiet," he observed. his voice was soft, curious, the voice of someone examining an interesting specimen. "most souls talk. they ask questions. they bargain. they beg. they weep. they try to run. you just... sit there. staring at me.â
"you look like someone i used to know," you replied almost instantly, and your voice was steady, surprisingly steady, even though you felt like you were crumbling inside, even though every word felt like glass in your throat.
"ah." he nodded, as if this explained something, as if this was a phenomenon he encountered regularly. "âŠthat happens. the form death takes⊠it's drawn from the soul death is guiding. whatever face will bring the most comfort, the most peace. sometimes it's a parent. sometimes a child. sometimes a beloved pet." a pause. "sometimes, i'm told, it's a lover.â
you flinched. the word lover, spoken in his voiceâchan's voice, applied to someone else, to some hypothetical soul who wasn't you, who had never been you, who would never matter the way you had mattered to the man in the hospital bed.
âyouâre not him,â you declared, the words landing like a verdict.
ââŠno,â he said simply, his expression devoid of any of the things a human might have felt in that moment⊠or so you thought. however, there was something in the way he held himself, something in the almost-imperceptible pause before he spoke again, that made you wonder if the emptiness ran as deep as it appeared. if perhaps, beneath that void, something was listening. something was watching. something was waiting for you to say more.
âi am⊠the end of life,â he continued, his voice touched by something that might have been gentleness, might have been curiosity, might have been the faintest echo of the humanity he had lost, âyour⊠temporary friend, if you must.â
temporary friend.
the words lodged in your chest like shards of glass.
because he wasn't your friendâhe didn't feel like a friend. he was a stranger wearing your lover's face, a specter dressed in the skin of your most precious memories, a void disguised as the man who had once held your heart in his hands and promised to keep it safe forever. every familiar line of him was a lie. every gesture that echoed the past was an accident, a coincidence, a trick of the light. the being sitting across from you had never held you in the dark. had never whispered that everything would be okay. had never traced idle patterns on your skin while the world slept.
but he was also all you had, at this exact moment.
in this place between places, on this train to the end of forever, he was the only presence that felt real. the only voice that spoke. the only eyes that looked at you and saw something, even if that something was just another soul to be guided, another name on an endless list, another brief flicker of consciousness on its way to oblivion. he was a stranger, yes. a void wearing a familiar shape. but he was here, and you were here, and in the absence of everything else you had ever known, that had to be enough.
"temporary friend," you repeated, testing the weight of the words on your tongue. "that's what you are? to all of them? to all the souls you guide?"
"to all of them," he confirmed. "for the journey, at least. some want to talk. some want silence..." he paused, and something shifted in those eyesâsomething that might have been the faintest stirring of interest. "i don't know what you want.â
i want you to be him, you thought. i want you to remember. i want you to hold me the way you used to hold me, to look at me the way you used to look at me, to love me the way you promised you would love me forever.
of course, you didnât say any of that.
because what would be the point?
"i don't know what i want either," you admitted, and the honesty of it surprised you. "i thought i did. i thought i wanted to live. i thought i wanted to go back, to keep fighting, to keep existing in that world that was slowly killing me. but when i saw my body, along all those people standing around doing nothingâ"
you shook your head. "i felt relieved. i felt free. for the first time in three years, i felt like i could breathe."
his silence was loud, boisterous, and terrifying. his stare sent shivers cascading down your spine, forcing you to avert your gaze to the ground.
"âŠthree years," he repeated. "that's how long you've been waiting."
it wasn't a question, but you answered anyway.
"that's how long since he died. since chan died." you looked at him, at the face that was and wasn't his, at the eyes that held nothing of the love you remembered. "since i lost the only person who ever made me feel like i mattered."
the words hung in the air between you, heavy as stones dropped into deep water. you watched them sink, watched them disappear into the vast emptiness of his gaze, and wondered if they would reach anything at all. if there was anything to reach, beneath that void, beneath that eternal stillness.
before death could open his mouth, before he could offer whatever response he might have offered; comfort, perhaps, or curiosity, or that strange, detached interest that was the closest thing to warmth he seemed capable of, the train began to move.
it was not the gentle lurch you had expected.
it was a shudder, deep and resonant, like the waking of some ancient beast from slumber deeper than time. a sound rolled through the carriage, low and vibrational, the kind of sound you felt in your bones before you heard it with your earsâa subsonic thrum that seemed to bypass hearing entirely and speak directly to something primal, something buried in the oldest part of your brain. the floor trembled beneath your feet. the lights flickered once, twice, and then steadied, their glow somehow dimmer than before, as if the train itself had drawn on their strength to fuel its awakening.
and through the window, the world began to change.
you turned, instinctively, drawn by the movement, by the shift in light, by something deeper and older than conscious thought. your reflection stared back at you for a moment; pale, hollow-eyed, a ghost even to yourself, and then it dissolved, replaced by something else entirely.
the memories.
they came not as images, not as scenes played out on a screen, but as presences. as if the walls of the train had become transparent, as if you were looking not at a window but at a door into your own past, your own heart, your own self. they pressed against you from all sides, not visually but viscerally, flooding the compartment with the weight of everything you had been.
the first memory was simple. small. almost insignificant.
a kitchen, bathed in afternoon light so golden it seemed liquid, pouring through the windows like honey. your mother's hands, dusted with flour, shaping dough into imperfect circles on a worn wooden counter. your father's laughter from somewhere off-screen, the distant drone of a football match on television, the smell of something baking: bread, maybe, or cookies, that particular warmth that meant home. you were smallâseven, maybe eight, sitting at the kitchen table with crayons spread before you like treasure, coloring a picture of a house with a rainbow arched above it like a promise.
you remembered this.
you remembered the way the sun felt on your arms. the way your mother hummed while she worked, some old song you didn't know the name of. the way your father would come in at halftime and kiss the top of your head, his lips warm against your hair, and say, "that's beautiful, sweetheart. the best one yet."
you had been loved.
so deeply, so completely, so unquestioningly loved that you had taken it for granted, had assumed it would always be there, had never once considered that love was a thing that could be lost.
the memory shifted, dissolved, reformed.
now you were olderâeleven, maybe twelve, standing on a stage in a school auditorium. the lights were hot against your face, too bright to see the audience, but you could hear them. the rustle of programs, the coughs and whispers, the expectant silence that fell just before you opened your mouth to sing. your heart hammered against your ribs, a trapped bird throwing itself against its cage.
you sang.
your voice, high and clear and pure, filled the space. you didn't remember the song⊠something from a musical, maybe, something you had practiced for weeks until the notes lived in your bones. however, you remembered the feeling. the way your heart soared with every note, lighter than air, lighter than anything you had felt since. the way the music seemed to flow through you rather than from you, as if you were just a vessel, just a channel for something larger than yourself, something ancient and eternal that had been using human throats to sing since before words existed.
when you finished, the applause was like thunder. like rain after drought. like proof that you existed, that you mattered, that you had touched something in them that they couldn't touch themselves.
you had been good at this, once. you had been alive.
more memories came, faster now, a cascade of moments that built the architecture of your life like bricks in a wall. your first boyfriend, awkward and sweet, holding your hand at the movies with palms so sweaty you couldn't tell where his ended and yours began. your first heartbreak, curled on your bedroom floor while your mother brought you tea and didn't ask questions, just sat with you in the silence until the worst of it passed. graduation, your cap tilted at a jaunty angle, your friends' arms around your shoulders, the future stretching out before you like an unwritten book. university, the nervous excitement of moving into dorms, the terror and thrill of being on your own for the first time, the slow realization that you were becoming someone new.
and thenâ
him.
the memory slowed, lingered, breathed.
a lecture hall, the projectors, the drone of a professor's voice. you were taking notes, or trying to, your attention wandering to the window, to the grey sky beyond, to anything other than the lecture you had heard a hundred times before. your pen moved automatically, scratching out words your brain wasn't processing.
a shadow fell across your desk.
"mind if i sit here?"
you looked up, and there he was.
bang chan.
twenty years old, with eyes that held depths you couldn't yet fathom and a smile that seemed to suggest he knew something you didn't, something wonderful, something that was about to change your life in ways you couldn't yet imagine.
"it's free," you said, and gestured to the empty seat beside you.
he sat, and the world shifted on its axis.
you watched the memory unfold like a story you had told yourself a thousand times, in the dark, when sleep wouldn't come. late nights in the studio, you at the microphone, him at the mixing board, both of you so absorbed in the music that hours passed like minutes, that time became meaningless, that the only thing that existed was the sound you were building together. the first time he played you something he had produced; a track built around your voice, your melody, your soul, and the way your heart had stopped when you realized what it meant. what he was telling you without words.
the first time he kissed you.
under fairy lights he had strung up in the studio, "for ambiance," he said, but you had known. his lips were tentative at first, sweet, questioningâand then, when you didn't pull away, when you leaned into him instead, they became something else. something certain. something forever. the world outside ceased to exist. there was only his mouth on yours, his hands on your waist, the quiet sound he made against your lips that sounded like coming home.
two years.
two years of laughter, arguments, and making up. two years of learning each other's bodies, each other's minds, each other's souls. two years of building a future together, brick by brick, dream by dream, until the architecture of your life was so intertwined with his that you couldn't tell where you ended and he began.
and thenâ
the hospital room.
you knew what was coming. you had lived it once, and you had just finished telling him about it, just finished spilling the story of your grief into the void of his attention. but knowing didn't prepare you. knowing didn't protect you. knowing just meant you had time to brace yourself before the blow fell.
the machines. the tubes. the antiseptic smell that clung to everything, that would cling to your memories forever, that would haunt you in unexpected moments for the rest of your life.
and chan in the bed, so thin, so pale, so wrong. the man who had glowed with life, who had burned so bright you sometimes had to look away, was reduced to thisâa skeleton draped in skin, a ghost before his time.
you watched yourself walk into that room, your face blotchy from crying, your hands trembling at your sides. you watched his eyes light up when he saw you, as if your presence could somehow override the reality of his situation, could somehow make everything okay. as if love alone could cheat death.
"hey," he whispered. "you came."
"of course i came." your memory-self's voice cracked, broke, reformed. "i'll always come. i'll always be here."
his hand, reaching for yours. his fingers, cold against your skinâthat particular cold you now recognized, that cold you now knew belonged to the dead and the dying and the in-between.
"promise me something."
"anything."
"don't stop singing."
you blinked at the memory; you, at the confusion on your face, at the tears streaming down your cheeks like rivers that would never run dry.
"promise me." his grip tightened, desperate despite its weakness. "when i'm goneâdon't stop. the world needs your voice. i need your voice. even if i can't hear it anymore, i'll know. i'll know somehow. i'll be listening."
"i promise."
the words echoed in the train compartment, overlapping with your memory-self's voice, creating a dissonance that hurt to hear, that cut through you like glass.
"i promise. i won't stop singing. i promise."
and thenâ
the flat line.
the sound of it. you had long forgotten the sound of it; that endless, horrible tone that signified the end of everythingâthe man that you loved most, he was everything. it went on and on, a needle through your eardrums, a knife through your heart.
âchanâŠ? chan, no⊠pleaseâŠâ
your voice, high, thin, and desperate, similar to a childâs voice, a voice that didâ;t understand why the world kept turning when it had just ended.
âchan⊠chris.. christopher, please wake up.â
you watched yourself grab his hand, his cold, still hand, and press it so your cheek as if warmth could be forced back into him by sheer force of will. as if love could resurrect. as if promises meant anything at all in the face of this.
the scream went on and on, even after the nurses came, even after the hands pulled you away, even after you had no air left to fuel it. It went on in your memory, in your bones, in the part of you that would never stop screaming, not really, not ever.
âGOD, WHY?! BABY, PLEASE! WAKE UP! I CANâT LOSE YOU!â
the sheet, being drawn up, over his face, over the face of the man you loved, the man who had promised you forever, the man who had left you alone in a world that didn't care, that kept spinning, kept turning, kept existing as if nothing had changed.
the memory held on that image. the sheet. the stillness. the terrible, absolute finality of it. the way his hand had looked, lying on the bed beside him, no longer reaching for anything.
and then it dissolved.
you were left staring at your own reflection in the train window, your face wet with tears you hadn't realized you were crying, your body shaking with sobs you hadn't noticed escaping.
across from you, death was silent.
you didn't turn to look at him. you couldn't. if you turned, if you saw his faceâyour beloved chan's face, wearing that empty expression, those pale eyes, that terrible, beautiful indifference, you would break. you would shatter into a thousand pieces and never be able to put yourself back together. the shards of you would scatter across this impossible train, across this journey to the end of everything, and there would be no one left to gather them. not even him. especially not him.
so you stared at your reflection, at the ghost you had become, and you let yourself feel it. all of it. the grief you had been carrying for three years like a stone in your chest, heavy and smooth and worn by constant handling. the loneliness that had become your only companion, that slept in your bed beside you, that sat across from you at dinner tables meant for two. the exhaustion of waking up every morning to a world that expected you to keep living when half of you had already died. the desperate, aching need for something you could never have again, for a hand you would never hold, for a voice you would never hearâexcept here, except now, except in this cruel parody of return.
the confession came out before you could stop it, raw, ugly and true.
"i didn't keep my promise."
the words fell into the silence like bodies into graves. you watched them land in your reflection's eyes, watched the ghost of you absorb their weight.
"i tried." a laugh escaped you, bitter and broken. "god, i tried. for a few months after, i sang every day. i have tried auditions after auditions, training after training. i sang until my throat was raw, until i had no voice left, until the sound that came out of me was nothing but scraping and air."
your hands were trembling. you watched them tremble in the reflection, watched the ghost of you fall apart in slow motion.
"but it hurt too much. every time i opened my mouth to sing, i heard his voice in my head⊠telling me i was good, telling me the world needed to hear me, telling me he loved me. and i couldn'tâ" your voice cracked, splintered, bled. "i couldn't carry that weight. i couldn't carry him anymore. so i stopped."
the silence that followed was boisterous.
"i stopped singing," you whispered. a tear slid down your reflectionâs cheek. you watched it fall, watched it catch the dim light of the train, watched it disappear into the collar of your shirt. "i stopped everything. i went to work, i came home, i slept, i did it all again. iâve tried so hard to forget him.â
the words hung in the air between you like smoke from a fire that had finally burned itself out.
you had said it. after three years of carrying this secret, this shame, this failure, you had finally spoken it aloud. you had broken the promise. you had let him down. you had taken the one thing he had asked of youâthe only thing he had ever asked of youâand you had abandoned it because you were too weak, too broken, too human to bear the weight of it.
across from you, death was motionless.
for a long, terrible moment, he simply looked at you with those grey eyes, and you braced yourself for whatever came next. judgment, perhaps. disappointment. that quiet, detached curiosity that seemed to be his default state, observing your pain like a scientist observing a specimen.
but none of those things came.
instead, he moved.
it was slow, deliberate, as if he was giving you time to pull away, time to refuse, time to build your walls back up before he could reach you. he rose from his seat across from you and crossed the small space between you in two silent steps. then, without a word, without asking permission, without any of the things a human might have done in this moment, he lowered himself onto the velvet seat beside you.
and he took your hand.
his fingers were wintry, akin to the cold of winter graves and forgotten attics and the space between stars. however, they wrapped around yours with a gentleness that stole your breath. not the grip of someone trying to hold on. not the clutch of someone afraid you might disappear. just... presence. just here. just a hand, holding yours, in the darkness.
then softly, so softly, you almost didnât hear it over the pounding of your own grief in your ears, â...iâm sorry.â
the words landed like snowflakes on warm skinâthere and gone, melting into nothing, but leaving behind a trace of cold that you felt all the way down to your bones.
iâm sorry. two words from a being who had existed for eternity, who had guided countless souls to their final destinations, who had worn a thousand faces and would wear a thousand more. two words that meant nothing and everything, that should have been empty yet somehow weren't.
you gazed up at him, at this stranger wearing your lover's face, at these ashen eyes that held no memory of you but somehow, impossibly, seemed to see you. really see you. not as another soul to be processed, another name on an endless list, but as something more. something that had caught his attention. something that made him, for the first time in perhaps millennia, feel something other than the endless, weightless drift of eternity.
"what are you sorry for?" you whispered.
âyou have been alone, you have been hurting⊠iâm sorry for everything you have lost, for everything you are still losing. consider this as my act ofâŠâ
he trailed off, his brow slightly furrowing in that achingly familiar way; the same expression chan used to wear when he was searching for the right word, the right note, the right way to say something that mattered. the silence stretched between you, fragile as spun glass, and you found yourself holding your breath, waiting for something you couldnât name.
âkindness,â he finished finally, and the word seemed to surprise him as much as it surprised you,. his lips parted slightly, as if he was testing the weight of it, the shape of it in his mouth. âperhaps, of all the ways to lose a person, death is the kindness.â
the words sank into you like anchors finding the ocean floor, disturbing depths you hadn't known existed.
death was kind.
this cold, empty, eternal thing was offering you kindness. not because he had to. not because it was his duty. but because he wanted to. because something in you, something in your grief, something in the way you had loved and lost and kept loving anyway, had seemed to reach him in a way nothing else ever had.
â...i understand,â you swallowed, the words scraped past the thickness in your throat, past the tears you were still crying, past the part of you that wanted to scream, the part that simply wanted to rest, the part that wanted to end everything, âi suppose thatâs how life worksânothing lasts forever.â
nothing lasts forever.
the admission hung in the air between you, heavy as a funeral shroud, cold as the hand that still held yours. you had heard them before, of courseâspoken at funerals, printed in sympathy cards, murmured by well-meaning friends who didn't know what else to say. but you had never truly felt them until now. never understood them in your bones, in the marrow of you, in the place where grief lived like a second heart.
not love. not grief. not even life itself.
not even the man who had promised you forever in a hospital room that smelled of antiseptic and dying flowers.
death went silent. he didnât speak, didnât offer comfort, wisdom, or any of the things a human might have said in this moment⊠no platitudes about moving on, no gentle reminders that grief was the price of love, no assurances that time would heal what had been broken. perhaps he knew, better than anyone, that such words were hollow. perhaps he had said them so many times across so many millennia that they had lost all meaning, worn smooth as river stones by endless repetition.
or perhaps, you thought as you watched his face shift through expressions you couldn't quite name, he simply ran out of words.
instead, his thumb began to move.
slow, rhythmic circles against the skin of your hand, tracing patterns that seemed to mean something even if you couldn't understand them. the motion was unconscious, you realizedâhe wasn't looking at what he was doing, wasn't thinking about it, wasn't even aware that he had started. it was simply... happening. flowing from him like water from a spring, like breath from lungs, like something his body remembered even if his mind did not.
it was such a small thing. such a human thing. the kind of absent-minded gesture someone made when they were lost in thought, when words failed them, when they didn't know how to say what they were feeling. the kind of thing chan used to do when you were curled up together on the couch, watching movies, existing in the same space without needing to fill it with sound.
your throat tightened.
of course, he had led an endless amount of souls, including you, to the afterlife⊠he must be used to comforting the living, the dying, the in-between. this was routine for him. another day, another soul, another brief moment of connection before moving on to the next. the thumb circling your hand meant nothing. it was just muscle memory. just habit. just the accumulated weight of millennia of practice.
and yet.
and yet it felt like something. it felt like care. like presence. like⊠warmth.
the tears came again, silent and hot, tracing warm paths down your cold cheeks.
you didn't know why you were still crying. you had cried so much alreadyâenough tears to fill oceans, to drown in, to lose yourself in. but they kept coming, kept falling, kept being, and through it all, his thumb never stopped its slow, steady rhythm against your skin.
circle. circle. circle. a heartbeat made of motion. a promise made of touch. the only constant in a world that had dissolved into chaos and memory and the wreckage of everything you had ever loved.
minutes passed. or hours. or moments. time didn't matter here, didn't exist here, didn't mean anything in this place between places. the train continued its endless journey through darkness, and the memories continued their slow dance beyond the window, and you continued to cry, and he continued to hold your hand and trace those impossible circles against your skin.
you watched them with a kind of detached wonder, seeing yourself from the outside for the first time, understanding things about your own story that had never been clear before.
the years after chan's death. the grey apartment. the empty bed. the job that drained you, the nights that stretched on forever, the slow erosion of everything that had made you you. you watched yourself fade, day by day, month by month, year by year, until there was almost nothing left.
and then the accident. the headlights. the impact. the end.
you should have felt sad, watching it. you should have felt regret, or fear, or longing for the life you had left behind. you should have wept for the woman who had died alone on a rain-slicked street, for all the things she would never do, all the people she would never meet, all the possibilities that died with her.
but instead, all you felt was peace.
a deep, quiet peace that settled into your bones and made you feel, for the first time in three years, like you could finally rest. like the struggle was over. like you had been released from something that had been holding you captive, something you hadn't even known was a prison until the door swung open.
the tears were still on your cheeks, but they were old tears now. cooling. drying. the last remnants of a grief that had finally, finally run its course.
you took a breath. then another. then you reached up with your free hand and forcibly wiped the tears away with the back of it, smearing them across your skin like the last traces of a storm that had finally passed.
"i'm ready," the words came out steady, settling into the space between you like stones finding their resting place at the bottom of the river, finally still, after so long tumbling in the current.
the words came out steady. calm. certain in a way you hadn't been certain of anything in years.
his thumb stilled against your hand for just a momentâa pause, a question, a silent check, before resuming its slow, steady rhythm, âready?â
"to go. to wherever i'm going." you turned from the window to face him, and for the first time, you didn't flinch at the sight of his face. didn't feel that sharp stab of grief at seeing chan's features on a stranger. "i've been running from this for so long. from death, from loss, from feeling. but i'm not running anymore."
it was still strange. it would probably always be strange. however, the pain had softened, somehow, during this impossible journey. blunted by time and tears and the simple presence of this ancient being who had sat with you in the dark and held your hand while you fell apart.
christopher chahn bahng was gone. he had been gone for three years, and no amount of wishing, no amount of crying, no amount of broken promises would bring him back. yet this entity, this death, this guide, this âtemporary friendâ, had given you something you hadn't known you needed.
permission to stop.
permission to let go.
permission to finally, after all this time, be ready.
death nodded slowly, understanding in his eyesânot the understanding of someone who had lived through what you had lived through, but the understanding of a ancient god who had witnessed it a million times. who had seen every variation of grief, every shade of loss, every possible way a soul could approach the end. the angry ones and the peaceful ones. the ones who fought until their last breath and the ones who surrendered with grace. the ones who clung to memories like lifelines and the ones who let go so completely they seemed to disappear before they'd even left.
you were neither, and you were both. you were something in between: a soul who had held on too long and was only now learning how to release.
"âŠit is time, then," he said. his voice was gentle, almost tenderâthe voice of someone delivering news they wished they didn't have to deliver, "the journey is almost over. beyond this train, beyond these memories, there is something waiting for you. i cannot tell you what it is. i cannot tell you what you will find. every soul experiences it differently, and the only thing i know for certain is that i do not know."
he paused, and something flickered in those soulless eyes.
"but i can tell you this: you will not be alone. whatever comes next, you will face it with everything you have ever been, everyone you have ever loved, every moment that has ever mattered. they are part of you now. they will always be part of you."
your heart, that phantom organ that still somehow managed to beat in your chest, swelled with something that felt almost like hope.
"will i see him again?" you whispered. "chan? will iâ"
death's expression softened. it was the first truly soft thing you had seen on his face since this journey began.
"i cannot promise you⊠that. i do not know what waits beyond this threshold. but i can promise you this: if he is there⊠he will be waiting. and if he is notâ" he reached out and took your hand again, his cold fingers wrapping around yours. "you will carry him with you. and that will be enough. it will have to be enough."
you nodded, swallowing against the thickness in your throat.
"okay," you breathed. "okay.â
his lips curved into something that might have been a smile, if smiles could exist on the face of death, despite crooked, âyouâre braver than most. most souls fight until the very last moment. they scream. they bargain. they beg for more time, for second chances, for anything that might let them go back. but youâŠâ
he shook his head, something like wonder in his voice; as if, after millennia of guiding souls, you had still managed to surprise him, âyou just⊠accepted it.â
âmaybe iâm just tired.â
"maybe." the edges of his lips twitched slightly, that same feigned simper. "or maybe you've already done all the fighting you needed to do. maybe this is just... rest."
you liked that. rest. not an ending, not a finality, just... rest. the kind of rest you had been craving for three years, the kind you had never been able to find in that grey apartment with its empty bed and its crushing silence. the kind that had eluded you no matter how many hours you slept, no matter how many days you spent pretending to be fine.
"thank you⊠death.â
"for what?"
"for being kind. for listening. forâ" you gestured vaguely at him, at the train, at everything. "for wearing his face. it made this easier. and harder. but mostly easier, i think. it felt like he was here with me, one last time."
something shifted in his expression. too fast to name, too quick to understand. but you felt it. you felt him, beneath the mask, beneath the centuries of solitude and duty and emptiness. you felt something reaching for you, something that wanted to hold on, something that was fighting against its own nature to be present with you in this moment.
"can i ask you for something?" the words came out before you could stop them, before you could think about whether they were appropriate or fair or kind.
"anything."
you hesitated. the train was slowing now, the memories fading from the windows, a soft light beginning to glow in the distanceâwarm and golden and somehow inviting, like a home you had never seen but somehow recognized. you were running out of time.
"can youâŠ" you stopped. swallowed. started again. "can you hold me? just for a moment? i know you're not himâi just... i want to be held one last time. by someone who looks like him."
he was quiet for a long moment, and you braced yourself for refusal. for the gentle explanation that this wasn't appropriate, wasn't allowed, wasn't what death was supposed to do. for the polite but firm rejection that would send you into the light alone, still hungry for a touch you would never feel again.
however, instead, he moved.
slowly. carefully. giving you every chance to change your mind, to pull away, to take back the request. his arms lifted, opened, offeredâa question more than an answer, an invitation more than an assumption. his haunting eyes held yours, asking permission, waiting for consent, refusing to assume anything.
you rose up from your own seat, moving forward to the spot beside him. the train hummed softly around you, the memories flickered beyond the window, and the light grew steadily brighterâyet none of it mattered. none of it existed. there was only him, and his open arms, and the moment stretching between you like a held breath.
you leaned into death himself.
when his arms finally closed around you, they were hesitant at first, as if he had forgotten how. the cold seeped through your clothes, through your skin, through to the boneâyet beneath that chill was something steady. something present. he held you with a gentleness that made your heart ache with recognition, that reminded your body of what it felt like to be held by someone who loved you.
it was slightly different from his.
his hugs had been warm, full-bodied, all-encompassing. he had held you like you were the most precious thing in the universe, like he was afraid you might disappear if he let go. he had pressed his face into your hair and breathed you in, and you had felt, in those moments, like nothing could ever hurt you. like the world outside could burn and you would still be safe, still be loved, still be home.
yet it still felt safe.
in deathâs arms, encased in his cold, cradled in his careful tenderness, you found safety for the first time in three years. the first time since chan's fingers had slackened in your grip. the first time since that endless, terrible tone had sliced through the hospital room and carved everything away.
"thank you," you whispered into his chest. the words were muffled, swallowed by the fabric of his black coat, by the cold, by the sheer impossibility of this moment.
his arms tightened. just slightly. just enough to let you know he had heard, he understood, he was here. "âŠyou're welcome."
you stayed like that for a long moment, wrapped in each other, the train slowing around you, the light growing brighter beyond the windows. you didn't want to let go. you didn't want this moment to end. but you knew⊠you knew⊠that all moments ended eventually. that was the nature of moments. that was the nature of everything. even this. even him. even the impossible, fleeting connection between a soul and the being who guided it into whatever came next.
"your âtemporary friendâ," you murmured, remembering his words from earlier. the phrase had stuck with you, lodged itself somewhere in your chest. "that's what you said you were."
this entity who had existed since before time had a name, who had guided more souls than there were stars in the sky. the light from beyond the windows caught his features, softening them, gilding the sharp edges of his cheekbones, warming the cold planes of his face. it made him look almost human. almost like chan. almost like someone you could keep.
in another life, perhaps. in another world.
"i think," you said slowly, "that you're the best âtemporary friendâ i've ever had."
his lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to respond, wanted to offer some words in return.
however, before he could, before the moment could stretch any further, the train came to a halt.
it was not the gentle stop of a train arriving at a station. it was a cessation, a stillness, an absolute end of movement. one moment the world was sliding past in a blur of light and memory; the next, everything was perfectly, utterly still.
THE LIGHT OUTSIDE THE WINDOWS WAS NOW SOFT, pearlescent, beautiful in a way that made your chest ache. through the glass, you could see a platform, not the abandoned, grimy platform from before, but something else. something more. it was bathed in that same soft light, and at the end of it, you could seeâŠ
a gate.
it was wrought iron, old and beautiful, covered in flowers that seemed to bloom even as you watched. beyond it, you could see a gardenâthe most beautiful garden you had ever imagined, with colors that didn't exist in the living world and light that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.
the afterlife.
your final destination.
death rose from the seat beside you, and the motion drew your eyes to his face one last time. then his hand was there, waiting. you took it confidently, letting him pull you gently to your feet. frost enveloped your fingers, yet beneath it was something solid, something steady, something that made you feel, even now, even at the end, like you weren't alone. he led you forward, through the train, down the corridor, towards the door that would open onto forever.
the doors slid open silently, revealing the platform beyond.
you stepped out together, hand in hand, and the light washed over you like warm water, like a blessing, like coming home after a long, hard journey. it was beautiful. it was peaceful. it was everything you had hoped for and more.
death stopped at the edge of the platform, just before the gate. his hand released yours, and you turned to face him, to say goodbye, to thank him one last time for everything he had doneâfor the kindness, for the patience, for holding you while you fell apart. the words were gathering in your throat, lining up like soldiers ready to march: thank you, i'll never forget you, i hope you find peace tooâ
however, before you could speak, before you could form the words that were gathering in your throat, he stepped forward and pulled you into his arms.
this was not the careful, hesitant embrace from before. this was not the gentle holding of a being learning to touch for the first time. this one was desperate. this one was fierce. this one held you like he was drowning and you were air, like he had been waiting for this moment for longer than you could imagine, like letting you go would kill him in a way that even death couldn't survive.
you froze, confused, your arms hanging uselessly at your sides.
"deathâ" you started, your voice muffled against his chest. but before you could finish, before you could ask what was happening, before you could process any of the emotions flooding through youâ
he kissed you.
his lips pressed against yours; cold as starlight, cold as the space between heartbeats, cold as everything he had ever beenâyet they were familiar. they fit against yours the way they had always fit, the way they had fit in the studio under fairy lights three years ago, the way they had fit in the hospital room when there were no words left to say, when all that remained was touch, tears, and the desperate need to hold on just a little longer.
and without thinking, without understanding, without knowing whyâŠ
you reciprocated his kiss.
your arms came up around him, pulling him closer, holding him the way you used to hold chan, the way you had held him a thousand times in a thousand different moments. your lips moved against his like they had never stopped, like the three years of silence and grief had never happened, like you were still the person you had been before everything fell apart.
but it was him.
somewhere in the back of your mind, in the depths of your soul, you knew. you had always known. the way he held you, the way he kissed you, the way his presence made you feel seen in a way that nothing else ever hadâit had always been him.
and this broke you.
because you were kissing chan. you were kissing chan one last time, and you hadn't known, hadn't realized, hadn't understood until this moment what you had been missing, what you had lost, what you had been given back for just a handful of heartbeats. three years of emptiness, three years of searching for him in every face, in every crowd, in every quiet moment when the world went still.
and he had been here all along. he had been holding you. he had been guiding you home.
tears streamed down your face, hot and endless, mixing with the cold of his lips, with the salt of three years of grief finally released. they fell between you, onto your joined mouths, onto the hands that clutched at each other like lifelines. he held you close until there were no space left, chest to chest, heart to heart, his hands familiar on your waist.
when you finally broke apart, when you finally pulled back just enough to look at him, his eyes were no longer moonless grey.
they were brown.
they were his brown⊠warm, genuine, and full of a love so vast it seemed to confine everything. they were the eyes that had held you together when everything else was falling apart, the eyes that haunted you in your dreams. they were the eyes you had searched for in every stranger's face, the eyes you had been so afraid you would never see again.
"chan," you breathed, and the word was a prayer, a question, a desperate hope. "chan, it's you. it's really you."
he smiled, that smile, the one that creased his cheeks with dimples, the one that had made you fall in love with him, the one you had dreamed about for three years, and nodded slowly.
"but you saidâyouâŠ" you couldn't form the words, couldn't process the betrayal, couldn't understand why he had let you suffer, why he had let you grieve, why he had let you believe he was a stranger.
"i know." his hand came up to cup your face, his thumb tracing the line of your cheek, wiping away tears that wouldn't stop falling. "i know what i said. i know what you believed. and i'm sorryâi'm so, so sorry⊠i had to. i had to guide you. i had to be here for you, just for a little while, because if i had shown you who i really was from the beginning, you would never have been able to let go."
"let go?" you shook your head, confusion and grief and desperate love all tangled together in your chest, a knot so tight you didn't think it would ever come undone. "let go of what? let go of you? i've been letting go of you for three years, chan. i've been trying so hard to forget you, to move on, to live, and i couldn't! i couldn't do any of it because you were everywhere, in everything, and now you're here, and you're telling meâ"
"i'm telling you goodbye."
the words landed like a blade between your ribs.
the world stopped. the light behind you dimmed. the train, the platform, the gateâall of it faded into background noise, into static, into nothing at all. there was only him, and his brown eyes full of love, and the words that had just carved themselves into your heart.
"what?"
"goodbye." his voice was soft, so soft, but it held the weight of eternity. "this is it, baby. this is the end. and iâŠ" his voice cracked, and he had to pause, had to gather himself, had to find the strength to continue. "i have to let you go."
"no." you grabbed his arms, held onto him with a desperation that surprised you both. "no, you can't. you can't do this. you can't come back to me just to leave again. you can'tâ"
"i have to." tears were falling from his eyes nowânot the clear tears of before, but something darker, something that looked almost like ink, trailing black paths down his pale cheeks. "i'm death, y/n. i have a duty, a purpose, a function. i can't leave the train. i can't cross through that gate. but youâŠ" he looked past her, at the garden beyond, at the light, the peace, and the judgement that was waiting. "you can. you will. and you'll be happy there. you'll be at peace. you'll finally rest."
"i don't want to rest." the words came out fierce, desperate, angry. "i want you. i've always wanted you. i waited for you for three years, chan. i died waiting for you. and now you're telling meâ"
"i'm telling you that i love you." his voice was steady now, certain, the voice of someone who had made peace with something impossible. "i'm telling you that i've loved you since the moment i saw you, and i'll love you until the end of everything. i'm telling you that i will wait for youânot just in this life, but in every life. when your soul is ready to be reborn, when you return to the world in a new body with a new identity and a new face, i will be here. waiting. and when your time comes againâwhenever that may be, however long it takes⊠i will be the one who comes for you. i will be the one who guides you home."
"you can't promise that."
"i can." he beamed through his tearsâblack tears, ink tears, the tears of a being who had existed for eternity and was feeling, for the first time, what it meant to lose something. âsome connections are too strong to be broken by death, time or the whims of gods. you and iâŠ" he paused, and his eyes held yours with an intensity that took your breath away. "you and i are bound, y/n. we have been since the moment we met, and we will be until the end of everything. that's not something they can take away. that's not something anyone can take away."
he leaned forward and pressed his lips to your forehead; a kiss so gentle, so tender, so full of love that it felt like a benediction.
"goodbye, my love," he whispered against your skin. "i'm more than grateful to see you one last time, to send you off one last time. i will wait for you. always."
he stepped back, out of your arms, out of your reach, and walked toward the train with a slowness that felt like torture.
each step was a slow death. each movement of his body away from you was another wound, another cut, another piece of your heart carved out and left to bleed on the platform.
you tried to follow.
you tried.
your legs moved before your mind could catch up, before you could think, before you could process what was happening. you took a step toward him, then another, your hand reaching out, reaching for him, reaching for chanâ
and stopped.
not because you chose to. not because you changed your mind. but because something stopped you.
an invisible barrier, warm and soft but utterly impassable, rose between you and the platform. between you and the train. between you and him.
"CHAN!" you screamed, and the sound tore from your throat like something living, like something dying, like something that would never stop echoing. you slammed your fists aggressively against the invisible barrier, desperate, "chan, please! don't do this! don't leave me again!"
he stopped at the door of the train and turned to look at you one last time.
his face was wet with those raven tears, those tears that spoke of a grief too deep for words. but he was smilingâthat smile, the one you had fallen in love with, the one you would carry with you through every life, every death, every rebirth.
"you're a cruel man, christopher chahn bahng!" you screamed, using his full name, the name only you had ever used, the name that held all your love and all your anger and all your desperate, impossible hope. "how can you do this to me? how can you bring me back to you just to let me go again?"
his smile dropped, just slightly, just enough to let you know that he heard you, that he understood, that he loved you even in this, especially in this.
"iâm sorry⊠i love you, y/n, " he called, his voice carrying across the impossible distance between you. "i always have. i always will."
the train doors began to close.
you pressed against the invisible barrier, your hands flat against nothing, your body straining toward him even though you knew⊠you knew⊠you couldn't reach him.
"i love you so much," you called out, and your voice broke on the last word, dissolved into sobs, into tears, into the thousand pieces of your heart that were scattering across the space between you. "i love you so much, chan. i never stopped. i never stopped."
through the closing doors, through the gap that was getting smaller and smaller, you saw him.
those onyx tears, streaming down his cheeks like ink, like grief, like love made visible. that smile, still there, still his, still holding all the warmth and love that had sustained you through three years of darkness.
and then, as the doors sealed shut, as the train began to move in reverse, sliding away from the platform, away from you, away into the darkness from which it had comeâhe blew you a kiss.
the doors closed.
the train began to move, not forward, towards some unknown destination, but in reverse, sliding away from the platform, away from the gate, away from you.
you slid down against the invisible barrier, your knees crashing against the cold floor with a force you couldn't feelâbecause what was physical pain compared to this? what were bruises and breaks compared to the sight of him disappearing, of him leaving again, of him choosing to go when every fiber of your being was screaming at him to stay?
your heart shattered even more. you would die the second time due to this.
then, ludicrously, it pieced itself back together⊠only to shatter again, and again, and again, an endless cycle of breaking, and mending and breaking, each wave of grief more brutal than the last.
through the windows of the train, you could see him.
standing in one of the compartments, his hand pressed to the glass. his eyes remained on yours as the train began to move faster, locked onto yours with an intensity that burned through the distance, through the darkness, through the impossible space between you.
his lips were moving. words you couldn't hear, couldn't catch, couldn't hold onto⊠but somehow, you were able to comprehend.
i love you. forgive me.
the train slid further into darkness, and his hand stayed pressed to the glass, as if he could reach through it, as if he could touch you one last time, as if he could bridge the impossible distance with nothing but will, want, and love.
his abnormal, inky tears⊠you could see them even from here, even through the gathering dark, even as the train carried him away from you. rivers of night, pouring from the eyes of the only person you had ever truly loved.
the train was smaller now, a shrinking shape in the endless void, a light growing dimmer with each passing second.
you pressed your hand against the barrier, matching his gesture, reaching for him even though you knew you couldn't touch, couldn't hold, couldn't keep.
and then it was gone.
behind you, the gates to the afterlife blazed with lightâwarm, welcoming, patient. the garden beyond called to you with its color, its peace, and its promise of rest. yet you couldnât move towards it. not yet. not while the last image of him still burned behind your eyes⊠his hand on the glass, his lips that you would kiss a thousand times, his tears falling like the universe itself was mourning with him.
i'll wait for you.
and somewhere, in the darkness between worlds, on a train that ran forever through the spaces between life and death, someone was waiting for you.
â hard of hearing!bang chan x fem reader, in which an accident that left bang chan hard of hearing for the rest of his life starts to take a toll on him. and what good of a wife would you be than to gift him the thing that he had been missing through all these years.
a/n: okay i know i said i would update you caught my heart today, but i am not finished with it yet đ. so here, have my short drabble of bang chan i had wrote years ago. i tweak some parts of it it make it a lot more realistic but please note that this is non-canon compliant. i just love something emotional and comfort it by the end of the story. so enjoy reading! < 3
word count: 1.5k words.
Christopher Chahn Bahng wasnât born deaf.
He was born healthyâgifted, even. Music seemed to run through his veins from the moment he could hold a microphone. He climbed his way through the industry with relentless passion, eventually becoming part of a thriving group that took the world by storm. Even after retiring from performing, he never truly left music behind. He continued working behind the scenes as a producer, spending countless hours in recording studios, perfecting sounds only he seemed capable of hearing.
Until the accident happened.
Years of constant exposure to loud audioâheadphones pressed against his ears for hours without proper breaks, overused earpieces during performances and recording sessionsâfinally caught up to him. What began as a persistent ringing soon turned into something far worse. An eardrum rupture.
The damage left him 70db hard of hearing.
From that moment on, everything in Christopherâs life began to crumble.
Conversations became exhausting puzzles. Words blurred together, fading before he could grasp them. Sounds he once relied onâmusic, laughter, voicesâslowly slipped further and further away from him.
And the cruelest part of it all? Even your voice began to disappear from his world. He hadnât heard it clearly since the rupture.
Watching him over the years, you knew the loss had begun to take its toll. His temper grew shorter. His voice, when he spoke, often came out louder than necessaryâalmost aggressive. Not because he meant to be, but because he could no longer judge the volume of his own words. People began avoiding him. Not out of cruelty, but out of discomfort. They didnât know how to communicate with him. None of them knew sign language, and awkward misunderstandings often made conversations exhausting for everyone involved.
His bandmates still checked on him, of course. Most of the time through text messages, since many of them were busy with their own careers, families, and responsibilities. But when it came to truly adjusting to his new world, no one did it the way you did.
You learned sign language with him. Sat beside him night after night, practicing until your fingers moved naturally. You never made him feel like a burden, never allowed him to believe he was being left behind. Even when the world around him fell silent, you stayed.
Touching his arm when you approached so heâd know you were there. Resting your hand on his shoulder during conversations. Letting him feel the vibrations of your voice against your chest when you spoke. Reminding him, in every small way possible, that he was never alone.
Still, no matter how strong Christopher Chahn Bahng appeared to beâprideful, stubborn, resilientâthere were moments when the vulnerability showed.
And you, of all people, knew exactly what those moments looked like. The way his jaw clenched when he saw people talking in the distance, unable to tell whether they were speaking about him or not. The crease forming between his brows when he missed pieces of conversations. The quiet frustration lingering in his eyes whenever the silence felt too heavy.
His hearing loss made him feel weak.
You once overheard Han Jisung gently asking him about hearing aids. The memory still lingered in your mind.
âHave you ever thought about using one?â Jisung had asked carefully.
Chanâs reaction was immediate. A deep frown formed on his face.
âIâm not putting some apparatus in my ear just to make myself look weak in front of people, Ji,â he muttered. âIâd rather not hear at all than be treated differently.â
The stubbornness in his voice left no room for argument. And for a long time, you respected that choice.
Until one moment changed everything.
One quiet evening, after returning home from work, you found him lying on the bed. A book rested in his hands as his eyes scanned across the pages, completely unaware of your arrival. He didnât hear the door open. Didnât notice your footsteps. Only when the mattress dipped under your weight as you climbed onto the bed beside him did he finally realize you were there.
He looked up immediately.
âYouâre home,â he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. His expression softened as he placed the book on the bedside table.
He shifted closer, eyes studying your face. You tilted your head slightly, raising your hands.
âHow was your day off?â you asked in sign language.
But he didnât answer. Instead, he simply stared at you.
One second passed.
Then another.
A full minute slipped by before he finally moved closer, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head against your chest. His voice came out quiet. Almost hesitant.
âCan you talk for a little while?â
Your heart tightened.
âI want to feel you vibrate when you speak.â
It wasnât a direct confession. He never said he missed your voice. But you knew. You knew how much it hurt him. Three years of silence had been slowly breaking something inside him. And every time Bang Chan shuddered slightly when your chest vibrated with your words⊠it broke something inside you too. You never pitied him. He hated pity. But the loneliness in his actions was impossible to ignore.
So when your fourth wedding anniversary arrived, you didnât even have to think about what gift to give him.
The decision had been made long ago.
Now, sitting across from him in the restaurant, your fingers tightened around the small box hidden beneath the table. You watched quietly as your husband ate his meal.
Eventually, he noticed your staring. He paused mid-bite.
âWhy are you staring at me?â he asked, confusion creasing his forehead.
You smiled. Then gently placed the small box in front of him.
âOpen it,â you signed.
He did. His brows furrowed immediately when he saw what was inside.
A hearing aid.
He looked up at you, clearly questioning.
âWhat the hell is this for?â
You reached across the table.
âJust⊠wear it for me. Please.â
After a moment of hesitation, he sighed and placed the device into his ear. Once it was set, you reached for his hands. Your fingers intertwined with his across the table. For a moment, you simply looked at him. Then you tightened your grip slightly.
And spoke.
âHi, Chris.â
Bang Chan flinched. His eyes widened instantly, shock flashing across his face as your voice suddenly filled his ears. His breath hitched. His hands began trembling. Tears welled up in his eyes before he could stop them. Then suddenly, he lowered his head onto your hands on the tableâhis shoulders shaking as sobs escaped him uncontrollably.
Your knuckles soon felt warm and wet.
He was crying.
âChris⊠baby,â you murmured softly, your own voice beginning to crack. But he only tightened his grip around your hands, shaking his head as if asking for a moment longer.
So you gave it to him.
You waited quietly until his breathing slowly steadied. Then you spoke again, your voice softer.
âChannie⊠look at me.â
He lifted his head without hesitation. And in that moment, realization fully settled in. He could hear you. Not a faint vibration. Not a distant echo.
Your actual voice.
âI hear you,â he whispered, his voice breaking as fresh tears rolled down his cheeks.
You nodded, smiling through your own tears. Your hands gently cupped his face, thumbs brushing against his damp skin.
âGodâŠâ he breathed shakily. âI missed your voice so much. I can hear you again.â
You laughed softly.
âCan you say my name again?â he asked.
âChris.â
His breath trembled as he closed his eyes, pressing a soft kiss to your wrist.
âThank you, baby,â he whispered. âI could never ask for a better gift than hearing your voice again. If I knew it felt this good⊠I wouldâve gotten one sooner.â
A small laugh escaped your lips as you ran your fingers through his hair.
âMy ever-so-prideful husband,â you teased gently. âAnd you donât have to thank me. You know Iâd do anything for you.â
You leaned closer.
âI love you, Channie.â
A mischievous spark suddenly flickered in his eyes.
âDo you think we could use this hearing aid for something else?â he asked.
Your brows furrowed.
âLike what?â
His grin widened.
âMaybe⊠hearing you scream my name?â
Your eyes widened in shock before you smacked his shoulder.
âCHRISTOPHER!â
âIâm kidding!â he laughedâgenuinely this time. A sound you hadnât heard from him in years.
âI love you more, Y/N.â
And of course, you already knew that. Bang Chan had never exactly been subtle about his love for you.
After allâ
He still turned off the hearing aid you gave him whenever someone else tried to talk to him. But the moment you spoke? He always turned it back on.
Pairing: David!Clark Kent x Metahuman Female!Reader
Summary: You can take on other's injuries and pain. You are the Planet's copy editor, the Justice Gang's medic, and the keeper of Clark Kent's heart (or so you thought). The man you're in love with asks one sacrifice too big. This is the aching journey through trauma, therapy, sacrifice, and choosing yourselvesâand each otherâon purpose.
Tags: ANGST, GUN VIOLENCE, PTSD, Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Jimmy Knows Clark Is Superman, Lois Knows Clark Is Superman, Healing/Regeneration, Body Horror (Injury Transference), Self Harm, Jealousy / Love Triangle (Clark x Lois), Emotional Trauma, Protective!Clark, Jimmy is A Good Friend
NOW: CHAPTER 4B (summary under the cut)
updated 11/27/25
(please comment on any parts, this post, or message me if you'd like to be added to the taglist. comments keep me motivated, thank you so much for reading)
Chapter 1: The Life Line
In a city of heroes, some sacrifices are invisible. You can heal anythingâbut at a cost no one suspects. When a gala turns deadly, you must decide how far youâll go to save the people you love, even when it breaks your heart. Clark thought he knew you. He was wrong.
You tried again, breath shaking. âClark. I'm serious. Iâve never healedâlike this,â you said, voice thin. âThrough the chest. Iâd neverâthis could kill meââ
âI donât care!â he snapped, louder than youâd ever heard him.
âJust fix her! Please, please, I canâtâ I canât lose herâ"
Chapter 2: Alcestis
Three weeks of silence after the gala, and neither of you have learned how to speak without reopening the wound. Clark loves youâhe swears he doesâbut guilt makes him clumsy, overprotective, unbearably gentle. You love him too, but love doesnât heal like you do. It bruises. It scars.
Chapter 3: Trouble
Clark loves you. He doesnât love Lois. Saying it is easy; living it is work. While you keep your distanceâcopy edits, closed doors, strict boundariesâClark spirals into the sky. He needs to learn the difference between being good and being forgiven. If thereâs a future, it wonât be because you waited. Waiting has terms.
Chapter 4A: Omelas
Clark is tryingâtherapy, boundaries, small choices that donât hurt you just to save everyone else. Little by little, you start to let Clark back into your orbit: coffee runs, plant check-ins, quiet talks about what your healing really costs you. A public disaster forces the Justice Gang to demand your powers in front of the city, and Clark, as Superman, has to make an impossible call under live cameras.
Chapter 4B: Omelas
Clark peels off his blood-soaked suit as he listens to the city turn on him. He opens his door to the one person heâs most afraid of losing. A rain-soaked night becomes a string of confessions. Love. Want. Wait.
"I'll see you around?"
"I'd like that."
OR âwhere chan would do anything for his very pregnant wife. even if it meant freezing his ass off to walk to the nearest convenience store to satiate her cravings at 3 AM.
husband!bangchan x femwife!reader
word count: 4.1k
content: extreme fluff, food (lots of food talk and eating), reader is 7 months along her pregnancy, talks of body changing, mentions of vomit/sickness, reader gets a little in her head about acts of service, reader gets mushy about chan providing, our beloved married couple is having a baby girl, reader calls chan "channie" many times because it makes him feel needed, reader and chan are checking each other out, little short and brief mention of sex, lots of channie introspection, skinship???, feel good fic! with purposeful lowercase...
author's note: i have so much fun writing chan worshipping the reader, i just adore and appreciate the art of the fluffy piece these days. thank you to the anon who requested this i took a liberty with the driving and changed it to a walk. i hope you enjoy, my love! feel free to leave more brilliant requests guys! muah.
â
the past two years have had chan living in a daze. not that he's complaining, and it's not the kind of daze that leaves one disoriented. he would gladly do it all over again as long as you were by his side. it was a dream, a high he was riding up to the sun. you.
he feels like the luckiest man in the world, having toured with his Kids around different countries, writing and producing a plethora of new releases, new brand endorsements, and exciting new memories to cherish for a lifetime. but the second chan's eyes meet yours, he's not just chan anymore. he's "channie".
you see, by far his favorite part of these past two years was marrying the love of his life. putting a ring on the woman who stayed with him for every hardship, every time chan wept softly about the guilt he felt for keeping you hidden like a secret. the pressure he felt to not only protect you from the public eye of scrutiny, but protect his love to save himself from self sabotaging.
you stuck like glue, you little bugger. cupping his face and kissing his tears away every time he got in his head. and every time you quelled him, chan would think of which ring he was going to buy you. and suddenly, he'd be smiling again.
because you made him believe he deserved your love for life.
the Kids knew you before you'd even known them. a bit overwhelming at first, but chan was proud that his favorite boys loved his favorite girl. han was the first to have a serious conversation with you about how often studio sessions are now taken up by your name repeated on chan's tongue.
when you know, you know. and your documents now read with "bahng" at the end of your name... chan doesn't do halfway. why doesn't he go a step further? a little piece of you and him in pure innocence. it was his dream, after all. chan had hinted at it with instagram videos of babies in starfish onesies to toddlers who could lift up dumbbells with ease at the gym. he busted out his own baby pictures just to be extra cruel.
the sight of you wearing his ratty old "mahagrid" hoodie and a pair of panties on a fateful night resulted in a pregnancy. he couldn't help it, you looked perfectly, contentedly his.
so many nights, chan has to come home late. he's always seen his insomnia as a vice, how could he not? you jokingly mentioned that when the baby comes, he'll be on night time duty, and he valiantly agreed. but just for tonight, he comes home (at 12 AM, which he considers to be good behavior in comparison to other nights) to his current obsession as he toes off his shoes by the apartment door. quietly, removing layer after layer to the bedroom like a breadcrumb trail.
he opens your shared bedroom door, the hallway light bleeding in. chan curses under his breath, quickly closing the door as quietly as possible.
there you are, my gorgeous girls...
he'll miss this sight when the baby comes. there you lay, on cotton and linen blend of bedding, sleeping on your back like some sort of domestic, fertility goddess. or a disney princess. or both.
he's absolutely broke down at this sight when he's been delirious off of lack of sleep. your hair is messy and tousled around the pillow you dream on, lips slightly open. waiting for prince charming to make his presence known. you're wearing his shirt, his shirt as always these days. you'd complained that your sleep shirts didn't fit anymore, but that was no excuse to use before your stomach began to swell.
oh, your body. chan rounded the room to start the shower in the bathroom, but stared back at your sleeping form in the mirror. you were a walking miracle in his eyes, even if it meant you walked with sore steps. the beautiful curve of your tummy holding his child, his beautiful baby girl who would be just as disarming in charm as you were. the way you were starting to waddle more around the apartment or on walks downtown make his eyes crinkly with joy. you truly were a gift.
chan didn't think he could've topped his happiness when he found out you were pregnant. a blatant miscalculation due to his sheer euphoria learning you were having a girl. he was a wreck in the studio that day when you'd sent him back to work, to a point where his boys were concerned something bad went wrong. he was a snotty, blubbering mess, and all he could muster out was "tiny dresses".
chan washes up, settles on a pair of boxers and sweatpants to wear, and shuts the bathroom door to trap the remnant steam. you've been getting particularly sensitive about scents these days. a cologne you used to love on him now makes your nostril hairs singed.
never fear. chan switched to a new one that didn't contain patchouli. it's the little things.
he hums his most recent tune he's created as he shakes his hair in a towel, draping it hastily on the ottoman by the bed just so he can finally sleep next to his wife. the mattress dips with his weight, and his body finds yours like a needle pointing north. not before rolling up the end of the shirt you're wearing and placing his hand on your tummy.
"daddy's home, bubba... we're gonna let mummy sleep, yeah? i love you so much," he whispers, smiling audible in his voice as he presses three soft kisses to the side of your pregnant belly.
i. love. you.
he sighs content and decides on how he wants to sleep for the night. head tucked on your chest or holding you? he settles on the latter and lies back down, fixing your shirt and drawing the covers up. chan's strong arms come around you, one tucked under your head so you sleep on his bicep, and the other a bit over your stomach, mindful of his baby girl.
you smell like milky cream and laundry detergent. probably your magnesium lotion he bought you to help you fall asleep, but it helps coax him into it as well. he presses a kiss onto your forehead, closing his eyes and keeping his lips smushed there. this is the only way chan will have good sleep these days. it's all your fault, making him pliant all the time.
"i love you, sweetheart... goodnight..."
he dreams of ivory towers and tiny dresses. battling a dragon and riding off with you and a small rabbit.
â
"channie...? channie... jeez, you hate your wife that much to ignore me?"
your raspy voice wakes him up. like his brain won't stand for that accusation.
chan's eyes peel open with sleep still in them, and he notices the lamp on your bedside table is on. he groans, stretching a bit to look at the digital clock on his own bedside where the time reads 3:02 AM in blocky red light.
you whine and take his face into your hands. cold hands, directing his attention onto you. you... you're just about the sexiest woman in the damn universe.
"far out, woman," he grins, dimples poking through as his own night voice comes out deeper than he anticipates. his crinkled eyes rove over you. disheveled with sleep and a stubborn persistence in your grasp on him. you give him a silent look but he sees the way you get all shy on him. you still go all bashful on him even after all this time together? he got you pregnant and you'reâ
"i'm starving. i'm so starving, i could throw up on you."
chan sits upright, laughing and shaking his head as he runs a hand through his blonde pixie. "seems a little counterintuitive, yeah?"
"you're not funny."
"i'm plenty funny, sweetheart. "funny" is what got you knocked upâ"
you hiss and cover your stomach on both sides, rubbing softly as if the baby had a nosy ear and could even understand the implication. chan presses his lips together to not laugh. you're more sensitive than normal, it isn't your fault. and you are very serious when it comes to the baby hearing in on things.
"alright, alright. what do my babygirls want to eat?"
oh no. you've gone silent, but your face also looks guilty. chan knows it too well, that look you've got. you shift a bit in your sitting position on the bed, rolling your head down to look at his hands.
"i was thinking, like... for the record, the baby wants this."
"right."
"not me. she's very picky."
"of course, love."
"and you don't even really have to..."
your voice is going small on him. chan's smile softens like butter into one that's less teasing and more reassuring. he sits upright even more, cupping your cheek in a hand and taking your own hand into the other.
"nothing's too much for my girls, yeah? want you to remember that... now, what will make my wife feel better? can hearing her growling from over here."
a nervous laugh blossoms up your throat. chan loves that sound. he hopes your daughter has your laugh. he actually just hopes the baby takes after you completely. a mini you? gosh, he'll be ruined.
"i was actually thinking of... some strawberry gummies. and some chipsâ not the honey kind, i want something really savory. i miss food dyes... bring me something super salty, like cup ramenâ wait, put cheese in it, but do it when you come home so the cheese doesn't get all hard. a fruit juice... something meaty..."
you trail off when you see chan is unperturbed by the awakening to satiate your hunger. sure, he's gone on runs for you during the day, after working and rehearsals, or walked with you even. but this felt different. it was 3 AM and you woke him up, of course there was a little nagging voice in your head telling you he'd fix you a bowl of cereal and go back to sleep.
he runs his thumb across the apple of your cheek and tilts his head, staring at you like you're an angel from above. "is that it?"
you blink slowly... voice a bit small as you reply, "cream bread... the chocolate kind?"
there it is. chan just wanted you to say it first. his perfect little wife and her heightened sweet tooth. he breathes a laugh out of his nose and presses a kiss onto your lips. slow and tired, but attentive to how you melt and find comfort in your husband again. you make a small noise as he parts his lips from yours, and his hand snakes to the back of your neck. he hums before breaking the silence.
"i'll be back. going to the CU 'round the corner," chan grunts as he stands up, sweatpants riding low. his back is rippled in muscle that is contoured by the lowlight. you can see the planes of them move as he throws a shirt and hoodie on. it's your turn to ogle him. you lay on your side as he collects his wallet and keys from the nightstand, a smirk on your face. he catches it quickly, stopping in his tracks as a flush creeps up the tips of his ears and his neck.
"keeping staring like that and i won't be leaving this roomâ"
"channie!"
"oh, you're not the only one who's hungry..."
"get out."
â
it's a cold night walk. of course, chan never told you that it would be cold, or that the convenience store was about 10 minutes away. you don't worry your pretty little head about that, stress isn't good for the baby. or for you in general. you were always on edge these days, he can take the heavy load for the two of you. or three.
he enjoys the night, or should he say extremely early morning? his hands sunk into his hoodie pockets, a beanie to keep his head and ears warm. when the city is dead save for a few overnight workers and groups of people out for a good time. he feels at peace, it gives himself sometime to think.
thinking about you, if you were tucking yourself back into bed or waddling around the apartment and scrolling your phone. you liked going into the nursery too, talking to the baby in you. his mother had bought a bunny mobile and sent it over, the most darling and precious thing that hangs over the crib.
chan looks down at his phone as he pulls it out of his pocket. his lockscreen is a picture of you, when you were 5 months pregnant and holding an ultrasound picture by the beach. candid, wearing one of your frilly little bathing suits. perfection incarnate.
that ultrasound was one of the first that chan could see all of his precious daughter. and he was delighted to have showed it off to his boys. felix was the first to cry. seungmin sullied the moment by asking where exactly the baby was supposed to be.
chan laughs to himself at the memory, masking it with a cough as not to look crazy at this late hour. he's still good for time, his cheeks don't feel too cold from the air.
there's three reasons chan goes to the gym: to feel good, carry his little family, and carry his wife's goods for her. he's proud to say it's come in handy at the moment as his basket is filled to the brim by the time he's done collecting your things. of course he got you your silly snacks. but he'd be a terrible husband if he let you eat snacks as a meal. naturally, he bought some chicken and sides for you from another shop next door. he knew you loved when he ate with you, who was he to deny himself.
he couldn't stop himself from spoiling you. your daughter will never want for anything either.
the worker gave chan a side eye when he rang him up, but didn't say a word. the basket is brimming with all sorts of quick treats. chan takes his two plastic bags with pride and exits the small shop.
he barely even minds the walk back to the apartment, more concerned for the fact that your fried chicken might be getting cold rather than himself. the hum of subtle night life is like a lullaby. chan's only ever really known urban living. maybe by your second child, he'd move you all out to somewhere more quaint.
his familiar steps fall into succession and lead once more to home. he uses his keycard and opens the door, taking off his shoes, and letting out a big sigh. home is warm. home smells like you and him and the diffuser of lavender you put in the nursery to keep it fresh.
he's about to call your name when he shakes himself of the notion. he's treating you out tonight, no way he'd make you shuffle out on the cold floor to the kitchen. chan takes the bags into the bedroom, where he finds you sitting just as he presumed. phone propped on your stomach, scrolling as the lampshade paints you a pretty glowing softness. and you gasp, actually gasp when you see the bags.
"are you crazy?" you whisper-shout as you sit further upright against the headboard. chan sets the bags down and wordlessly situates a pillow behind your back.
with him in such close proximity, you take his face into your hands. his skin is flushed red and rosy from the cold, the tip of his nose a delightful pink. but you look at him with a scolding stare. he leans into your hands, kissing the center of your palms and shaking his head.
don't start, sweetheart. this is for you.
he then sits on the edge of the bed, bestowing you each item he brought back for you. like presenting a dragon her hoard.
each food is brought about by an explanation of your tastes from him. extra cheese on your ramen cup, which he made last to maintain its freshness. he brought you fried chicken because you need protein even if its breaded and fried. a strawberry juice to go with your gummies, but he'll be damned if he lets you go without having water first. three different cream breads, a carton of grapes, andâ
your bottom lip is wobbling. your neck is bowed and... oh...
oh, my sweet girl...
chan sets down the grapes and a frown paints his lips. was it the spices? was it too much for your nose? are you not hungry anymore? his hand comes up to raise your chin, he dips his head down a bit to meet your eyes.
"baby... talk to me."
that breaks you. your face scrunches up and chan coos, bringing you into his arms and rubbing up and down your back. he feels your shoulders shake, your tears on his neck, and he's about to kiss your temple when... you laugh. it's a wet sound, and comes with a sniffle. and you wipe your tears yourself and look up at him with not sadness, but with so much joy chan doesn't know what to make of it.
"thank you. so fucking much, channie... gosh, i don't even know what to start with..."
chan's lungs feel relieved, letting out a big breath. his smile is painted back on again as he releases you and presses a quick peck to your cheek. "deep breath, sweetheart. 'm gonna feed you and our baby girl, yeah?"
as promised he eats with you, but ultimately makes sure you're nourished first. he fixes up all your food into a nice spread for you. these days, you've been starting with your sweets instead of ending with them. calling for a "savory treat" has taken up your dessert times. he makes sure you eat as much as you can and as much as you want. he doesn't comment when you "steal" from his portion of rice.
it's not stealing when he was practically begging you to eat his food as well.
he thinks you're as cute as a button when you chew. cheeks full and eyes still round and sleepy. its about 5AM now, but that's when the best words come out. he kisses your hairline as you lean against his shoulder, chewing on crunchy fried chicken. the baby gives little flutters to your stomach with small movements. you bring chan's hand to your swelling stomach and he grins.
"being a little naughty already? huh, bubba?" chan leans down a bit as his nose rubs on the cotton fabric separating him from your skin. your free hand comes into chan's hair, scratching his scalp soothingly.
"we should sign her up for football with the amounts of kicking she does. or dancing. either way, she got your genes," you muse as he looks up at you and then gives your baby a faux scolding.
"is that right, babygirl? are you giving mummy a hard time with your moving? hmm?"
"you're really good at that... talking all... sweet and everything."
chan looks up and parts from your tummy, but still keeps a hand over to check if the baby wants to make her presence known again. his lip pouts. "'course i'm good at it, i've had my practice with you, after allâ"
"no, you're... you're so gentle with her and me. even when i make you go on... wild goose chases for food," you sigh out, looking at the remnant meal that was eaten all over the bed. chan takes your hands into his and presses a kiss to your left hand, where your wedding ring sits almost as comparable in divinity as you do.
"first of all, you didn't make me do anything. i wanted to, okay? i'm a husband, and i'm going to be a fatherâ hell, i've been a father to seven boys for who knows how long. but one of my absolute favorite things in this world is taking care of you. loving you. this is just love, sweetheart. all of it is love."
"shut up," you smile bashfully and toss his head a bit with a nudge of your hand against his shoulder. he gasps and clutches his chest.
"i spill my heart out, and my wife tells me to shut up... the divorce must be near. you're next, you know," he adds, leaning down to now speak to your daughter. "the second you come out, she'll be sending you off to boarding school."
"i meant... your mushy words are making me love you more than i already do," you whisper, expression and eyes averted from him. so much attention. so much love. chan understands the feeling. where the love feels like it could burst out of your chest. he hums, he already knew that the second you pushed his shoulder.
"good. i hope you feel like that every day."
"i do. i really do."
and he gives a smile. all dimples and crinkled corners of his eyes. and under his palm, he feels those little flutters again. like the baby is dragging her hand along lining to find chan's voice. he'll never get used to that. he's afraid that when he holds his daughter for the first time, he won't want to let her go. to shelter her in his warm and keep her next to her mummy in bed at all times.
"look at that... sweet girl, you hear that? i love your mummy and she loves me. and we both love you so much... i can't wait to meet you," he whispers against the cotton of your shirt and rubs his hand in a circular motion over the roundness. you smile and look down to direct your voice to the baby as well.
"you have the best daddy in the whole world," you say, matching chan's soft voice. his heart does a flip. you've told him many times already that he's the best, but it never gets old. he hums and presses his forehead to your stomach.
"you're mummy is the best thing in my life. she'll be the best in yours as well... you better behave when you pop outâ pop out easily please, don't hurt mummy too much. she's precious to me."
chan raises his head to find you already looking down at him with adoration. and he comes up to press a longing kiss to your lips, arms circling around your shoulders. when he pulls back, though he'd love to kiss you into a stupor, he takes his time to look over your face. really look at you. all of these features he hope show on your daughter. he's too softhearted, he can barely even think about it. he swears he gets a little misty eyed.
"you're the strongest, most beautiful and brilliant woman ever."
you say nothing but make a cute little whining noise from the attention he's giving you. he mocks it back and presses his face into your neck.
you smell like home. your body is a home, a strong powerhouse of pure life. he's both amazed and not surprised that you're in the state you're in right now. he closes his eyes and he's there. in the nursery with you, singing to his heavy, fat, and healthy bundle of joy. you're in his lap and he rocks both you and your daughter to sleep.
"channie?"
"mm?"
"you have work in two hours."
is that supposed to deter him from holding you? he smiles against your skin. he'll call the boys to take a day off, an excuse about you having a clinic appointment. in reality, he'll be taking care of you. lazing around in bed, working from the sheets on his laptop as you sleep. he'll watch you bounce on a yoga ball in front of the TV and rub your feet after taking a walk of fresh air with you.
he'll keep you fed and warm and safe, and your daughter will feel it all the same.
CONTENT: Â Angst, hurt/comfort (no comfort yet), jealousy, insecurity, idol!AU, emotionally heavy argument, open ending / temporary separation, set-up for future reconciliation?
SUMMARY: Dating an idol meant accepting rumors, edits and ships with every girl he stood next to. You thought you could handle itâuntil the media fixated on the "perfect chemistry" between Chan and another idol. One night, all your bottled-up jealousy and fear of not being enough explodes into an argument he's too exhausted to handle, and he walks out, leaving you alone with the question of whether love is really enough to hold everything together.
This is the second part of: BETWEEN THE NOISE AND US
He didnât even make it to the elevator.
The echo of your door closing was still in his bones when his phone vibrated in his pocket. Once, twice, three times in quick succession. By the time he dragged it out with a rough sigh, the screen was flooded with notifications.
[PD-nim]: Call me ASAP. Emergency with the track.
[3 missed calls â PD-nim]
[New message â Manager-hyung]
[Producer chat â 27 new messages]
âFuckâŠâ he muttered under his breath, pressing his thumb hard against the bridge of his nose.
For a secondâjust a secondâhe considered ignoring it. Turning around. Knocking on your door again. Saying something that would stop the way your voice had broken on âYouâre leaving?â
But reality landed like a weight on his shoulders. He was already at his limit before the fight. Now the universe was asking for more.
He hit call.
âYeah, hyungâ he said, voice flat.
âChan, where are you?â His PD sounded stressed, more than usual. âWeâve got an issue with the pre-master. Thereâs a glitch in the vocal stem and the deadlineâs in the morning. We need you at the studio. Now.â
He closed his eyes for a second, head tipping back against the cold wall of the hallway.
Of course.
âOkayâ he answered mechanically. âIâll be there in twenty.â
He hung up before he could think too hard about it. Before he could think about you on the other side of that door, probably still standing where heâd left you.
He stared at the wood for one heartbeat too long.
Donât.
If you go back in now, youâre going to say something you regret. Youâre already running on fumes.
He turned away, shoved his cap back on and headed down the stairs, each step feeling heavier than the last.
Another night at the studio.
Another night of not sleeping.
Another night where you would be alone with your thoughts and he wouldnât be there to hold you together.
He hated it.
He went anyway.
You didnât know any of that.
For you, the last sound of him was the door closing. After that, there was nothingâno footsteps coming back, no quick knock saying, âIâm sorry, I didnât mean it like that.â
Just silence.
You cried until your throat hurt, until your chest ached from the force of the sobs. At some point, the tears stopped being dramatic and just⊠leaked, slow and constant, soaking the fabric of your sleeves, the pillow youâd dragged to your chest on the couch.
Time blurred. The phone screen dimmed, brightened, dimmed again as you picked it up, put it down, picked it up again. The photo was long gone now, buried under your call log and the empty chat with his name at the top.
My loveđ:
last seen: online
You stared at that tiny wordâonlineâfor far too long. Wondering if he was looking at your conversation too. Wondering if his cursor was blinking on an empty line just like yours and he didnât know how to start.
You typed:
Iâm sorry.
You erased it.
You typed:
Please come back.
You erased it.
You typed:
I know you need space. Just⊠let me know youâre okay.
You erased that too.
In the end, you didnât send anything. You felt like you had no right to ask him for reassurance after how hard youâd pushed. After saying things that had sliced straight through his already thin patience.
You curled up tighter on the couch, wrapping a blanket around yourself even though you werenât cold.
Your mind replayed the worst parts on loop.
âIt feels like I lose to some damn edit online.â
âIf thatâs not enough⊠I donât know what else I can do.â
âRight now I canât be the answer to everything that hurts you.â
Youâd wanted him to understand you.
You hadnât realized how clearly heâd just told you: he was hurting too.
Guilt crawled into your chest, heavy and stubborn.
Youâd been so focused on your own pain that you hadnât really looked at him when he walked in. The deep shadows under his eyes. The stiffness in his shoulders. The way heâd said âItâs been a really long dayâ like it was the understatement of the year.
Of course he was tired of explaining himself. Of defending every smile.
Of reassuring you every time the world shouted that someone else would fit him better.
âWhy am I here? How long will this last before he realizes there are better options out there?â
You cringed at your own words. They werenât just unfair to him; they were cruel to yourself.
You loved him.
You knew he loved you.
And yet, when your fear took the wheel, you threw that trust onto the back seat.
You pressed the heels of your hands to your eyes, rubbing hard.
âI donât want to be like thisâ you whispered to the empty room.
It didnât answer. The only sound was the faint hum of the fridge and your uneven breathing.
Eventually, your body gave out before your mind did. You didnât remember actually falling asleep; one second you were staring at the dark ceiling, the next your alarm was going off on the coffee table, sharp and violent after what felt like five minutes.
Morning was cruel.
You dragged yourself to the bathroom on autopilot. The light was too bright. Everything felt too loud.
When you lifted your eyes to the mirror, for a second you didnât recognize yourself.
Your eyelids were swollen, the skin underneath tinted a bruised red-purple. The white of your eyes was veined and irritated, making your irises look dulled. Your cheeks were blotchy, your lips dry and chapped from biting down on them so much.
You looked like someone whoâd gone to war and lost.
âWowâ you murmured, voice hoarse. âNice.â
You splashed cold water on your face until your skin stung, hoping it would reduce the puffiness. It didnât help much. You dabbed at your eyes with a towel, then just stood there, gripping the sink.
âI did thisâ you told your reflection quietly. âTo myself. To him.â
The thought hit deeper than any headline ever had.
Youâd always blamed the outside worldâthe fans, the edits, the media. And they were part of it. Of course they were. But last night⊠youâd handed them all the power yourself. Let strangersâ fantasies scream louder than the voice of the man who came home to you.
You picked up your phone with damp fingers.
No message.
The chat with his name was still there, stubbornly unchanged, the last thing in it something stupid and mundane from the day before. A meme heâd sent you during practice. Your âlmao I hate youâ reaction.
You scrolled up, past jokes, voice notes, good morning texts, sleepy selfies. It felt like watching someone elseâs life. A version of you that didnât feel like a threat to her own relationship.
By instinct, your thumb hovered over the little circular icon at the topâhis profile picture. It was one youâd taken, him half-asleep on the couch, hair everywhere, the softest smile on his lips.
Your chest constricted.
You backed out before you could start crying again.
The hours dragged.
You tried to keep busy. You made coffee and then forgot to drink it. You paced the living room. You opened Twitter, Instagram, TikTok, then closed them, then opened them again. You told yourself you wouldnât search his name. You searched it anyway.
More clips. Same girl. Same narrative.
âFate.â
âMeant to be.â
âVisual couple of the year.â
You stared at the comments until the words blurred. Then, with a sudden, shaky breath, you did something you wished youâd done a long time ago.
You opened your phone settings.
Notifications.
Apps.
You muted every app that had anything to do with social media. Turned off banners, sounds, previews.
Your thumb hovered over the option to delete the apps completely.
You didnât. Not yet.
But the small act of silencing the noise, even just a little, felt like moving a chair in front of that screaming stadium door. Not enough to block itâbut at least not standing right in the middle of the entrance anymore.
By 3 p.m., you were sitting crossâlegged on your bed, your phone in your hands, the impulse to text him pounding against your ribs.
He said he needed space.
You wanted to respect that. But the longer the silence dragged on, the more your brain filled it with everything you feared.
Maybe heâs decided itâs not worth it.
Maybe I pushed him too far.
Maybe he finally realized Iâm more trouble than comfort.
Around 6 p.m., your restraint finally snapped.
Your fingers shook a little as you opened the chat.
You forced yourself to breathe slowly before typing, each letter deliberate.
You:
Hey. I know you said you need space and I donât want to push you. I just wanted to know if youâre okay.
Iâm sorry for the way I said things last night. Not for being honest about how I feel, but for throwing it at you when you were already exhausted.
I understand more now. And Iâm going to try to do better.
You donât have to answer right away. I just⊠didnât want you to think I donât see the weight youâre carrying too.
You read the message three times before hitting send.
It wasnât perfect. It didnât fix anything. But it was the truest combination of words you could find: acknowledging your feelings without invalidating his, apologizing for the how if not the what.
The little âdeliveredâ tick appeared.
You stared at it as if you could will it to change into âread.â
Nothing.
Minutes passed. Then an hour. Then two.
At 8 p.m., you sent another message, shorter this time, because the silence was starting to scrape raw.
You:
If youâre home, I hope youâre resting.
If youâre at the studio, donât forget to eat something, please.
Thatâs all.
Again: delivered.
Again: nothing.
By 10 p.m., your nerves were buzzing so loudly they might as well have been audible.
You lay on the couch again, phone on your chest, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Your mind spun theories, most of them ugly.
Maybe he saw your name and rolled his eyes and put the phone down.
Maybe he read it and didnât know what to say because heâs already done.
Maybe he turned off his phone just to get away from you.
âStopâ you whispered to yourself, palm pressing to your forehead. âYou donât know that. You donât know anything.â
But the knot in your stomach didnât care about logic.
You opened your chat again. The last seen status hadnât changed.
You bit your lip, then hit the call button before you could talk yourself out of it.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
Voicemail.
You hung up, waited ten minutes, tried again.
Ring.
Ring.
Nothing.
The paranoia sharpened into something like panic.
What if something happened to him?
What if heâs not answering because he canât?
You forced yourself to stop. To put the phone down. To inhale deeply for four counts, hold for four, exhale for six, like one of those anxiety exercises youâd seen a therapist explain online but never really used.
You could taste salt on your lips again. You didnât want to cry anymore. Your body was too tired for it.
âPlease be okayâ you murmured to the dark.
He was. Just not in the way you imagined.
Chan stumbled into the apartment a little past noon.
His body felt like it was moving through molasses. Every muscle ached, his eyes burned, his head throbbed with the echo of hours spent in front of screens, headphones clamped over his ears, fixing a track that refused to cooperate.
Heâd spent the night in the studio with that argument replaying in the back of his mind like an unwanted sample on loop. Your voice cracking. Your tears. The way youâd said âIâm drowningâ like you were confessing a crime.
Heâd thrown himself into the work because that was the only thing he knew how to control when everything else felt like it was splintering.
Now, every bit of that choice hurt.
The door clicked shut behind him. He dropped his backpack by the entrance and toed off his shoes without looking where they landed.
âHyung?â Jeonginâs voice floated from the living room, cautious. âYou just got back?â
Chan grunted something that was supposed to be âYeahâ but sounded more like an exhale.
Jeongin stepped into the hallway, halfâeaten sandwich in his hand. He froze when he saw Chanâs face.
The leaderâs eyes were redârimmed, not from crying but from sheer exhaustion. His jaw was tight, his shoulders hunched like he was carrying an invisible weight. He didnât even try to paste on his usual reassuring smile.
âYou okay?â Jeongin asked softly.
Chan opened his mouth to lie.
He closed it again.
ââŠNoâ he said instead. The honesty surprised even him. âBut Iâm too tired to talk.â
It came out flat, drained. Not sharp, not angry. Just empty.
Jeonginâs expression flickered with worry, but he nodded.
âGo sleepâ he said. âYou can yell at me later if I eat your food.â
Chan snorted weakly. It was the closest he could get to gratitude.
âEat it allâ he muttered, already heading for his room. âI donât care.â
He didnât change. He didnât shower. He barely managed to pull his cap off and throw it somewhere near the desk before collapsing on the bed, face first, shoes still on.
His phone buzzed once in his pocket as he shifted. He ignored it. He didnât have the energy to deal with anyoneâmanager, members, you, the world. Not when his brain felt like it was being squeezed from the inside.
Sleep hit him like a blackout.
No dreams. Just darkness.
When he finally surfaced again, the room was pitch black.
His phone screen was the only light source, a faint blue rectangle pressed against his thigh where heâd slept on it. His neck ached from the angle. His mouth tasted stale.
He rolled onto his back with a groan and pulled the phone out. The clock at the top read 00:07.
Twelve hours.
His notifications were a mess.
[14 new messages â Chanâs kids đ¶đș]
[5 missed calls â Manager-hyung]
[3 messages â PD-nim]
[You: Hey. I know you said you need spaceâŠ]
[You: If youâre home, I hope youâre restingâŠ]
His chest clenched around your name.
He tapped your chat first, thumb hovering just over the screen for a second like opening it would hurt more than not knowing.
He read your first message slowly.
Hey. I know you said you need space and I donât want to push youâŠ
Iâm sorry for the way I said thingsâŠ
I understand more now. And Iâm going to try to do betterâŠ
You donât have to answer right awayâŠ
His eyes burned for a completely different reason now.
The second message was simpler, softer, and somehow those few lines stabbed deeper than pages of argument.
If youâre home, I hope youâre resting.
If youâre at the studio, donât forget to eat something, please.
Thatâs all.
His thumb hovered over the keyboard.
What was he supposed to say?
âSorry I walked out on you and then disappeared for a whole dayâ?
âSorry I couldnât handle your pain on top of mine so I put you on mute without even telling youâ?
He swallowed, your words about drowning echoing in his head.
He wanted to type back:
Iâm sorry. Iâm so fucking sorry. Last night I was at my breaking point and I handled it wrong.
I shouldnât have left like that. I shouldnât have made you feel like your feelings were a burden.
I need you. I love you. Iâm scared too.
But the weight on his chest pressed the words down before they could climb out.
What if anything he wrote now only made it worse? What if you were asleep and woke up to his message in the middle of the night, heart jumping, mind spiraling again? What if he opened that door to another conversation he wasnât mentally ready to have without snapping?
He was so tired.
So, so tired.
He let his head fall back against the pillow, staring at the cracked ceiling.
âIâll answer in the morningâ he muttered to himself. âGive myself some hours to think. Sheâs probably asleep anyway.â
He pictured you curled up in your bed, breathing even, phone on the nightstand. He clung to that image because the alternativeâthat you were awake, waitingâwas too much.
He turned his phone faceâdown on his chest, like that could muffle everything it represented, and covered his eyes with his forearm.
His throat tightened.
He wanted to cry. Really cry. The way he hadnât let himself cry in a long time. Not as a leader comforting someone else, not as a producer frustrated with workâjust as a man who loved someone and was terrified of not being enough for her, himself, his group, anyone.
His jaw clenched instead.
Leaders donât fall apart.
Pillars donât crack.
He couldnât afford it.
He took a long, shaky breath and forced the tears back.
One more night of holding it in. Just one more.
Tomorrow, he told himself, like a promise he wasnât sure he could keep.
Tomorrow, Iâll talk to her. Properly.
No running. No defensive walls. No âthis again.â
He rolled onto his side, phone still warm against his chest, and stared at the wall until his vision blurred again from sheer exhaustion.
He didnât know that on the other side of the city, you were lying on your back too, eyes wide open, your phone clutched in your hand, staring at the last ticks next to your messages as if they could change if you just wished hard enough.
He thought he was sparing you another restless night.
Instead, both of you were awake.
Both of you were carrying the same weight in different shapes.
Both of you were wondering if the other was already slipping away.
If youâd seen him right thenâcurled up in the dark, your name the only lit thing in his worldâyou wouldâve cried for a different reason.
If heâd seen youâeyes puffy, cheeks raw, social media silenced, clutching your phone like a lifelineâhe wouldâve broken the rule heâd set for himself and called you immediately.
You didnât see each other.
Not yet.
The night stretched on, thick with unsent messages and uncried tears.
And somewhere, beneath all the hurt and exhaustion, the same quiet thought started to form in both your minds:
If weâre going to make it through this,
we canât keep loving each other like this.
We have to learn a different way.
The next morning, you didnât even pretend to have slept.
Youâd stayed in that strange limbo between awareness and exhaustion, eyes gritty, body heavy, brain refusing to shut up. When the first weak line of daylight slipped around the edges of your curtains, it felt less like a beginning and more like a continuation of the same, endless night.
You were still in yesterdayâs shirt. The fabric smelled like dried tears and your own skin, sour with stress. At some point around 4 a.m., youâd sat up, legs dangling off the side of the bed, staring at the floor.
Your phone lay next to you, screen dark. You hadnât opened your chat with him again after the last unanswered call. The tiny âdeliveredâ next to your messages was burned into your memory anyway.
He said he needed space. Give it to him.
You repeated it like a mantra every time your hand twitched toward your phone.
Give him space. Donât smother him. Donât punish him for being honest about his limits.
But space, after a certain point, stopped feeling like respect and started feeling like rejection. Like abandonment. Like punishment for needing too much.
By 9 a.m., your head hurt. The kind of dull, full ache that comes from dehydration and crying and no sleep.
You forced yourself up, one movement at a time. Bathroom. Water. Another look in the mirror that made you flinch. The swelling around your eyes had gone down a little, but you still looked like youâd lost a fight.
With yourself, maybe.
You pressed your palms to the sink and took a slow breath.
âOkayâ you said out loud. Your voice sounded foreign, like you were listening to someone on a recording. âYou canât keep doing this to yourself. Or to him.â
The thought had been growing quietly since last night, fed by every flash of guilt, every moment of clarity between waves of panic.
You loved him.
You wanted to be with him.
Those two things were still true.
But the way you were loving himâclinging through fear, measuring his every public interaction like it was a threatâwas unsustainable. For both of you.
âI donât want to be this personâ you whispered at your reflection. âFor me or for him.â
Your therapistâback when youâd gone, before you convinced yourself you were âfine nowââhad once told you:
âJealousy and insecurity donât make you a bad partner. How you act on them, what you do with them, is what matters.â
Youâd thought about going back. More than once. Youâd always found a reason not to. Money, time, âitâs not that seriousâ âIâll handle it on my own.â
Last night had made one thing painfully clear: you were not handling it on your own.
You grabbed your phone.
Your fingers didnât open his chat. They typed your old therapistâs name into the search bar instead.
The number was still there.
You hesitated only a second before tapping âCall.â
It rang twice before she picked up.
âHello?â
âHi, uhâŠâ Your throat closed for a second. âItâs me. I donât know if you rememberââ
âI remember youâ she cut in gently. âOf course I do. Are you okay?â
No.
Yes.
Sort of.
Not really.
âI⊠think I need to come backâ you managed. âIf you have space. Iâve realized Iâve been asking someone I love to hold weight that⊠that I should be working on too. And itâs⊠breaking us both.â
There was a small pause on the other end. Not judgment. Just care.
âIâm glad you calledâ she said. âI have a slot opening this week. Can you come in on Thursday?â
Thursday. It felt like a lifetime away and tomorrow at the same time.
âYesâ you said. âPlease.â
You hung up and stared at the âCall endedâ screen for a long moment.
You hadnât fixed anything. Not yet. But for the first time in a while, youâd done something other than refresh social media and interrogate your own reflection.
Youâd moved one piece. For yourself.
Tears pricked your eyes again, but this time they werenât wild or destructive. They were quieter. Sad and relieved all at once.
âOkayâ you whispered again. âOne step.â
Only then did you let yourself open his chat.
No new messages.
The hollow in your chest made itself known again, but there was a new voice alongside it now. Small, but there.
Youâre doing what you can. Heâll answer when he can. You can survive not knowing for a few more hours.
You typed something into the text box, then erased it before any letter appeared. Not yet. Youâd been the last one to speak. The next move had to be his, or this would never stop feeling oneâsided.
You put the phone down and, for the first time since everything blew up, you went to make yourself breakfast. Real breakfast, not coffee you forgot to drink.
You werenât hungry. But your body needed something, even if your heart was busy starving itself on whatâifs.
You toasted some bread, scrambled an egg, sliced an apple. It felt mechanical, like assembling a prop for a play you werenât performing in.
Still, it was something living people did. People who planned to keep going.
You ate slowly, one small bite at a time.
You didnât notice that, somewhere across the city, another pair of hands was doing the same thing, just as slowly, for the exact same reason.
Chan sat at the kitchen table, elbows on the wood, hands wrapped around a mug of coffee he hadnât touched.
Jeongin was at the stove, moving around with quiet efficiencyâscrambling eggs, tossing bread into the toaster, humming something under his breath.
It was well past noon. After that brief, painful awakening around midnight, Chan had drifted in and out of a shallow, unsatisfying sleep, never enough to truly rest, always enough to sink him deeper into that gray, heavy fog.
Heâd finally given up around 11 a.m. and stumbled out of his room. The apartment was filled with lateâmorning light, soft and indifferent.
âHyung.â Jeongin had turned, spatula in hand, giving him that halfâworried, halfâfond look he reserved for moments when he wanted to fuss but knew better than to push. âSit. Iâm making you food.â
âIâm notââ Chan started.
Hungry. Worth it. Anything.
Jeongin cut him off with a firm, âSitâ that made something like a laugh catch in Chanâs throat.
He sat.
Now, he watched the steam curl up from his mug, thinking of nothing and everything at once.
His phone lay faceâup on the table, a silent, rectangular accusation. The last chat heâd opened before putting it down was still yours, your messages staring back at him.
Iâm sorry for the way I said things last nightâŠ
I understand more now. And Iâm going to try to do better.
You donât have to answer right awayâŠ
Heâd read them again when he woke up properly, body less foggy, mind a little sharper.
In the slightly harsher light of nearlyârested consciousness, a different kind of guilt settled in.
He hadnât just walked out to cool down. Heâd walked out, then let work swallow him, then let exhaustion knock him out, then chosenâchosenânot to write back when he saw your messages.
Heâd told himself it was to protect you. To avoid saying something clumsy or defensive. To be responsible.
But now, the timeline looked different.
You: bleeding heart on your couch, watching the door.
Him: walking away, answering his phone, disappearing into the studio, turning his life into noise so he wouldnât have to listen to what heâd left behind.
His fingers tightened around the mug.
He loved his work. Needed it. It was part of who he was. But sometimes, he wondered if he didnât also use it as armor. As an excuse.
âI canât handle this right now. I have too much on my plate.â
It had been true. And it had also been convenient.
Heâd replayed your words too.
âI feel like Iâm drowning.â
âSometimes it doesnât feel like your love is enough because the noise is louder.â
âI didnât know it would make me feel this replaceable.â
Heâd gone through several emotional stages in responseâdefensiveness, frustration, hurt. But underneath all of that, when he let himself dig, there was something quieter, sharper.
Fear.
Fear that all of this would eventually be too much for you.
Fear that no matter how much he loved, gave, tried, the imbalance between his public life and your private anxiety would eat away at the relationship until there was nothing left but resentment.
Fear that his work, the thing that had given him everything, would be the thing that took you away.
âHereâ Jeongin said, sliding a plate in front of him. Eggs, toast, a few cherry tomatoes, simple but warm. âEat.â
Chan blinked, dragged back to the kitchen. He rubbed a hand over his face and offered a weak smile.
âThanks, Innie.â
Jeongin sat across from him with his own plate, watching him for a moment before speaking.
âYou fought with noonaâ he said. It wasnât a question.
Chanâs fork paused halfway to his mouth.
He forced the bite down anyway.
âYeahâ he answered, voice low. âWe did.â
Jeongin chewed thoughtfully, then tilted his head.
âBad?â
Chan let out a humorless puff of air.
âBad.â
Jeongin didnât push for details. Heâd learned from years of living with someone like Chan when to pull, when to wait.
âAre you going to fix it?â he asked instead, plain and direct.
Chanâs throat tightened. The simplicity of the question made it sound almost easy.
âOf course I amâ he said immediately. The certainty in his tone surprised even him a little. âI have to. I⊠I want to.â
Jeonginâs shoulders relaxed a fraction.
âGoodâ he said. âBecause you were walking around here yesterday like a ghost. It was scary.â
Chan grimaced.
âSorry.â
âDonât be sorry to me.â Jeongin shoved a piece of egg into his mouth. âBe sorry to her.â
Silence stretched for a moment. Comfortable, not heavy.
âDo youâŠâ Chan began, then stopped, embarrassed by the direction his own mind was taking. âDo you ever think itâs⊠unfair? For them?â
âThem?â Jeongin echoed.
âPeople who date usâ Chan clarified, poking at his food. âIdols. Trainees. Whatever. The people who have to deal with⊠this.â He gestured vaguely at the airâat the phantom cameras, the imaginary comments, the invisible expectations.
Jeongin chewed, swallowed, considered.
âI think itâs hardâ he said honestly. âBut unfair⊠I donât know. If you go in blind, maybe. But your girlfriend⊠she knows you. She knew what your life was like when she chose you. And you knew it would be hard for her too.â
Chan nodded slowly. That much was true.
Jeongin continued, softer now.
âI think itâs only unfair if we expect them to be okay all the time. Like⊠âYou signed up for this, so donât feel anything.â Thatâs not fair. Theyâre human.â
The words landed heavily. Chan stared at him.
Heâd never wanted to be that kind of person. The one who weaponized âyou knew what you were getting intoâ to avoid dealing with the fallout.
But last night, somewhere between his exhaustion and her pain, heâdâmore or lessâsaid exactly that.
You knew when we started.
The memory made his stomach twist.
ââŠYeahâ he murmured. âYouâre right.â
Jeongin shrugged.
âAnd itâs also not fair if they expect us to be perfectâ he added. âOr to close our eyes on stage or something so no one ever ships us with anyone.â A tiny smile ghosted over his lips. âBut thatâs why you talk. And listen. And⊠I donât know. Be patient with each other.â
âYou sound like a therapistâ Chan muttered, but there was affection in it.
Jeongin grinned.
âIâve been living with you. Thatâs like free field practice.â
Chan huffed a small laugh despite himself.
His phone buzzed on the table.
Both their gazes snapped to it.
A new message preview slid down over the lock screen.
Manager-hyung:
You alive? Call me when you can. Also, remember you have a blocked afternoon. Donât come to the company unless itâs life or death.
Blocked afternoon.
Right.
Heâd begged for that a few days ago, in a rare preemptive attempt at selfâcareâone chunk of time with no schedules, no meetings. At the time, heâd imagined maybe taking you out somewhere quiet, or just lying on the couch with you, head in your lap, watching something dumb.
Now, it felt like the universe had circled that time slot in thick red marker and written: FIX THIS.
Jeonginâs eyes flicked from the phone to Chanâs face.
âWhat are you going to do?â he asked quietly.
Chan stared at the screen, jaw working.
What was he going to do?
He could text you. Call you. Ask to come over. Ask you to meet him somewhere neutral. He could also⊠not. Let the silence stretch one more day. Tell himself you both needed even more space.
But the image of you alone on that couch, cheeks wet, voice breaking on âYouâre leaving?â shoved that thought away.
Running had felt necessary last night. Today, it only felt like cowardice.
âIâm going to talk to herâ he said, more to himself than to Jeongin. âToday. Even if itâs messy. Even if I donât have the perfect words. I owe her more than⊠this.â He gestured at the empty air between himself and his phone.
Jeongin nodded, satisfied.
âGood.â
Chan took a breath, picked up his phone, opened your chat.
The blinking cursor at the bottom of the screen stared back at him like a dare.
He didnât overthink it this time.
Iâm sorry I didnât answer sooner. I was at the studio all night and then I crashed as soon as I got home.
That doesnât excuse leaving you in the dark.
Are you home?
He watched the âdeliveredâ tick appear. His heart thudded in his ears.
Seconds later, it changed.
Read.
His pulse jumped.
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
His throat went dry.
Iâm home.
Another message bubble popped up almost immediately, as if the first one had broken some invisible dam.
Thank you for writing.
Can we talk? Not right now if youâre busy or exhausted but⊠today, if possible. I think we need to.
Relief and dread washed through him in equal measure.
She still wants to talk. She hasnât given up.
He swallowed.
I agree.
I have my afternoon off. Can I come over in an hour?
The reply was almost instantaneous.
Yes.
Iâll be here.
Of course you would be. Where else would you go when your entire world had shrunk to the size of a phone screen and the distance between two apartments?
Chan exhaled slowly, like heâd been holding his breath since last night.
Jeongin, whoâd been pretending very hard not to eavesdrop, let his shoulders relax.
âGo showerâ he said, voice light. âYou smell like the studio.â
Chan snorted.
âTranslation: like stress and coffee?â
âAnd sweatâ Jeongin added helpfully.
âWow. Romantic.â
Jeongin smiled, but there was warmth in his eyes.
âHyungâ he said, more serious now. âDonât try to fix everything in one conversation. Just⊠be honest. Even if it makes you look weak. She loves you, not your leader image.â
The words hit deeper than they had any right to.
Chan looked at him for a long moment.
âYeahâ he said quietly. âYeah. Iâll try.â
He stood, plate halfâfinished, and headed toward his room.
For the first time since heâd walked out of your apartment, each step toward the shower felt like a step toward you, not away.
The hour between his text and his knock stretched longer than the night.
Youâd read his messages so fast you almost dropped your phone.
Iâm sorry I didnât answer soonerâŠ
Are you home?
Just seeing his name at the top of your screen, his wordsâsoft, measured, not defensiveâmade something inside you unclench.
He hadnât disappeared. He hadnât decided overnight that you were too much. He was still there. Tired. Human. Reaching back.
Your fingers had trembled as you typed.
Iâm home.
Thank you for writing.
Can we talk?
When he replied that he could come over in an hour, your entire body went into a different kind of alertness.
You had sixty minutes to exist with the knowledge that he was coming.
Sixty minutes to not spiral into rehearsing speeches, anticipating his reactions, staging the conversation in your head until it became an impossible, choreographed thing.
You stripped your bed, because the sheets smelled like anxiety. You opened the windows, even though the air outside was cold, because the room felt suffocating.
You took a shower. Not the ritual warm, comforting kind, but a brisk, practical one. Hot water on your face, fingers massaging the tension out of your scalp.
Under the stream, you let yourself cry a little. Quietly. Not from panic this time, but from the sheer emotional exhaustion of the last twentyâfour hours.
âIâm sorryâ you whispered to no one and to him and to yourself.
By the time you turned off the water, your skin felt raw and new.
You dressed in something soft and simpleâsweatpants, a plain tâshirt. No pretense. No armor. You didnât bother with makeup; there was no point in trying to hide what he would see anyway.
When you caught your reflection again, the redness had faded a little more. You still looked tired. But there was something else in your eyes now.
Resolve.
You checked your phone. Ten minutes left.
You used them to tidy up the living room in small, aimless movementsâfolding the blanket from last night, straightening the cushions, wiping a nonâexistent stain from the coffee table. It wasnât about the space; it was about trying to impose some order on a day that felt like chaos.
You sat on the couch, then jumped up. Sat at the table, then stood again.
The knock, when it finally came, made your heart slam into your ribs.
You walked to the door on stiff legs.
Your hand hovered over the handle for a second.
You inhaled slowly.
You opened it.
He stood there, hoodie and cap, mask pulled down to his chin. His eyes went straight to yours, and for a moment, neither of you said anything.
He looked⊠different. Not in any obvious wayâsame features, same postureâbut in the way his expression held nothing back. No idol smile. No automatic reassurance.
Just Chan. Raw around the edges.
You stepped aside.
âCome inâ you said, your voice soft and a little shaky.
He nodded and walked past you, slipping out of his shoes by habit. The familiar motion hurt in a new way.
You closed the door gently behind him.
For a moment, you both just⊠stood there in the entryway. The memory of last nightâs argument flickered between you like static.
He turned to face you fully.
âHiâ he said quietly.
âHiâ you echoed.
It was absurd, greeting each other like this after everything youâd already been through together. But sometimes, the simplest words were the only ones that could bridge that first, impossible gap.
âCan weâŠâ He glanced toward the living room, then back at you. âSit?â
âYeahâ you nodded. âOf course.â
You went to the couch. He took the armchair across from you, like last night, but the energy between you was different this time. Less combative. More exposed.
You rolled the hem of your sweatshirt between your fingers, grounding yourself in the feeling of the fabric.
He rested his forearms on his knees, hands loosely clasped, head tilted slightly down as if he needed a second to gather himself.
It was you who spoke first.
âThank you for comingâ you said. âI know youâre exhausted.â
He let out a breath, a tired halfâlaugh.
âI amâ he admitted. âBut⊠not coming wouldâve been worse.â
Silence settled again, but it felt like the kind that could hold words, not choke them.
You swallowed.
âIâm going to mess this up if I try to make it prettyâ you said. âSo Iâll just say it how it is.â
His eyes lifted to yours, attentive.
âIâm sorryâ you continued, voice steadying with every word. âIâm sorry for how I brought everything up last night. Not for telling you how I feel, because that needed to happen. But for throwing it at you when you walked through the door halfâdead, for making it sound like your job and your kindness to other people were a betrayal.â
Your throat tightened, but you pushed through.
âI know you werenât doing anything wrong on those showsâ you said. âI know sheâs just a colleague. I know the edits and the headlines are out of your control. And I hate that I made you feel like no matter what you did, youâd always lose to some stupid video online. That⊠thatâs not fair to you.â
He watched you, something raw and wounded and grateful flickering in his gaze.
You took a breath, went on.
âIâve let my insecurities run the whole storyâ you admitted. âIâve handed strangers all the power over how I feel, and then I dumped the consequences on you and asked you to fix them while youâre already carrying a thousand other things. Thatâs not the partner I want to be for you.â
His fingers tightened slightly, knuckles whitening.
âI called my therapist this morningâ you said, almost as an afterthought, but it was the opposite. âIâm going back. Because I need help with this. I canât keep pretending I can handle it alone and then exploding on you when I canât. Thatâs⊠thatâs my work, not yours.â
The admission landed between you like a quiet, solid thing.
You hadnât planned to tell him that yet. But it felt important that he knew: you werenât just apologizing; you were doing something.
His jaw flexed. He looked away for a second, blinking fast, then back at you.
âThank youâ he said eventually, voice low. âFor⊠for saying all of that. For calling her.â He swallowed. âIâm proud of you. And Iâm⊠sorry too.â
He shifted forward on the armchair, elbows braced on his knees, leaning slightly closer.
âI didnât handle anything well yesterdayâ he said. âI walked in already at my limit and the second I saw that photo, I⊠shut down.â His lips twisted. âI know it came out as âthis again,â even though weâd never truly talked about it. You were finally saying out loud what youâd been holding in for months, and I made you feel like a broken record. Thatâs on me.â
You opened your mouth to protest, to say it wasnât that simple, but he held up a hand, gentle but firm.
âLet me finish?â he asked.
You nodded, biting back the interruption.
âI kept hiding behind âitâs my jobâ he said. âWhich is true⊠but itâs not the whole truth. Yes, itâs work. Yes, I canât control who I stand next to, what the producers want, what fans ship. But that doesnât mean your feelings about it are invalid, or that I get a free pass to dismiss them because theyâre inconvenient. I did that yesterday. I made you feel like you were a problem I didnât have time for. And I hate that.â
Your eyes burned again.
âI also said some really shitty thingsâ he went on, voice roughening. ââYou knew what you were getting into.â Like that excuses your pain. Like knowing something in theory makes living it easy. It doesnât.â He shook his head, disgusted with himself. âIâve always promised myself I would never say that to someone I love. And then I did. To you.â
You inhaled sharply. You hadnât expected him to be that direct about it.
His gaze found yours again, unwavering.
âAnd walking outâŠâ He winced a little. âI told myself I was protecting us. That if I stayed, Iâd say things I couldnât take back. Thereâs some truth in that. But I also walked out because I couldnât handle sitting in your pain and mine at the same time. I chose the easier discomfort: the studio. Work. Fixing a track instead of facing the fact that I was hurting you by simply existing the way my career demands.â
You shook your head, tears spilling over.
âIt wasnât easy for youâ you whispered. âYou were dying in that studio too.â
He gave a broken halfâsmile.
âYeah. But that kind of dying, I know how to doâ he said quietly. âThe other kind⊠scares me more.â
Your chest clenched.
He took a breath, dropped his gaze to his hands.
âAnd thenâ he continued, âI saw your messages. And instead of writing back, I told myself you were probably asleep, that we both needed more time. That Iâd answer in the morning when I could be âcalmâ and ârational.â But the truth is⊠I was scared.â His throat worked. âScared that if we started talking again, weâd end up in the same place without having changed anything. Scared that whatever I said wouldnât be enough.â
He laughed, bitter and soft.
âSo I did nothingâ he said. âAnd doing nothing is sometimes the loudest answer, I know. I left you alone in your head. And you already live there too much.â
You let out a small, wet laugh at that, because it was painfully accurate.
âIâm sorryâ he repeated, voice breaking slightly on the word this time. âIâm sorry I made you feel like your pain was something I couldnât bear to look at. Iâm sorry I let my own exhaustion turn into cruelty. And Iâm sorry that the place thatâs supposed to be your safestâthe space with meâended up feeling like another stadium yelling at you.â
Your hand flew to your mouth, trying and failing to hold back a sob.
In two sentences, heâd shown you heâd really listened last night. That the stadium metaphor hadnât just bounced off his frustration; it had gone in and stayed there.
He let you cry for a moment. Didnât rush to shush you. Didnât panic. Just sat there, eyes glistening, letting the silence wrap around your shared heartbreak.
When you could speak again, you dropped your hand slowly.
âYouâre not⊠the stadiumâ you managed, voice shaking. âI know I said that it feels like your love isnât loud enough sometimes, but itâs not because you arenât trying. Itâs because I keep⊠turning up the volume of everyone else. On purpose, almost. Searching my own wounds and then acting surprised when they bleed.â
He swallowed hard.
âAnd Iâve been⊠standing there, yelling âtrust meâ over the noise, expecting that to magically fix itâ he said. âWithout realizing that trust isnât just âbelieve Iâm not cheating.â Itâs also âbelieve that I see you. That your fears are real, even if the cause isnât.ââ
You nodded, tears sliding down your cheeks more quietly now.
âI do trust youâ you said. âI never doubted what you do or donât do with other people. I doubted⊠myself. And then I twisted that doubt into accusations you didnât deserve.â
You took a breath that trembled on the way in.
âI donât want to keep hurting you every time something outside of us happensâ you said. âBut I also know I canât just flip a switch and be okay instantly. I need time. I need help. I need to unlearn things. And⊠I need you. Not as a therapist, not as the guy who has to fix everything I feel, but as my partner. Someone who doesnât walk away when I tell him, âhey, this part of loving you is hard for me.ââ
His eyes shone, and for the first time since youâd met him, you saw one tear escape and slip down his cheek before he could wipe it away.
He didnât.
He let it fall.
âIâm not going to walk awayâ he said, the words coming out raw. âI hated every step I took yesterday after I closed that door. I hated that the last thing you heard from me was âI canât handle thisâ like you were an extra weight I couldnât carry. Youâre not a weight. Youâre⊠the reason all the other weights feel worth it half the time.â
Your breath hitched.
He continued, voice quieter but firm.
âBut I also need you to know⊠Iâm not unbreakableâ he said. âBeing the leader, the producer, the big brother, the boyfriend⊠Iâve worn all those roles like armor. And sometimes I forget that armor is heavy. I forget to take it off anywhere, with anyone. Yesterday, you saw what happens when I carry it too long and then try to hold your pain on top of it. I snap. I say shit I donât mean. I choose the wrong door.â
He looked at you, eyes dark and earnest.
âI need a place where I can be just⊠Chanâ he said. âNot leader, not Bang Chan, not the guy who always has it together. Just me. Tired, scared, stupid sometimes. I want that place to be here. With you. But that means I have to actually show you those parts, not only the strong ones. And it also means⊠I canât be your entire support system. No one person can.â
You nodded, words heâd just said echoing exactly what had led you to call your therapist.
âI get thatâ you whispered. âItâs not fair to ask you to be everything. I donât⊠want that anymore. I think part of me did without realizing it. I kept waiting for you to say something or do something that would magically erase all my insecurities. And when you couldnât, I felt let down, like youâd failed. Thatâs⊠thatâs so unfair.â
You managed a small, sad smile.
âIâm sorry Iâve made you feel like your love wasnât enough just because it couldnât silence the internetâ you added. âThat was never about you. That was about me not knowing how to turn the volume down myself.â
He let out a shaky breath that was half sob, half laugh.
âCan weâŠâ He paused, searching for the right words. âCan we try to do this differently? Not the loving part. Weâre good at that.â A faint, fleeting smile. âThe⊠dealing with the world part. The talking before we explode. The telling each other âhey, Iâm not okay today, can we be gentle with this topicâ instead of pretending weâre fine until weâre not?â
You exhaled, something loosening in your chest.
âYesâ you said, no hesitation. âPlease. I donât want last night to become our pattern. I want it to be⊠our warning. The âweâre never doing that againâ line.â
He nodded, relief flickering through his features.
âI know we canât promise weâll never fight againâ he said. âWe will. Weâre both stubborn as hell.â Another hint of a smile. âBut we can promise to fight⊠better. Cleaner. With less⊠collateral damage.â
You huffed a wet laugh.
âNo more âyou knew what you were signing up forâ linesâ you said.
âAnd no more âyour love isnât loud enoughâ metaphors that stab me in the soulâ he added, but there was humor tucked under the pain.
âDealâ you whispered.
Silence settled again, but now it felt like a blanket, not a weight.
You looked at him for a long moment. At the slight puffiness around his eyes. The way his shoulders slumped, not in defeat, but in something like⊠surrender. Not to you, but to the reality that he couldnât carry everything alone.
âCan I ask you something?â you said.
âAnything,â he replied.
âYesterday, when you leftâŠâ You swallowed. âFor a second, at the door, you stopped. It looked like you were going to turn back. Why didnât you?â
He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again, meeting your gaze headâon.
âBecause I was a cowardâ he said simply. âBecause turning back wouldâve meant admitting on the spot that I was wrong, that Iâd hurt you. And my pride⊠got in the way.â He grimaced. âAlso because my phone rang and I let that be an excuse. Work has always been the easiest thing to run toward when everything else feels too complicated. Thatâs⊠something I need to work on.â
The honesty hurt and healed at the same time.
âThank you for telling meâ you said softly. âIt⊠weirdly helps to know it wasnât because you didnât care enough to come back. Just that you didnât know how.â
He nodded, shoulders sagging with relief.
You wiped at your cheeks with the back of your hand.
âCan I ask you something too?â he said.
âYeah.â
He hesitated, then spoke.
âWhen you look at those edits, those headlines⊠what does your brain say to you exactly?â he asked. âNot about me. About you.â
The question landed right where your darkest thoughts lived.
You inhaled slowly.
âIt saysâŠâ You stared at your hands. âIt says, âof course. Look at them. Theyâre perfect together. Sheâs famous, beautiful, talented, adored. Youâre just⊠you.ââ Your voice shook. ââIt says heâs going to realize he can do better. That youâre⊠a placeholder until something more worthy comes along.ââ
You risked a glance up at him.
Pain flashed openly across his face, not at the mention of the other idol, but at the way you spoke about yourself.
He leaned forward, elbows digging into his knees.
âDonât talk about yourself like thatâ he said, voice thick. âPlease. It⊠it kills me.â
âI knowâ you whispered. âIâm trying to change it. Thatâs⊠part of why I need help. Because telling myself âhe chose youâ hasnât been enough to shut up that voice. And thatâs not fair to you, because it means Iâm basically calling you stupid every time I doubt your choice.â
His mouth twisted, a halfâsmile made of sadness.
âYeah, you kind of areâ he admitted. âI pick pretty well, actually.â
You let out a tiny, surprised laugh through your tears.
He softened.
âListen to meâ he said, more firmly now. âI am not with you because you were âavailable,â or because you were âeasiest,â or because management told me to, or because there was no one âbetterâ around. I am with you because when I am with youâhere, like thisâI feel more myself than anywhere else. Even in the studio.â
You blinked, stunned.
âAnd I need thatâ he continued. âNot just want it. Need it. The world can ship me with whoever they want on stage. Theyâre shipping characters. Versions of me. But the version of me that exists in this apartment, with my hoodie on your floor and my toothbrush in your bathroom and my worst tired moods on display? He doesnât want anyone else.â
The words hit you like a wave. You clung to them, letting them soak in, letting them argue with that cruel inner voice.
You nodded, unable to speak for a moment.
He watched your face, then added, softer:
âIâm going to remind you of that as many times as you needâ he said. âBut I canât be the only voice you listen to. You have to find your own too. The one that says, âI am enough, with or without him.â Then when you add me, itâs⊠bonus. Not proof.â
You laughed weakly, wiping at your cheeks again.
âYou sound like my therapistâ you murmured.
âIâve been living with my own brainâ he countered. âThatâs like free field practice.â
The shared jokeâmirroring what heâd said to Jeongin earlier without you even knowing about that conversationâmade something in the room lighten.
You took a breath, steadier now.
âCan I⊠come over there?â you asked suddenly, the distance between the couch and armchair suddenly unbearable.
His answer was immediate.
âPlease.â
You stood, legs a little shaky, and crossed the small space. He slid sideways in the armchair to make room, and you squeezed in next to him, your thigh pressed against his.
For a second, you didnât touch beyond that point of contact. Just sat there, side by side, feeling the solid warmth of each other.
Then, slowly, he lifted his arm and draped it over your shoulders.
You leaned into him, resting your head against his chest. His tâshirt was soft, his heartbeat a steady thud under your ear.
Your hand found his, resting on his knee, and intertwined your fingers.
He let out a breath you felt more than heard.
âI missed youâ you whispered.
âIâve been missing you even while I was angry at youâ he confessed, his chin resting lightly on the top of your head. âWhich is⊠annoying.â
You smiled into his shirt.
âIâm going to mess up againâ you said quietly. âNot on purpose. But I will. Iâll see something online and itâll sting. Iâll feel small. Iâll want to crawl into your messages and ask for reassurance. Iâll try to catch myself sooner each time, but⊠it wonât be instant.â
He nodded, the motion vibrating through your skull.
âAnd Iâm going to mess up tooâ he replied. âIâll have days when I come home empty, when I donât have words, when Iâm so tired I forget how to be gentle first and practical later,â he finished softly. âI might snap. I might say, âItâs just my job,â when I should say, âI know this is hard for you.â I donât want to. But I know myself. I default to fixing instead of feeling.â
You nodded against his chest.
âSoâŠâ you said slowly, âwe need⊠rules. Or not rules, but⊠anchors. For when weâre about to spiral.â
You felt his lips curve against your hair.
âAnchorsâ he repeated. âI like that.â
You shifted a little so you could look up at him without leaving the circle of his arm.
âOkayâ you murmured, wiping your face with your free hand. âAnchor one: we donât start heavy talks when one of us has just come through the door after a brutal day. We can say, âI need to talk about something important, but not right this exact minute. When can you?ââ
He nodded immediately.
âDealâ he said. âAnchor two: if I need space, I say it better. Not âI canât handle this right nowâ and then disappearing. Something like⊠âIâm at my limit, I donât want to hurt you with the way I talk when Iâm like this. Can we pause and pick this up at [time]?â And thenâŠâ He met your eyes, serious. âAnd then I actually come back at that time. No vanishing. No leaving you in limbo.â
Your throat tightened, but this time from relief.
âOkayâ you agreed. âIf you tell me when, I can survive the wait.â
You hesitated, then added, âAnchor three: I tell you sooner. Before itâs a tsunami. If something online bothers me, I donât wait until itâs been festering for weeks to explode. I say, âhey, this thing stung, I know itâs not your fault, but I need a little extra reassurance today.â And I donât frame it like youâve done something wrong just by⊠existing.â
His fingers squeezed yours.
âThat would help me so muchâ he said honestly. âBecause last night, I had no idea how⊠deep it went. Iâve seen you scrolling and⊠Iâve just been waiting for the explosion instead of asking, âAre you okay? What are you feeling when you see that?â I was scared of the answer. Thatâs on me. SoâŠâ
He drew a breath.
âAnchor four: I askâ he said. âI donât just watch you go quiet with your phone and pretend I donât notice. I check in. Even if Iâm afraid. Even if I donât know what to do with what you say right away.â
You swallowed around a lump.
âOkayâ you whispered. âThat sounds⊠fair.â
You fell quiet for a moment, the weight of those small promises settling over you like a new kind of responsibilityâlighter than the old one, because you werenât carrying it alone.
Chanâs hand shifted from your shoulder to your hair, fingers combing through gently.
âWhat you said earlierâ he murmured, âabout going back to therapy⊠Iâm really glad you did that. Not because I think youâre âbrokenâ or whatever stupid stigma people have, but because it means youâre not just hoping this will fix itself.â
You huffed a tiny laugh.
âIf anyone here is broken, itâs probably both of usâ you said. âBut⊠yeah. I donât want my fear to keep driving. Iâm tired of letting people who donât even know me dictate how I see myself. Thatâs⊠my work. Not yours. Not the fansâ. Mine.â
He smiled, pride clear in his eyes.
âIf it helpsâ he said quietly, âI talk to someone sometimes too. Through the company. Not as often as I should. But⊠it helps when I actually let it.â
You blinked, surprised.
âYou do?â
He nodded.
âLeader stuff. Burnout. Pressure. The usualâ he said, trying to play it off light, but you could hear the depth under it. âMaybe I should⊠go more. Not just when Iâm at the edge. Hearing myself yesterday⊠I sounded like someone who thinks he has to be invincible. And that guy is⊠an idiot.â
Your heart swelled painfully.
âHeâs not an idiotâ you whispered. âHeâs just really tired.â
He tilted his head, eyes searching your face.
âSo are youâ he countered gently.
You let out a breath that felt like it left through cracks instead of lungs.
âYeahâ you admitted. âI am.â
He leaned down and pressed a soft, tentative kiss to your forehead. It wasnât the automatic greeting you were used to, the one youâd flinched away from last night; it was a question.
You answered it by turning your face up and brushing your lips, just once, against his.
The kiss was careful, almost shy. No urgency, no trying to erase anything. Just a simple connection, a reminder: weâre still here.
When you pulled back, his eyes were a little shinier, his jaw a little looser.
âIâm still scaredâ you confessed in a whisper. âOf the rumors, the edits, the next girl theyâll ship you with, the next comeback, the next tour. Iâm scared Iâll slip back into old patterns, even if I donât want to.â
He nodded, no attempt to argue the fear away.
âIâm scared tooâ he said. âThat no matter what we do, some days this life will feel⊠unfair to you. That youâll wake up one morning and decide itâs too heavy.â He swallowed. âBut I would rather face those fears with youâactually talk about them, actually prepare for themâthan pretend they donât exist until they blow up our faces again.â
You closed your eyes for a second, letting those words settle.
âThis isnât going to be a fairytale, is it?â you murmured, a humorless little smile tugging at your mouth.
âNoâ he agreed softly. âItâs going to be messy. Loud. With way too many people in the metaphorical stadium.â He paused, then added, âBut we can still choose each other in the middle of that. Over and over. Not once. Not just at the beginning.â
You opened your eyes.
âDo you choose me?â you asked, needing to hear it, plainly, without metaphor.
He didnât even hesitate.
âEvery dayâ he said. âEven yesterday. Even when I was angry. Even when I was walking away. I was choosing you by not saying worse things. I just⊠chose the wrong way to take care of us after.â His thumb brushed a tear off your cheek with aching gentleness. âDo you choose me? Not the idea of me. Me, with all this chaos attached.â
You let out a breath that shook, but the answer itself was steady.
âYesâ you said. âEvery day. Even when it hurts. Even when one part of my brain is screaming that Iâm not enough. The other part looks at you and goes, âI want him. I want this. Iâm willing to fight for it, even if I have to fight myself too.ââ
His shoulders dropped with a relief so deep it was almost visible.
âOkayâ he whispered. âThen⊠we keep going. Not pretending itâs easy. Just⊠going. Together.â
You nodded, then added, almost shyly:
âAnd when it gets really bad, maybe we remind each other that we are not⊠each otherâs enemy. That itâs us and the problem on the same side of the table. Not us against each other.â
His lips parted in a small soundâhalf breath, half laugh.
âThatâs anchor fiveâ he said. âUs against the problem. Not against each other.â
You smiled through fresh tears.
âAnchor fiveâ you echoed.
The room felt different now. Still heavy with what had happened, but also⊠lighter. Like youâd opened a window in a house full of smoke. The smell didnât vanish instantly, but you could breathe.
After a while, he spoke again, voice softer.
âCan I ask you for something?â he murmured.
âOf course.â
âThe next time you see a clip, or an edit, or a headline that guts youâŠâ He hesitated, choosing his words. âBefore you scroll the comments, before you search for more, will you tryâjust tryâto do one thing for yourself first? Text a friend. Close the app. Go for a walk. Write it down. Anything that isnât âlet me hurt myself more and then go to Chan bleeding.ââ
You let out a shaky sigh.
âYesâ you said. âI canât promise Iâll always manage it. But I will try. And if I fail, Iâll tell you that too. I wonât lie and say, âIâm fineâ while my brain is on fire.â
He nodded, satisfied.
âAnd Iâll tryâ he answered, âwhen work is swallowing me, to say it straight. âToday Iâm Bang Chan more than I am your boyfriend. Iâm sorry. Itâs temporary. Donât think itâs about you.â So you donât fill the silence with the worstâcase scenarios.â
You looked up at him, and this time, your smileâthough smallâreached your eyes.
âI like it when youâre bothâ you said. âBang Chan. And my boyfriend. But Iâll take turns. I can share.â
He laughed, the first real laugh youâd heard from him since before everything exploded.
âIâll try to schedule a better balanceâ he said, mockâserious. âMaybe submit a request to JYP: âneed more boyfriend hours, leader overbooked.ââ
You snorted, then immediately covered your mouth, surprised at the sound that had escaped you.
The corners of his eyes crinkled.
âI missed thatâ he said softly.
You took his hand and brought it to your lips, pressing a small kiss to the back of it.
âI missed youâ you replied. âNot the idea of you. Not the version on stage. You. Here. Tired, stupid jokes and all.â
He watched you, something like awe flickering there, like he couldnât quite believe you were still choosing him after seeing the worst of him last night.
You lowered his hand, still holding it between both of yours.
âCan weâŠâ You hesitated, then pushed past it. âCan we do something ridiculously normal now? Like⊠order food and watch something dumb? Not as a way to avoid what we just talked about. Just⊠as proof that weâre allowed to be okay sometimes too. Even after a fight like that.â
His answer was immediate, almost relieved.
âYesâ he said. âPlease. I think if we keep being profound for another hour, my brain will actually melt.â
You laughed, the sound freer now.
âOkayâ you agreed. âWhat do you want?â
âAnything greasyâ he said. âSomething that would make our nutritionist faint.â
You grabbed your phone, thumb hovering for a second over your social media apps by habit⊠then deliberately moving past them to the food delivery icon.
Small, you thought. But different.
âFried chicken?â you offered.
He gasped dramatically.
âNow I know you really love me.â
You rolled your eyes, your heart lighter than it had been in days.
As you ordered, he tightened his arm around you just a bit, enough to say without words: Iâm here. Iâm staying. Weâre not done.
And for the first time since those articles had lodged in your brain like shards of glass, you believedâtruly believedâthat maybe love could be enough.
Not by itself.
Not as a magic cure.
But love, plus work.
Love, plus honesty.
Love, plus two tired, imperfect people choosing each other again and again, even when the stadium was screaming for other endings.
You hit âconfirm orderâ and set the phone down, screen facing the table.
This time, you didnât check for notifications.
You leaned into him instead, letting the quiet of the room settle around you.
Outside, the world still spun, still shouted, still edited, still shipped.
Inside this small living room, two people sat tangled in an armchair, bruised but together, anchoring themselves not to headlines, but to each other.
It wasnât a fairytale ending.
It was something better:
a beginning again, chosen with eyes open.
A homage to Mingyu's fangs (aka my obsession)- a drabble
gets slightly suggestive at the end btw
edit: i keep coming back here and finding more mistakes, my bad. all good now though, i think. also, i wrote this right after listening to the magnus archives so, if you happen to know what that is, i encourage you to read this in jon's voice
Ever since dating mingyu, you've started to develop a little habit.
It's harmless, though, from an outsider's perspective, it would perhaps be considered a bit odd. Freaky, even.
See, you have a bit of a hyperfixation with him. No one would blame you, of course, I mean, look at him. Who wouldn't be hyperfixated on all of that? But, there's one small thing about him, one particular thing that you've been obsessed with since even before you started dating.
His fangs.
Those two, cute little teeth with their slightly sharp, pointed ends have a chokehold on you. You don't know why. Perhaps it just makes his smile that much cuter; whenever he giggles or grins wide, those two little teeth are like extra treats, a cherry on top of his wonderful smile.
Anyway, you've developed a habit: you like pressing the pad of your thumbs onto their sharp ends.
Usually, you'd do it when you happen to be standing higher than he isâwhich is rare, considering he's taller than 80% of the population, including youâ like if you happen to be standing on a platform, or he's sitting on a chair and you stand over him.
When you first did thisâaround a month after dating and you had let your intrusive thoughts winâ you were met with confused participation.
Mingyu had been whining about something, pressing his face against your stomach, arms wrapping around your waist like snakes. You had been fondly exasperated and overcome with a sudden cuteness aggression that you can't help but cup his cheeks, tilt his head back and just- squish his cheeks.
But then he whined even more, revealing those cute fangs, and you simply slipped your thumbs between his teeth and pressed against them, making him unable to close his mouth properly.
His whining stopped and he only blinked up at you in confusion, eyes wide and so puppy-like that you can't help but bite your lip, or else you'd let out an inhumane squeal.
"Huh?" He mumbled, mouth still parted, arms still tight around your waist.
You pressed slightly harder, forcing him to widen his mouth even more, and you proceeded to shake his head around simply because you can't help it.
He only ever whined louder, and that's that.
So that's the start of your odd habit. Whenever Mingyu's head happens to be somewhere lower than yours, you'd cup his cheek, tilt his head back to look up at you and slip your thumbs past his lips, pressing them against his fangs.
He had grown used to it by this point, in fact, he seems to like it whenever you do this. Sometimes he'd close his teeth, nibbling at your thumbs playfully. Sometimes he'd simply stare up at you, waiting for you to release him, wide brown eyes almost sparkling. And he knows exactly what he's doing, because you had never been able stop yourself from kissing all over his face whenever he looks at you like that.
Sometimes, though, when he's feeling particularly needy, he'd stare at you through his lashes and gently press his tongue against your thumb, licking at it.
That usually leads to both of you tangled up in each other's arms. In bed. Naked.
Anyway, the fact that he likes to bite so much doesn't help your case either.
If you have a habit of grabbing his little caninesâ like one would when training puppies to be gentle with their teethâthen, he has a habit of biting. No, chewing, more like.
Anywhere he can reach. Your arms, your neck (his favorite spot), your stomach (second favorite), your collarbones, the soft meat of your thighs (also second favorite, jury's still out), your ears, your cheeks, even.
It's not unusual to wake up after a night of passion with bite marks littered all over your body, and mingyu takes pride in his work every single time.
He'd even take pictures sometimes. "For the memories," he'd said. Though you're pretty sure it's to add to his jerk off materials.
He'd lay you in bed, even make you pose for it. The pictures look good, you'd have to admit. There's a certain aesthetically pleasing, pinterest-like quality to the way he'd take them. More often than not, your face wouldn't even be in the shot. They would just be artistic photos of your marked neck, or the glimpse of your waistline beneath a shirtâalso marked, or even a tasteful shot of your bruised thighs.
So it seems that you both have odd habits, and you're both chronic enablers for each other. A match made in heaven.
p/s: got a little sidetracked at the end ngl. but the concept of mingyu taking aesthetic, smexy pics of you hmmmm having thoughts and visions
đ€The Witch's Axe is a submission for the Witch Hunt Event - @lapydiaires one year anniversary
đ€Prompt: "You will never burn, not unless it's for me."
đ€Pairing: Demon! Choi San x Witch! Reader (f)
đ€Supporting Characters: Lover! Jaehyun (NCT), Witch Hunter! Bang Chan, Demon! Hongjoong, Warlock! Mingi, Demon! Seonghwa, and my fellow admins Demoness! Isa @mingsolo, Witch! Flurry @flurrys-creativity, and Witch! Dae @daemour
đ€Genre: angst, smut, adventure
đ€Au: demon, witch, historical, fantasy, magical
đ€Book inspiration from Demon's Bride by Leigh Miller and The House of Gaian by Anne Bishop
đ€Trope: fated mates
đ€Word Count: 16, 197 *nervously giggles*
đ€Rating: 18+, Minors Do Not Interact. All ageless and blank blogs will be blocked.
đ€Warnings: â ïždark content aheadâ ïž animal sacrifice, description of blood, physical fighting, magical/elemental fighting, verbal fighting, descriptions of future human torture, threat of death by fire, bigotry, suicidal thoughts/pre-actions, San can feel what you feel through your mate bond, slight mental manipulation because of mate bond, daredevil flying, possessive! San, made up pagan religion (the Goddess & her Consort), shivering from the cold, danger of hypothermia, character deaths, descriptive physical threats, slapping, machoism, execution by hanging, descriptions of torture devices, descriptions of drowning, no deep description of torture just brief overtures, Bang Chan is delusionally obsessed with you (sorry chan, you ended up being the bad guy), execution by fire, pain from fire, death by fire
đ€Kink Warnings: San is turned on by you by your mere presence/scent, slight predator/prey, pet name (Heart, my heart), morning wood, almost-somnophilia, San tempts you with his naked body, skinny dipping, manhandling, cloth ripping, outerjob, spine sensitivity, biting, sex without protection, creampie, biting, begging, oral (f), horn play, wing play, cum eating, overstim, pussy drunk, cock drunk,
đ€Summary: Betrayed by your lover to the man that is hunting and killing all the witches in the human realm, it is revealed to you that your fated mate, a concept you had never heard of, is a demon. It's as if he was sent here to teach you how to mend your broken heart. Will you live a sheltered life with your lover or will you save witchfolk?
đ€Author's Note: the theme of this anniversary was extremely personal to me. I have been excluded and made to feel lesser because of my age. No one should be made to feel this way. So what better story to write than of my ult loving me unconditionally and overcoming everything through the sense of love and community. Lapydiaries means so much to me, the true place where us hags can gather and not be judged due to our age. To all my followers who are with us older kpop fans, you are loved and adored and i appreciate you!!! đ
đ€divider by @cursed-carmine
You woke up in the crude, one room hut that you called home. The dried herbs of your craft wafted through the air as you pulled from slumberâs arms. You rolled around in your bed and were met with the warmth of your lover.Â
âJae, I must start early today with the ritual,â You groaned, heaving yourself out of bed.
At least, you attempted to. Your loverâs arms wound around your waist and pulled you back into your bed. âMust you? I hate when you have to take the poor sheepâs life.â
You ran your hand up Jaehyunâs nape of his neck and dove it into his strands. They were mussy from the morning and from you tugging it last night. You felt like you were the luckiest witch in the world.Â
âMmm, I must. In order for the village to have an easy winter. Itâs the least I can do. Especially since Seokmin gave me the sheep. And Seonghcheol sharpened my blade. And--â
âYes, I know, I know,â Jaehyun interrupted you. âThe village appreciates the hard work you do. But must you kill the sheep only a few meters away from where you sleep?âÂ
You leaned backwards to see that Jaehyun was wrinkling his nose in distaste. He wasnât complaining last night. âOf course. My hut is at the centre of the village. Iâm the hub and the villagers are the spokes. Jaehyun, why are you making such a fuss today?â
Jaehyun beamed up at you, his dimples pulling at your heartstrings. âIâm sorry. Itâs just feeling extra today. Iâll leave you. I donât want to mess up and add mal airs to the ritual day.â
This time it was you who grabbed onto his arm before he left your bed. Your gut was telling you something was wrong. âAnd not give me a goodbye kiss?â
âWhat was I thinking?â Jaehyun teased, leaning down and pressing his lips to yours. âI'll see you tomorrow for the festival.â
You sighed heavily as Jaehyun walked out of your house. Regardless of your heavy heart, you prepared for your day.Â
You found your ash staff and made the correct circle in the ground where the sacrifice would occur. You used the runes for crops, health, and good luck. You made sure to dry and disperse thyme, rosemary and jasmine. Then you followed the lines with the soil from the various farms that surround your village. The final piece was the white dress you needed to wear.Â
With all your preparation done, you fetched the sheep that would be your sacrifice. You lured it in with some grain. With some firm tugging and a little cajooling, the sheep went inside the sacrificial circle without disturbing too much dirt.Â
Once you nudged the thyme bundle into its correct eastern position after securing the sheep to the centre, you took your spot at the northern position. The chant was simple: you simply entreated the earth to be a good benefactor. Allow the soil to be ripe with nutrients so the crops would grow, that the herds would eat well, that the humans would too. You entreated the water to allow for the good clean storms. You entreated the air to push the seeds to rest in your forests and naturally produce what you wouldnât plant yourselves. Lastly, you entreated the sun to send strong sunshine to allow the humans to be happy and the trees to grow.Â
With that, you gripped the wavy-bladed dagger that your grandmother had gifted to you when you had turned thirteen. You whispered thanks to the sheep for its lifeblood and then slit its throat. It bleated weakly and you gently laid it down so that the blood could mix with the soil of the village that you had spread around.Â
You flicked the dagger that was covered in the sheep's blood to all the points: East, West, South and North. You held it above you and entreated the Goddess and her Consort to look favorably upon your tiny village.Â
The door bursted open abruptly, blowing out all the candles in your hut.Â
âLook what we have here.â
A silver-haired man strolled into your house like he had been invited. âA witch in the middle of a blood sacrifice. What horrible demon are you summoning to kill this village?â
âWhat are you talking about? Iâm doing my annual ritual to help the village produce its best!â You protested.Â
The man shook his head. âThey always want you to think that theyâre doing good. Take note, she thinks youâll believe this even though sheâs covered in blood.â
âWho are you? Why have you barged into my house? Leave and begone,â You commanded, standing up resolutely.
The man smirked. âI see my reputation does not proceed me. Why, Witch, I am the Witchâs Axe, Bang Chan.â
âThe Witchâs⊠you mean the man thatâs been going around and preaching that witches are evil? That abhorrent man?â
The silver haired man threw his head back and laughed. âIâm abhorrent when youâre the one who is about to slaughter the village that allowed you to live here? â The man shook his head in disbelief. âNow I understand why you brought me here, friend. Here, the coins for your accurate information.â
Some of the men with the Witchâs Axe moved and cleared the path for your lover to enter.Â
âJaehyun, help meâŠâ
The words died in your mouth as Jaehyun opened his fist to receive the coin that Bang Chan had finished fishing out from the coin purse hanging from his belt.Â
âWhat are you doing?â You demanded in horror.Â
Jaehyun looked at you pleadingly. âYou know how bad my family is doing, sweetheart. I had to.â
âYouâŠhad toâŠâ Your words tasted like ash in your mouth.Â
âCome now, Witch,â Bang Chan motioned with a beckoning motion. âLetâs do this the peaceful way and Iâll be merciful with you.â
Your heart broke into pieces all around you. So did your mind. The edges to your vision felt blurry as your sadness and rage grew around you. The air began to stir without your behest. Some candles started to come back to life.Â
The men with the Witchâs Axe slowly began to filter out back through your door. Chanâs hand went slowly behind his back. âDonât make this any harder on yourself than this has to be,â He said in a quiet voice, as if you were a horse he was soothing in order to put a bridle on.Â
You started to laugh under your breath but soon it bubbled from your chest, up your throat and out of your mouth in maniacal laughter. âDo you think I am one of those poor women who have been falsely accused? No, you should have given Jaehyun more money. Iâm the one that shouldnât have messed with.â
The door to your house shut firmly and all the candles you had in your house were lit with fire that rose dangerously high from their wicks.Â
Chan pulled a hand axe from behind his back. Ironic. âGood. I like it when they fight.â He grinned equally maniacal back at you.Â
You felt a droplet of water hit your face and you flinched like it was burning you.Â
âWait, youâre--â
âLetâs dance, Witch,â Chan roared.Â
You dodged the throw of his axe, but just barely. He was already readying another to throw at you. Your branch of air and fire worked well in swirling around you. It was as if a small tornado surrounded you, wreathed in fire. You shot a fireball at Chan but he moved the bucket of water Jaehyun had hauled from the village well last night to wash from this morning so your fire never hit him.Â
When the next hand axe thudded and only missed your toes because of the rush of air you used to mess with its trajectory, you knew you were in trouble. You gripped your dagger tightly.Â
âI will not allow you to capture me, Witchâs Bane,â You spat.Â
âOh, you all say that. But youâve never met someone like me,â Chan teased.Â
âOh, Iâm sure there are plenty of your kind around. Did your mother think your father was a charming wanderer when simply it was a Warlock looking to spread his seed. Did she resent you for most of your childhood? I know your kind, Witchâs Curse.â
With another roar, Chan charged at you. His broad shoulders hit your midsection and slammed you into the wall so hard that you both went through the material. You landed with Chan on top of you. You were disoriented and couldn't breath.Â
âYou and me, weâre going to have so much fun, Witch.â A shudder ran through you as Chan pushed your hair away from your face. âFirst, I've got a lovely bridle to put on you, one that will pierce your tongue and make you beautifully mute. Then, I think I'll cut your heels so that youâll never be able to run away. And then Iâll mount you when you say youâll do anything for this torture to stop. When Iâve had my fill of you, when the village demands that you be put to the flame and cleanse it of all your evil, Iâll have three other women lined up to do the same thing. But donât worry, Iâll remember you.â
You spat in Chanâs face. âYou are a disgusting slug of a creature. I vow to you right now, I will not burn, it will be you who will be ashes by the time weâre done.â
You summoned your branch of fire and lit a corner of your dress. If you couldn't leave this place with your life, the least you could do for every witch was to rid this world of Bang Chan, The Witchâs Axe.
âNo!â
Your eyes wildly looked around for the one voice that would protest your suicidal plan. Your heart had leapt at the thought that it might be Jaehyun. It was not.Â
A large man threw Bang Chan off of you like Bang Chan was a brittle leaf. You heard him hit the opposite house with a crash and screams of the inhabitants.Â
âToday is not your day to die,â The man vowed.Â
He leaned down, placed a hand on your shoulder and in a poof of purple smoke, you two were gone from the village centre. You were on the cliffs above your village, looking down at it. The man restrained you as you watched in horror as the entirety of it burnt to the ground. Chan must have ordered it in order to flush you and the mysterious new man out, for surely you could not have gotten far.Â
Except the man was clearly not a human.
âYou should have helped me kill him!â You shouted.Â
The man shook his head. âThatâs not my path.â
You fell to your knees as your entire life burnt up. Your future, your past, your life is gone now.Â
Your bruised heart panged horribly. Numbness spread through your veins from your broken heart. All you wanted was to be wanted. Why had Jaehyun done that to you? Of all the people to betray you, why him? For some coin? How could he?!
You knelt in the soft grass, dress covered in blood and a dagger in your hand. What was there to live for? You lifted it up and brought it to your breast.Â
âWhatever you were going to do with that, I suggest you donât.â
You raised your eyes reluctantly to the man that had saved you and restrained you from throwing yourself to save your village.Â
âWill you also take away my choices?â You asked in bewilderment.
âNo,â the man said softly. âBut I donât think heâs worth killing yourself over.â
You had no idea how this man knew what your heart wept over. No branch of magic you knew spoke of hearing thoughts.Â
Still, tears welled up enough that youâd believe you were drowning, even as your sobs threatened to choke you. âI loved him.â
The man shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants, and then looked up at you through his fringe. âNo, you didnât.â
When you didnât lower the dagger from your breast, his gentle hand cupped yours and took the dagger from you.Â
Your throat was tight with emotion. âI thought I loved him.â
The man shrugged. âYou did. But it was not true love.â
Your lower lip quivered and you hiccuped with your sorrows. âHow do you know?â
âBecause I would have sent him.â
You shook your head in disbelief. âMy mind has truly broken.â
Those same gentle hands chucked your chin upwards and a thumb followed the curve of your lower lip. âNo, youâre anything but broken.â
You giggled, the type that fell from your lips like shattered glass. âI am obliterated.â
âI wonât allow you that.â
You pulled away from the gentle touch. âItâs too late for that.â
âIt wasnât too late to take the dagger from you.â
âI was going to carve up my flesh like my heart and mind feel like. Whatâs so wrong to be as I am on the inside?â You demanded.
Kind hands cupped your upper arms. âYou have been wronged, it is true. But it is not permanent.â
âHow do you know?â You asked with a wail. It doesnât seem possible to live beyond this moment.
âWhat if I told you that youâve not met your true love. I know who he is. If you consider living past this moment, youâll discover him.â
That caused you to pause. That caused you to ponder. That caused you to not hurt for more than a minute or two. Curious.
âWould he heal me?â
âNo.â
Would you get betrayed by even your true love?
âYou will heal yourself.â
âI donât understand.â This conversation was following threads only this man could see, apparently.Â
âNo, I donât suppose you would. But you will.â
âSo, youâre telling me if I decide to live, that someone will love me truly?â
A bright smile brightened the manâs face. âHe already loves you. You just have to meet him first.â
He offered his hand, your dagger tucked into the back of his pants. A pendant hung from his neck as he leaned down. âWill you?â
Anything was better than what you were doing and feeling right now, wasnât it? Not far to fall when youâve already hit rock bottom. âI will.â
He hauled you onto your feet as he pulled off his pendant, and you were hit with a whoosh of air. You stared up in disbelief. Where had those wings come from? And the horns. And the talons.Â
âWhat are you?â
âShouldnât you ask who I am first?â
You shook your head and tried to pull back but this man--nay--this demon would not let go of your hand. âIf Iâm seen here, they will only believe more of the lies the Witchâs Axe spreads.â
âOh, we wonât be here for much longer. But if you ask my question, Iâll answer yours.â
âWho are you?â
âChoi San. And I am a demon.â
âA demon. I swear to you, I didnât summon you.â
A twist of his lips has your stomach dipping. âYou kind of did, actually. Anyways, you better hold onto me. Weâre about to travel and itâs very disorienting.â
You turned your head and looked over your shoulder at the smoldering ruins of what used to be your village and your home. Maybe it was because you had nothing to worry about, not even your life, or maybe it was because everything had been taken from you, but you werenât worried about Sanâs vague statements.
âTake me far away from here, San.â
âGladly, my heart.â
âMy--?âÂ
You screamed and closed your eyes as the world turned upside down. Or sideways? You werenât sure, you just knew you felt like you were going to be sick. San had stepped through a purple portal and now you were experiencing vertigo.Â
You didnât dare open your mouth, for fear more than vomit would come out.Â
âJust a little bit more,â San said, his arms tightening around you.
You were suddenly very distracted by the hard item that was pushing into your stomach.
Then your ears popped and you opened your eyes.Â
âSan, where are we?â
âThe Demon World.â
Your jaw dropped slowly as you took in the world around you. A mute red grasslands spread out below the crest of the hill you were standing on. In the distance were crags of rocks that you could only describe as teeth, topped with a neon orange substance. It was odd but familiar and beautiful. All were true.
âI knew youâd love it here.â
Back to the matter at hand. âWhy the hell are you hard?!â
San pulled at the crotch of his pants, adjusting himself. âThatâs a standard response to meeting oneâs fated mate.â
You rubbed your face tiredly. âThis is too much. Iâve actually died, havenât I? This is the last few minutes where my mind is just popping off and creating some fun before I truly become worms and dirt.â
San frowned down at you. âThatâs not very nice of you to say.â
âI was betrayed by the man I loved, the Witchâs Axe is after me, Iâve met a demon after attempting to kill myself, and now Iâm in the demon realm where said demon has just declared we are fated mates.â
San looked thoughtful. âThat about sums it up.â
You held up a hand. âIâm going to need a minute.â
âMe too,â San admitted. âAlthough I donât think itâs going away anytime soon because I can still smell you.â
âThen Iâm going away!â You stomped down the hill but you didnât get far.
âI donât think so, Heart.â You have a moment to contemplate the way Sanâs growl made you feel before you were swept off your feet and realized youâre flying. âYou have the rest of your life to realize that Iâm never going to let you more than an arms length away from me.â
âThis is ridiculous! You knew the entire time?â You shouted as air streamed by you. You tried to ignore the fact that you were fucking flying.
âIâm the one in charge of making sure that the demons find their witch or warlock counterparts, of course I knew. Itâs my job to know.â Did you see a hint of a pout on those pillowy lips?
âSan, IâŠâ
âI know youâre heart sore. I can feel it through our connection. Itâs okay. I can wait.â
You remained quiet until San flew you to the crag-teeth that you had admired off in the distance. âOur home is here.â
Our home. How did you lose the love of your life and found another one so quickly? This day was beyond maddening.Â
Still, San gracefully stepped on a landing, tucking his wings against his back. âWelcome home, my heart.â
He let you down and you took a hesitant step. The furniture was similar but in a purple hue of wood you were certain didnât exist in the human realm. The setting was cozy but lush. It felt homey but it certainly wasnât like anything you had experienced.Â
Then you zeroed in on the bed. You turned on your heel immediately. âIs there truly only one bed?â
San raised his gaze to yours and looked back down. âOf course.â
âOf course, he says,â You scoffed, throwing up your hands. âOf course!â
âYouâre sleeping with me, where else would you sleep?â San protested.
âNot in the bed of a man--sorry, demon, that I just met?!â
San frowned again. âNot any demon. Your fated mate,âÂ
âOh, Iâm sorry, like that makes the difference!â
San flinched. âIt does. I would never harm you.âÂ
As if to prove his point, San pulled your dagger from where he had safely tucked it and gave it back to you. You looked down at your dagger as if it could give you the answers you were looking for.Â
âLook, San, Iâm sure youâre a very nice demon but I donât know you. And whatever this fated mate means to you, Iâm not sure it feels the same for me.â
Sanâs head hung low. âI know.â
You breathed in and out deeply. You put your wavy-bladed dagger next to a double headed axe near the door. âThank you for rescuing me. Iâll never be able to repay you.â
San shook his head adamantly. âI didnât rescue you. I simply took you where you were supposed to be.â
You looked around. âThe Demon Realm, huh? This is truly where Iâm meant to be?â
âWell,â San took a step forward. âWith me.â
âOkay, okay, I get it,â You used your hands to stop San from stepping too close. âI just need some time to⊠absorb everything.â
âOf course.â
San showed you the rest of your new home. The kitchen, the baths, the living room. Everything was open without feeling like your cramped one room shack.Â
âI donât have anything but this.â You raised the skirt of your dress listlessly. Leaving the human realm with nothing but the dress you had performed your ritual in seemed a bit ridiculous to you now. You didnât even have your favorite socks that you wore on a cold winter night.Â
âOh, donât worry. I had some clothes made for you. Weâll bring the seamstress in and sheâll take something in if it needs it but⊠I donât think it will.â
âKnow me so well, even down to my measurements, huh?â You joked.
âIâve seen you in my dreams. Iâve felt your body under my hands. Of course I know your measurements.â
A shudder ran down your spine. You know this is odd. Weird. Not right. But somehow, after everything, San simply knowing your size and making clothes for you in advance felt like⊠like what you wanted from Jaehyun.Â
âOh,â was all you could manage.Â
You moved to the wardrobe and opened it. There was⊠everything you could need. You pulled out a soft nightgown and rubbed your finger and thumb together to admire the quality of the cloth. âThis is--â
A hand covered yours. âYours. Itâs yours, Heart.â
Thatâs when you broke. You sobbed and sobbed and San simply held you. He held you and rubbed your back until all you could manage was hiccups. And when you were done, he moved you to the bathroom where he lovingly washed your face, and left so that you could clean up decently and change into the nightgown.
And when you left the bathroom, and you saw that San was waiting for you on the bed, you practically leapt into his arms. You cuddled your cheek against his chest and sighed. âI donât care if this is weird, it feels right.â
San pulled away to look down at you. âI thought you said you didnât know what being mates felt like?â
Did you? How do you explain that Sanâs comfort meant everything to you right now?
âWhatever, can we just sleep?â
âOf course, sleep, Heart. Iâll be here when you wake up. We will have a new day tomorrow. I will show you more of the Demon Realm and your new home.â
Well, that was the plan anyways.
Things work out a little differently when you woke up to Sanâs cock nudging your ass and his whimpering in your ear.
âSan,â You whispered.
San simply whimpered back at you, arms tight around your body. His lower half continued to grind in between your ass cheeks.
âSan!â You insisted more firmly.
âPlease!â San whined.Â
You groaned. âSan, wake up!â
San moaned and stirred behind you. His grip tightened and his hips flexed and then he pushed himself away. âIâm sorry. My body moves instinctually. It was our first night as mates andâŠIâm sorry,â he finished lamely.Â
You moved away and this time San let you go. âIt's fine.âÂ
Well, it wasnât fine, or you would have let him finish in his pants as he clearly intended to. Or would you have turned around and found just how thick his cock felt against your ass cheeks? Your face heated up at the thought. Was this the mate bond San was talking about?
San cleared his voice. âIâll run you a bath. Youâd like that, to start the day clean?â
âWhen Iâve had my fill of you, when the village demands that you be put to the flame and cleanse it of all your evil, Iâll have three other women lined up to do the same thing. But donât worry, Iâll remember you.â
You shivered and ran your hands along your upper arms. âI donât think Iâll ever be clean.â
San cupped your face again. It seemed a habit of his; as if he wanted you to only focus on him. âDonât think of him. Youâre safe here. As long as youâre with me, no harm will ever come to you.â
It didnât seem like an empty promise. San had saved you after all, despite all your attempts to fight Bang Chan. Still, the Witchâs Axeâs words seemed to slither around inside of your skull. It was impossible to rid yourself of them.Â
âBut donât worry, Iâll remember you.â
You blinked as Sanâs lips against yours brought you out of your head. San sent you a sheepish smile as he broke the kiss. âDonât torture yourself. I can feel it. Stay present with me. I can keep you distracted if need be.â
âIâŠâ It had been a simple touching of lips but somehow it had your brain muddled. Especially after that offer. âNo.â You shook your head as if to rid you of those thoughts. âNo! San, I said I need time to absorb.â
San spoke through his pout. âI know but you were torturing yourself with your thoughts and I thought--â
âNo,â You repeated firmly. âIâll get ready for the day and youâll show me the Demon Realm.â
âFine.â But the pout wasnât gone. Who knew demons pouted so often?Â
With your arms held behind Sanâs neck, he spread his beautiful bat-like wings and took flight from the landing that branched from your new home. You let out a small squeal of delight at the butterflies it created.Â
A satisfied smile spread along Sanâs face. âI will make sure to fly you everywhere, if you like it so much, my heart.â
You shifted in Sanâs arms, not exactly sure how to take that. âYou donât have to fly me everywhere. Iâm not sure how your wings work but Iâm sure itâs straining carrying me all the time.â
âI tossed a man yards away from you and you doubt my strength!â San protested.
You couldn't help but smile. You hadn't meant to tease him but he was absolutely adorable in his responses. You schooled your features when he looked down at you incredulously. âItâs not like Iâve inspected them. I donât know how strong they are.â
Sanâs frown at your statement had you biting down on your lip. How were you to resist this man who you barely knew when he was so attractive?!
âAllow me to demonstrate.â
With a howl, San was pulling his wings tight around the both of you and performing a sudden death drop. You screamed in glee. Then he opened his wings, diving and dodging the teeth-like crags. His arms didnât shift the slightest as he held you and you felt beyond safe despite the devil-may-care attitude.Â
âWhen we come of age, there is a flight path between the mountains that we must fly through. Itâs called Dancing like Butterfly Wings. It may sound whimsical but it was the hardest flight of my life. This is mere childâs play to that,â San told you.Â
âWhen I came of age, I had to gather my moonâs blood and combine my two branches of power for the first time. I had to stay there all night until finally I was so frustrated I made a flame tornado that destroyed the entire glade I was sitting in the middle of.âÂ
You wondered how San would react to mention of your moonâs blood. Jaehyun always made sure he was scarce because it was a sacred time for a woman. You always wished he had stuck around to help you out since you couldn't use your magic much.Â
Sanâs eyes widened. âBut youâre not supposed to perform magic when youâre bleeding!â
âThatâs the test,â You said proudly. âTo prove that you are connected to your magic even through the pain.â
San nodded resolutely. âI understand. Going through Dancing like Butterfly Wings is similar. As if your flying is so natural that despite your muscles hurting you can still manage the high winds and maneuvers. You are strong, my heart.â
âWell, I suppose, that means weâve been matched well then,â You allowed.
San's arms tightened around you possessively. âWe were born for each other.â
âDo you really think that we had no choice over who we fell in love with?â You demanded.
San looked off in the distance, face serious. âI don't see it like that. It's more an assurance that there is someone out there just for you.âÂ
âYou help bring fated mates together, right?â You inquired, recalling what San had told you earlier.
San nodded. âI help demons, and witches and warlocks, with their matches.â
âHow?â And why didn't you find me earlier? You couldn't help but think with a painful beating of your heart.
San made a noise of distress. âI promise you, I found you exactly when you needed me.â
You sighed. âDoesn't feel that way, San.â
âI'll show you what I do another day. For today, I want to show you my favorite place in the entire Demon Realm.â
You flew in companionable silence until the early morning sun glinted off of the surface.Â
âIs that waterâŠpink?!â You demanded incredulously.
âItâs Lake Fever,â San murmured. âMy favorite place.â
The lake was in the middle of a clearing, a copse of flowing trees that reminded you of weeping willows only full with blue flowers instead of leaves. It was a serene piece of heaven and you felt yourself settle immediately.Â
âSan, this place is beautiful,â You said softly.
San set you down. âI was hoping you would like it too.â
âIâŠâ You were almost at a loss for words. Although you knew the demon realm existed, you never expected it to be so beautiful. âThank you.â
San began to unbutton his shirt. You couldn't help but watch as bronze skin was revealed. You had snuggled into it last night but you had been so emotionally overwhelmed that you hadn't truly had a moment to appreciate his carved body. San reached to the collar behind his neck and unbuttoned that too. Why hadn't you realized his shirt had an open back for his wings?
San lifted his eyebrow at you. âWant to go for a dip?â
âAâŠdip?â
San quirked a tiny half smile. âItâs warm. Thereâs some vents underneath that maintain it. Itâs almost bath temperature. Itâs really good for sore muscles.â
âAnother reason why itâs your favorite place?â You wondered.
San nodded. âYup.â
âWhy didnât you tell me where we were going? I could haveâŠâ You lifted your skirt uselessly.Â
San cleared his throat. âIt was a surprise.â
You chewed on your lip. You wanted to take this dip with San but you had just had your heart torn out by Jaehyun and you were considering going skinny dipping with your new mate? Things were moving a tad bit too fast for your logical brain.Â
You shook your head. âYou go ahead. Iâm not the one flying us around everywhere.â
San shrugged his shoulders. His broad, muscled shoulders that rippled as he stretched and folded his wings. âSuit yourself, Heart.â
Your eyes widened as he bent over to remove his pants and then strode confidently towards the lake, as if he wasnât butt-naked.Â
Your eyes went to the sky but your mind wasnât going to forget Sanâs plump bare ass anytime soon. What would it look like with nail marks, or bite marks? You shook your head. No, you couldn't--
San let out a chest laugh that was deeper than his happy giggle. âLike what you saw?â
You sat down at the shore, gathering your knees upwards and you buried your face into your arms. âYou did that on purpose,â You mumbled.Â
After a bit, you raised your head and watched as San splashed around in the lake. He ducked underneath the surface to wet his hair and slick it backwards, a strand or two catching on his horns. You were having a hard time not staring, even only being able to see him from the chest up.Â
This was a set up, if you ever saw one, but you found that you almost couldn't complain.
Especially when San started to climb out of the water. You turned your head to avoid seeing his full frontal nudity. San let out another one of those delicious chest laughs.Â
âThat was offered freely, whatâs wrong, Heart?â San teased.
âDoesnât seem right,â You grumbled.Â
San must have grabbed his pants and put them on because the next thing you knew was that he was standing over you, shaking his wet hair out over you. You squealed and then jumped up.
Only to meet Sanâs eyes dancing with amusement. He had his pants on but not his shirt, simply tucked into the waistband of his pants.Â
âAre you a dog?â You demanded.
âNo,â San said with a dimpled smile.
You rolled your eyes and sighed. âAre you done with your dip? What else can you show me?â
Instead of entertaining your question, San reached out for you. You let him drag you to his body, wet or no. âNowhere where there are any others. Weâre in our newly-mated era, you see, and I wonât suffer anyone near my mate.â
âAwfully possessive for a demon Iâve barely met,â You continued to grumble.Â
San gripped your chin and made you stare at him. âYou are mine, Heart, make no mistake about it.â
âDonât you find this just a bit much?â You demanded desperately. âSome people take years to fall in love. How can you act like this?â
âIâm following my heart.â San grabbed your hand and placed it over his heart. âDonât you feel it?â
You could feel Sanâs chest muscle flexing under your hand. You could feel his smooth, warm skin beneath your palm. You could feel his heart beating erratically, like he was excited for this moment. You could feel--
âSan, youâre hard again,â You deadpanned.
âI have my mate pressed against me,â San murmured lowly. âYour soft curves are molded against me. I can smell you and itâs driving me insane. Do you know what our bond is doing right now? It wants us to cement our joining. It wants our bodies to come together. Do you know how hard it is to not take you right now?â
You gulped, hard and loud. You had no moisture in your mouth. You had never been so thoroughly wanted by any man in your entire life. Was this what it meant to have a fated mate?
âI donâtâŠI donât fuck without strings, San. I have to be involved. I have to know you. I have to want to fuck you knowing your heart and soul, I--â
San growled--growled!!--and his eyes lit up with a yellow ring along the iris. âYou do! You know me inside and out because we are mates.â
âSan--â
San breathed in and out through his nose deeply. He had a charming nose whistle that made your heart skip a beat. It has been doing that a lot lately. âIâm sorry.â
And when he released you, you felt empty and longing. You felt cold. You felt--
You looked into Sanâs eyes and saw his sorrow. You felt rejected. Was this his feelings? You couldn't help but snatch up his hand and rub your cheek against it.
âIâm not rejecting you, San,â You assured him. âI just--youâve known about this your whole life. I only found out about this yesterday.â
âI know,â San agreed but he sounded so dejected.
Your heart hurt knowing that you were the cause. San had been nothing but lovely to you and here you were making him feel horrible.Â
âThis was a lovely trip,â You murmured and then placed a chaste kiss on his cheek.
San sucked in his breath in surprise at the cheek kiss. When you stepped back, he put a hand to his cheek, as if he didnât believe the kiss was real.
âYouâre welcome,â he said.Â
You shivered and you realized you were soaked from San. âI think we should go home now,â You said softly.
âI--â San looked around into the sky and narrowed his eyes. âWhat the fuck?â
Suddenly, San was shoving you behind him just as you heard the whooshing of another set of wings.Â
âI thought Iâd find you here.â
San threw open his wings, almost as if he was trying to make himself seem bigger than he already was.Â
âWhy are you here, Hongjoong? You know the rules.â
âThereâs an emergency,â Hongjoong replied.
âSomeone else can deal with it,â San said through gritted teeth. âDo you know how much itâs taking me to not rip you apart for being close to my mate right now?â
âSan, they need you. Someoneâs mate died before we could get to her.â
You side stepped San. âAnother witch?â
Hongjooongâs eyes widened. He nodded slowly.
You turned your head. âSan, you have to go!â
San grimaced. âI canât, Heart, you have no clue--â
Hongjoong cocked his head. âWait--have you not--?â
âCareful what you say next Hongjoong, because if I even get a hint that youâre thinking about my mate in a carnal act with me, I will--â
âSan, thereâs no time for this!â You insisted. âThat bastard clearly wasnât hurt enough when you chucked him into a building. Heâs still killing witches! We have to help!â
âHeart, someone else can--â
âYou have a better connection with the heartstone, San, please, you might be able to locate the next mate before they are in trouble!â Hongjoong pleaded.Â
âI canât, Hongjoong,â San declined.Â
Your heart ached that you had been saved from that fate but you couldn't help the next witch. It made you feel weak and useless and very, very angry.Â
You grabbed Sanâs hand and dragged him a few feet away from Hongjoong. âAre you really telling me that you canât go help other witches because you havenât fucked me yet?âÂ
San wearily ran his hand over his face. âItâs not by choice, Heart, I promise you.â
You ran a hand through your hair. âSo if we--can you--?â You looked desperately at San for an answer.
âHeart, no,â San pleaded. âI donât want our first time to be like that!â
You made a decision, right then and there. There were worse things you could do than fuck a handsome demon so that another witch or warlock could live. With San still in tow, you walked back to where Hongjoong was.Â
âYou tell them--â
San yanked you back into his chest, arms locked around you, holding you tight to him. He wasnât about to let you get that close to Hongjoong, apparently.
You struggled a bit in his hold, you couldnât help it. âTell them San will be there later today. Heâll help. I promise.â
Hongjoong dipped his head, his lips twitching into a smile. âMy thanks, witchling.â
âWeâre leaving,â San grumbled and swept you into his arms once again.
This time you cuddled into his chest, the air of the morning not quite warm enough at the high altitude and the swiftness in which San was flying.Â
âS-s-s-san,â You stuttered, your teeth chattering.
San cursed under his breath. âWe were supposed to dry off in the sun. Consort damn you, Hongjoong.â
By the time San landed back home, your toes and fingers were slightly numb. San didnât bother to put you down, he simply walked straight into the bathroom. There was a large pearlescent-colored metal tub.Â
âI c-can s-sum-m-on--â You could barely speak, you were shivering so badly.
âCurses,â San swore. âHeart, I say this is the most respectful tone but you need to get out of your clothes and get in bed with me.â
âI c-c-an d-d-do it-t-tt!â You insisted.
San shook his head. âThereâs no time.â
San gripped the chest of your dress and ripped it in two. It fell to the crooks of your arms and you stared down your body in complete surprise. San removed his wet pants next and reached for your underclothes before you smacked his hand.Â
âN-n-no-t-t-t we-t-t-t,â You stuttered.Â
San whined. âHeart, youâre killing me!â
He threw you over his shoulder and then tossed you onto the bed. You bounced only once before San was pressing his body on top of yours. He encapsulated you with his body. His eyes were traveling over your face, watching your every feature. Slowly but surely, Sanâs heat permeated your skin and your shivering began to slow down.Â
You whined as San pressed your harder into the bed. âYouâre smothering me!â You protested.Â
âYou can breathe just fine,â San argued.Â
âIâm warm now!â You insisted.Â
San shook his head. âYouâre not going anywhere.â
âSan!â You shouted.
San winced at your tone but did not relent. âItâs my fault. Youâre not moving until Iâm satisfied youâre fine.â
âIâm fine!â
Sanâs chin found the crook of your neck. You froze when his lips found your pulse. His tongue swiped out to press there.Â
âWhat are you doing?â
âPreparing you,â San murmured into your skin.Â
âFor what?â You squealed.Â
One minute your entire world was San above you and the next, the demon was lying on his back. His wings were tucked tightly against this back. You were straddling his hips now. Sanâs taloned hands smoothed up your thighs.Â
âDid you forget why we came home soaking wet, heart?â San said in a low voice. His eyes were hooded as he looked up at you.Â
âNo, I didnât, I just--â
âHeart, you have only your underclothes on and Iâm not wearing a stitch of clothing,â San reminded you.Â
âI know that,â You replied.Â
âYouâre so soft,â San murmured, hands now flowing over your hips and finding your underwear. His taloned forefingers circumvented the straps there and then with a sharp tug of his nail, both sides of your underwear were ripped.Â
âMust you destroy all my clothing!â You protested.
San smirked. âNo. But every time I do, your scent spikes. You like it.â
âBut you got them for me,â You pouted.
San chucked your chin. âIâll get you more. Donât worry.â
You changed topics, aware of the reason you were currently straddling San right now. âYouâll be able to help the others after this, right?â You asked.
San gripped the back of your neck and brought you down to press against his chest. âI donât want to think about anyone other than you and me right now, Heart.â
âYouâre very good at this,â You observed.
âWhat? Tempting you?â Sanâs eyes were directly on your lips. âI was made for you. Just like you were made for me.â
âAre you going to kiss me now?â You whispered.
Sanâs warm breath fluttered against the sensitive skin of your lips, thatâs how close you two were now. âIâm going to do more than kiss you, Heart,â San replied.Â
Your hands slipped to cup Sanâs neck and run along his jaw as San tipped his head to slant his lips across yours. He kissed you slowly but it was heated in its tone. He turned his head the other way to slant his lips against yours again. Each time he pressed his lips against yours you felt your body melt further into him.Â
The hand that had been gripping the back of your neck moved down your spine, causing you to shiver. San whined but you couldn't help but smile.Â
âIâm not cold,â You admitted. âItâs just sensitive there.â
San eyes came up to yours to watch as his finger trailed your spine until he found your corset. Then he ran his talon down the ribbons there until finally you felt your ribs no longer being squeezed. He gripped the garment and threw it across the room like it offended him.
Now there was simply the piece of material that was your underwear between San and you. The both of you became acutely aware of it immediately. San pinched it between his fingers and cocked his head. You nodded and then he threw that too.Â
You gasped as your wet core pressed against Sanâs hot cock. It twitched against you and San moaned. âHeart,â he called out to you. Both of his hands dug into your ass, pushing you further against him.Â
âOh Goddess,â You cried out.Â
San bit down on his lip, hard. âYouâre in charge, Heart, I canât--â You shifted your hips again and his back arched. âPlease!â
You rocked your hips up and down Sanâs length, not reaching down to put him inside of you quite yet. You were enjoying this moment of power.Â
Jaehyun always insisted that since he was the man, that he fuck you. You had never rode Jaehyun before. You belatedly thought that this was perhaps you were a powerful witch that Jaehyun felt the need to turn the tables in the bedroom, like this was his only chance, seeing as how you provided for yourself.Â
San began to growl and you smiled sheepishly. âSorry, sorry.â
âIf you think about another man while Iâm inside of you, I take no responsibility for fucking you senseless, Heart, until you can think of no other but me.â
The hand that you had been bracing yourself with on Sanâs stomach caressed upwards. Your other hand followed until they both separated over each chest muscle. âIâll make it up to you,â You promised.
âHeart--!â
Your hands finally found his wings and you gasped in happy surprise at how soft they felt.Â
âYouâre killing me,â San complained even though his eyes were rolling into the back of his head.Â
âAre you sensitive here, San?â You asked.
âIâm sensitive anywhere you touch,â San moaned.Â
âYour horns?â You glanced upwards to where they curled towards the bed.Â
âIf you touch my horns, I will have no choice but to flip us and fuck you through this mattress, Heart, don't test me,â San threatened with his whole chest.Â
You giggled. âI have so much to learn about you.â
âWe will have all of our lives to do that,â San assured you. âPlease, put me out of my misery.â
You glanced down at San below you, moving your hands back to his shoulders. âAre you suffering because youâre not inside of me?â
âIâm dying!â San protested.
âBut doesnât this feel good?â You continued to tease him, rubbing your soaked folds over his twitching cock.Â
âHeart, please,â San begged. His eyebrows frowned and his eyes pleaded and you couldn't help but give into him.Â
The moan San let out when you finally sunk down on his length was wanton and debased. His talons made indents in your ass as he continued to cry out. âYouâre so fucking warm, ugh so wet, I need you so badly, Heart.â
âIâm here, San, Iâm here,â You reassured him.Â
âItâs not enough!â San abruptly sat upwards, hands moving to the small of your back to keep you close. âI need all of you.â
âWhy is it every time I look you in the eyesâŠ?â Your words died in your mouth. How did you encapsulate what the look in Sanâs eyes felt like?
A gentle smile tugged at the corner of his lips. âBecause itâs what I feel, Heart. Being like this with you, this is where Iâm meant to be.â
âHow am I supposed to consolidate all this?â You wondered.
âJust love me right now, thatâs all I ask,â San prompted before placing a kiss on your lips.Â
You moved your hips as your hands dived into Sanâs hair. You pressed the kiss for more and San obliged you. You felt like you couldn't get enough of his kisses. You had never felt like this before. It was--
You gasped in realization, breaking the kiss. San simply smiled at you knowingly. âI know, Heart, I know.â
You whined and wrapped your arms behind his neck. Your hips moved more vigorously, grinding your clit against Sanâs pelvis. San absentmindedly ran his talons up and down your spine, making your shiver and moan in his grasp. You felt like this sex was something more--something substantial--something--!!
âCome on my cock, Heart, make it yours,â San murmured into your ear.
And then you unravelled. You felt your cunt convulse around Sanâs length. Your climax hit you so hard, your eyes rolled into the back of your head and you saw stars. You felt as if your heart was being peeled back, layer by layer, until it was left open.Â
You panted as you came down from your high and opened your eyes. âSan?âÂ
Your heart splintered. Did you simply take your pleasure from San and gave none back? Were you not enough for him? Did you do something wrong?
Sanâs mouth was open with wonder. His eyes sparkled like he had just witnessed something extraordinary. âYou are my everything, Heart.â
You felt yourself soften at his words. âBut you didnâtâŠcomeâŠâ You said lamely.
Sanâs eyes immediately sharpened and you swallowed loudly. âAre you giving me permission to take control?â
âI want to see you lose control,â You whispered.Â
San groaned loudly. âAll I do is lose control around you. You constantly have to tell me to put myself back together. And now you want me to do it on purpose?â
You pressed your lips together and nodded.Â
Thatâs all it took.
Suddenly, the headboard to the bed was digging into your shoulders as San drove deep in between your thighs. With both hands holding your waist, his hips flexed and sharply thrusted into you. You felt like he was driving the air from your lungs with how hard he was going. But it didnât hurt--no, it hit a deep part inside of you that you didnât realize you needed.Â
Sanâs hands moved to brace against the headboard, his arms boxing you in. âYou are mine,â San growled territorially. âThis body, this heart, this cunt is mine,â he stressed.Â
You whined as you felt a second climax building from San fucking you so well. âIâm yours,â You agreed. Youâd babble anything, truly, if that meant heâd continue to fuck you like this.Â
Without warning, San turned your head and his mouth was back to your pulse. âMine,â he growled once again and then bit down at the thin skin there.Â
Your fingers dug into his side at the pain but soon it was all lost as San came inside of you. He moaned against your neck, chasing his high as he continued to thrust into you. Between one thrust and the next, you were gone too, this one coming even harder than the last. You truly spaced out, unaware of your surroundings until you blinked and San was looking down at you with worry.Â
âHeart?â He said his pet name for you. âIâm going to get a cloth now.â
âFor what?â You said faintly.
San chuckled. âFor many things, but mainly for the mess between your legs.â
âThe messâŠ?âÂ
You tipped your head and saw the gushing liquid that was coming out of your clenching hole. It was a frothy mess, dark and viscous. Nothing like normal human cum. Sanâs cum appeared as the dark ocean whipped up into a frenzy on a stormy night.Â
You winced as your neck twinged with pain. You clamped a hand down on it and when you felt more wetness, you pulled back your hand and saw your blood.Â
âSan!â You shouted.
âWhat, what?â San ran out, naked as the day he was born, with a cloth in both hands. Then he appeared sheepish. âAh, youâll be alright. Everyone bleeds a little from their mate's bite.â
You showed your hand fully covered in your blood. âI must look like you almost killed me!â
Sanâs eyes combed over you. Your blood was running down your breast now and his cum was forming a pool on his bed. âYou look ravishing, heart.â
You huffed. âMy good sir, if you would continue to help me clean up instead of staring at me like Iâm a treat on the table?â
San ducked his head and padded over to you. âOf course, Heart. Iâve got you.â
You allowed San to wipe away the blood along your body but you neatly plucked the cloth away from him to clean up the mess between your legs. San pouted at that.Â
âI donât trust you to start up another round,â You admitted to him.
âWhatâs so wrong with that? Most newly mated demons and witchfolk spend days in bed together!âÂ
âWell, we have somewhere to be, do we not?â You pointed out.Â
San took the dirty clothes and tossed them into a basket. âNot before I feed you. You need energy.â
âSan, Iâm--â
San bared his teeth at you. âYou will eat!âÂ
âYou are a pushy nuisance!â You shouted back.
âIâm your pushy nuisance,â San argued.
You rolled your eyes. âIs this how itâs going to be, mate of mine?â
San bounded back to the bed and curled you into his body for a hug. âFor the rest of our lives, Heart.â
âAh, San,â You sighed. âYouâre giving me whiplash.â
It was only after you ate a light lunch, could you then put some clothes on and San was willing to leave your home again. You flew in a different direction, and this time with a cozy sweater that smelled just like San.Â
Things had shifted between you two. It wasnât just that you two had been intimate but it was inherently tied in with that. You felt like San had put a key into the lock of your heart and opened it up completely.Â
âWhat did we just do?â You asked.
âI told you this is why there is a newly-mated observed time where the two mates are together, just the two of them. They sort out their feelings and their lust and they come to an understanding,â San scolded you. âNow you have to deal with this AND the situation weâre about to walk into.â
âItâs important that we save lives. My feelings can wait,â You insisted.
San sighed heavily but snuggled you closer to him. âJust another reason to love you, I suppose.â
Through the rust-colored prairies, San flew until he reached a town. Or what you assumed was a town. From your view high up, you could see a spiraling road that descended into the ground. As San flew down with you in tow, you could see that there were demons flying across the abyss, trading or greeting each other. You felt sorrow for your old village.Â
San gave you a loud smacking kiss on the crown of your head. âYouâll make a new life here, youâll see.â
Down and down, San went, the wind rushing by your ears and the dwellings and stores stopped and you began to see statues. They were demons standing guard, their wings spread behind them and their weapons of choice drawn. The artist had captured them as if in mid-fight. They were beautiful but also intimidating. Probably what the intent was.Â
There truly was no end to the descent but there was an end to Sanâs flight path. He finally landed on an open terrace.Â
âThe hearthstone is one of our guarded magical items,â San explained to you, setting you down on your own two feet. âWe keep it down here for safe keeping.â
You peered at San curiously. âWho would dare try to steal it from demons?â
San laughed under his breath. âThere are other beings and creatures in the demon realm. Also there are some that would attempt to sabotage the mating connection. Some believe mixing with the magical folk dilutes our blood.â
âIâŠâ Your brain hadn't exactly gotten to that part of the mating exchange. âAre there little half demons running around here?â
âOf course!â San assured you. Then he sent you a sly smile. âWhy?â
âNothing, no reason,â You attempted to diffuse the situation.Â
San nudged you with one of his wings. âNot thinking about my cum inside of you as we speak?â
âSan!â You looked around wildly but there was no one in the empty hallways lit with torches.Â
âSan?â Hongjoong stuck his head out of one of the open doorways in the hallway. âYou came!â Hongjoong still looked warily at San.
âSheâs got my cum in her, Hongjoong, youâre okay!â San shouted.
âOh my Goddess,â You hissed, feeling embarrassment heat up your cheeks.
âOh, good,â Hongjoong replied, his own face heating up as well.Â
âCan you show me the hearthstone, please,â You tried to redirect by tugging on Sanâs arm.Â
âOf course, Heart,â San agreed, though that didnât take away the mischievous smile on his face.
Further inside, at the end of the long hallway, a room opened up. It wasnât a grand affair like you thought it would be, but a cozy room with a few chairs and a fireplace. There was a grand painting above the fireplace but other than that, the central focal point was the heartstone.
It was a dark, rough hewn stone in the shape of a heart, of course. San clasped a hand down on your shoulder. âThe painting is of the first demon and witch mated pair. He discovered the heartstone and learned to harness its power. So many demons and witchfolk were yearning for their hearts desire with no guidance. I am a descendant of the first mated demon. I also hold the affinity to help others find their fated mate.â
You looked at San with reverence. âYou must help so many demonkind and witchfolk.â
San nodded proudly. âIt is my privilege. I get so happy when I see them finally reunited.â
âSan is a romantic, if you canât tell,â Hongjoong added, having followed you to the heartstoneâs room.
You ran a hand behind Sanâs back, clasped his hip, and squeezed him close. âIâve noticed.â
San cleared his throat and focused on Hongjoong. âIs the demon here who has felt the call?â
âIâll go get her.â Hongjoong nodded quickly and jogged out of the heartstone room.
âA demoness and a warlock, huh?â You thought out loud.
San shrugged. âThe fated pairs can work both ways.â
You brought your forefinger and thumb to your chin in thought. âI wonder if I know him.â
A low growl left Sanâs lips. âWhat do you mean âknowâ?â
You smiled happily. You knew that Sanâs possessiveness should be something to be wary of, but you were finding it refreshing. âThere was a warlock in the next village over. I would visit him sometimes. His affinity with earth meant that he grew the most wonderful ingredients. Thatâs as far as it went.â
San narrowed his eyes down at you but shrugged it off. âWell, it doesnât matter now. Youâre my mate and heâs about to discover his.â
You giggled under your breath. âYes, San.â
The demoness entered. Her wings were tucked against her back but her eyes widened at seeing you and whipped her head towards San. âA human in the inner sanctum?â
San raised his eyebrows at her. âMy mate in the inner sanctum,â he corrected her.
She still eyed you with judgment. âOf course, my mistake.â Then she demanded bluntly. âShouldnât you be--â Hongjoong made a cutting motion at her. â--ah, youâve come to help me. You have my many thanks, San.â
San dipped his head in acknowledgement. âYou can thank my mate. She doesnât want any more witchfolk to get killed before they can find their mates.â
âThank you, witchling,â the demoness said with slight warmth in her voice.Â
Hongjoong grabbed you softly at the elbow and pulled you back as San and the demoness approached the heartstone. San glared daggers at Hongjoong, who was quick to drop his hand when you two were some distance away.
âSan needs to focus on the demonessâs heart, which the heartstone helps with,â Hongjoong leaned to you to explain.
âHongjoong, Iâm about a minute away from ripping your arm off and beating you with it,â San snarled.
Hongjoong raised his hands in defeat. âGot it, got it.â
You watched as San took a deep breath and then he placed his hand on the left side top of the heart. The demoness put her hand on the other side of the heart.
âI need you to dig deep,â San instructed her. âThink of your hopes and dreams for your mate. Then I need you to follow the tug of your heart. Youâll know when you feel it.â
âMingi, you better not be flirting with anyone,â the demoness muttered under her breath.Â
The heartstone glowed--no, it pulsed, as if it was beating. And perhaps it was. The demoness gasped and Sanâs eyes acquired that yellow ring around the iris.Â
âDo you feel them?â San intoned.
âI--I do!â The demoness stuttered.
âFollow the rope guiding you to them. Follow it until you can see their face in your mindâs eye,â San commanded.
The demoness shook as she must have done so internally. Then the heartstone shone so bright that you had to throw up a hand to brace for it. âI see him! Itâs unhealthy how much I want him. I need to calm down,â she muttered.
The glow faded until it was a faint pulse again. You lowered your hand and San was grinning like a child with some sugar. âIt is done.â
The demoness threw herself at San. âThank you, thank you!â
The flames of possessiveness fanned over your own emotions. You were happy for the demonness but she was pressed up against Sanâs chest. That was where you belonged.
San raised an eyebrow at you over the demonessâs shoulder. You raised the corner of your lip and he laughed silently. He pushed the demoness back. âYouâre welcome. Hongjoong will help you with the transmography pendant.âÂ
The two demons left and it was just you and San now.
You shook your head in shock. âThatâs why you didnât look like a demon when I first saw you!â
âItâs hard enough coming to terms with being mates. Adding the demon aspect is a bit much, weâve found over the years,â San revealed.
âAnd yet you did it backwards for me,â You said.
San laughed in slight embarrassment. âI needed you to accept my outside first.â
You sent San a knowing look. âMore like you wanted to flex your wings.â
San spread his wings cockily. His head lifted with an attitude. âI knew my mate then, youâd say.â
You shook your head and laughed at the ridiculousness of this moment. You reached out with your hand and San took it willingly. âThat was amazing, what you did for her. Thank you for coming and helping her and her mate. And thank you for letting me glimpse into your world.â
San ducked his head, his cheeks heating up slightly. âIt was my pleasure.â
âAlthough if most demons thank you by hugging them, maybe donât tell me about that when you come home after a long day,â You joked.
San pulled your curves to his side. âI think I like you jealous like this,â he whispered into your ear.Â
âIâm not the one threatening to rip anyone's arms off,â You muttered.
San giggled like he was gleeful of your petulance. âNo but if you could have sent a burst of wind at the demoness to push her back, wouldn't you have?â
âItâs not polite to use my power like that,â You sniffed.
San cackled, throwing his head back with a deep laugh. âThatâs my mate.â
You fell into a comfortable rhythm in the Demon Realm. There were plenty of witchfolk with the various mates and descendants of mixed blood that felt like home in the descending village where San worked. In actuality, you had always been the lone witch in the village so being surrounded by so many others felt better than home. You wondered what had kept you all segregated in different towns for so long?
You also had the honor of meeting with more witchfolk and demons that were fated mates. San was doing a wonderous job of saving your kind but for as many as he saved, it seemed just as many died. The Witchâs Axe was working feverously in his worship to death.
But Bang Chanâs obsession with the one that got away made him work even harder.
You and San were invited to a welcome ceremony. One of the demons that San had managed to help to save their witch wished to honor San--and his mate--with a small gathering. Their week of being wrapped in each other was over, of course.Â
Not that time had changed anything between you and San.
The humans have a fond saying that love has an intense spark but it fades with familiarity. That never happened between you and San. San showed you almost daily just how much he needed and wanted you. Some part of you believed he was dedicating his life to making up for the love you had lacked before him.Â
Seonghwa, the demon that had invited you, was glowing as he introduced his witch mate. He looked down at her with adoration while his mate stated a very important fact to you.
âI have a message to pass on to you. The Witchâs Axe made it clear that you needed to hear this.â
You blinked several times, the new witchâs words needing time to sink into your mind. âCome again?â
Seonghwa also looked confused and wasnât happy as his mate pulled away to speak with you. âYou need to know. I believe we are acquaintances with the same witch. The one who deals in air? A very kind woman who can never say no to anyone.â
You sucked in air between your teeth in apprehension. âIs she dead?â
Seonghwaâs mate shook her head. âNo, but he has her.â
You slapped your hand to your heart and gripped your shirt tightly with the other. Here you were, safe and happy, and still witches were being targeted and killed. Even with Sanâs help of saving the mates of demons, it still wasnât enough.Â
San was by your side in an instant. Your heart wrenching was always a call to him.Â
âHeart?â San leaned in front of you, his head cocked and concern written all over his face.Â
You put a hand on Seonghwaâs mateâs arm. âCongratulations for being connected with your mate. As you can see, youâll have someone being able to read your every emotion each turn of your heart. I wish you a happy and healthy life.â
A rare smile cracked through the witchâs normally stoic face. âI believe he will have to worry about me.â
You allowed a tiny laugh to escape you as San swept you up in his arms as he was ought to do when he decided it was time to fly you home.Â
He didnât say a word once you landed home. He moved enough logs into the fireplace and waited for you to light it. The light of the flames flickered along his sharp features as he stared into it.
âAre you going to tell me what upset you at the welcome ceremony?â San wondered out loud.Â
âSanâŠâ How would you tell him that you felt responsible?
San turned around, frowning hard. âDonât you know you can tell me anything by now, Heart?â
You sighed heavily. âI know I can, San. I suppose I know that I wonât like what you have to say in response.â
San moved quickly to stand in front of you and then fell to his knees. He wrapped his arms around your legs and pressed his head to your stomach. âMy heart.â
You patted your hand on his head, careful of his horns. âI appreciate your candor, truly. Thereâs no need to sulk.â
San turned his head upwards, his wings flaring in anxiety. âWill you tell me?â
While carding your hands through his hair, you spoke. âSeonghwaâs mate informed me that the Witchâs Axe has a friend of mine in his grip. I canât help but worry that Iâm living in a dream and allowing others to suffer what I might have lived through if not for you. I feel responsible. If you hadn't swept me away. If I didnât try harder--â
San hugged you tighter. âItâs not your fault.â
Your fingers found the base where Sanâs horns met his scalp. âI know but I canât help but feel this way. And now that Bang Chan is holding this particular witch over my headâŠâ
San growled. âItâs a trap.â
âI know, San,â You admitted.
âYouâre not allowed to go anywhere near him ever again,â San commanded.
You laughed under your breath and then gripped both of his horns in your hands. San let out a soft moan and allowed his head to be tipped upwards. âDidnât you promise me that if I touched your horns I would end up on my back?â
A grin quirked at the corners of Sanâs pouty lips. âI believe I said I would put you through the mattress.â
Sanâs head jerked as you pulled harder on his horns. âThen why am I still standing?â
Wordlessly, San lifted you up, arms still around your legs and easily moved you towards the bed. âYou need not say anymore,â he purred.Â
Carefully, San set you down but didnât let you go. He rubbed his cheek against your thigh, still covered by your skirt. The way your legs had split against the bed, allowed for the slits up each side to reveal your legs.Â
âI knew this was a good idea to have these made,â San murmured while fingering the fabric of the front of your skirt.Â
Your hand found the top of Sanâs head once again. âYou know Iâll wear whatever youâll have made for me.â
San grinned deviously. âAnything? That allows me a lot of wiggle room, Heart.â
âAnything,â You reiterated.Â
Sanâs eyes rolled into the back of his head at your tone. âThen I will spend hours with a seamstress purchasing the most debased clothing just for me.â
âAs long as it was you who chose it,â You smiled.Â
San licked his lips, his eyes on the prize. He lifted up the fabric barring his view of your clothed cunt and groaned upon seeing the fabric wet. âHeart, Iâm of a mind to feast on you. Apologies if I become nonverbal.â
âYou are a demon, after all,â You teased.
The crotch of your underwear was torn with his talon, as you were used to by now, and Sanâs face dove in between your thighs. Your head hung backwards as you braced yourself on your elbows on your shared bed. Sanâs tongue found your aching hole and began to tease you by pushing his tongue in and out of you. You gifted him with some whimpers as he played with you. Your hips thrusted on their own accord with the pace that San set, steady and focused on your every gasp. Your hands remained on his horns, urging him on.Â
San changed his direction and moved towards your clit. His thumbs held your outer folds apart so that he could lay the flat of his tongue against the most sensitive bundle of nerves on your body and gave you untold pleasure. Your back collapsed to the mattress fully, head moving back and forth as the knot in your stomach tightened and wound and pulled until your release was embarrassingly quick. You cried out, your back arching and your fists tightening on Sanâs horns.Â
âHeart, if you clench my horns any tighter, I might come as well,â San teased you.
âS-stop, stop that, you rascal,â You rasped. Your body twitched as San lapped at your hole, feeding off your cum.
San raised his head, your weary body unable to keep a hold of his horns any longer. You released his horns, arms falling carelessly to the bed. San made a show of slowly licking his upper and lower lip of all your wetness there. âDonât ask me to stop when I would spend the rest of my life feeding from between your thighs.â
You groaned in slight frustration and closed your legs on Sanâs head, almost comically squishing his cheeks there. âIâm not asking.â
San chuckled, pushing your thighs down easily and climbed up your body. âYes, Heart.â
Your demon mate rested his head in the crook of your neck and licked the now-healed mate marks there. You shivered. âMine,â San sighed contently.
Then his hips began to shift in between your thighs. It shouldnât have come as a surprise that San was throbbing and hard after what he did but it always seemed like San was in a constant need for you. It warmed your heart that was still healing from its break.
âSan, Iâm sensitive!â You whined.Â
âYou came undone for me quickly, Heart,â San chuckled knowingly. âAre you also sensitive anywhere I touch you?â Of coure he was referencing the first time you two had fucked. Did he memorize every moment with you?
Your nails trailed up Sanâs sides and found the junction where his wings and back muscles met. You watched his facial expression as his eyebrows furrow and San pouted. âOr perhaps our mate bond allows for some liberties, hmmm?â You hummed in question.
Sanâs wings bloomed over you, casting a soft shadow to Sanâs features. âTouch me however you want. I, however, will be satiating myself with your body further.â
One of Sanâs arms bulged as he held his body aloft with one hand as his other found his breeches and pulled them down just far enough to release his cock. You gripped the strong branch of where his wings connected to his back tightly as San slowly fucked himself inside of you.Â
âFuck, San.â You licked your lips. âYou feel so good inside of me. These muscles make me so wet.â
âI will never get enough of you,â San moaned. His thrusts were shallow and struggling to fight with the clenching of your inner walls. âOnce I loosen you up, you seem to take me so well. Goddess help me, you squeeze me so fucking good.â
Between the two of you torturing each other with all the amazing sensations, you were surprised either of you had the capacity to get anywhere orgasm wise. You were drunk on his dick and San was drowning in your cunt.Â
San was right, however. Once he managed to sheath himself inside of you fully, it was no problem to fuck you properly. Your hold on his wings almost became a lifeline because Sanâs slow fucking of you was going to be the death of you.
âSan,â You moaned.Â
âDo you feel every inch of me inside of you, Heart?â San focused his hooded gaze down on you.Â
âOh, Goddess,â You moaned again. âThis is--â You swallowed but found that there was no moisture in your mouth.Â
âTell me,â San commanded you, his pace remaining the same slow, torturously drag inside of you.
âI need you. Iâm yours. Only you can make me feel this way.â You werenât entirely sure what San was looking for but you knew it had to be one of the above.
âYou squeeze down on me so good, Heart.â Now it was Sanâs turn to sound strained. âYouâre practically milking me.â
âFill me up,â You murmured and then the both of you were gone.
San sped up, albeit his strokes became messy and desperate. He sealed the orgasm with a kiss, drinking in all your cries and moans. His guttural release inside of you fed yourself as well. You found your legs locked behind his plush ass, trapping his cock and seed inside of you. Someday you were going to be privy of seeing his viscous, dark foaming cum released from his cock as you stroked it but today was not that day.
âI love you,â San sighed as he collapsed on top of you, snoring shortly afterwards.
You would have giggled under your breath if this wasnât exactly what you had been working towards. Instead, you kissed his head in response.
After struggling with getting out from under Sanâs body, you finally manage to pad towards the dressing screen where your personal effects are. Sanâs been gifting you with jewelry but the most important item was a ring.
âI know youâve been grumbling about having no means of getting around from our remote home so I made this for you.â San scratched the back of his head shyly. âItâs imbued with my own power to make a portal.â
âThis is wonderful!â You admitted happily.
âYou donât need it, not really. Iâm always going to be there for you but--â His unspoken words of âgiven the reality of how I saved youâ spoke through his silent gaze. â--I thought this would be important to you.â
You hated having to use sex to distract San and use his gift to you against him but in your heart of hearts, you knew you had to save the witch that Seonghwaâs mate had informed you was in need of help.Â
âI love you too, San,â You whispered into the air before you put on the ring.Â
The purple portal appeared before you and you braced yourself. San had told you to think of where you needed to go, or the person you needed to see, and the portal would take you where you needed to go. The vertigo wasnât as easy to work through without Sanâs arms around you but you still managed to get through it.Â
You were in front of a door that didnât look familiar to you at all. You hoped your thoughts had directed you exactly where you needed to be.
You raised your fist and pounded at the door.Â
A man opened the door and looked down his nose at you. âAnd who are you?â
âTell your master that the one that got away is here. Heâll want to know,â You replied snidely.
The door closed in front of your face and you rolled your eyes. But you were right. The door was practically ripped open by the silver-haired man that had so abruptly ripped you from your old life.
Chan ran the back of his finger down the side of your face. âI knew you would come back to me.â
You raised an eyebrow at him. âYou ensured that, didnât you? Now, release your prisoner and take me in her stead.â
Chan frowned, shaking his head in confusion. âRelease her? Sheâs a witch. She must die by trial of magic.â
âYou are beyond deplorable,â You said with disbelief.Â
Chanâs smile widened, his fingers and thumb holding your chin between them. âI am simply removing the stain on humanity. There is no need for magic or the ones who would inflict it upon us.â
âYou should have been swallowed instead of accepted in the womb.â
You felt the ground beneath you before you felt the slap that had you tumbling downwards. Your hand raised to your cheek. The hot imprint of Chanâs hand was evident.Â
Chan continued to speak his thoughts out loud. âYouâre lucky I have specialized in humbling your kind. Youâre all the same: defiant until youâre pliant. Iâll fix you, donât worry. Youâll be pleading and begging and soft upon my cock; exactly where you should be.â
âThereâs a difference between the ones before me,â You maintained. âI have had the honor of being loved and mated with a demon. Nothing you can do to me can compare to that. I will leave this world knowing that. You cannot take that away from me.â
Chan sent you a look of disgust. âYou mated with that thing? How disgusting. If you summon it and give me the chance to kill it, I will keep you alive.â
You started to laugh, so hard that tears came to your eyes. âYou really have never felt any true love, havenât you? You think that I would give up the love of my life for the chance to live? To live by your side as a horrid example of how witchfolk should truly live? Your soul is blacker than I thought.â
âYou will submit to me.â Chan slammed a boot into your stomach and you dry-heaved.Â
You faked a look of adoration. âIf I do, will you release the other witch?â
Chan tsked. âShe is a witch; she can save herself since sheâs so powerful.â
If Chan didnât know your friends affinity, she might be able to--
âA sharp drop off the edge of a cliff should judge her affinity for air. And if she isnât what she says she is, then of course I will compensate the village.â
Fuck.
So you showed up like a dog on a leash for the Witchâs Axe. The leash itself had spikes on the inside of the tough leather, so that any tug on the leash had the sharp points pushing against the thin skin of your neck. Even without provoking Bang Chan, you saw the malicious gleam in his eyes as heâd remind you of the power he had over you right now.
Your fingers created crescent moon marks on the palms of your hands as you clenched them hard, a reminder that if you behaved yourself, you might have a chance to help save the witch who might lose her life today.
As Bang Chan had so eloquently described, everyone was gathered at the lip of a canyon. There was a stage built, a nose hanging out on an arm over the drop into the canyon. Why Bang Chan thought challenging a witch with her most strongest branch of the elements was beyond you but you had a feeling it had something to do with his ego.Â
Chan threw his arms out wide and addressed the crowd. âToday we have a woman on trial for being accused of the curse of being a witch. She will be dropped for her supposed crimes. If she is a witch, she will hover with her power of the air. And if she is not a witch, she will struggle and strangle herself with the weight of your accusations. Let us begin.â
Some of the Witchâs Axeâs cronies pushed and shoved the witch of air towards the stand. She stumbled, and it was no small feat for her to stay on her feet, by the look of her damaged body.
You stared in horror at the bridle that was around her head. It was exactly like Bang Chan had described it. There must be an instrument that was piercing and holding the witchâs tongue so that she could not speak. Meanwhile, the metal contraption that held it all in place appeared as a barbed wire nightmare of a halo around her head.Â
Chan tugged on your leash and you allowed only a small narrowing of your eyes to show your pain as the spikes pierced deeper into your skin, allowing rivulets of blood to stream steadily down to pool into your collarbones. âThatâs your future if you continue to be stubborn.â
You stared straight ahead. Your mind was whirling a million miles a minute. You had to do something. You could see the dazed, glazed look in the witchâs eyes: Chan had given her something; she didnât look like she was in her right mind, let alone be able to fight the Witchâs Axe or his thugs.
They didnât even bother to remove the bridle from the witchâs head. It was probably so the witch couldn't say anything to the crowd. Chan really did enjoy being the only voice heard. The noose went around her neck and they poked her with a cruel fire stoker towards the opening in the stage that would allow her to plummet.
Bang Chanâs eyes stayed on the witch. His lips moved wordlessly. Was he funnelling the watered down version of power he bore? This was it. It was all or nothing right now.
The witch took one step towards her death and you grabbed the leash that Bang Chan held. His focus had been on the witch about to die so it made it easy for you to yank it out of his grasp. You ran towards the stage and focused your fire magic first, burning through the rope that was the noose. The witch did not strangle. Then you used your air magic to help her hover out of the grasp of the other witch hunters, also sending a blast of air to push them all away.
âOur logical acquaintance is with her mate!â You shouted. You yanked off the portal ring from your finger and threw it at her. âFind yours! Iâll see you in the demon realm when this is all said and done. Simply focus on the faint tug at your heart for love and youâll succeed.â
The witchâs eyes sharpened to a moment of lucidness. She nodded and then put your ring on. She took a step off the air platform you had created. The crowd gasped a second time but as you all rushed towards the edge. You saw the portal to the demon realm closing.Â
You closed your eyes and sank to your knees in relief. You had succeeded in your mission.
A bubble of water surrounded your head as someone punched you in the stomach. The air left your lungs and when you inhaled, water flooded in. Bang Chan used his affinity with water to torture you for a moment before he released the water. You coughed and coughed. The illusion of almost drowning wracked through you.
âSee how the wretched creatures look to even kill their own kind!â Bang Chan shouted for all to hear. He knelt down to grab the leash, wrapping the leather around his hand until there was no slack. He brought his lips so they were close to your ear. âYou will pay dearly for that.â
You let out a wet, bitter laugh. âWorth it, Witchâs Bane.â
The next day made what Chan had promised when he first burst into your hut sound like mere childâs play.Â
You now understood why the air witch had been so mentally unpresent during her execution. The potion that Bang Chan had fed to you made the word disorientation seem like a mild dose of sickness. Sometimes you thought you knew where you were or who you were with and sometimes you swore you were back home with San. Cruel hands turned into a loving embrace. Pleasure emerged into excruciating pain.Â
Sometimes it was a relief to not be fully aware of exactly what Chan was doing to you and other times you wanted to lock it into your mind's eye for when you exacted your revenge.
Yes, you were still living in that lie.Â
As the hours, or seconds, or days--you werenât sure--passed, you realized that you werenât escaping this. You were fully capable but Chanâs method of torture was specialized in bringing witchfolk to their knees and unable to defend themselves, despite their power base.Â
But you had something the other witches had not: a demon mate.
Chan pushed your chin up, gently bringing your focus back to him. His tone was as a lover addresses their sweetheart. âCome now, you and I could have so much fun in this world. If you leant your power to me, if we combined forces, we could become the sole magical practitioners of this realm. With a big enough army, we could even invade the demon realm. Summon the demon that forced himself on you. We can make everything and everyone tremble beneath us.â
Your eyes focus on whatâs around you. A crowd of people. You were standing on a pyre of wood. Your hands were tied behind your back at a stake.Â
Oh. This was your execution.
It was almost funny the way that Bang Chan thought he was the hero in this story. You smiled and he thought you were about to agree with him.
âI didnât want to have to break you but you do look so beautiful this way,â he murmured to you.Â
âI would never betray the first man who loved me unconditionally for a fucked up, unloved witchâs spawn. Go ahead and try to burn me. Fire is my element. I would embrace it as I would my demon mate. You better make sure you donât ever meet my San, because he would rip you limb for limb for what youâre about to do,â You announced triumphantly.Â
âYouâre making a mistake,â Chan said, stepping down off the pyre and shaking his head.Â
You grinned maniacally. âItâs never a mistake to bet on love.â
Once Chan was sitting on the chair they hauled to another stage where the Witchâs Axe was to reign over this moment, the jeers began. The crowd screamed about how you were the seed of all their problems. You were an abomination. How you didnât deserve to live. Chan motioned with his fingers for his cronies to light your pyre.
All the witches you knew were selfless and giving and helped every village and human they encountered. Even the hermits would aid any who crossed their path. Witches were some of the best humankind had to offer and yet this was the result: jealousy.Â
You let the horrible words flow around you like a river, and you, the one rock that stood against them. Instead, you thought of your mate.
Choi San, the demon who had not allowed you to take your life after becoming broken pieces. Choi San, the demon who could not restrain himself when it came to you. Choi San, the demon who lived romance by guiding hearts to their fated mates. Choi San, the one soul who made you feel complete.Â
You opened your eyes and you smiled happily. Within the wavy distortion of air from the flames licking up the wood, you saw the one person in all the realms who you loved the most. He walked with such conviction, wings spread. God, his shoulders were so broad they almost blotted out the sun. He was so powerful and beautiful and the most pure soul you had ever encountered.Â
Your mind was giving you the final sendoff you wished for. You closed your eyes and leaned your head back, as if you were to drink in the warmth from the sun above. You wanted the last thing you saw to be San.
You heard the wooshing of the wood as they collapsed and the fire climbed closer. More pain started to wrack through you.Â
âHeart.â
You were even imagining your mateâs sultry tone. How wonderful.
âI know youâll be angry with me for slipping out without you. But I had to do this. I love you, Choi San.â
âI love you too but if youâd open your eyes, youâd realize youâre saying your goodbyes for no damn reason,â Sanâs voice snarled.
You opened your eyes and gasped. You couldn't feel him, your arms were still behind your back, but you knew with your entire mate bond that the real Choi San was in front of you.
âSan.â You said his name like it was a synonym for love. The heat was so strong that it stole any tears that would have fallen for your mate.Â
San sent you a devilish, devil-may-care grin. âYou will never burn, not unless it's for me.â
With his talons, he shredded the ropes around you and gathered you in his arms. You had lost count the amount of times San had held you close while he flew with you. This time was different. You could feel his arms trembling from anger with how frail you were in his arms.Â
âSan, I had to save her. Like you saved me.â
âI am angry at the fool I was. I should have grabbed my axe and flown with you into battle, not attempt to keep you from the fight,â San shook his head.Â
Once again, you had held San to a standard that he blew through the roof. He wasnât angry at you. He was angry at himself for not standing with you on your choice. He served to protect but what you truly needed was someone to throw themselves into serving justice with you.Â
You raised your arms, no matter how hurt you were, and wrapped them behind his neck to bring Sanâs head down to touch foreheads. âI love you with the entirety of our soul bound, Choi San, Heartstone bearer.â
San smiled through tears of his own. Your strong demon who had a heart three times too big for this cruel world. âI loved you before we met and I will love you beyond it. In this life, and every life we meet. Our bond will keep us connected as many times as it takes for us to love together.â
You blinked heavily, becoming dizzy with the potion that Bang Chan had forced you to consume. âHeâs given me something. Itâs how none of us are strong enough or belligerent enough to fight him. I canât--this time I canât fight him. I fear I would do more harm to innocents rather than exact my revenge.â
San looked forward with purpose. âSend it through our bond. Believe in our connection and your connection with your two branches of elements. I will be your tool for destruction.â
San circled around until he found where Chan had been standing, waiting, watching your execution. Firstly, he put you down amongst the crowd that had gathered to watch you die. He sent a death glare to all.Â
âMutter ill of my mate or make an attempt on her and I will personally pull your entrails out via your nostrils,â He warned.
The people made a wide semicircle around you, keeping several arms lengths away from you.
You had the honor of watching San from behind as he pulled his double-headed axe over his shoulders, careful of his wings and took a fighting stance.
âImbue me with your magic, Heart. And watch the show.â
You focused deep within the well of your magic. It was difficult, the potion tugging you mentally in every which way. But it was easy to follow the love flowing so thoroughly through your bond. You sent your strength in air and fire to San.
âIf I had realized I could wipe the world of both witchfolk and demonkind in one fell swoop, I would have let you match up all matter of pairs,â Bang Chan said with the showmanship he proudly wielded.
San laughed, this type you had never heard before. It was full of bloodlust and simmering-below-the-surface rage. âToday I snuff the cockroach that has been hiding in the cracks of my floorboard.â
Bang Chanâs face clouded with humiliation and infuriation. âHow dare you?! I am the Witchâs Axe. I--â
With a shout of savagery, San swung his axe downward. Your magic accumulated into a fire tornado, now fueled with Sanâs acrimony from Bang Chanâs treatment of you and all witchfolk, and swept up Bang Chan before he could voice another monologue as he was wont to do.Â
Instead of you burning at the stake, Bang Chan was the one who disappeared in a swirl of ashes. There wasnât a battle, or a struggle, but a simple blink--and the Witchâs Axe was gone.Â
San turned, triumphant in his exactment of your revenge. âHowâs that, Heart?â
You simply raised your arms in his direction in response. San secured his axe on his back once again and swept you up in his arms wordlessly.
âYou are the true Witchâs Axe,â You murmured. âNot one used against us but for us.â
San looked evenly at all who gathered around you two. âLet that be a lesson for any who would dare treat the witchfolk with scorn or contempt. They exist to better your lives, not ruin them. Spread the word that the true Witchâs Axe will smite those who would try to wipe any witch or demon from either realm.â
âTake us home, Mate,â You pleaded.
âWith pleasure, Heart,â San agreed.Â
âWhat did you mean back there, with that corny line of âburning for youâ?â You laughed under your breath.
The look that San sent to you made you clench around absolute nothing. âYouâll find out when I get you bathed, fed and in our bed.â
If this was to be your life forever more, regardless of what you had gone through to get here, you were sure that it was a life well worth the struggle.
summary: after discovering his infidelity, he struggles to win you back while you navigate life after the breakup
pairing: bang chan x fem!reader
genre: heavy angst, no comfort
word count: 6146 words
a/n: after so many great plots and ideas here's the sequel part, originally I wanted to wrap it up within two parts, but it was getting way too lenghthy and I really wanted to post something today for you lovies, so here you go âĄ
p.s. thereâs a voting poll at the end so please make sure to choose!
Part 1
Part 3 (coming soon)
Masterlist
~°~
The apartment felt wrong without you.
Bang Chan noticed it the second the door slammed shut behind you. Your phoneâs charger that was always connected to the dressing tableâs socket was gone. Your perfume no longer lingered in the hallway. Even the air felt colder, like it had chosen a side.
He defeatedly sat there for a long time, your engagement ring was still lying where it had landed on the floor. He didnât pick it up⊠because touching it will feel like admitting that it was really over.
He took out his phone from his pocket and immediately dialed your number, but it went straight to voicemail.
âPlease,â he whispered to no one, thumb hovering before trying again.
The call failed again. He tried multiple times. Then he typed out frantic messages that he knew youâd not reply, but he texted you anyway.
Future Mrs. Bahng đ
Baby, please answer me
I know I donât deserve it but please just let me explain
Iâm sorry, please give me one last chance.
Iâm begging you
Chan started crying again for what felt like the hundredth time that evening. When he felt his legs beginning to numb, only then he stood up and sat on the edge of the bed you once shared, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. Every memory attacked him at onceâyour smile when he came home exhausted, the way you stole his hoodies so they smelled like you, the quiet nights where you held him when the world felt too loud.
He had protected his idol image with iron walls, but he had never protected you and now you were gone.
He called again and again. And again. All of the calls went straight to voicemail.
At some point, desperation replaced dignity, so he got out of both of your shared apartment and started his car. He drove to your sisterâs place first, but she was confused as to what happened, Chan couldnât tell her due to the shame. Then he drove to your best friendâs apartment.Â
âShe doesnât want to see you,â your friend said firmly, arms crossed in the doorway. âAnd honestly? You should respect that.â
The door closed before he could answer.
For the first time in years, Chan cried in publicâhead bowed, shoulders shaking, because the world finally knew what you had always carried quietly.
When he returned home, the apartment was darker than before. He went to your shared bedroom and then finally picked up the ring with trembling fingers, his chest tightened and his knees gave out. He sank to the floor, clutching the ring like it might disintegrate if he held it too tightly. Every apology he had practiced felt useless now.Â
Inside his head, all he could hear was the echo of the door slamming shut. You had truly left him and this time, no amount of begging could bring you back.
Three days passed and when Chan still didnât show up at the studio, his members grew worried.Â
At first, the members assumed he was sick or maybe he just needed rest because Chan had missed studios beforeârarely, but it happened. But three days with no calls returned, no texts read, no late-night voice memo explaining himself?
That wasnât Chan.
Minho was the first to say it out loud.
âHeâs not answering,â he muttered, phone pressed to his ear for the fifth time. âThis isnât normal.â
Changbin frowned. âHe hasnât even sent revisions. Hyung doesnât disappear like this.â
Hyunjin hovered nearby, worry etched into his face. âShould we go check on him?â
Minho didnât hesitate. âIâm driving.â
They drove to his place in silence. Minho unlocked the door with the spare key, already calling out for Chan. âHyung?â
The smell of stale alcohol, unwashed clothes, something sour and heavy in the air hit them first. The living room was a mess. Empty bottles littered the floor and coffee table. Clothes were strewn everywhere. The curtains were drawn shut, trapping the dim light inside like the apartment hadnât seen daylight in days.
Then they saw him.
Chan was sitting on the floor, back against the couch, shoulders hunched. Photographs were scattered around himâprinted pictures, old polaroids, ones he must have dug out from drawers he hadnât opened in years.
Pictures of you, pictures of you with him. He clutched one to his chest like it was the only thing keeping him breathing.
Minho froze. âWhat the hell happened here?â
Chan looked up slowly, like it took effort just to register their presence. His eyes were red and swollen, his face blotchy from crying. His lip trembled, and suddenly the words spilled out in a broken rush.
âI messed up,â he sobbed. âI messed up big. Pleaseâplease help me.â
Changbin crouched down instinctively, panic flashing across his face. âHyung, what did you do?â
Hyunjin placed a hand on Chanâs shoulder. âHyung⊠talk to us.â
It took a long time before Chan could say it. And when he finally did, his voice was barely recognizable.
âI donât deserveâ I donâtââ He sucked in a breath that sounded painful. âI cheated.â
The room went cold.
Minho straightened immediately, his expression hardening in a way Changbin rarely saw. Changbinâs face fell, disbelief quickly giving way to something sharperâsomething disappointed. Hyunjinâs hand dropped from Chanâs shoulder.
âYou did what?â Minho asked quietly.
Chan covered his face with his hands, shaking. âI ruined everything. I lost her. She wonât even look at me anymore.â
Chan swallowed, eyes glossy. âAfter the LA show, remember how we all went to grab a few drinks?â
They all nodded quietly.
âI was drunk and out of my mind. She was one of the venue staff and it just⊠it just happened. I thought I could bury it. Pretend it never existed.â His voice cracked again. âBut she⊠she reached out and told me that sheâs⊠pregnant.â
Silence swallowed the room.
Chan dragged a hand down his face, tears slipping free. âShe brought me back to the hotel. I donât even remember getting there. I donât remember that night at all.â His shoulders trembled. âI woke up the next morning and she was there beside me, and thatâs when it hit me. What Iâd done.â He let out a broken laugh that sounded more like a sob. âI panicked. I told her to leave. I kicked her out and justââ His chest heaved. âI sat there and cried. I couldnât believe I ruined everything.â
Hyunjinâs eyes widened slowly, pieces falling into place.âThatâs whyâŠâ he said quietly. âThatâs why you were off and snappy for the rest of the North American tour.â
Chan didnât look up. He only nodded, shame weighing heavier than anything else.
Changbin stood up.
âI need air,â he said, voice tight. He didnât look at Chan when he spoke again. âI didnât think you were capable of that.â
Minho stared down at Chan, eyes unreadable. âDo you have any idea,â he said quietly, âhow much she loved you?â
Chan sobbed harder.
âShe stayed hidden for you,â Hyunjin said sharply. âAnd you humiliated her in front of the world.â
That was worse than shouting.
They left soon after. They didnât offer any hugs or reassurances. Just a lingering look of disappointment that weighed heavier than anger ever could.
By the next day, the others knew.
No one said it outright during practice. There was no confrontation, neither any dramatic explosion, there was just distance.
Chan arrived late, his eyes were hollow and movements slower than usual. He tried to greet once but the sound died awkwardly in the room.Â
Minho focused on stretching. Changbin kept his replies clipped. Hyunjin avoided eye contact entirely. Han spoke only when necessary. Felixâs smile didnât reach his eyes. Seungmin ignored his existence all together and Jeongin didnât ask for his help with the lines, instead he went to Changbin.
The band practiced. They corrected formations. They spoke only when work demanded it. And for the first time since becoming their leader, Chan stood among them feeling utterly alone.
He deserved it. He knew that. But knowing didnât make the silence hurt any less.
A whole week passed like that. Practice became mechanical. Conversations stayed short and strictly professional. No jokes. No late-night talks. No checking in.
On the other hand, all his attempts to contact you seemed to go in vain. His calls went unanswered. Messages stayed unread and the apologies piled up in the chat box, long paragraphs turning into single, desperate linesâplease, just talk to me, I need youâuntil even those stopped. You gave him nothing.
No reply. No acknowledgment. No space in your life anymore.
You were staying over at your best friendâs place. Luckily, she had an empty room and had been looking for another roommate. You grabbed the opportunity immediately. It felt as if the universe was gently telling you that Chanâs chapter in your life was finally over.
He came over a few more times after that. Each time, he argued with your friend, trying to get her to let him in, but he always failed. She stood her ground firmly and you were so grateful for her. You really did not want to see him anymore, even the thought of him twisted your heart painfully, so seeing him will make you crumble, you knew that. You still loved him very much, so all you wanted was to cry all day, eat unhealthy snacks, and lose yourself in dumb rom-coms. But you had a job, and in a strange way, it became a blessing. Work distracted you, gave you something else to focus on, even if only for a few hours.
The nights were the worst though. They felt heavy and endless. You cried yourself to sleep, over and over again, still struggling to believe that Chan had cheated. He had always been so loyal. It felt completely out of characterâso unlike the person you thought you knew. You never imagined he could hurt you like this.
*********************
Every day had started to blur into the next.
The same routine consisting of endless writing lyrics, choreography, deadlines, late-night practices. The same rooms filled with people who no longer looked at him the same way.
And you⊠you had taken the ânever existed in each otherâs livesâ so seriously it terrified him.Â
No texts. No calls. No accidental run-ins. Like he had been erased.
All he wanted was to talk to you. Just once. To explain and to make you understand that he had never looked at another person like that. Not once, not ever! The very idea of another person, another touch, another smile meant for him, instead it made his stomach turn.
He had been drunk out of his mind that dreadful night, disgustingly so. He hated himself for it. Hated that he drank too much, also hated that he was even out with his team that night. Hated that one reckless, blurred moment had cost him the most important person in his life.
If he could rip that night out of existence, he would. God, he so wished he could do that.
He didnât even feel like eating nowadays, but he still forced himself to the kitchen, hands moving on autopilot as he made a plain tuna sandwich. He didnât even put any seasoning, it was a total no effort sandwich, just something to quiet the ache for a few minutes.
He ate standing up, silently, staring at nothing.
The house felt cold, big and too quiet. He could almost hear his own blood rushing in his ears.
The ringtone cut through the silence like a blade.
Chan stared at his phone for a long moment before answering, already exhausted, already hollow.
âMom?â
Her voice was warm. âBaby, are you and y/nie coming this weekend? Itâs almost time for our monthly dinner. I was thinking of making her favoriteââ
His breath hitched. The word her shattered something inside him.
âChan-ah?â his momâs voice came through the phone again, gentle now. Worried. âAre you okay, baby?â
His throat closed.
He swallowed hard. âMom⊠weâre not coming.â
There was a pause. âWhat do you mean?â
âY/N and IâŠâ His voice cracked despite his effort. âWeâre not together anymore.â
Silence.
Her tone changed instantly. âWhat? No, what? When did this happen?â
He squeezed his eyes shut. âI messed up. I hurt her. And now she wonât even talk to me.â
âOh, Chan-ahâŠâ his mom said softly, she was speechless hearing the news.
The dam broke. He couldnât stop the sob that tore out of his chest, sharp and ugly, the kind that startled even him. He pressed the phone closer, shaking.
âMom,â he sobbed. âPlease⊠can you come over? I need you.â
There was no hesitation. âIâm on my way.â
His mom arrived less than an hour later.
The moment she stepped inside his apartment, her face fell. She took in the messâthe bottles, the darkness, the way her son looked like he hadnât slept or eaten properly in days. Her hand flew to her mouth.
âOh, my babyâŠâ she whispered, rushing to him.
But when he collapsed into her arms, sobbing like a child, she felt something was deeply, terribly wrong.
âTell me,â she said, stroking his hair. âWhatever it is, tell me.â
He pulled away, shame carving his face apart.
âChan-ah,â she whispered. âWhat happened?â
They sat across from each other, and he told her everythingâhis voice cracking, his head bowed in shame. The cheating. The drinking. The pregnancy. The way you had looked at him before you left.
When he finished, the room was silent.
His mother didnât yell and that hurt more.
She stood slowly, eyes glistening with tears, but not of anger, but of heartbreak.
âHow could you do this?â she asked quietly. âTo her? To yourself?â
Chan let out a sob.
âYou cheated,â she said, almost to herself. âOn the girl who called me âmomâ before we were even engaged. On the only girl your father and I approved of from the very beginning.â
He sobbed harder. âI know⊠and I hate myself for this. Pleaseâplease donât hate me.â
âI donât hate you,â she whispered, tears falling freely now. âThat would be easier.â
She pressed a hand to her chest like it physically hurt.
âShe trusted you,â his mom said softly. âAnd she loved you unconditionally, but you failed her.â
He broke down again and dropped to his knees. He crawled toward her desperately.Â
âPlease, Mom,â he begged. âShe loves you so much. Pleaseâplease tell her to come back to me. I canât do this without her.â
His mother knelt too, gripping his shoulders firmly.
âNo,â she said, voice steady despite the tears falling. âShe is like my daughter. And she deserves better than a man who would betray her and then beg for forgiveness only after losing her.â
Chan cried openly, uncontrollably, âPlease mom, just do this one thing for me. I swear Iâll never ask anything from you ever again. Please just⊠talk to her. Tell her to come back. Iâll do anything. Iâll fix it.â
âNo.â His mom said sharply.
The word felt final. She knelt in front of him, holding his face gently.
âI love you,â she said, tears slipping down her cheeks. âBut loving you does not mean defending what you did.â
The words cut deeper than anything his members had said. She left not long after.
And while she drove home, she called you.
You answered hesitantly.
But when you heard her voice, warm and trembling, âMy sweet girlâŠâÂ
You broke down. All the strength youâd been forcing yourself to hold onto collapsed as you cried openly, grief pouring out of you. She didnât rush you. She didnât defend him. She just listened. You apologized through tears even though you had nothing to apologize for.
âI loved him so much,â you whispered. âI tried so hard.â
âI know,â she said, voice thick. âI saw it every time you looked at him.â
She didnât ask you to forgive him. She didnât ask you to go back.
She just said, âPlease donât disappear from my life. Call me. Visit me. Let me still love you.â
That made you cry harder.
âYou will always be my daughter,â she continued gently. âNo matter what happens with my son.â
You nodded even though she couldnât see you. âI promise.â
In the end, she said quietly, âIâm so sorry. You didnât deserve any of this.â
After you hung up, a strange lightness settled over your chest. It wasnât the kind of relief that erased the pain but it did feel like a small thread of warmth weaving itself into the emptiness.
You hadnât told your own family about the breakup yet, because how could you? How could you even begin to explain that the person you had imagined your whole life with, the person you trusted completely, had shattered everything in one drunken mistake?
But talking to his momâhearing her voice, feeling her concern, and knowing she still saw you as part of the family in her heartâfelt like the virtual hug you didnât realize you had been craving.Â
So, for the first time in weeks, you let yourself breathe. You let yourself cry without guilt. Let yourself be comforted, even from a distance, by someone who had loved both of you deeply and wanted the best for you.
*********************
After his mom left, the apartment felt emptier than before. Chan sat alone in the silence when his phone buzzed again.
A new message from the other woman.
Gemma
Iâve decided Iâm keeping the child. I think we should meet and talk.
His stomach twisted violently.
He typed back immediately.
Chan
No, I don't want this.
Please don't contact me again.
His hands shook as he set the phone down. Inside, his thoughts spiraled.
If itâs not Y/N, he thought bitterly, Iâll never be a father.
He couldnât imagine holding a child that wasnât born from love. From you. He couldnât imagine a future that didnât have your laugh in it, your warmth, your presence.
Without you, everything felt wrong.
But Gemma didnât stop. She kept calling and texting and finally he gave in because he was tired. Tired of fighting, tired of thinking, tired of waking up every morning with your absence sitting heavier than his own guilt.
âCome to my place,â he told her over the phone, voice flat. âI donât want paparazzi seeing us again. Weâll talk and thatâs it.â
He didnât even wait for her response before hanging up.
When she arrived, Chan barely looked at her as he opened the door. He kept his distance, arms crossed, shoulders rigid, like he was bracing himself for impact.
They sat on opposite ends of the couch. The silence stretched.
Then she smiled at him, trying to ease the tension in the room. âSo⊠what are we going to do?â
Chan exhaled slowly. âI donât want this child.â
Her smile faltered.
âYou can keep it if you want,â he continued, forcing the words out like they were poison. âIâll cover everything. Hospital bills. Living expenses. Whatever you need financially. I can meet the child occasionallyâevery other weekend, maybe. Thatâs all I can do.â
Her face hardened instantly.
âSo thatâs it?â she snapped. âDid I ask to get pregnant, Bang Chan?â
He didnât answer or defend himself. He just stared at the floor, already defeated.
âThatâs not fair,â she continued sharply, standing up now. âYou think money fixes everything? You think I want to do this alone?â
Still nothing from him. That silence made her angrier.
âYouâre going to support me,â she said coldly. âAll of it. Doctor visits. Appointments. Delivery. Or I will ruin you.â
Chan laughed bitterly, finally looking up at her. âYou already ruined me. What else do you want?â
Her eyes narrowed. âYou have a band to protect.â
That stopped him.
For the first time, something like fear flickered across his face, not for himself, but for the people who had nothing to do with his mistake.
âYou donât get to threaten them,â he snapped, standing up. âDonât make me involve lawyers.â
The word seemed to sober her.
She hesitated, then scoffed, crossing her arms. âFine. No lawyers. But I want your full support during the pregnancy.â
Chan closed his eyes.
âFine,â he said quietly. âBut youâll meet with my managers at JYPE. There will be documents and some NDAâs. Everything in writing.â
She studied him for a moment, then nodded. âOkay.â
She grabbed her bag and headed for the door.
Chan followed a few steps behind, exhausted, numb until movement on the other side of the door made his heart stop.
The lock turned and the door opened. There you were, key still halfway in your hand. You looked at him with widening eyes. Your breath caught somewhere between surprise and pain.
âOh,â you said softly. âI thought you werenât home.â
Your gaze shifted and then you took her in, standing there beside him, close enough to look intentional.
Chanâs world collapsed all over again.
âNoâwait,â he said immediately, panic flooding his voice as he stepped toward you. âItâs not what it looks likeââ
But the damage was already done. You looked at them sadly, he saw the flicker of disappointment in your gaze.
âI was just leaving,â the woman said quickly, slipping her shoes on, eyes flicking between the two of you.
You nodded once, polite, distant. âYeah, me too.â
You stepped back, ready to turn away. That was when Chan grabbed your wrist.
âPlease,â he said, voice breaking. âJustâcome inside. Please. I canât have you misunderstand this more.â
You froze, but not because you wanted to stay. No, because you knew what a scene outside would cost him.
Slowly, you pulled your hand from his grip. âFive minutes,â you said flatly.
Inside, the apartment felt like a strangerâs home now.
Nothing screamed you anymore.
The woman lingered awkwardly near the door as Chan turned to face you, panic etched into every line of his face. She quickly left without another word.
âI didnât invite her here like that,â he started quickly. âShe just came to talkââ
âStop,â you said harshly.
He swallowed.
âWeâre not together anymore,â you continued calmly. âSo you donât owe me explanations. You can do whatever you want.â
He felt his heart twisting.Â
He shook his head, stepping closer. âItâs not like that. I donât want her. I donât want thisââ
âThat doesnât matter,â you replied. âWhat you want stopped mattering the moment you slept with someone else.â
You cleared your throat. âI was just here to get the rest of my stuff, Iâll be quick.â
You turned away from him, walking toward what used to be your bedroom. The room where you had fallen asleep tangled in his arms, where youâd whispered plans about the future, about kids, about growing old together. Now it felt like a strangerâs space.
âNo wait,â Chan whispered.
You stopped, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag, then turned back.Â
Chan stood there completely undone. His eyes were red-rimmed, lashes wet, shoulders shaking like he was holding himself together with sheer will. He looked smaller somehow, like the man you loved had been hollowed out and left behind.
âY/N⊠how can I fix this?â he asked desperately. âPlease. Just tell me what to do.â
âThereâs no way,â you said softly.
The finality in your tone made his breath stutter.
âPleaseââ he tried again, stepping closer, reaching for you before stopping himself, hands curling into fists instead.
âYou didnât make one mistake,â you continued gently. âYou made a choice. And some choices donât get undone.â
You picked up your bag.
âI hope you heal,â you added, meeting his eyes one last time. âBut I canât be part of your life anymore.â
Something in him broke completely. You walked past him making your way to the bedroom.Â
âSheâs going to keep the baby,â he said suddenly.
You stopped in your tracks, your hand tightening around your bag, heart betraying you by stuttering at the mention of the baby.
âIâll be there financially. Iâll do what I have to.â
âI hope you do,â you replied calmly. âThat child didnât ask for any of this.â
He nodded slowly, avoiding eye contact as he looked down.
Silence filled the apartment again.
âCan we⊠try again?â he asked quietly. âY/N, you know me. I would never cheat. I was drunk. I lost control.â His voice broke. âPlease⊠forgive me.â
Your heart clenched painfully, but it didnât waver.
âNo,â you said gently.
The softness didnât make it easier.
His breath shook as he exhaled, hands gripping the wall nearby like they were the only things keeping him upright.
âYou always wanted to be a father,â you continued, voice steady despite the ache spreading through your chest. âRaise the child properly. Be present. Be better.â
He shook his head immediately, desperation flooding his expression. âNo. I wanted to be the father of your child. Not anyone elseâs.â
That was when the tears came.
You looked away before he could see them fully, blinking hard as your vision blurred. âI guess destiny had other plans,â you said quietly.
The words tasted bitter, but they were true.
You both stood there in that truth, the apartment heavy with everything you had been and everything you would never be. The walls felt like they were listening â like they remembered your laughter, your arguments, your late-night confessions whispered under dim lights.
âIâll always love you,â he said softly, barely louder than a breath.
âI know,â you whispered. âAnd I hope youâre happy someday.â
You lifted your bag, pausing for half a second like your body was fighting your decision even though your heart already knew.
âIâll send my friend another day to grab the rest of my stuff,â you said quietly. âItâs better if I leave now.â
Chanâs jaw tightened, eyes shining, but he said nothing.
You took a step back, then another. âGoodbye, Chan.â
He looked up at you like he was trying to memorize every detail of your face. The curve of your lips. The moles around your face. Like this might be the last time he was allowed to see you like this.
You looked at him one last time too.
And in that silent apartment, both of you quietly mourned not just each other but the life you had believed in with everything you had.
You let out a sigh before turning towards the main door.
He didnât reach for you, even though he wanted to. But he knew he lost that right, so he just watched you leave, tears blurring his vision.
Every step you took toward the door felt like you were carrying a piece of him away and leaving pieces of yourself behind in the quiet apartment that had once been your home.
When your hand wrapped around the doorknob, you hesitated and just for a moment his heart felt hopeful but it quickly turned hopeless when you opened the door and stepped out.
The click of it closing behind you echoed through the apartment.
Chan stayed where he was long after you left, staring at the empty space you had occupied, chest aching with a pain so deep he didnât think it would ever leave.
*********************
Two months later, your life felt different. You were still aching but no longer suffocating, and that was a huge progress.
Changbin showed up on a rare free afternoon, a grocery bag in one hand and his familiar grin on his face like he was trying to remind you of something youâd forgotten.Â
âDonât look at me like that,â he said as he stepped inside. âI brought snacks. Iâm a guest, not a therapist.â
You laughed despite yourself, the sound surprising you both.
You spent the afternoon sprawled on the couch, music playing softly in the background, talking about everything and nothingâtour stories, silly arguments between the members, the weird dreams Changbin kept having lately. It felt easy and comforting like it always did with him.
At some point, the laughter faded into quiet.
Changbin glanced at you, his expression gentler now. âYou okay?â
You nodded automatically. Then shook your head just as quickly as the tears came without warning.
He didnât say anything, he just opened his arms, and you folded into him and cried into his chest, fingers clutching his hoodie, grief finally spilling out now that it had somewhere to land.
âIt hurts,â you whispered.
âI know,â he murmured, one hand rubbing slow circles into your back. âYou donât have to be strong around us. Ever.â
When you finally pulled away, wiping your face, you let out a shaky breath. âHow is he?â
Changbin hesitated just a second too long.
âMiserable,â he said honestly.
You sighed, sadness blooming quietly in your chest, but not with relief or satisfaction. Just grief for what had been. âI figured.â
The room fell silent again, comfortable but heavy.
Then Changbin tilted his head, eyes lighting up with a mischievous spark. âSo. Iâve been thinking.â
âThatâs never good,â you said weakly.
He chuckled. âYAH! So rude. But listen⊠my friend Kim Mingyu?â
You blinked. âKim Mingyu of Seventeen?â
âYes, that Mingyu,â Changbin said, nodding. âAnd before you freak outâno pressure. Iâm not setting you up tomorrow or anything.â
You stared at him, stunned.
âHeâs⊠a total green flag,â Changbin continued earnestly. âRespectful. Gentle. Good listener. And heâs been single for a while now.â
You let out a small, disbelieving laugh. âBin, Iâm barely functioning. You think Iâm ready to even think about someone like him?â
âI think,â Changbin said softly, âthat you deserve someone who wonât hurt you. And I think it wouldnât hurt to remember that good people still exist.â
The room grew quiet again.
You hugged a pillow to your chest, eyes unfocused. âIâm not saying yes...â
âI didnât ask for yes,â Changbin replied with a grin. âI asked for maybe someday.â
You glanced at him, something fragile but hopeful flickering in your expression.
âMaybe someday,â you echoed.
And Changbin smiled, knowing that for now, that was enough.
*********************
Chan kept tabs on you.
It was harder than he expected though, because you were never someone who lived online. You barely posted. So he had nothing for him to cling to.
So he did the only thing he could.
He watched your friendsâ, cousinsâ and colleaguesâ accounts. Any tagged photos he could find. Any glimpse that proved you still existed in a world that no longer included him.
And when he found themâsmall, accidental momentsâhe saw that you were glowing.
You were healthier, brighter and alive in a way you hadnât been in months.
He noticed the way people still surrounded you.
Your family hosted game nights almost every week now â laughter spilling through the photos, proof that you were still held and still loved dearly.Â
He noticed how his members reached out to you quietly and carefully. They never took any sides, not out loud at least. Once, late at night in the studio, he overheard Seungmin on the phone in the hallway. Seungminâs voice was low and soft in a way Chan rarely heard.
âYou donât have to be okay right now,â Seungmin had said.
Chan stayed where he was, frozen, listening to only one side of the conversation, trying to imagine your replies. Wondering if you sounded tired. If you still laughed the same. If you mentioned his name or avoided it completely.
Even his parents still spoke of you like you were family.
His mom called you regularly. His dad asked about you over dinner like it was the most natural thing in the world. They used your name fondly. One afternoon, as he passed by his sister's room, meaning to grab a charger. Her phone buzzed on the bed. He wasnât trying to look but your name lit up the screen: Y/N đ
His breath caught painfully and he stopped walking.
For a split second, his heart betrayed him, he smiled softly seeing your name before reality settled in. You werenât texting him. You hadnât in months.
His sister smiled at the notification, fingers already moving to reply. âSheâs sending me pictures from game night,â she said casually, not noticing the way Chanâs face had gone pale. âShe looks happier.â
He nodded stiffly, forcing a small smile, and walked away before she could say anything else. His chest felt tight, like there wasnât enough air in the house anymore.
Everyone still had access to you. Everyone except him.
You existed everywhere in his life â in conversations, in laughter, in phones lighting up with your name â just close enough for him to see, but forever out of reach.
You were not alone, and that knowledge both comforted and devastated him. At least he hadnât destroyed you completely. At least you were healing, even if it was far away from him.
The guilt never left. He had broken the one person who had loved him without conditions, without expectations, without fear. He lost you, the love of his life, and he was forced to carry that bitter truth for the rest of his life.
It was like you left and took away all the light. His members still spoke to him, but it was different now. It was polite and professional. The warmth was gone, replaced by distance that no amount of time seemed to fix. His parents were disappointed in him in a way that cut deeper than anger. His siblings barely hid their disapproval, their voices careful whenever your name almost slipped into conversation.
And then there was⊠Gemma.
She lingered, she was always around and always was finding excuses to text him, to check in, to suggest coffee or dinner like nothing had happened. Like she hadnât watched his life fall apart and decided it was an opportunity.
Chan wanted nothing to do with her.
The idea of datingâof touching someone else, of pretending he could move onâmade his stomach turn. He would rather be alone for the rest of his life than replace you with anyone else.
You werenât replaceable. And he knew, with painful clarity, that the version of you he loved so desperately was gone from his life forever and it was his own fault.
*********************
Chan sat stiffly in the JYPE office, the sterile fluorescent lights above reflecting off the polished table. His hands were gripping the edge so hard his knuckles were white. The envelope with the DNA results lay in front of him like a loaded gun.
âNot the father,â the manager said quietly, sliding the paper toward him.
Chanâs chest tightened. His stomach lurched. He blinked, as if the words themselves were an insult.
âWhat⊠what do you mean Iâm not the father?â he demanded, voice low and sharp.
The authorities, present to mediate, explained gently but firmly. âWe conducted the test. The child is not biologically yours.â
Gemma, sitting stiffly across the table, looked utterly confused, her words fumbling. âWait⊠maybe itâs⊠the other guy? I donât understandâŠâ
Chanâs fists slammed down on the table, rattling the pens and paperwork. âOther guy? Youâare you kidding me?!â His voice cracked, sharp and dangerous, the kind that made the room freeze.
His managers immediately held up their hands, keeping their tone calm. âChan⊠breathe. Please. Just breathe. Sit down.â
He finally sank into the chair, shoulders hunched, rage and relief fighting in his chest. His legs shook. The adrenaline of fury and the exhaustion of months of guilt and anxiety left him trembling.
One of the managers placed a bottle of water in front of him. âChan⊠just drink and calm down first. Weâll handle the rest.â
He stared at the bottle, trembling so badly it spilled a few drops onto the desk. He grabbed it anyway, chugging it down like it might wash away the storm inside him, but of course it didnât.
His mind raced with betrayal, anger, frustration and everything that had been bottled for months exploded all at once. Gemmaâs carelessness, the deception, the false hope⊠and yet, deep down, there was relief. Relief that it wasnât his child. Relief that he could never make the mistake of raising someone elseâs child when his heartâand the part of him that truly matteredâforever belonged to you only.
He leaned back, trying to control his breathing, fists still clenched. The room was quiet, except for the soft hum of the air conditioner. Even the managers were careful, letting him have the moment.
Chan finally whispered, almost to himself: âI⊠I canât believe she⊠all this time⊠what the hellâŠâ
The managers nodded silently, letting him process the whirlwind. Tension clung to the air as they watched Chan. He looked as though he was fighting the urge to destroy everything.
maybe burnt out depressed reader (not speaking from experience lol thatâd be weirdâŠđ«Ł)
could be non idol au or not i donât really have any other ideas tbh :/ but maybe this sparks some kind of idea for you XD
omg this ask⊠instantly fed my brain. thank you.
I hope you donât mind that I picked San for this one. he just carries that energy, you know? patient husband, a whole temple of safety built into one man. also⊠yunho requests have been overflowing lately and Iâve been missing my San brainrot, so this felt like fate!! and hey, Iâm sorry things are rough right now if they are, even secretly. genuinely. sometimes the world feels like wet cement and weâre just trying to wade through. if this piece gives you even a pinch of comfort or escape, then Iâll be stupidly happy. this one ended up a little shorter than normal, but donât let that fool you â itâs packed with all the feeling. I really hope you like how it turned out!
Let Me Stay - San x Reader
Burnout hits hard. Marriage hits harder. But San reminds you that loving each other means sharing the weight, even when you swear you can carry it alone.
Pairing: Husband!San x Fem!Reader
Tropes: Unconditional Love, Comfort after Breakdown, Established Relationship Marriage, Domestic Fluff / Domestic Angst, Raw Vulnerability, Love as Action, Safe Space.
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Soft Angst.
Warnings: (buckle up) emotional abuse/harsh words, fighting, yelling, burnout, work stress, overwhelming situations, crying, emotional breakdowns, marital conflict, tension, infertility, struggles with getting pregnant, body-image guilt, feeling of âfailure,â stress and guilt surrounding trying for a baby, pushing/shoving, being physically rebuffed, sadness, helplessness, despair, raw grief, panic, fear, intense emotional vulnerability, tears, sobbing, moments of feeling isolated or alone, arguments about expectations and frustration
Word Count: 3.7k
masterlist
The house has been waiting.
Lights on in the rooms you use most. Not bright, not dim. The familiar, careful middle that says I thought about your eyes. There is food on the stove, not plated, not posed. Something warm. Something meant to last. Something that knows hunger is not always romantic.
San checked the clock an hour ago. Then again. Then again, with that quiet patience he has trained himself into. This isnât new. This is marriage. Waiting without resentment. Hoping without keeping score.
He sent one text earlier. Just one.
Did it run late?
No question mark parade. No follow-up. No guilt bait. He slid the phone face down after, like he always does, like it might vibrate out of pity if he stares too hard.
He reheated the food once already. Stood there, watching steam curl up like it was thinking about leaving. He hates that it might dry out. Hates that even nourishment can suffer if it waits too long.
On the counter, half-hidden beneath the mail, thereâs a folded catalog. Onesies. Soft colors. Little feet printed on cotton. He didnât mean to leave it out. He didnât mean to look at it again tonight. He moved it aside earlier, neat and careful, like he was tucking the thought in to sleep.
No pressure. Not tonight.
He hears the door before it opens. The specific sound of your key, fast, clipped. Like youâre already bracing.
The door swings open. You step in with momentum, coat still on, shoulders tight.Â
âHello love!â San says immediately.
Your eyes flick up, find him, then slide away almost immediately. You cross the space between you and lean in just long enough to press a kiss to his lips.
A peck.
Quick. Efficient. No pause to breathe him in. No curve of a smile. No âI missed you.â No warmth lingering in the space after.
Itâs automatic. Protective. A way to say I did my part.
San notices. He always does.
Something flickers in his expression, so brief it barely exists. A muscle remembering disappointment and letting it go. His smile stays. Not forced. Practiced. Gentle enough to carry weight.
âYouâre home.â
âMm.â
You slip past him before he can say anything else, toeing off your shoes harder than necessary, dropping your bag by the door like it weighs a hundred pounds. Your phone buzzes immediately in your hand. You donât even check who it is. You just grip it tighter, screen glowing. Slack notifications stacking. Email subject lines sharp and demanding, like accusations you havenât answered yet.
San watches you move through the space you share, familiar and distant all at once. He doesnât say anything else yet. He tells himself there will be time.
There is always time.
San follows you into the kitchen.
Not close enough to crowd. Not far enough to pretend he isnât there. His presence moves behind you like a held breath. You feel it before you see him, that quiet orbit he keeps when heâs trying not to spook you.
You walk straight to the kitchen sink, turning the faucet on even though you donât need water. The sound fills the space between you and gives you something to hide behind.
He gestures to the stove, the pot still warm, the care still intact.
âI made dinner,â he says. âItâs still warm.â
âIâm not hungry.â
It lands flat. Too fast. A sentence youâve been using all week like a shield.
Itâs a lie. Or a half-lie. Or maybe just the kind of truth that ignores the body entirely. Either way, it hits him. You see it in the way his hand stills on the counter.
âI can save it,â he says, quick to adjust. Always adjusting. âOr we can eat later. I just thoughtââ
âI said Iâm not hungry.â
Your voice sharpens without permission. The words come out clipped, like youâre cutting the air between you into something manageable.
You donât look at him. You canât. Because you know if you do, if you see his eyes already searching your face, already worried, already open, something inside you will split right down the middle.
San nods once. A tiny thing. He tries again, quieter, like lowering the volume might make it easier to hear.
âYou didnât eat lunch either.â
Your spine goes rigid, turning off the faucet with a sharp twist.
Thatâs monitoring. Thatâs numbers and hours and watched patterns. Thatâs work. Thatâs everyone counting what you didnât do, what you missed, what slipped.
Your chest tightens.
âCan you not keep tabs on me?â you snap, the edge in your voice sudden and bright.
Itâs instant. Guilt flares hot and immediate, but itâs swallowed just as fast by the weight sitting on your chest.Â
The meetings that ran long. The way your boss looked at you like you were disposable. The email you reread a dozen times, trying to understand what you did wrong.
San doesnât raise his voice. He never does.
âIâm not keeping tabs,â he says. No defensiveness. Just truth. âIâm worried.â
âI donât need you to worry.â
It comes out harder than you mean. Like a door slammed instead of closed.
San exhales through his nose. His jaw sets, not angry, just steadying himself against something heavy.
âThatâs not really your call,â he says quietly.
You turn then, finally, eyes flashing. Tired. Raw. Full to the brim with things you havenât said to anyone.
âGod, can you justââ You drag a hand through your hair, pacing once. âCan you give me a minute?â
âIâve been giving you minutes all week.â
The words arenât loud.
Thatâs what makes them hurt.
They hang there, between the stove and the sink, between the food cooling again and the space you keep widening. San doesnât raise his voice. He never does. But this time, he doesnât step back either.
Heâs still standing there when you look at him. Still open. Still waiting.Â
Eyes fixed on you like youâre the only thing anchoring him in the room. He looks tired too. Not burnt out. Just worn thin from loving someone who keeps slipping through his hands.
And for the first time tonight, you feel it.
The weight of how long heâs been holding the door open. And you hate yourself for noticing.
The words come anyway. Messy. Out of order. Like youâve ripped open a drawer and everything spills at once.
Deadlines moved up without warning. A meeting that went sideways because someone hadnât read the deck. A pause, too long, when a question was thrown at you and the room decided that meant something. Someone smiling while they questioned your judgment. Your competence. Your right to be there.
âToday was hell,â you say, and your voice is already fraying at the edges. âAbsolute hell. I donât have the energy for this.â
âFor what?â San asks. Not sharp. Not defensive. Just trying to find the shape of the problem.
âEating?â he continues gently. âSitting down? Talking to your husband?â
The word husband catches. Scrapes. Pulls something tender and exposed to the surface. It suddenly feels heavy, loaded with expectations you donât have room to carry.
âI donât need a conversation,â you say quickly. âI just need quiet.â
âYou donât get quiet by shutting me out.â
There it is. The line you didnât want him to draw.
Your words start coming faster now, clipped and precise like if you keep them small they wonât fall apart.
âIâm holding it together,â you say. âI canât screw up, San. I canât. If I mess up even onceââ
âYouâre allowed to mess up.â
The interruption snaps something.
âNo, Iâm not.â
Itâs immediate. Reflexive. The truest thing youâve said all night. In your world right now, mistakes donât land softly. They stick. They get remembered. They become evidence.
San steps closer without thinking. Instinct. Muscle memory. His body knows how to reach for you when youâre breaking.
He opens his arms. Just a little. Not trapping. Not demanding. Just offering somewhere to land.
You flinch.
The reaction is sharp, ugly, louder than words.
And then you push him.
Not hard. Not violent. But firm enough to mean it. Your hands press to his chest and he stumbles back half a step before he stops himself.
You start to walk back immediately, needing space, needing him not so close when the air between you has gone thin and youâre drowning. When you feel this close to breaking.Â
Two steps. Three. Your back hits the counter.
San freezes.
The hurt on his face is immediate and devastating. The warmth drains out of it, replaced by something naked and hurt. Something that doesnât know where to go.
His hands drop slowly to his sides like theyâve lost purpose.
That hurts more than if youâd yelled.
âDonât,â he says quietly. Not angry. Wounded. âDonât do that.â
The words sink into you like stones.
Regret crashes into you all at once. Immediate. Crushing. You didnât mean to. You didnât mean that. You want to reach for him, to explain, to apologize, to take it back.
But pride has its teeth in you. Exhaustion sits heavy on your chest. Your mouth stays shut, because you know if you start talking, you wonât stop. And you canât afford that.
And the space between you doesnât close.
It just grows.
San doesnât move closer this time.
Thatâs how you know something has shifted. He stays where he is, hands at his sides, shoulders squared like heâs bracing himself against weather.
âYou can push the world away if you want,â he says. His voice is calm. Level. Worse than shouting. âBut Iâm your husband. Iâm not optional.â
You bristle immediately. The word husband again. The claim. The permanence. It feels like pressure when youâre already cracking.
âI didnât ask you to fix me.â Your voice shakes, so you sharpen it, turn it into something with edges. Something that can defend itself.
âIâm not trying to fix you.â
âThen stop hovering.â
His jaw tightens. Just once. A controlled thing. He inhales through his nose before he answers.
âYou are my wife,â he says evenly, âI donât hover you. I stay with you.â
Silence crashes down between you. Thick. Unavoidable.
You hate it. Hate how it makes everything echo. Hate how it gives your thoughts room to be cruel.
And then, without planning to, you go for the one place thatâs already bleeding.
âMaybe if I wasnât failing at everything else,â you say, and your voice betrays you, cracking straight through the middle, âI wouldnât be failing at that too.â
Your hand lifts before you can stop it. A small, helpless gesture toward the counter. Toward the folded catalog you pretended not to see.
San freezes.
Not stiffens. Not tenses. Freezes. Like the airâs been pulled from his lungs all at once. You can see it in the way his fingers twitch. His lips tremble for a fraction of a second before he presses them together, hiding the quiver.
He knows exactly what you mean.
The careful waiting. The quiet hope. The tests hidden in drawers. The way every month starts with possibility and ends with you staring at the bathroom floor like itâs delivered a verdict.
âYou are not failing,â he says, gentle but firm. Thereâs a slight catch in his voice, almost imperceptible, like heâs anchoring himself to the truth so it wonât drift away.
âYou donât know that.â
âI know you,â he whispers, and it slips out a little ragged this time. His chest rises and falls faster than before, as if holding the words back has cost him something. âAnd I know this isnât you talking.â
A bitter laugh escapes you, sharp and humorless.
âThen why am I not pregnant, San?â
The room suddenly feels too small. The walls press in. The ceiling lowers. Thereâs nowhere for the words to go once theyâre out.
He swallows hard. You see it. The way his throat works, the tremor in his jaw. Heâs hurting too. You know he is. But he refuses to let it turn into something that could cut you.
He lets himself blink once, and you see the raw edge of sadness in his eyes. Then he steadies himself, smooths the tremor from his voice, and continues, soft and sure, still yours.
âI⊠I donât know,â he admits, voice breaking softly, careful not to hurt you. âI wish I did. I wish I could help you. To make it happen. I⊠I just know itâs not your fault.â
âThen whose is it?â you snap back, breath coming too fast, too shallow. Your chest feels like itâs bound with a tight band. âBecause it feels like mine. My body⊠itâs justââ You choke on the words. âFailing me. Like everything else.â
âDonât say that. You are not broken,â he says finally, voice rougher now, threaded with pain he canât hide. âNot your body. Not your heart. Not any part of you.â
You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to hold your ribs together. To keep your heart from cracking open.
You focus on staying upright. On breathing evenly. On not letting him see how close you are to shattering.
But San sees right through you. His eyes soften, dark with something heavy and careful.
âYou donât have to earn rest,â he continues, âor love. Or a family. You donât have to do this alone. Ever.â
âThen why isnât it happening?â you demand again, the words tearing out of you. âMonth after monthâ why do I get nothing but disappointment? Why canât I even do that right?â
âBecause bodies arenât machines,â he says quietly, keeping his eyes locked on yours. âThey need space, patience, care⊠and that doesnât make you any less special. Weâll get there, together, at our own rhythm â and Iâll be here, every step of the way. And I would wait a lifetime,â he continues, swallowing hard, âif it meant you didnât look at yourself like this.â
Thatâs it. You stare at him, chest heaving. The walls of control youâve built crumble. Your knees give out.
You donât so much fall as collapse onto your knees, strength draining out of you all at once. The sob that rips out of your chest is ugly and loud and unstoppable.Â
Your body curls inward, hands pressing against the cold tiles, as if holding yourself upright could somehow keep the world from breaking you completely.
San is on the ground with you instantly. His knees hit hard, but he doesnât care. Thereâs no hesitation, no pause. He gathers you into his chest before you can push him away again, like instinct, like his body knows exactly what to do even while his heart is breaking.
âIâm here,â he murmurs, over and over. âIâm here. Iâve got you.â
His own chest shakes faintly, but he refuses to let it show, refusing to let it become about him. Every inhale is deliberate, steadying himself. Steadying you.
Heâs devastated â seeing you this tired, this done, this sad â but he swallows the tears that threaten to spill, because right now, you need him more than you need his grief.
Your apologies spill out between sobs, tangled and broken.
âIâm sorryâI didnât mean toâI shouldnât have pushed youâIâm so sorryââ
He kisses the crown of your head, slow and steady. Your hair. Your temple. Each one a quiet promise. You hear the catch in his throat before he swallows it down.
âI know,â he says, voice cracking despite his best effort to stay steady. âI know you didnât.â
You cling to him now, fingers digging into his shirt like youâre afraid he might disappear if you let go.
âPlease donât be madâI love you,â you cry harder, guilt twisting in your chest for being harsh with him, the one person whoâs never anything but patient and loving.
A shiver runs through him, the ache of helplessness he refuses to name. He presses more kisses into your hair, your temple, your forehead, holding you close, letting you break.
One tear slips from his eye â heâs good at hiding it, but it lands anyway.
âIâm not mad,â he whispers immediately, catching your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing your cheeks. âIâm scared for you. Scared youâre carrying it all alone.â
You bury your face against his chest, voice muffled, shaky. âI⊠I donât want to bother you,â you manage to say, stubborn even in your exhaustion, trying to shrink yourself small.
San shakes his head, a little sharp, but still gentle, still tethered to care. âYou could never bother me,â he murmurs. âI hate seeing you suffer. You donât have to carry it all alone. Not as my wife, not as anyone. You can lean on meâalways.â
You cling to him a little tighter, letting his words sink in, even if your pride still trembles in your chest. His lips brush your hairline, soft, patient.Â
âLet me hear it,â he whispers. âTell me everything. The pain, the frustration, the anger⊠I want to carry it with you. I love you, and I need you to trust me with it. With all of it.â
Your fingers fumble at his shirt. Words catch in your throat. Youâre tired, stubborn, but you allow a quiet breath to escape.
He hums against your hair, rocking you slightly. âYouâre strong,â he says, voice low but steady. âStrong enough to manage the world, yesâbut you donât have to do it all by yourself. Iâm here. Iâm always here.â
The shaking doesnât stop all at once, but slowly, imperceptibly, it begins to ease. He doesnât rush you. Doesnât try to quiet you. He just stays, arms firm around you, breathing with you, letting the storm pass.
Even then, he doesnât let go. Not for a second.
âLet me take care of you,â he says softly, the words gentle enough to feel like a vow.
You nod. Barely. Just enough. Thatâs all he needs.
He lifts his hand to your face, cupping your jaw as he tilts your head up. Your eyes meet his: watery, red and puffy, mascara smudged at the corners, brows pulled tight, lips trembling in a small pout. And still, he looks at you like youâre the most beautiful woman heâs ever seen.
His thumb brushes a tear from your cheek.
âI love you,â he whispers, voice rough, close enough that you feel it against your mouth.
Your breath catches; something warm flickers through the exhaustion.
âIâI love you too,â you whisper back, a small, shy smile tugging at your lips despite everything.
Sanâs lips curve too â tiny, timid, like he canât stop it even if he tried.
He leans in, presses a shaky, tender kiss to your mouth, sealing the words between you.
Then he rises slowly, hands still on you, steadying you as he helps you up off the floor â careful with every movement, afraid to hurt you.
The kitchen, the catalog, the emails â they donât matter anymore. San guides you toward the bathroom with his hand at the small of your back, walking slow, making sure youâre steady. The light is soft in there, warm on your skin. He turns the tap and lets the water run until steam curls around the air, testing the heat with his fingers before nodding to himself.
Youâre quiet, wiped out, eyes distant. He doesnât ask you to talk. Just helps you out of your clothes like itâs something youâve both done a thousand times â gentle, respectful, never rushing you.
âEasy,â he whispers, brushing his knuckles along your jaw before guiding you under the stream.
The water hits your shoulders, hot and soothing, and something in you finally loosens. He works shampoo through your hair with slow circles, fingertips pushing just enough pressure to pull the headache from your scalp. The smell of soap rises around you, familiar and safe.
His thumbs trace along the knots in your shoulders, steady and patient. You feel your body sag forward. He doesnât say anything about it, just catches you, holds you there, keeps working the stress away like he has all night to do it.
âYou donât have to hold everything together right now,â he murmurs into the back of your neck. âIâve got you.â
You make a small sound that isnât quite a reply. Words feel heavy, clumsy, and he doesnât ask for them.
When the water runs clean, he wraps you in a towel and dries you off himself, patting slow and tender, like every part of you matters. Youâre exhausted to the bone, trembling with leftover tears.
He helps you into soft pajamas, careful with each movement, making sure nothing sticks or pulls. By the time heâs done, your eyes are barely open.
When you start to apologize again, voice barely above breath, he shakes his head, pressing a kiss to your damp forehead.
âNo more tonight,â he whispers. âJust breathe.â
He lifts you with familiar strength, and your arms loop around his neck without thought. Nothing awkward. Nothing forced. His heartbeat thuds against your ribs, slow and sure, telling you the truth: love isnât grand speeches, itâs this. Showing up on the dull days, the painful days, the days where you feel like dead weight.
He brings you to bed and settles with you tucked against his chest.
âSleep,â he murmurs into your hair, voice warm and certain. âIâll handle the rest.â
You try to fight it, to stay awake out of guilt, but your body sinks, surrendering. Exhaustion, grief, fear â they seep out like breath into the sheets. Your breathing evens. Your fingers finally unclench.
He doesnât move. Not once.
He stays awake, watching the way your lashes flutter against your cheeks, the slow rise and fall of your chest. His hand rests on your back, tracing circles so gentle they barely exist, counting each inhale, each exhale, grounding himself in your survival.
At some point, he leans forward, his lips brushing your hairline, voice a quiet confession meant only for the dark:
âI married you so I could choose you every day. Even like this. Especially like this.â
You donât hear it. But he needed to say it.
He will wait for the baby.
He will wait for your healing.
He will wait for tomorrow.
No fixes tonight. No neat conclusions. Only commitment.
The house feels warmer somehow, fuller. Not because everything is perfect, but because two exhausted people keep choosing each other in the quiet.
Love breathes here.
Because you stayed. Because he stayed. Because some promises are lived, not spoken.
masterlist
taglist: @bloomyroses @livonianmaia @keels-8
dedicated to @darjeelinglemontea because today the universe gave us your birthday and I wanted to give something back. happy birthday!! <3 (and yes, I brought hurt/comfort to the party⊠itâs who I am.)
âš my taglist and requests are open right now. âš drop me a message! i love seeing your ideas and making them come to life. đ
