Doubting Online Love. Park Wonbin
Part 1: Reader's POV
onlinebestfriend!wonbin x onlinebestfriend!reader, reader is neutral gender. Story based on a real situation.
the screen glows in the dim light of your room, casting a soft blue hue over your face. It's 2am, and your fingers are hovering over the keyboard, but your attention is entirely on the past messages you had with Wonbin. the man of your dreams. you've known each other for a year now and that friendship somehow feels more tangible than the people you usually know. A man being sweet, funny, comforting, and handsome as well, is everything that weakens you, that makes you head over heels.
wonbin is everything you typically avoid in a person. He is loud in his enthusiasm, he loves to yap about his day, his frustrations, the details of his life that he insists on sharing with you. he is social, surrounded by a constellation of friends, yet he always orbits back to you. you've got your own world, your own circle, but in the hierarchy of your heart, he occupies the throne. He is your priority, the person you check for first thing in the morning and the last thought before you drift off to sleep.
your feelings are a tide. they pull back, leaving you content in the safety of just being "best friends," only to surge forward a few months later, making your heart stutter every time his name pops up on your lock screen. It's a cycle you've come to accept. You tell yourself it’s just the comfort of the connection, that natural, invisible thread that binds you two across the distance.
but deep down, in the spaces between the jokes, the disagreements, the late night calls, you know the truth: he is your anchor. he is the last man you ever imagine needing, the only one who has managed to dismantle your defenses without even trying.
wonbin is no longer just a friend, he is the atmosphere you breathe. He follows you in your mind when you're walking in the school hallways, echoing in your mind during lectures, his presence a constant hum beneath every task you perform. While your classmates are discussing about exams or weekend plans, you are elsewhere, living in the space between his latest message and the next one.
It’s become a ritual of devotion. When he drops a comment in your group chat and the others scroll past it, leaving him hanging, you are the first to strike. You swoop in to acknowledge him, your thumb hovering over the screen like a loyal sentry. You are his only witness, the only one keeping a tally of his thoughts. Sometimes, you wonder if the others notice the speed of your replies, the way your attention is solely tethered to his digital footprint. Does the way you mirror his online activity, popping up the second his status turns green, give you away? You don’t care. You're too obsessed to worry about optics.
your physical world has grown quiet, almost desolate. your real life friends have become background noise, their faces hazy and unimportant compared to the crisp, glowing clarity of wonbin's texts. why bother building bridges with people who are physically present but emotionally distant, when you have the love of your life right there in your hands, 24/7?
it’s an intoxicating kind of isolation. you've traded the tangible for the virtual, convincing yourself that this specific, hyper focused connection is superior to anything else. after all, who wouldn't be addicted? who could walk away from the feeling of being the only person who truly sees him?
You get outside in your balcony to get some air after finishing watching the new episode of your series of the moment, as you get a notification of Wonbin's Instagram close friends story update. He’s sent a mirror selfie from the gym. captioning about how he "finally" lost weight, that has been his goal for months and that makes you smile. "Fuck, he's so fine..." You mutter under your breath. That would be very awkward if you told him word by word what you think of this photo. You and Wonbin barely say compliments to each other. But he already liked two of your selfies, which means already a lot: He finds you pretty. So you liked his story as well, to return the favor.
You decided to open your DMs with him now that you noticed that he's online. The screen light is harsh against your face, but you barely notice. Your thumb moves up and down, flicking upward, watching the blur of months of conversation fly by.
Then, you stop.
There it is. Three words, simple and unadorned, sitting in a bubble sent three months ago: "I love you."
Back then, those words didn't land. They were muffled, drowned out by the noise of a relationship that was already rotting from the inside. You were so occupied with your cheating ex, wasting your tears on someone who didn't deserve your attention, that you treated Wonbin’s confession like a casual, platonic sentiment. You had brushed it off, and even chuckled at his dramatic nature.
But tonight, the air in the balcony feels heavy with the weight of it. Read now, in the silence of your solitude, those words hit with the force of a physical blow. You wonder if he still thinks like this way until this day.
Does he? You've never get to know what he truly feels about you. the frustration is a bitter, cold knot in your stomach. You look at your DMs with him, and the imbalance is glaring. it's a ledger of your own desperation: screen after screen where you are the one reaching out, you are the one starting the conversation, you are the one trying to bridge the gap. you feel like a ghost haunting his inbox, pulling strings to make a puppet dance, praying for a sign that he's actually there.
"what am I to him?"
the question circles your mind. are you just a convenient echo chamber for his boredom?
you scroll back to the "i love you" text from three months ago. Did it even mean anything, or was it just a casualty of his fleeting moods? the paranoia begins to bloom, dark and invasive. You start to dissect every interaction, wondering if you were ever truly the priority you convinced yourself you were.
and then, the worst thought of all takes root, sharper and more painful than any other: What if there is someone else?
what if while you are sitting in the dark, tethered to the glow of your phone and losing touch with everyone around you, he is out there giving his attention, his real, tangible presence, to someone who doesn't have to wait a day for a reply?
the fantasy of your "natural connection" begins to fray at the edges. you realize you’ve been building a temple for a god who might not even be listening. you are the only one worshipping, the only one keeping the candles lit, and suddenly, the fear that he might never answer your questions, that he might never let you past the walls of his digital charm, feels like an impending, inevitable truth.
You updated your Instagram note, targeted to him: "Stop giving me mixed signals." You go back inside your room and drop your phone onto the bed as if it's suddenly burned you. The silence of your room feels heavier now, amplified by your own audacity. part of you, the part that is still so dangerously obsessed, is holding its breath, waiting for a DM, a reply, anything to prove that he noticed, that he cares enough to ask what’s wrong. But the voice of your experience is louder, colder. You know the pattern: he only cares when it’s convenient. He is a master of selective affection, appearing in your life like a warm sun only to eclipse himself whenever he grows bored or distracted by the real world. You lay back, staring up at the ceiling, feeling the familiar, acidic sting of frustration. You've signaled your pain, and yet, the needle on the compass remains stuck, pointing toward his indifference.
It's all because of that lack of communication. You need to catch yourself up. He's the man of your dreams and you can't miss that. So you broke the silence again and sent him a text.
"Hello, how are you? Have you eaten? I know we haven't talked in a day but I still think about you, and I miss you a lot. do you even miss me?"
You turned off the phone and immediately went to sleep. Not wanting to regret, because you've got one life. And If you wanted to reach for what you craved for so long, You had to do it.
To be continued...