Hiii just a question if you planning to continue your vampire series?
im not sure im gonna be continuing anything at this rate, i kinda forgot about tumblr altogether given all the shit that is still going on in my life lmfao.
between my dad still in hospital with the most incompetent workers ever, boyfriend and friend/family obligations, producing a whole documentary and news report, job and apprenticeship bullshit, and classmates (and others) that need to grow the fuck up... i don't have much free time to write fics anymore im afraid. and when it comes to the end of my uni course im gonna have even less time than i do now.
I appreciate all the support I've gotten from this blog and the friends I had made as a result. but life moves on im afraid, and its certainly time people move on from me and my fics.
I don't mean to be a bother but is there an update on "The Animal I've become" series?
lowkey, idk.
i did write out half of chapter 1 but lowkey i don't even see myself writing anything for a while. how i did this AND my coursework earlier this year i have no clue, but yeah.
my dad's dying, im getting a job soon, applying to arguably the hardest apprenticeship, drowning in coursework, and other social shit going on... that's my whole 13 reasons.
but fuck it, right?
sorry for the trauma dump anon, im just fuckin exhausted all the time
im at such a weird point in my life, the october canon events really did a number, and i just need it all to stop to be easier for everyone else but fuck it we move ig
thank you to the anons sending me sweet messages when i was going through it, i promise im okay as i can be, but im coming back to post the first survey i have made for my documentary project so if you guys could complete it and potentially share it that would be perfect <33
so im officially back in uni, and if you have been following for a while you may know that i am on a film and tv course. this means new media products i gotta make so if i were to post surveys, promote my films, and host focus groups would you guys be interested ? :,))
and this term is about non-fictional works so im def gonna need some real opinions... when im rich and famous i'lll make our fics a reality trust
Your father writhing on the floor of your kitchen, his body twisting in ways it shouldnât.
You were so small, the doorway seemed to swallow you whole as you clung to the frame, bare feet on cold floorboards. Your fatherâs eyes locked onto yours through the agony. For a second, they were still his eyes, still the same warm brown that had looked down at you by firelight, telling stories in a voice that rumbled comfort through your bones. You remember thinking he was calling for help, that if you just stepped forward, you could hold his hand and steady him.
Then his pupils slit.Â
His jaw dislocated with a wet, tearing sound. Fur split through his skin like something bursting from underneath.Â
He screamed, and it was no longer your fatherâs voice.
You didnât scream back. You just stood there, trembling and mute, heart pounding so violently it hurt.
When the hunters came, you thought they were there to save him. They werenât. Their boots thundered on the wood, their crossbows gleamed in the lantern light. They didnât look at him as a man. They didnât even look at him as something alive. He snarled, lungedânot at you, never at youâand they fired. The sound of bolts hitting flesh will haunt you forever.
Your fatherâs body jerked with each strike, but even then, even as blood soaked the floorboards, he turned back toward you. His massive frame hunched protectively, shielding you from their line of fire. His eyes found yours one last time. And you knew, with a childâs clarity, that he was begging you not to hate him.
People never knew what to do with you afterward.
They didnât shun you outright. They offered condolences, nodded kindly in the streets, handed down old coats in winter. Beneath it all, there was always that pause, that sideways glance, the unspoken rumours. Children didnât stop inviting you to games. But when the woods loomed behind the school playground, they would find you standing apart, gaze lost in the treeline. You were there, but never present. They stopped trying to understand.
So you found companionship elsewhere.
You remember the stray mutt that followed you home one evening, ribs showing, ears torn. Everyone else threw rocks to drive it off. You crouched in the dirt and offered half your bread. It followed you for years, padding behind you like a shadow, sleeping at your feet. You remember pressing your hand to the glass at the small town zoo, and the wolf in the enclosure padding forward, meeting your eyes without fear. You remember summer afternoons when youâd vanish into the woods, sitting still enough that foxes crept close, curious noses twitching. Youâd hum under your breath, lullabies your father once sang, and the forest seemed to soften around you. With wildlife, you never had to explain yourself.
Adolescence sharpened you. While your peers leaned into dances, gossip, and whispered romances, you buried yourself in study. Biology, genetics, behavioral psychology, folklore and field notes on hybridsâyou consumed everything.Â
It wasnât obsession, you told yourself. It was preparation.
When books werenât enough, you trained your body. Running trails until your lungs burned, drilling restraint techniques until your arms shook. You learned how to load a tranquilizer rifle, how to wield a capture pole, how to hold someone twice your size to the ground until they stilled. You bore bruises like medals, claw-shaped scars like lessons.
The evaluations were brutal. Psychological tests, simulation rooms where actors lunged with foam claws, formal written exams with heavy surveillance. You answered, you acted, you played their game.
âWould you pull the trigger if a hybrid turned on you?â
âDo you believe hybrids are dangerous?â
âWould you hesitate if it looked human?â
You lied with clean-cut answers through your clenched teeth. Because if you admitted you still dreamed of your fatherâs eyes, if you admitted you believed the human survived inside the beast, they would never let you through the gates.
So you passed, and with passing came reward.
Dangerous work commands dangerous pay. By the time you were certified, you could afford more than most your age ever would. A modern cabin on the edge of the woodsâa contradiction made just for you.
Itâs larger than you need, clean-lined, with wide windows that pull the forest inside. Heated floors, polished counters, bookshelves lined with your notes. A sanctuary carved by money, but softened by your choices: old quilts folded neatly at the foot of your bed, dried flowers in glass jars, the distant sound of running water from the creek behind the property.
The best part is the silence. From your back porch you can step straight into the woods, where the air smells of pine and earth, where deer paths cut narrow trails, where wolves sometimes call at night. The facility is only a drive away, but here, you can almost convince yourself you belong in both worlds. Almost. Some nights you wake, drenched in sweat, certain you can hear bones cracking outside your window. You step barefoot into the dark and swear you see eyes in the trees, bright and gold, watching. Always watching.
And so, when the gates of the Lunar Containment Facility loom for the first time, towering and sterile, you inhale slowly and steady your hands.
The walls rise higher than you imagined, a lattice of reinforced steel that catches the morning light in cold flashes. Razor wire crowns the perimeter like a warning to the sky itself: nothing leaves without permission. Cameras tilt, tracking your car as it idles by the checkpoint, each red blink reminding you that from the moment you crossed the perimeter, you no longer belong to yourself.
Years of study, sweat, bruises, and silence have brought you here. The ghosts of your childhood stand with you: your fatherâs twisted body, the huntersâ raised bows, the pitying eyes of your neighbors, the wolf at the zoo pressing nose to glass. The scars across your arms ache faintly beneath your sleeves, as if remembering each training yard fall. Even the comfort of your cabin seems to cling, the scent of pine and hearth smoke clashing with the sterile tang of concrete and metal.
This is where it begins.
The moment where all the contradictions of your life converge. Where youâll prove that monsters are not born, only made. That they can be understood, contained, maybe even redeemed.
The gates groan as they begin to open, slow, mechanical, swallowing the sunlight in their shadow. You canât shake the sense that youâre not stepping into a career, but into the belly of something vast and hungry. The air tastes different on this side. Heavy. Waiting.
You adjust the strap of your bag across your shoulder, fingers brushing the small scar beneath your collarboneâan old reminder of what claws can do. The hum of machinery vibrates through the soles of your boots. For a moment, you think you hear something else beneath it: a low, distant growl that doesnât belong to engines.
Your throat tightens, but you donât turn back. Youâve never turned back.
Staring into the yawning mouth of the facility, you murmur under your breath, words carved from memory, sharpened into resolve.
âWhateverâs on the other side⊠Iâm not afraid of you.â
starting off spooky season with this series finally ;) thank you for all your patience to anybody who actually wanted this series, and to the anon for giving me this idea in the first place. i hope this series will have been worth the wait <33
summary: jiyong seems to take an interest in you, the new public relations manager, and finds himself craving your approval.
word count: 2408
tags: flirting, slight power dynamics, steamy towards the end -- part of @jiyongsangel's mans best friend writing challenge !!
ao3 link
The first time you met Kwon Jiyong, he was forty-five minutes late.
You were sitting in one of the conference rooms of YG Entertainmentâs sleek office building, staring at the untouched stack of press packets youâd prepared for the groupâs tour announcement. As the newly assigned public relations manager for one of the biggest acts in the industry, you wanted your first day to be perfect. Organized. Professional. Scandal-free.
But no one warned you about him.
The door burst open mid-thought, and in he strolledâoversized sunglasses, ripped designer jeans, and a smirk that could start wars.Â
âSorry, traffic,â he said casually, holding an iced coffee like heâd been on vacation instead of heading to a meeting scheduled an hour ago.
âYou live five minutes away.â
âYou checked?â
âItâs my job to know things, Mr. Kwon.â
Jiyong grinned, clearly delighted by your irritation. He lowered the sunglasses slowly, revealing annoyingly pretty eyes that sparkled with mischief. âCute. So youâre the new babysitter, huh?â
You set your jaw, flipping open your folder. âIâm the one who keeps the headlines about your group focused on music instead of whatever⊠circus you have going on in your personal life.â
He slid into the chair across from you, looking utterly unbothered. âSo basically, you clean up after me.â
âGlad you understand,â you deadpanned.
He laughed, leaning back in his chair like this was the most entertaining meeting of his life. âI like you already. Most people are scared to talk to me like that.â
âMost people donât know what theyâre doing. I do.â
That made him pause. His grin didnât falter, but something in his expression shiftedâjust a flicker. Like he was studying you for the first time instead of just trying to get under your skin. Your comment earned you a raised eyebrowâand, annoyingly, a smile that was a little too charming for its own good.
And you hated that your pulse jumped under the weight of his gaze.
Two hours later, you were standing backstage at the hotel ballroom where the groupâs press conference was being held, headset on, clipboard in hand, doing what you did best: holding everything together with duct tape and sheer willpower. The other members of the group were lined up neatly, dressed perfectly in the stylistâs carefully coordinated vision. Cameras were already flashing, reporters buzzing with questions.
You leaned toward him just before the cameras went live, hissing at him to lose the sunglasses.
He tilted his head lazily toward you, that infuriating smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. âWhat, and deprive them of the mystery?â
âDeprive me of a heart attack,â you snapped.
âYou sure youâre not just dying to see my eyes again?â He murmured, low enough that the others wouldnât hear.
You froze for half a second, heat prickling at the back of your neck, but recovered quickly. âIâm dying to not have to clean up another headline about you acting like a rockstar on live TV.â
For a moment, you thought heâd keep pushing. But thenâso suddenly you almost didnât believe itâhe took off the sunglasses and slipped them into his jacket pocket, obedient for once. Except when the questions started, he didnât stick to the script.
Reporters asked about the new album, and he let the others yap off-topic. They asked about the groupâs inspiration, he mentioned how it was obviously heartbreak. What else would it be? One reporter even asked about dating rumours and, instead of deflecting like you told him to, he smirked to himself and mumbled something cryptic. By the time it was over, your notes were crumpled in your hands, your headset askew, and you were seconds away from launching yourself into traffic.
Backstage, you cornered him the second the cameras were off. âWhat was that?!â
He shrugged, utterly unbothered. âEntertainment.â
âThis is not a game, Kwon Jiyongââ
âRelax,â he drawled, leaning against the wall with a lazy grin. âYou said you know what youâre doing, right? Looks like the worldâs still spinning. Guess I didnât ruin everything after all.â
By the third disaster of the week, you had stopped hoping for smooth sailing. At this point, you were just aiming for survivable. The charity red carpet was supposed to be simple. Quick photos, a few interviews, and out. The group was already lined up like the professionals they were, every member dressed perfectly, smiles practiced but genuine enough to keep the fans screaming.
Of course, Jiyong had showed up late, hair damp, shirt buttoned in a way that made you wonder if heâd lost a fight with it on the drive over.
Your clipboard was in your hands before you even realized youâd tightened your grip on it.
âNice to see you too, boss,â he said as soon as he caught your stare, grin sharp and effortless as the press went wild for him.
âThis isnât about me seeing you,â you said evenly, eyes scanning the reporters, the cameras, the lights. âThis is about the fact that you were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago and now I have to reshuffle the entire schedule to fit you in.â
No anger. No panic. Just facts.
Something flickered in his expression, like heâd expected you to yell.
He tried anyway. âAw, come on, I made it, didnât I?â
âStand on the mark,â you said, pointing to the tape on the floor. âSmile. Donât answer any personal questions. Keep your comments brief so we can get through this on time. Can you do that?â
The edge of his grin softened, eyes narrowing in curiosity now. Like he wasnât sure what to do with someone who didnât play his game.
âSure,â he said slowly. âWhatever you say, maâam.â
The moment he turned toward the cameras, you saw it. The way he paused for half a beat, like he was thinking about something to say to you, something clever or teasing⊠and couldnât come up with a single thing.
And that? That was more satisfying than yelling at him would have ever been.
Naturally, the second the interviews started, he still couldnât help himselfâthrowing in a wink at the camera, cracking a joke that made the reporters laugh. But it wasnât reckless this time. It was like he was performing while keeping one eye on you, waiting for you to crack.
By the time the event wrapped up, you had managed to get the schedule back on track, the press satisfied, and the manager breathing again.
âSee?â Jiyong said afterward, hands in his pockets as you crossed paths backstage. âNo disasters. Guess Iâm not that bad, huh?â
âNot bad,â you said, flipping through your notes. âJust undisciplined. Weâll work on it.â
His grin falteredâjust barelyâbut you caught it. And for the first time, he didnât look like the man in control of the room.
Youâre not sure when the dynamic shifted.Â
At first, you thought it was a coincidence. Jiyong arriving on time for a photoshoot? Must have been a rare alignment of the planets. Him actually following the wardrobe notes you gave the stylists? Probably a fluke.Â
But then it kept happening.
Heâd show up exactly two minutes before call time with his usual iced coffee in hand, acting casual like he hadnât spent half the week ignoring schedules before you started. He still cracked jokes during interviews, but he stuck to the talking points you sent out beforehand, his smirk flashing toward you like he was checking to see if you noticed. You always did. You just didnât react. Not outwardly, anyway.
âGood job today,â you said once after a particularly smooth press junket, your eyes still on the clipboard as you scanned the next dayâs schedule.
It was nothing. Just a polite acknowledgement.
He was quiet for a moment, and when you looked up, he had this odd expressionâlike a kid whoâd just gotten a gold star and wasnât sure what to do with it.
The next day, he was on time again.
After a while, you realized he was⊠competing with himself.
When you praised the group for wrapping an event without chaos, he started cracking less outrageous jokes in interviews. When you mentioned you appreciated punctuality, he began showing up early enough to be seen waiting. When you gave notes on posture and tone for televised segments, he actually followed them, smirking like he was expecting a report card afterward.
He never said anything directly. Of course he didnât. That would be too easy.
But you started catching the way his eyes would flick toward you after a reporter laughed at his perfectly timed, non-controversial joke. Or how heâd linger nearby after an event, clearly waiting for you to give instructions he absolutely didnât need.
And when you gave those short, professional complimentsâ
âGood interview.â
âBetter pacing this time.â
âNice job staying on message.â
âhe would nod like it was nothing. Like it didnât matter.
But you caught the way his mouth would twitch, the way his shoulders loosened, the way he walked away like someone whoâd just been told they did well for once in their life.
Of course, he still had his moments.
âSo⊠that was at least a B-plus, right?â
âB-minus. You need to work on your breathing control.â
The way he stared at you? Like youâd just handed him a personal challenge. Somehow, without meaning to, youâd become the one person in his glittery, chaotic life whose opinion actually mattered. And he was terrible at hiding it.
You werenât expecting anyone that late.
It was past nine, youâd already kicked off your heels, hair pinned up messily, laptop open on the coffee table while you finished tomorrowâs press notes. When the knock cameâsharp, impatientâyou assumed it was a delivery mix-up.
Instead, it was Kwon Jiyong, leaning against your doorframe like a desperate lover boy in a bittersweet romantic film. Hood up, sunglasses on, grin flashing like he didnât look ridiculous showing up like that at night.
âDo you wear those to bed, too?â You asked, leaning one shoulder against the door, arms crossed.
âWouldnât you like to know?â He shot back, smirk tugging at his mouth.
You gave him the flattest look you could manage. âWhat are you doing here, Jiyong? Itâs late.â
He shrugged, shifting his weight lazily. âYou donât answer my texts.â
âBecause theyâre not work-related.â
âThatâs cold, boss,â he said, hand over his heart in mock injury. âI thought we were building something special here.â
You didnât move, didnât rise to the bait, and that was the thingâhe wasnât used to people not giving him what he wanted. He tilted his head, studying you like he was trying to find the crack in your armor.
âYâknow⊠you talk to me like Iâm some reckless kid who canât be taken seriously.â
âDo I?â
His eyes narrowed slightly at the almost-smile you didnât quite let him have. âYeah. Like youâve got me all figured out.â
âMaybe I do.â You met his gaze evenly.
There it was. The flicker across his face when he realized you werenât bluffing. That calm, infuriating confidence of yours was eating at him, and the worst part? He liked it. For once, he didnât have a slick comeback ready. His tongue darted over his lower lip like he was stalling for time, his weight shifting as if he wasnât sure whether to stay or leave.
Finally, he said, quieter than before, âSo what would it take for you to admit Iâm not just some⊠manchild to babysit?â
âMore than showing up at my door after hours.â
For a moment, he just stared at you, jaw tight, tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek.
Then he moved.
One step. Then another. Until your back hit the wall just inside your doorway.
You didnât flinch. Didnât push him away. Just stayed there, calm as ever, while he loomed closer, one hand braced above your shoulder, the hood of his sweatshirt shadowing his sharp eyes.
âYou know,â he murmured, his voice low now, almost rough, âyou drive me crazy.â
Do I?â You repeated.
He gave a sharp little laugh under his breath, but there was nothing funny in his expression now. âYou stand there with your perfect little clipboard, like youâve got me all figured out. Makes me wannaââ
His eyes flicked to your mouth, then back up to meet your gaze again.
âWanna what exactly?â You asked, tone smooth, even as your pulse hammered in your throat.
See if youâd stay this calm if I kissed you.â
âAnd what makes you think I wouldnât?â
That did it.
You could see it happenâthe moment the game changed. The moment the golden boy with all his charm and swagger finally lost his balance. Because for once, you werenât yelling or bossing him around. For once, he used his charms on a woman he was infatuated with and it didnât stick to the usual script. You were pretty much daring him, and Jiyong was never good at walking away from a dare.
One second, he was watching you like a man on the edge. The next, his mouth was on yours, hot and reckless, his hand finally cupping your jaw like he couldnât hold back another second.
The wall was cool against your spine, contrasting the sheer heat of his touch.Â
And still, even as you kissed him back you stayed infuriatingly calm. Like you were letting him, not losing yourself to him.
It drove him wild.
He broke away just enough to murmur against your lips, breath hot and uneven.Â
âGod, you make me insane,â he said, like it was a confession dragged out of him. âHow can you stand there and remain perfectly calm while Iâmââ He huffed a short laugh, frustrated. ââwhile Iâm me.â
Your lips curved in the faintest smile. âDangerous?â
He groaned softly, the sound half amusement, half defeat. âSure⊠if thatâs what you wanna call it.â
You let your hands slide up his chest, slow, deliberate, resting against his shoulders like you were holding him still.Â
âLucky for you,â you said softly, voice smooth enough to cut glass. âI like danger.â
tysm rei for inviting me to this challenge, im so sorry this was so late but i hope you guys enjoyed :,))
Hello! Are there any upcoming Daesung x reader fanfics soon?
i got my motivation back after seeing jiyong in paris so im being ambitious and wanting to start that dae series in october some time cuz it's the perfect time for it xd
summary: you find peace in your shared childhood and secret love with seunghyun.
word count: 1701
tags: fluff, domestic bliss, established relationship - part of the 'so close to what' challenge by @slut4kwon !!
ao3 link
Neat serif print, shots of you under impossible lights, draped in gowns worth more than some peopleâs homes.Â
Magazines and agencies always called you untouchable.
The flash of cameras never seemed to crack your composure; you were elegance incarnate, sculpted and polished, the kind of beauty that looked more statue than human.
On billboards across Seoul, Paris, New York, Londonâyou existed however many feet tall, a model the industry couldnât stop watching. To them, you were a symbol. A fantasy. Something they could never really touch. You learned to play the part: chin lifted, eyes steady, voice smooth in interviews. When fans shouted your name outside airports, you elegantly smiled and waved, even when your feet ached and your throat burned from rehearsed charm. That was who you were to the world.
And the same goes for your boyfriendâŠ
Choi Seunghyun was the enigma.
On stage, he was fire and granite all at onceârazor-sharp verses delivered with a voice so deep it rattled through the largest arenas around the globe, every gesture deliberate, every smirk calculated. He was T.O.P. The charismatic rapper, the man with the piercing stare, the oldest member of BIGBANG who could turn an audience of thousands into an uproar with one low growl.
The public knew his more refined appearanceâtailored suits, art and wine collections, his naturally reserved nature. They knew his aloofness, the way heâd slip through interviews with clever wordplay, revealing nothing leaving people wondering what was real and what was a joke. Even the tabloids admitted he was hard to pin down. An artist, an actor, a collector, a mystery. Fans loved him for it. They projected their own fantasies onto his cool exterior, his image larger than life.
But you knew better.
The apartment was warm when he finally came through the door, the kind of warmth that wrapped itself around tired shoulders. Youâd left the living room lamp on, its golden light catching the edges of the photo frames on the wall, the stack of books on the coffee table, the mug waiting on the counter. It was lateâwell past two in the morningâbut you hadnât even tried to sleep. You knew heâd come home restless, buzzing under his skin after hours on stage, and you wanted to be awake when the noise faded and he finally remembered he could breathe again.
Seunghyun stepped inside with his usual quiet, closing the door gently behind him like he was afraid to wake up the entire street. His duffel bag dropped to the floor with a soft thud. Even dressed down in sweats and a hoodie, hair damp from a quick shower at the venue, he still carried the air of someone the world looked at too closely.
But when his eyes found you curled on the couch, all of it slipped away like he was shrugging off a coat he didnât need anymore.
âHey,â you said softly.
He didnât answer right away. Just crossed the room in long, tired strides, wrapped both arms around you, and held on. His breath was warm against your neck, his heartbeat still fast from the performance or the rush to get here. You couldnât tell which.
âLong night?â You murmured.
A low laugh rumbled through his chest. âThe longest.â
You tugged him toward the couch, made him sit while you ducked into the kitchen for the tea youâd already steeped. When you came back, he was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, head bowed like the quiet was finally sinking in.
âHere,â you said, handing him the mug.Â
He cradled it in both hands, letting the steam rise over his face.Â
âThe boys asked after you,â he said after a moment, voice low. âDaesung said you should come to the next soundcheck so he doesnât have to keep looking for you in the audience.â
You smiled faintly, settling beside him. âHe misses me that much, huh?â
âThey all do.â He glanced sideways at you, eyes soft. âJiyong said it doesnât feel right when youâre not there. Youngbae called you our good-luck charm.â
âAnd what about you?â
âI donât need good luck,â he said, tilting his head to rest against yours. âI just⊠like knowing youâre close.â
The words hung there, simple but heavy in that way only he could manage. You reached up, threading your fingers through his damp hair, feeling the last of the adrenaline start to leave him in slow waves. He stayed like that for a long time, sipping tea, telling you little pieces of the nightâthe fans, the lights, the chaos backstage, things heâd never share in interviews. And then, when his cup was empty and his shoulders had finally slumped with real exhaustion, he shifted, lying down with his head in your lap.Â
Your fingers traced lazy circles at his temple as his breathing evened out, though he didnât sleep right away. He never did after concerts. You kept combing your fingers through his hair, untangling the strands still damp from his shower.Â
âYou okay?â You asked softly.
He nodded, the weight of it pressing against your legs. âYeah. Just⊠coming down.â
It always took him a while. He could command a stage like it was built just for him, but afterwards, he carried the echoes homeâthe screaming fans, the pounding bass, the burn in his chest from giving everything he had. You knew better than to fill the silence too quickly. After a moment, he spoke again.Â
âYou know whatâs strange?â
âHmm?â
âThe whole night, the crowdâs so loud you can feel it in your ribs. Lights everywhere. Chaos backstage.â He shifted a little, cheek brushing your thigh as he looked up at you. âAnd then I walk through that door, and itâs like all of it just⊠stops.â
You smiled faintly. âWhiplash?â
He huffed a quiet laugh. âSomething like that. I thinkâŠâ He paused, searching for the right words. âI think thatâs why I look for you first. I need it to stop.â
Your hand stilled in his hair.
He closed his eyes, voice lower now, rough with exhaustion. âIt still gets me sometimes. How fast it all changed.â
You tilted your head. âWhat did?â
âUs.â His gaze stayed on yours. âOne day you were just⊠there. My best friend. The girl who stole my fries at lunch. And then one day it wasnât the same anymore.â
Your chest tightened like he was confessing to you all over again. âYou make it sound like I snuck up on you.â
âYou did,â he said simply, like it was obvious. âI didnât see it coming. Suddenly, you were everywhere. In my head before shows. On my phone at three a.m. In every song I wrote.â He exhaled slowly, like the words had been waiting a long time to get out. âIt hit me so hard, I didnât even know what to do with it at first.â
You brushed his hair back from his forehead, heart thudding in your chest. âAnd now?â
His lips curved faintly. âNow I think maybe I donât want it any other way.â
The room felt very still, the kind of quiet you couldnât buy, the kind that only existed here with him, in this apartment, where no one wanted anything from either of you. It was the kind of silence that wrapped itself around you both like a blanket, thick and soft, carrying no weight of expectation or performance. No cameras, no phones buzzing, no managers knocking on doors or makeup artists fixing smudges under bright lights. Just the soft hum of the fridge in the kitchen, the faint city noise filtered through closed windows, and the steady rhythm of his breathing against your legs. It was a pocket of the world that belonged only to you, carved out between the chaos of everything else, where you could both put down everything you carried and just be yourselves.
âYou know,â you spoke up softly. âI think it hit me before it hit you.â
That made him laugh, low and warm. âYeah?â
âMhmm. The day we skipped class together for the first time.â
He groaned into your lap. âGod. We were so bad at it.â
You grinned. âWe didnât even make it past the park. Just sat on the swings for two hours and panicked every time someone walked by in case they told on us.â
His shoulders shook with laughter, the sound rough around the edges but real. âWe thought we were so cool. We were just⊠idiots.â
âYou were grinning the whole time,â you teased.
âYeah,â he said, quieter now. âBecause you were there.â
He reached up, caught your hand where it rested against his cheek, and pressed a kiss into your palm.
âDumb teenagers,â you murmured.
âMm,â he agreed softly, eyes slipping shut. âAnd now look at us.â
For a long moment, neither of you said anything else. His breathing evened out, his hand still holding yours, the night finally softening its grip on him. And you thought maybe this was what love really wasânot the rush of the lights or the noise of the crowd, but this quiet aftermath where you could both finally just rest and bask in each othersâ presence.
âYâknow, you should come to the next show.â
âYou want me to?âÂ
âYoungbae said he noticed I was happier when youâre around.âÂ
That made you still for a moment. âAre you?â
He cracked one eye open at you. âYou seriously have to ask?â
You looked away, suddenly warm under his gaze. âJust checking.â
His hand found yours, fingers intertwining. âYouâve been around since we were dumb teenagers skipping class together,â he said softly. âSince the days when I didnât even know what I wanted out of life. And now there are nights when I sing to twenty thousand people⊠but youâre the only one I want to tell about it afterward.â
Your throat tightened, but you smiled anyway. âThatâs kind of sappy.â
âGood,â he muttered, closing his eyes again. âMaybe youâll remember it in the morning.â
You bent down and kissed the crown of his head. âGoodnight, Seunghyun.â
âMm,â he hummed, already sliding into sleep. âDonât go anywhere.â
âI wonât.â
im so sorry its so late, i hope you still enjoy it and thank you @slut4kwon for inviting me to this challenge <33
