summary: Your youngest daughter finally follows in her sister's footsteps as a troublemaker - terrifying you and your husband in the process
A/N: she's backkkkkk - revived by a night in paris with the hubby and wifey!! i'll probably share some content from the concert but my heart was longing for some gdad. so please enjoy xx
“What about this one?”
You turned, running a hand over the silk fabric as it rippled against your body.
“Hmm,” Jiyong tilted his head, smirk tugging at his lips. “Are you wearing any underwear?”
He was sprawled across the bed, hands folded behind his head, eyes fixed entirely on you. His phone buzzed against his stomach, screen lighting up over and over, but he hadn’t checked it once since you’d stepped out of the wardrobe in a bra begging for his help.
Which you were coming to realise wasn’t very helpful.
Your husband was renowned for his impeccable fashion choices, a trendsetter even when he’d show up to the school run in a dressing gown.
But he was easily distracted.
And when it came to you dashing around your bedroom in tight skirts or sheer dresses, he’d been unable to focus on the task at hand.
You scoffed and threw your hands down. “Ji, this is the one time I’m asking you for your brutal fashion criticism. Be mean. Tell me it looks bad.”
“But I can’t!” he laughed, springing his arms wide, “Jagi, I can’t help if you look good in everything.”
You shot him a scowl and stalked back into the wardrobe. “Go back to doomscrolling on Instagram.”
His chuckle followed you as you stared miserably at the rows of clothes. You’d been asked to perform for a charity show and it would be the first time you were appearing on stage since having Angel. The pressure of picking the right outfit pressed on you harder than the silk straps digging into your shoulders.
As your thoughts turned to your children you paused, ears tuning into the quiet atmosphere around you.
It was too quiet.
They’d left you and Jiyong alone for too long.
Diva was definitely up to something.
Right on cue a loud clang echoed down the hall and your shoulders dropped from their tense position.
Ah, there it was.
You could hear Jiyong and Diva talking, their voices growing louder as they appeared behind you. He was holding Diva under the arms like a misbehaving kitten, depositing her in the entrance to your wardrobe.
“Stay with Eomma,” he warned her with a pointed brow before looking up at you. “I’ve just got to clean something up... Oh, try that one on, Jagi!” He pointed at a hanging dress before fleeing.
You stared at Diva and she stared right back at you.
“So what’d you do then?” You finally asked with a sigh, pulling the dress from the hanger as you turned to face her.
She held onto the door handle, swinging back and forth as she puffed out her cheeks. “Nothing!” She huffed, jamming her fingers into the little keyhole. “It were Jemi.” She said with a mumble, as if the front of her top wasn’t covered with water.
You knew for a fact it wasn’t her sister - who was sleeping peacefully in her crib. But it was Diva’s new go-to-answer.
Who climbed the counter and ate all the cookies? Jemi.
Who tore all the houseplants out of their pots? Jemi.
And now, her current mission was filling the cat's water bowl herself. Even though you and Jiyong always asked her to wait for one of you to help her.
It seemed like her task was unsuccessful by the way she looked drenched in most of it.
“Jemi barely crawls yet, sweetheart.” You reminded her. “You’ll have to go back to blaming Zoa and Iye for now.”
She stopped swinging and threw her hand out. “But she’s walking!”
“Walking?” Your eyes widened. If she was walking you’d definitely know about it.
Jiyong got the chubby baby up every morning and put her on the living room carpet, trying to coax her into moving with trails of baby snacks and promises of teething toys.
She seemed content to just sit there and wait until he caved.
After all, why would she bother moving if he always carried her around anyway?
His favourite fashion accessory was a ridiculously expensive custom Chanel baby carrier. If those two were leaving the house, Angel was somewhere comfortably tucked beneath chiffon black and white bows.
Diva gave up her defense and wandered over to a pair of trousers hanging by the door, tugging at the string of diamonds stitched into the waist.
“Pretty,”
You softened, pulling them free. “I forgot I even had these…” you pressed the fabric to your leg, memories flooding back of Jiyong surprising you with a custom pair to wear on stage.
Of course, he had a matching set.
“Hmm,” you tilted your head and then looked at your daughter. “You know, maybe I should start taking your fashion advice over Appa’s.”
“I know!” She nodded with a grin and the two of you giggled.
𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪
“Come on,” Jiyong cooed, crouched low with Angel balanced between his palms. “Just one step for Appa.”
From your seat in front of the mirror, you caught the scene over your stylist’s shoulder. She tugged your head this way and that, pins clinking into place, but it was impossible not to be entertained.
“She’s not going to,” you sang lightly as Angel drew her feet up again like the floor was lava. Or, more likely, just a lot colder than her father’s arms.
“Put your feet down,” he tutted gently. She kept her pink-socked toes hovering stubbornly above the ground. “Aish, you just want to be held all the time, don’t you?”
He scooped her back against his chest with a resigned little sigh, settling into the sofa and rubbing her back. You knew he loved it, though. The way his hand fussed with fixing her collar gave him away.
“Why the sudden rush to have her walking?” you asked, wincing when your hair was yanked a little too tight.
“I have plans,” he murmured in response.
“What plans?”
“Nothing!”
He gave you a cheery smile in the mirror and you narrowed your eyes but let it go as Diva made her presence known, coming to stand beside you in the make up chair.
“When were I walking Eomma?”
She was pulling on the string of diamonds hanging from your belt again, twisting it and watching as they caught in the light.
“Oh gosh,” You laughed as you thought about when your eldest first found her footing. “You were up and running by nine months old. Appa and I couldn’t keep up with you.”
Diva grinned, clearly impressed with herself. “I were very fast.”
“Yes,” You and Jiyong answered at the same time, sharing a smile.
Although Angel was over a year old now, she’d get there eventually. Every baby was different.
The paediatrician called her simply “lazy” and your husband had bristled at the word, immediately rebranding her as “pampered”.
An assistant poked her head in to call you to the stage and you exhaled loudly. You squeezed Diva tightly, muting her protests with kisses before descending upon Jiyong and Angel.
“One more, one more,” Jiyong muttered, lips puckered and you obliged, giving him one last kiss before heading towards the door.
“Be good for Appa!” You called behind your back as you were ushered out.
“We love you!”
Jiyong then sighed and leaned back looking at Diva. She eyed the door you had just left through.
“Don’t even think about it.” he warned, “I still have your little harness bag. Don’t make me use it, Princess.”
“No!” She stomped dramatically at the light threat, running to hide behind a chair. She knew she should have cut the straps to that damn thing the last time she had her craft scissors.
𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪
Despite keeping his two girls confined to your dressing room, Jiyong was finding it very hard to maintain his title of fun Appa, devoted husband, and famous idol.
His eyes flitted between the tv currently screening the performance, the baby laid out on the playmat, and Diva who kept lingering too close to the exit. It was like a revolving door, assistants and staff running in and out, grabbing and moving things, he was so close to just locking it and telling everyone else to just fuck off.
He wanted to watch you.
And god he was exhausted.
Jiyong had been known to sleep walk when he was anxious and with his tour ongoing, the two of you were waking periodically throughout the early hours of the morning to find Angel somehow wedged between you or on Diva’s carpet, fast asleep.
It was stressing him out to no end, worried about her safety but you reminded him she didn’t exactly move yet.
Although, the moment she did choose to finally start moving on her own, he’d have to strap himself to the bed to stop his unconscious Appa brain from picking her up in his sleep.
“No I can’t do that date,” he muttered into his phone, eyes glued to the monitor. “Mhm. Paris would be good. We like Paris,”
The girls were playing together behind him, his eyes turning back every so often to check on them.
Just then the door burst open and he jolted, spinning as a flash of light blinded him. A small gaggle of paparazzi descended, snapping all the photos they could as he shoved them out, throwing his arm up to shield their view from his girls.
“Hey!” He yelled at them, phone dropped to his side as he pushed their cameras back.
Fury burned through the exhaustion.
“Don’t you have any respect? Get the fuck away from my family!”
They backed off when he yelled for security and he watched them flee down the corridor with a scoff. He lifted his phone back to his ear.
“Yeah, yeah, we’re fine,” he muttered into the receiver at last, voice flat as he turned back toward the dressing room. “Let’s just make sure to increase security. I want at least two per family member.”
He slammed the door behind him, clicking the lock shut with a sigh and then looked to Diva who was on the floor, head down as she counted to herself.
Jiyong stared.
The phone fell to the floor.
“Where’s Jemi?”
Diva glanced up, wide-eyed, and gave the tiniest shrug.
𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪
You returned to chaos.
Security swarmed your dressing room, walkie-talkies blaring, men and women darting in every direction.
And in the middle of it all - your husband sat on the sofa, crying. His arms locked around Diva like if he loosened his grip even slightly, she’d vanish too.
“It’s ok,” you whispered, crouching in front of him, clutching his knee.
“It’s not though, is it?” His voice cracked, muffled against Diva’s hair. “It’s my fault. You’re going to leave me, and then Jia will hate me and I’ll be some sad, lonely drunk... I just want my cuddly baby back.”
The words broke into a fresh round of sobs, and your lips trembled as you stared at him.
You wanted her back too.
The moment you’d come off stage, you’d been met with pale, anxious faces. You’d run, furious, through the halls as they locked down the venue. But when you saw your husband like this - crumpled and broken, clinging to your daughter - you knew blame could wait.
Right now, you had to hold each other up.
“We’ll find her,” You croaked, “She can’t have gone far,”
He lifted his head, eyes red, nose raw. “She can’t even crawl yet, Y/n.”
You shared a teary glance.
You knew what he was implying. The fact that no one had found her yet, even if it had only been mere moments.
Someone might have taken her.
There was no way she could have escaped that far by tummy shuffling.
His words made you choke on a sob and you stood, climbing forward and onto his other knee. His arm immediately wrapped around you as you silently cried into his neck, you didn’t want Diva to see her parents like this.
“You’re crying, Eomma,” Diva mumbled with a little frown and Jiyong drew her closer, hand cradling her head to his chest as he held both of you. “It were just a game,” She said, cheeks squished.
“A game?” You sniffed, wiping your face as you looked at her more clearly.
Diva nodded, trying to pull away from her father but he had a strong grip. “Hide and seek.”
You inhaled sharply, “W-what?” You sat straighter and gently grasped her hands in yours. “Jia, sweetheart, what do you mean? Where’s your sister?”
“I not found her yet! Appa grabbed me first. And she's kinda fast too…” Diva huffed, looking to the side with a pout.
“Baby, she can’t - ” Jiyong was shaking his head but you were already pulling out of his embrace, lifting Diva and setting her on her feet.
“Can you find her for me? Which way did she go?” You asked, kneeling in front of her, eyes wide with hope.
“That’s cheating Eomma. I have to find her.”
“Jia, Jia,” You smoothed down her hair. “Appa will buy you whatever you want. Show us which way she went.”
Diva smiled and then pointed to a vent on the wall. You stared at it in disbelief.
Are you kidding me?
Those Kwon genes really were dangerous.
Jiyong leaped to his feet, crashing to his knees in front of the metal grate. With the strength of a desperate father, he tore the thing straight from the wall, not bothering with unlatching it.
“Jiyong!” You snapped. “You can’t just go in there. You might make it collapse.”
“Our baby could be in there, Y/n!” He shot back, already crawling inside on his hands and knees.
“I’ll go,” Diva volunteered, tugging on your pants.
“Absolutely not.” You snatched her hand. “You’re glued to me.”
She sighed but didn’t resist.
Jiyong hadn’t gone far when he froze with a gasp.
Your heart plummeted. “W-what?!”
Then his voice softened into an awed coo. “My baby…look at you!”
“She’s in there?!” You ducked down, trying to see, but all you caught was the view of his generous backside in tight Levi jeans.
“She’s standing!” he laughed. “Oh, she’s walking! That’s it, come to Appa, Princess.”
“She’s walking? Move your big head!” you snapped, but he was already shuffling backwards.
You retreated, dragging Diva with you as he emerged. With a grunt, he toppled back onto the floor - and Angel stumbled out, tiny legs wobbly, before collapsing into his lap.
You surged forward, wrapping your arms around them both, Diva still tethered to your hand.
Angel was giggling as you peppered her with a thousand kisses, her Appa doing the same on the other side of her face.
Then a little throat cleared.
You glanced at Diva, who planted her palm on Jiyong’s shoulder with a solemn expression. “So… can I have a pony now?”
𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪
“I can’t believe we’re allowing this,” you sighed, thumbing through endless photos of horses on your phone.
Beside you in bed, Jiyong only nodded, eyes glued to the baby monitor balanced on his lap. Hours had passed since Angel’s dramatic escape, but he hadn’t let her out of his sight since.
He’d wanted her in the bed with you two but you reminded him she was safer tucked between her four wooden bars.
“Where are we even going to keep it?”
“The garden,” he shrugged, running a finger over his lip as he watched the monitor. Angel was lying down, occasionally kicking her blanket as she soothed herself to sleep. “I’ll have a stable built.”
You rolled your eyes.
As if Diva couldn’t be more of a Princess - she already had a real diamond tiara.
And now she was getting a horse.
“God, they’re so spoiled,” you muttered, saving a picture of a Shetland pony anyway.
“Yep,” Jiyong said proudly. “They’re my girls.” Then he looked over, smirk tugging his lips, and swept an arm around you, pulling you onto his chest. “You’re my girl too. Anything you want while I’m feeling sentimental and generous?”
“A vacation,” you mumbled into his shoulder, feeling your feet ache from hours in heels. “Somewhere with snow so they can’t run away from us.”
It still felt surreal - Angel was walking now.
Maybe she had been for a while.
Maybe Diva hadn’t been lying all those times she’d blamed her…
You felt his grin against your skin as he kissed your cheek, lingering. “Hmm. Not a bad idea. You’re clingier when you’re cold. And I can think of a few ways to keep you warm…”
His lips slid down your jaw to your neck. Your eyelids drooped, ready to melt, when something on the monitor made you bolt upright.
“Oh my god.”
“Jagi, I know I’m good, but I’ve barely touched you yet,” he teased, trying to pull you back down.
“Not you,” you hissed, snatching the monitor from his lap.
He shot upright. “What? What is it?”
The two of you watched a little figure storm into Angel’s room, the door flying open at her arrival. Diva came thundering through, dragging her enormous pink beanbag behind her, parking it right in front of the crib.
Angel seemed to be expecting this, slowly climbing to her feet and holding the bars for support.
You then watched with wide eyes as Diva launched herself over the side of the cot, landing ungracefully beside her sister.
“Is she - “ Jiyong cut himself off when he witnessed his eldest daughter grab her baby sister, heaving her up and out of the crib, dropping her straight onto the soft landing.
She soon followed with a roll and flop, and then the girls ran out of the room together.
You slowly turned your head towards Jiyong in disbelief. “So that’s how she’s been getting out…”
“Hmm.” He pressed his lips together, failing to hide a smile. “So it wasn’t me, then.”
“I guess not.”
He collapsed against the headboard, covering his mouth to muffle a giggle. You bit your lip, torn between disapproval and awe.
“Do we… tell them off?” he asked, listening to the faint thunder of little feet down the hallway.
“They’re probably going to play in Jia’s room.” You exhaled, checking the time on your phone. “...We’ll give them twenty minutes.”
“We’re good parents,” he said with a short nod, flicking the monitor off.
“Oh the best.”
𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪
the blue hair is just too good. i couldn't stay away. i have a few more posts planned and in the works!! i've missed you all. im sorry for being away for so long :((
this series is purely ridiculous, self-indulgent, chaos but i hope my delusions can make someone else smile <3
here’s a classical demo limited press vinyl for you angel !! hope you enjoy ~ order 14 of moonqz record store and a late happy birthday to jiyong 🤍
pairing : trainee era!Jiyong x fem!trainee!reader
genre : fluff
description : The rest of the trainees, as in Bigbang, knew how much Jiyong was pining over you. But you never caught on to the way he brought you things every rehearsal that wasn’t even his, or how his members would constantly tease him around you. Until regulations come up and you both get nervous.
contents / warnings : none
requested by anon! thank you so much🤍
One thing about Jiyong was that when he put his mind to something, that thing would stick.
And after months of pining over you, the trainee from the girl group across the hall, which surely turned into the light of his life, he was sure he wouldn’t mess up this time.
But every time he would even attempt to hint at something more than friends, or try and confess, he was too chicken to do so.
And you? Were too oblivious for your own good. The memorising your favourite drink and bringing it to any late rehearsals you had were ‘just kindness’.
The smile he’d give you as if his members weren’t two metres away watching like they hadn’t just had the scolding of their life by the same guy.
They all knew. And they all would tease the hell out of him when either you left or weren’t looking. Youngbae would tell him to man up, Daesung would sing classical love ballads.
The training rooms had always felt like home, echoes of sneakers squeaking against wooden floors, music blasting until late at night, and the quiet hum of ambition that wrapped around every practice session.
You were used to long hours, used to sweat dripping into your eyes, used to pushing through until your body screamed.
At first, you hadn’t noticed. A bottle of water left by your spot, a towel draped across the bench exactly when you needed it, an extra snack after a grueling rehearsal. You thought maybe he was just thoughtful like that, until you realized he never did it for anyone else.
The practice room had long emptied out, the once blaring speakers now silent except for the faint hum of air conditioning which barely even worked.
There had been a cross training between the trainee groups. YG said something about it ‘being a learning experience and a motivator’.
You were still sitting cross legged on the floor, stretching out sore muscles, when Jiyong walked over and sat down beside you.
He dropped a small carton of banana milk in your lap, “You didn’t drink anything all night. You’ll collapse if you keep that up.”
You blinked at him, surprised, before smiling and picking up the carton, “Thanks Ji. You’re like a manager sometimes.”
He scoffed a laugh, but his ears burned red, covered by his damp hair, “Don’t compare me to them. I’m cooler.”
“Okay, okay” you quietly give in, grin wide on your face which made him nervous just looking at you.
You take a sip before looking at Jiyong who was looking in front of him, towards the speakers. You hold your hand out, offering him a sip.
He turns back to you, glancing down at the carton before hesitantly taking a sip, his fingers brushing yours for a small second.
Jiyong always thought you were beautiful. From the moment he was accepted as a trainee, around the same time as you. You were a beauty couldn’t unsee, and when his group got out together, they all had to suffer the same fate of listening to him talk about you all the time.
After he handed it you back, hoping you didn’t notice the tremble in his hand, he spoke quietly, “Do you think we’ll get to debut?” He asked you, as if you knew everything there was to know in this world.
You shrugged lightly, your eyes trained on the floor before you, back leaning against the wall limply, “I mean, I hope so”
He chucked quietly, gummy smile on show, “It feels like sometimes you’re the i to person who refuses to give up”
“If you give up it makes the rest of it worthless. You can’t spend years of your life finally getting somewhere to just give up” You comment simply, taking another sip of the sweet banana milk that tasted sweeter knowing it was from him.
You didn’t know the effect your words had on his mindset. There had been countless times after a long day and no food in the dorm rooms that made him question everything. But he never stopped.
“I guess that makes sense” He replies, more like a distant murmur, hand gripping his bag lightly.
“Of course it makes sense” You add playfully, before the room fell silent again. The two of you sat there for a minute or so, with Jiyong wondering how he could get his words across properly.
He had tried countless times at asking you out. countless. But every time he’d freeze up, switch the conversation to something else, or you’d get pulled way by someone before he could man up and actually say it.
“About the performance coming up, did you maybe wanna-“ He started before the door opened, as if on cue, Youngbae walked through, a wicked grin on his face.
You smiled gently in welcoming, but Jiyong couldn’t look more fed up with his friend if he tried. He knew Youngbae had saw them a moment ago through the tinted glass.
“Jiyong are you coming to the dorm?” He asked, rather playfully which made you huff a small laugh, and Jiyong couldn’t help but wish that laugh was for him.
You looked at Jiyongs reaction, his slouched shoulders a and slightly parted lips, along with the soft look in his eyes was almost dreamy to you.
“I’ll come soon” he told his friend, rather begrudgingly, his eyebrows slightly raised and his expression otherwise stoic except for the fact he looked like he was gonna kill soemone.
Youngbae clapped Jiyong on the shoulder before disappearing down the hall, still grinning like he knew a secret that Jiyong wished he’d stop broadcasting. The door clicked shut, and silence hung in the practice room again.
Jiyong dragged a hand down his face with a sigh, “aish, he does that on purpose.” he practically whined before looking back down at his hands that were idle in his lap.
You tilted your head, slightly amused, “Does what?”
“Shows up right when I-” He trailed off, shaking his head as if he’d said too much. Instead, he busied himself with gathering his things, but the tips of his ears betrayed him, flushed pink against his pale skin.
You didn’t press, though something in your chest tightened. The little things Jiyong did, passing you snacks when he thought you hadn’t eaten, walking you to your dorm even when it was out of his way, they’d always felt like small kindnesses.
But the way his members teased him, the way Youngbae barged in with that knowing grin, it left you wondering.
“You don’t have to entertain him, you know,” Jiyong murmured, his eyes darting toward you briefly before sliding away again.
He shifted his weight, hands tucking into his pockets, trying to play off the awkwardness that always seemed to hang around him whenever it was just the two of you.
It was always one sided though, you never felt the sense of nervousness, embarrassment burning together like he did whenever you were around.
But you smiled, bright and happy, and Jiyong swore that for a moment the dim practice room lights felt like stage spotlights.
That was until you put your hand over your lap like you were about to stand up that he reached over, eyes widening a little bit as his hand went over both of yours as if to stop you,
“Where are you going?” He questioned quietly when you looked at him with a confused yet hopeful expression.
What he didn’t know was they recently you had been praying that he felt the same. That you weren’t being delusional about the slither of hope you felt.
That you hoped he would say something to you that couldn’t be played off as friendly, just once.
Your lips curled up slightly, optimistic as you spoke, your voice matching his quiet, gentle tone, “To my dorm. I’ll let you get back to the guys”
Just when you thought he’d let you go, his hand stopped hovering over both of yours, instead opting to grab the one closest to him,
“I’ll walk you” Jiyong insisted, moving to sit up off the wall, fully prepared to walk you back to your dorm just as an excuse to stay close to you.
Your lips parted slightly for a beat before you even replied, “Oh, that’s okay, Youngbae’s asking for you” You assure, although you really don’t want him to go.
“He’ll live” That was a comment Jiyong wasn’t sure he was telling the truth about. You nodded briskly as the two of you stood up, grabbing your bag and the nearly empty banana milk cartoon in your hands.
He wordlessly looked at you, taking the bag out of your arms and slinging it over his own shoulder like it was second nature.
But the afterwards hesitance to keep going was an adorable sight on your half, but it was broken when he took your hand in his slightly awkwardly like he’d never done the motion before.
Before he could dwell on it for too long, risking seeing your disappointment, which wasn’t even there, he started walking towards the studio door.
You couldn’t help the small bubbly smile that graced your face as you strolled through the hallways, his hand warm in your own.
The silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was more of a thing where you both wet wondering what to do next.
You broke it once you got to the dorms hallways however, “What was you saying?”
He looked at you confused for a moment, causing you to continue, “you were saying something about the performance coming up”
Jiyong wasn’t sure whether he could gather the confidence again to pop the question. It was always ruined one way or another, and Youngbae was bound to get scolded tonight , even though he was laughing like a maniac in the dorm with the others at the same moment.
“Aish it was nothing, I was just wondering if you were excited” He plays it off, cursing himself out in his brain. He could practically hear his mother scolding him for chickening out yet again.
You weren’t entirely convinced as it didn’t seem likely the at the statement was going to go earlier, but you didn’t wanna question him or add to any of your own delusions.
So you decided to just nod along, pursing your lips together slightly, your hands swaying the tiniest bit as you walked.
You reached your dorm not a minute later, you could hear the other trainees you were with on the other side of the door, no doubt making a mess of the kitchen with what little supplies you were given.
Jiyong reluctantly let go of your hand, his body kind of stiff as if he wasn’t sure what to do with himself.
He’d walked you to the dorm countless times in the past. So why did this time feel any different?
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” He smiled like it was normal, like he wasn’t just repeating the endless cycle of being afraid when he should be more bothered about the re evaluations that were tomorrow.
“Yeah” Your smile faded to one of slight sadness or regret blurring together. Could this be the last night he’d walk you to your dorm?
Either one of you could easily get dropped tomorrow. But that wasn’t something you were prepared to deal with now.
So when you let yourself in and bid Jiyong goodnighf, the feeling of his palm in yours still lingering, you slept of the anxiety of the day coming up.
Re-evaluations were more nerve wracking then any performance YG had you do. Or any scolding. The air in the room was thick with dread, a heavy blanket of silence covering you.
It was a test, seeing if you could keep up whilst inevitably making yourself esteem lower during the process. A trial of endurance, willingness, drive, talent.
It wasn’t until the afternoon, so you and your group had spent the whole morning in the dorm, mentally and physically preparing for the day.
One of the girls warmed up more then three times, their movements becoming more and more frantic with each thought passing through her brain.
Another revisited choreography that her own brain was psyching her out on, turning into a weapon against her.
And you were busy with a desperate attempt to not let the fear swallow you whole.
Until there was a knock at your dorm door.
The knock startled everyone, your group falling silent instantly. You hesitated, heart hammering, before padding to the door.
When you opened it, Jiyong stood there, hoodie pulled low, hands shoved into his pockets, like he was trying to make himself smaller than he really was.
His eyes flickered past you nervously, catching sight of your members who were already piling back into one of the bedrooms hurriedly, before landing back on you.
“Uh-can I?” he murmured softly, his voice almost drowned out by the sound of your own pulse spiking your brain at the mere sight of him
You nodded and slipped outside for more privacy from the girls who you knew were already on the other side of the door with a glass to it, shutting the door gently behind you.
For a moment neither of you spoke. The hallway was quiet, not including the muffled clamor of already made stars of YG making racket somewhere down the corridor. Jiyong shifted from foot to foot, chewing his lip.
“I know we’re supposed to act confident,” he started, his voice low and unsure, “but I’m not. Not today” He broke off, shaking his head with a faint, self-deprecating laugh.
“I keep thinking they’re gonna say im not good enough and I-“ He broke off, shaking his head with a faint, self-deprecating laugh.
Your chest tightened. You’d never seen him like this, so unguarded, so nervous. Sure you’d seen the sight of him nervous, practically trembling but this was different.
This time he looked like he was being torn apart by his own mind, and then, almost like he couldn’t hold it in anymore, he blurted,
“I just- I wanted to see you before. Because if one of us doesn’t make it through, I don’t want to regret not saying that you make this whole thing bearable” He started before taking a shaky, practically unnoticeable breath it wa so small, “That I like you.”
The words were slightly rushed, more like he was waiting for you to laugh in his face, or for the worst to happen out of today.
It was something you weren’t expecting, but now that he said it properly it all made sense.
The fact that all his group members would tease and laugh like it was a comedic performance. The way his gummy smile was somehow wider when you were around.
And that was the most comfort, and the most fear you felt all morning, mixed into a bowl.
One part of you was thrilled that he felt the same way, that you didn’t have to question things anymore or put everything off as platonic.
The other was scared that now you knew, it would just make being forced to leave even harder. That was if your ere even kicked out.
“I like you too” You blurted out, the words foreign on your tongue but felt so good to say aloud, the tiniest hint of a smile tugging at your lips as you spoke.
His expression didn’t change much. A tiny hint of a smile touched his lips, and his expression softened. Except for the flicker of something in his eyes you’d never seen before. Whether that was contentment, relief, you weren’t sure entirely.
But that was enough for him. You didn’t have to put a label on anything just yet. The comfort of knowing the two of you felt the same way was enough to push him to be a better man walking through the doors of the studio today.
He stepped forward, one letting step before his arms were around you, this time not the slightest bit unsure as opposed to other times.
His hands wrapped around you, pulling you tight against him a his cheek nestled into your hair lightly, looking down at where the wall and the floor meet.
“I’m sorry it took me so long to say it” His voice was stable now. As if you’d given him all the confidence boost and happiness he needed to go on.
Which you technically had done. The weight that lifted off his shoulders when you muttered the words past his ears, the way you looked up at him like he was something you wanted to memorise, was everything and more to him.
It was worth the wait. The awkward moments, the lingering glances before looking away as soon as the timer catches.
Your body spoke for itself as your arms looped around his shoulders, your eyes shiny with tears as you rested your chin on his neck comfortably.
“Don’t mess up today. I’m not saying that to psych you out, I just don’t wanna have to lose you after all that”
“You wouldn’t lose me either way. But I’ll push through for you” His quiet voice seemed muffled to your ears as you felt his smile against you, the way his arms tightened around your hold.
And that night you borg repeated the motion of going back to the dorms hand in hand. Except this time it was one of proudness and contentment, knowing you were going to debut together.
Separate groups maybe. But together by heart.
taglist : (ask or fill in form pinned on my page to be added <3) @slut4kwon @serenadeonacanoe @szonyix6277 🤍
synopsis: you’ve been best friends your entire lives. you danced in pink pointe shoes, while he scribbled lyrics in his notebook. he’s cheered for every twirl, and you’ve clapped for every verse. you’ve been there for each other through every moment. except, when everything you’ve both worked so hard for finally arrives at the same time, you’re left to wonder if the cost of chasing your dreams is losing the one person who’s always been a part of them.
authors note: i can’t even tell you guys how much i love this story, and the amount of joy it brought me while writing it. dancing has always been a way for me to cope with my emotions, so actually putting that feeling into words was strangely healing (i never did ballet but the idea is the same). anyways, i hope you guys love this as much as i do! it’s pretty long and will definitely hit you right in the feels, so be ready. i love you all! ♡
you don’t really remember a version of your life that didn’t include choi seunghyun.
he’s in every single moment of your childhood.
every scraped knee, every sleepover, every memory worth keeping.
your moms were best friends before either of you were even born, so by the time you came along, the universe had already decided; you were his, and he was yours.
there was never a first meeting. it was just, always.
but if you had to pick a starting point, it would have to be the time you showed up to preschool in your little ballet outfit like it was a red carpet premiere.
a pink leotard, glittery tights, the frilliest tutu you owned, and of course, your favourite ballerina doll tucked tight underneath your arm. she came everywhere with you, but today felt extra important.
three year old seunghyun was already in the classroom when you walked in. sitting on the alphabet rug, shoes off, building a block tower by himself. he looked up as soon as the door opened.
his mouth dropped open when he saw you.
he scrambled to his feet, tripping over one of the blocks in the process. “whoa.”
you blinked at him, confused.
he pointed, wide-eyed. “you look like her!”
you clutched your doll a little closer. “who?”
“your dolly!” he gasped. “the one you always bring. you look just like her.”
you looked down at her sparkly pink tutu and then at your own. “that’s ‘cause i am her.”
he nodded, like that made perfect sense, as his face lit up in that way it only ever did for you. “i’m gonna call you doll now. forever.”
your eyebrows scrunched. “forever?”
“uh-huh.” he stepped closer, serious now. “’cause you’re the only one who looks like a real dolly. and you’re my best friend.”
you paused. “but what if someone else calls me that too?”
his nose wrinkled. “no. it’s just me.”
“okay,” you said, after a long moment. “only you.”
and you meant it.
from that day on, you were doll. only to him, though.
no one else ever tried it more than once. not after the way he glared at a classmate for saying it in passing the next week. not after he grabbed your hand in the middle of lunch and told you, “that’s not your name unless i say it.”
you didn’t really understand what that meant, but you liked the way it sounded in his voice.
it was like a secret only you got to hear.
he always said it like that. like it was something sacred. like you were something sacred.
you didn’t call him anything special. not at first, anyways.
he was just seunghyun. or seunghyunnie, when you were feeling extra nice.
until one random afternoon during free time, only a few weeks after he renamed you.
he was at the art table, legs swinging, tongue poking out in concentration as he coloured in a lopsided rocket ship. crayons were everywhere, including the pink one he’d already set aside for you, like always.
you climbed into the seat next to him, tutu puffing out around you, your doll tucked neatly between your knees.
he didn’t even glance up. just nudged the pink crayon closer and kept drawing.
a rocket. a moon. two stick people floating in the stars.
“you forgot the fire,” you said, pointing at the bottom of the rocket.
“i’m not done yet,” he mumbled around his tongue.
you leaned your chin onto your hand, watching him. “it’s really good, hunnie.”
he paused. his crayon hovered mid-air. “…what?”
you looked up. “what?”
“what’d you just call me?”
“hunnie,” you repeated, like it was obvious. “your name’s too long.”
he blinked. “like…honey? the sticky stuff?”
“no,” you said immediately. “like you.”
he stared at you. eyes wide, cheeks pink, crayon still in his hand. “only you can call me that,” he said finally. very serious.
you nodded, just as serious. “okay. but only if i’m still your doll.”
“you are,” he said, like that was the easiest answer in the world. and to him, it was.
he added a tutu to your stick figure before drawing spiky scribbles for his own hair.
you leaned over, inspecting the picture with a little frown. “you forgot my crown.”
his head popped up. “you wear a crown?”
“sometimes,” you said seriously. “when i’m being a princess.”
his eyes went wide. “you are a princess.”
you didn’t answer. just watched as he grabbed a yellow crayon and scribbled a big lopsided crown right on top of your stick figure’s head.
“there,” he said proudly. “perfect.”
you pointed at the other stick figure. “that’s you?”
“yeah.” he said, like it wasn’t even a question.
“you forgot to write our names.” you said, somehow always noticing missing details.
he froze, blinking. “i don’t know how.”
“but you know letters.”
“…yeah,” he mumbled, already reaching for the black crayon.
you watched him sound it out under his breath, tongue sticking out in concentration. he knew his name had an ‘s’ and a ‘y’ and…probably an ‘n’? maybe a ‘g’?
he tried his best, eyebrows furrowed like it was the most important thing he’d ever done.
when he was done, he leaned back so you could see.
snygn + dol
you grinned immediately. “what does that say?”
“us,” he said, all puffed up.
“i think you forgot the e.” you commented, as if you could have done better. you both knew you couldn't.
he shrugged. “letters are hard.”
you didn’t say anything else. just rested your chin back on your hand and stared at the picture a while longer before smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.
that was it.
from then on, he was hunnie. just like you were doll.
it stuck. like stickers on your lunchbox. like dried glue on his fingers. like the pink crayon he always saved just for you.
neither of you ever questioned it again.
he always arrived to school before you did. always waited by the classroom door, bouncing on his toes the second your mom’s hand appeared in the window.
if you wore a dress, he complimented it. if you put a new sticker on your lunchbox, he pointed it out like it was hidden treasure.
he carried your bag when it was too heavy. always gave you the better crayons. yelled at the kids who were mean to you. always clapped the loudest when you showed the class your twirls.
so, when your ballet class announced its year-end showcase, it was seunghyun who beamed the brightest.
at the age of four, he made his mom mark the date on their calendar. kept asking what song you were dancing to. what moves you were going to use. what outfit you would wear.
when you told him it was just you on stage for one part, his jaw dropped like you announced you were going to space.
“you have a solo?”
you nodded, nervous.
he grinned. “that’s ‘cause you’re the best.”
you believed him, because he always said it like it was the only reasonable answer.
ballet was something you had always taken very seriously, starting when you were around two and learned how to spin without getting dizzy.
when it came time for your first showcase, your tutu was too puffy and your hair was in a slick bun your mom had already redone three times. your tights itched, your ballet shoes were too tight and you were scared out of your mind, fidgeting behind the curtain with trembling hands when it was almost your turn to perform.
that was until you heard someone call your name. well, not technically your name, but to you, it might as well have been.
“doll!”
you turned just in time to see him darting down the hallway, the sleeves of his little blazer flapping as he ran.
the bouquet he held was nearly the size of his entire torso, wrapped in crinkly cellophane with a pink bow slipping off.
he came to a stop in front of you, flushed and extremely proud of himself.
“they match her dress,” he said, holding the flowers up with both hands. “your dolly one.”
you looked down at her, seeing the soft pink lilies stitched onto the front of her tutu, then back at the flowers.
you gasped. “they’re the same.”
“i told my mom we had to find these ones,” he huffed, like it had been an ordeal. “i said they were your favourite.”
you didn’t even know you had a favourite flower.
but the way he said it, so sure and so proud, like he knew you better than you knew yourself, you didn’t even question it.
they were your favourite now.
and somehow, without either of you ever saying it again, it stayed that way.
every recital. every show. every small performance. he always showed up with pink lilies in hand.
by the time elementary school rolled around, the differences between the two of you started to show a little more.
he thought before he spoke. you spoke before you thought.
he was quiet around most people, always a little guarded. you made friends in every room you entered. you were loud, bright, and impossible to miss.
he liked the back row. you liked the spotlight.
he hated asking for help. you never hesitated to raise your hand.
you were opposites in every way. and still, you moved through the world like a matching set.
people asked why you were always with him. the loud girl and the quiet boy. the dancer and the daydreamer. but it never felt strange to you. it never needed explaining.
you were his favourite noise. he was your calm in the chaos. you never really left each other’s side.
thankfully, by the time high school rolled around, the questions had stopped. no one really asked why you were always together anymore. they just knew.
you were still the loud one. the spotlight. the dancer with the glitter pens, contagious laugh, and a new band-aid on your knee every week.
he was still the quiet one. the rapper in oversized hoodies who barely said a word unless he was around you.
he waited outside your studio every day after class, leaning against the wall, scribbling lyrics while you twirled through your last cooldown.
you always came out humming, pink cheeked and sometimes barefoot, throwing your dance bag towards him like clockwork.
when he got into yg, you were the first person he told. it was between classes, sometime in the mid-morning.
you’d just dropped half your books in the hallway and were mid-rant about how your locker ‘literally hates you’ when he tugged at your sleeve.
“doll.”
you looked up. “hunnie, hold on. i’m yelling.”
“no seriously—” he tried, but you were quicker.
“you won’t believe what it did this time. it slammed shut on my head, and now i have a dent. like an actual dent. do you see it? does my skull look uneven—“
he laughed softly. “can i just—doll—listen.”
you paused, and blinked up at him.
he stepped a little closer, lowering his voice like it was a secret. “i got in.”
you froze. “got in…?”
his eyes flicked around the hallway, then back to you. “yg.”
your mouth fell open. “shut up.”
“i’m serious.” he whispered, still just as shocked as you were.
“SHUT UP!” you couldn’t stay quiet. not in a moment like this.
“doll—shhhh!” he whisper-hissed, glancing around again. “i don’t want people to know yet.”
it was too late. you already launched yourself into his arms, knocking him back into the lockers behind him with a dramatic squeal.
“i KNEW it!” you shouted, completely ignoring his attempts to shush you. “i told you! i told you you were gonna get in!”
he was blushing furiously, trying not to smile. “you are making such a scene right now.”
you pulled back just enough to grin at him. “you’re a trainee. my best friend is a trainee. this is literally the biggest moment of my life.”
“your life?” he questioned.
“yes, mine,” you sniffed. “your life is my life.”
he rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitched into a smile anyways.
you nudged him with your shoulder. “don’t act like you’re not obsessed with me.”
“i’m really not,” he said a little too fast, too flat, and way too red in the face.
you smirked. “you literally called me from your house last night to tell me you saw a pigeon with one foot.”
“it was impressive!” he quickly defended.
“uh huh.”
he exhaled through his nose, then rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly fidgety. “okay, but—doll, seriously. i need your help.”
your head tilted. “with what?”
he lowered his voice. “dancing.”
you blinked. “hunnie, you know i do ballet, right?”
“yeah.” he shifted on his feet, glancing at the passing students. “but you’re, like…really good at it. and i just found out i’m supposed to learn hip hop for evaluations and i have no idea what i’m doing.”
you softened. “you want me to teach you hip hop?”
“you don’t have to,” he said quickly. “i just figured if anyone could figure it out, it’d be you.”
you looked at him for a long second, then smiled. “meet me at my place after school.”
his head jerked up. “really?”
you shrugged. “your life is my life, remember?”
he grinned, all teeth now. “remind me to get that in writing.”
he showed up right after school, just like you said. hood up, earbuds in, and already mouthing lyrics like he’d been rehearsing the whole walk over.
you had faked being sick at school so you could come home and prepare for this.
you were waiting for him in the living room, where you’d cleared out every possible piece of furniture that could get in the way. the rug was rolled up. the lamp was gone. the coffee table was banished to the hallway.
you had his hoodie and a pair of his sweatpants on.
the sleeves swallowed your hands whole, and the pant legs had to be rolled at your ankles. but when you spun around to face him with a dramatic bow, you looked like you belonged in them.
his brows lifted. “those are mine.”
“tip number one,” you said, striking a ridiculous pose, “baggy clothes make you look cooler. bonus points if they belong to your favorite trainee.”
his mouth twitched. “you’re so full of shit.”
“and you’re welcome,” you said, spinning again. “now you look cool by association.”
“doll,” he warned, grinning now, “don’t test me. i’m already embarrassed enough.”
you softened. stepped closer. “you’re gonna kill it, hunnie.”
he exhaled, looking at you like he always did when he needed to believe something. like if you said it, it had to be true.
“okay,” he murmured. “teach me.”
you started slow, and had him mirror your steps. corrected his posture by tapping his knee, guiding his hands, pulling his shoulders back with the tips of your fingers.
when he kept tensing up, you resorted to drastic measures, which consisted of throwing yourself into the moves like an absolute maniac, flailing your arms and singing off-key.
he nearly collapsed laughing. “what the hell was that?!” he wheezed.
“that,” you said, gasping, “was called confidence.”
“that was called a safety hazard.” he retorted.
“you’re not allowed to bully me,” you scolded, jabbing his chest. “i’m literally molding you into a star right now.”
he caught your finger mid-jab and held it gently for a beat longer than necessary. “you already think i’m a star.”
“obviously,” you grinned. “i’ve known that since we were like two.”
his smile faltered for just a second. not in a bad way, just in that 'caught off guard by how much you love me' type of way.
“maybe i’m just not meant for this,” he muttered, eyes dropping.
you tilted your head. “you say that now, but just wait. give it a year, you’ll be on stage making girls pass out just by looking at them.”
“don’t say that.” he groaned, only half-serious.
“why? you are. you’ve got the voice, the face, the attitude—”
“i don’t have the moves,” he cut in.
you stood up, a little less dramatic this time, brushing your hands off on your sweatpants. “that’s why i’m here.”
he looked at you. really looked at you.
“you already have everything you need, hunnie,” you said softly. “you just don’t believe it yet.”
he didn’t speak. just stared at you like you were saying things he didn’t know how to believe but desperately wanted to.
and for once, he didn’t argue.
you practiced until it was dark. until your body ached and your cheeks hurt from laughing. until he actually started to get it; the rhythm, the ease, the confidence.
it came out of nowhere, but you saw it. that flicker of belief starting to settle in his shoulders. he was good. he’d always been good. he just needed someone to remind him of that.
you said it was the baggy clothes and chaotic energy. he said it was you pulling his shoulders back and looking him in the eye like he was already everything he wanted to become.
you told him he had the swag for it. the presence. the attitude. he just needed the belief. you’d been right all along.
and now, at nineteen, just weeks away from his debut, he was exhausted, restless, and always on the move. but, he was still the same boy who’s cheeks flushed pink every time you called him hunnie in front of other people.
you’re now in school on a ballet scholarship, surrounded by perfectionism, pointed toes, late night rehearsals and pressure that always manages to sneak under your skin.
but you still make time. for him, you always would.
he’s your best friend. your biggest supporter, and you’ve been his for just as long. even before either of you had the words to explain what that really meant.
sometimes he meets you outside class with two drinks and his hoodie half-zipped.
sometimes you show up at his rehearsals and sit on the floor with your knees tucked up to your chest, mouthing the words like you wrote them yourself.
he still calls you doll like it’s your real name.
still listens to every dramatic rant about your professors like it’s headline news.
still texts you when he can’t sleep, or when he should be sleeping but is too busy pacing with headphones in.
being with him has always been the easiest part of your life.
like breathing. like sunlight. like something you never had to question. it was comfort without condition. love without demand.
ballet was different though. it was all discipline and devotion.
it asked for your silence, your hours, your pain. and still, it never promised anything back.
you bled for it. bent for it. broke for it. not because it gave you peace, but because it gave you purpose.
because somewhere in all that ache, you felt alive through it all.
tonight was no different.
you’d been at the studio for hours at this point.
the mirrors had long stopped reflecting daylight. your water bottle sat untouched by the stereo. the only sound was the soft thud of pointe shoes and the occasional squeak of the bar beneath your palm.
your thighs ached. your feet were blistered. but your head was louder than your body; full of counts and choreography and the rising panic that you wouldn’t be ready in time.
the showcase was next saturday.
the one they held every spring; a curated performance for scouts, agents, and the most elite conservatories across the country.
usually, it was only for seniors. maybe a junior or two, if their talent was undeniable.
you were only a freshman. you weren’t even supposed to be considered.
but your coach had pushed. argued. said she’d stake her name on you. and when they finally gave in, she called you into her office with the list in her hand and a huge smile on her face.
you were on it.
no real time to prepare. no safety net. just a little over one week to prove you belonged on that stage.
you hadn’t told anyone about it yet. not even him.
your body was running on pure instinct. pirouette after pirouette, breath ragged, sweat clinging to your skin like second fabric.
the spins blurred together, every muscle tightening to stay upright.
you’re somewhere in your sixth pirouette when the door suddenly opened with a quiet creak and a small flash of the hallway light.
your focus slipped, causing you to tumble slightly out of your turn.
your foot skidded on the floor as it landed, arms lifting instinctively to catch your balance.
“doll?” his voice rang out softly.
you blinked toward the doorway, heart still racing, sweat dripping down your back. “hunnie?”
he smiled wide. “you weren’t answering your phone.”
before you could respond, he jogged across the room and scooped you into his arms, spinning you once before setting you down again.
you laughed like a little girl, already feeling so much lighter than you felt two seconds ago. “you scared me,” you said, still clinging to his arms.
“yeah, well, you scared me,” he countered. “it’s late. and i know you. when it’s this late and you’re still here…”
you looked up at him. he didn’t finish the sentence. he didn’t have to.
“yah!” came a muffled shout. “you said together!”
“he ditched us again!” another voice called out, sounding completely offended.
the door burst open, and chaos followed.
jiyong stumbled in first, arms out dramatically. “doll’s here!”
“don’t call her that,” seunghyun muttered, not even turning around.
“what? it’s cute.” jiyong smirked, already bee-lining for the bar. “besides, she likes me better.”
“hi noona!” daesung grinned as he bounded in. “we come bearing good news and interpretive dance.”
he flung a leg onto the barre with zero grace, mimicking your stretch in the most exaggerated, cartoonish way possible.
“she’s gonna kick your ass,” youngbae said, wobbling mid-pirouette before almost crashing into the wall.
you just blinked at all of them, wide-eyed, a little stunned, and then you laughed. the sound broke out of you without warning, sharp and soft all at once. it cracked through your exhaustion like sunlight through a glass window.
“what the hell are you guys doing here?” you asked, eyes darting back to seunghyun.
he was practically glowing, like the kind of proud that couldn’t be contained.
“we’re debuting,” he blurted.
you blinked. “you’re—what?”
“it’s official,” he beamed. “next saturday. on a live broadcast. it’s real.”
your breath caught, but not because of the date. not yet. you hadn’t even registered that part.
the words blurred behind the weight of him. of this. of them.
you threw your arms around him without thinking.
he caught you instantly, arms closing around your waist as your feet left the ground again. “hunnie! oh my god—you did it!”
“we did it,” jiyong called from behind, still latched to the barre.
“i’m so proud of you,” you whispered, forehead pressed against seunghyun’s shoulder. “so, so proud.”
he eased you back just enough to look at you. “you’ll be there, right?”
that’s when the date landed. next saturday.
your fingers curled tighter around his sleeves before you could stop them.
it was on the same day as your showcase.
but you still smiled like you hadn’t just swallowed glass. “of course. i wouldn’t miss it.”
his brows twitched with the smallest flicker of something, but he didn’t say anything.
jiyong cleared his throat. “so what is this place? and why does it smell like sweat and sad dreams?”
“it’s a ballet studio,” you said, grateful for the shift in attention. “and those are the dreams of every dancer who died trying to nail fouettés.”
“noona,” daesung called, lifting his leg again and pretending to sob. “i have a cramp.”
“i have a question,” youngbae added. “how do you move in those shoes?”
you let them clown around for awhile. let their chaos pull you out of your thoughts.
until you felt seunghyun’s eyes still on you.
you turned back toward him. “what?”
he was studying you. not suspiciously, but something more gentle.
“so why are you here this late?” he asked. “this studio closes hours ago unless you’re—”
“—working on something,” you interrupted. “yeah.”
“showcase?” he asked, head tilting.
“i just got offered one today,” you said. “it’s pretty big. they didn’t give me much prep time.”
“you didn’t tell me,” he said, more surprised than hurt.
you shrugged, eyes flicking away. “you’ve had bigger things going on.”
he watched you for another beat, longer than he probably meant to, before nodding once and letting it go.
you exhaled slowly, fingers brushing over the barre. the smile on your face stayed steady, but the air around your ribs felt tight.
“anyways,” you said brightly, “wanna see what i’ve got so far?”
the boys erupted into chaotic agreement, but seunghyun’s voice was the softest and the closest. “always.”
you didn’t plan on saying anything about the fact that you won’t be able to attend his debut, and that he would be missing a performance of yours for the first time.
not tonight, anyways.
you made it through your rehearsal. through the boys’ visit. through seunghyun insisting he slept over at your apartment tonight. through the car ride home and the quiet shuffle up the stairs.
you even let yourself melt into him a little on the couch; head on his shoulder, hand tangled with his, pretending the static in your chest wasn’t getting louder.
but he knew you better than anyone. better than you knew yourself. so when he turned to you, eyes searching and his voice barely above a whisper, “doll…what aren’t you telling me?”, it all cracked open.
you sat up slowly, pulling your hand from his. “i didn’t want to ruin it.”
he didn’t move. he just stared, waiting.
your throat tightened. “your debut,” you added. “i didn’t want to take anything away from it. from you.”
his brows pulled together. “what are you talking about?”
you took a breath, and then, before you could stop yourself, it came out. “my showcase is next saturday too.”
the words hung in the air. it felt thick. quiet. final.
he blinked once. then again. his whole body went still. “what?”
you looked down at your lap. “my showcase and your debut. they’re both on saturday.”
his breath caught. “why didn’t you tell me?”
“because i knew what would happen,” you said quickly. “you’d feel guilty, and i didn’t want that.”
his voice went quiet. “you’ve never lied to me.”
“i wasn’t trying to lie,” you whispered. “i was trying to protect you.”
he flinched. barely, but you felt it. he stood suddenly. pacing once, twice, like his skin was too tight. like his chest couldn’t hold the pressure.
“do you know how many performances i’ve missed?” he asked, almost biting.
you swallowed hard. “none.”
“none, doll. not a single one.” his voice cracked, and your heart broke with it.
“you were sick. you were hurt. you had that dumb middle school flu that wiped out your whole grade and you still showed up,” you said. “i know.”
“and now i won’t be there.” he dragged a hand over his mouth. “for this. the one that matters most.”
“stop,” you said, standing too now. “don’t make me feel worse for something i can’t control.”
he turned toward you. “you think this is about you?”
“isn’t it?” you asked, slightly taken off guard.
“it’s about us.” his voice dropped, raw and thick. “about how this is the one time we don’t get to show up for each other. and it fucking hurts.”
you didn’t mean to cry, but it was already happening. your lip trembled, and when you blinked, the tears came hot and fast.
“i didn’t say anything because i knew you’d pick me.” your voice broke open.
he stilled.
“and you can’t, hunnie.” you stepped back, chest heaving, hands shaking like you couldn’t hold it in anymore. “not this time. not when this is exactly what you’ve been working for. what you’ve given up everything for.”
“doll…”
“if you would have even thought about skipping your debut for me, i would’ve never forgiven myself.”
his face twisted like it physically hurt to hear that.
you kept going anyway. “this is your dream. this is your life. and i’m just—i’m just some girl who got a showcase dropped on her out of nowhere and didn’t have the guts to speak up about it.”
his head shook. “you’re not just—”
“i didn’t want to take anything away from you,” you said, quieter now. “not one second of it. not the attention, not the celebration, not the moment. i just…i wanted to protect it.”
his jaw clenched.
you looked down, voice barely a whisper. “i just didn’t want to disappoint you.”
he didn’t say anything. not at first.
he just looked at you like those words physically hurt him. like he didn’t understand how someone like you could ever believe something so wrong.
then, gently, like he was afraid you might pull away, his hands cupped your face.
you barely had time to breathe before he kissed you.
not like a best friend. not like a maybe. like a breaking point.
your heart stopped. your whole body did too. because for one dizzying second, you weren’t even sure this was real.
you’d dreamt of this moment. wanted it quietly, selfishly, for longer than you were ever willing to admit.
but this was better. so much better.
his lips moved with a kind of certainty that undid you.
slow at first, reverent. then deeper, needier, like he’d been holding back for years.
and maybe he had. you certainly had.
your fingers curled in the front of his hoodie, holding on tightly.
because the second your lips moved with his, everything else disappeared. you weren’t tired or scared or second-best anymore.
you were his. and god, did it feel good.
it was hot. aching. tender in a way you didn’t know kisses could be. like every part of him was trying to show you what he couldn’t say.
when you finally pulled apart, it was barely an inch. just enough to breathe.
your foreheads pressed together. his hands still cradling your face like you were something fragile. your own hands still clinging to him like the ground might give out from underneath you.
you blinked at him, stunned. he looked just as wrecked.
his voice cracked when he finally spoke. “you could never disappoint me,” he said. “not even if you tried.”
your chest squeezed tight.
“you hear me, doll?” he whispered. “never.”
you didn’t say much after the kiss. neither did he, really.
his hands dropped from your face slowly, fingertips ghosting down your jaw like he didn’t want to let go. like part of him still didn’t believe it had happened. and honestly, you didn’t either.
you changed in the bathroom, your heart pounding too loud to think straight. your reflection looked the same, but everything felt different. your lips were still swollen from his. your hands still shook from holding him. your heart was feeling things it had never let rise to the surface before.
when you opened the door, all of the lights were off.
he was already in your bed, flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling like it might tell him what to do next. the blanket barely moved with his breathing.
you climbed in quietly beside him. still managing to keep your distance while also lying on your back.
neither of you spoke for a while.
the air felt heavier than it should have. not tense, just fragile. like if either of you breathed too deeply, it would all break apart.
his voice suddenly came, low and careful. “i’m sorry.”
you didn’t answer. you didn’t even look at him.
“i shouldn’t have kissed you,” he said. “i wasn’t thinking.”
your hands curled into the sheets as he continued, not knowing he was shattering everything inside of you.
“i didn’t mean to make things weird.”
you swallowed hard. “you didn’t.”
he let out a quiet breath, but you could feel that he didn’t believe you.
“i shouldn’t’ve done it if i didn’t know how you felt,” he said after a pause. “i just—i don’t wanna lose what we have.”
his words stung more than they should have. because you knew how you felt. and you thought, maybe, he did too.
you forced the words out. “we’re fine.”
you weren’t. but you didn’t look at him, and he didn’t look at you, either.
so he didn’t see the way your eyes filled up with tears.
you turned your face toward the wall, biting your lip so hard it bled. the tears came out quietly, soaking into the pillow while he laid there; still, silent, and only a few inches away.
by the time he woke up the next morning, you were already gone.
no note. no text. just the faint hum of the city bleeding in through the half-open window, and the fading warmth on your side of the bed.
he sat up too fast. checked the bathroom. the kitchen. his phone.
nothing.
he texted you more than once.
hunnie: good morning doll.
hunnie: are you okay?
hunnie: where’d you go?
you left them all on read.
he tried again, just a few hours later.
hunnie: not trying to push, just please tell me you’re okay.
you didn’t answer that one either.
you didn’t block him. you didn’t lash out. you just went silent, and in some ways, that hurt more.
because he didn’t know if it meant you were mad, or heartbroken, or maybe regretting it all.
he didn’t know if it meant you just needed space, or if you were already gone for good.
he couldn’t stop replaying it. the kiss. the look in your eyes. the way your hands trembled when you held onto him.
had he imagined it? was he wrong?
he started slipping during practices. forgetting transitions he could normally do in his sleep.
the choreographer called for a five-minute break after he missed the same step three times in a row. he sat on the floor, elbows on his knees, eyes unfocused.
“you good?” jiyong asked quietly.
he nodded. lied. said he was just tired, but he didn’t sleep that night either.
you weren’t doing any better.
you threw yourself into dancing like it was the only thing keeping you upright. stayed hours after everyone else left the studio. bruised your knees on turns that didn’t land, and didn’t care. you pushed yourself until your feet gave out underneath you.
you didn’t cry.
at least, not until the lights were off. that’s when it all came out.
you missed him. not just the version of him who kissed you like he meant it. you missed your best friend. the one who knew when you were spiralling, even before you did.
you almost texted him a thousand times, but what would you even say?
sorry i disappeared.
sorry i didn’t tell you i loved it too.
sorry it scared me.
sorry i thought leaving would hurt less than staying.
you didn’t send any of them. silence was the easier choice.
he left your favourite drink outside the studio two days later. no note. just his name for you on the lid, written in his messy handwriting.
doll.
the sight of the word made your stomach twist. you stared at it through the window long before you stepped outside, picked it up, and took a small sip.
your throat closed around it, and the ache in your chest deepened. it still tasted like love.
you tossed it in the trash without a word.
it was just after midnight when he pulled up outside of your apartment again. he hadn’t even realized where he was going until he turned the corner and saw the light.
that same damn light in the front window. the soft amber glow seeping through the sheer curtain, the one you always left on when you weren’t home.
“it makes me feel safer,” you’d said to him once, curled into the corner of your couch with a blanket pulled up to your chin. “like if it’s on, no one can tell i’m not home.”
he’d teased you for it. called you dramatic. but he still asked what kind of bulb it was, just in case it ever burned out.
he hadn’t knocked. not once this week.
because every time he passed your place, which he'd done more than he wanted to admit, the stupid lamp was on, meaning you weren’t there.
this time, he didn’t just sit there and wait for you to come home. he just turned the car around.
the city passed in streaks of neon, but he barely registered any of it. there was no destination typed in. no music playing. just his hands on the wheel and that hollow pull in his chest, steering him somewhere he already knew he’d end up.
by the time he reached the studio, the parking lot was empty. the building itself loomed in stillness, filled with darkness, except for a single window on the second floor, shining a faint light onto the world below it.
he killed the engine and climbed out without a second thought, barely registering the slam of the door behind him. the air felt electric and charged, like the moment before a storm breaks. every step toward the entrance echoed in his skull, causing his legs to move faster the closer he got.
he knew exactly where to go. didn’t have to think. didn’t even have to look.
he took the stairs two at a time, rounded the corner, and froze.
there it was.
your music. loud and unrelenting. no structure. no rhythm. just pain, vibrating through the floor like it was trying to crawl up the walls and escape.
he stepped closer, and through the thin strip of glass in the door, he saw you.
of course it was you. he knew you would be here. but still, the sight of you nearly knocked the air from his lungs.
you were barefoot, sweat clinging to your skin, hair stuck to your cheeks in damp, tangled strands. your movements weren’t polished. they weren’t even practiced. they were frantic. trembling. like each step was a question you didn’t have an answer for. like if you stopped, it might all catch up to you.
so you continued to do what you do best. you danced.
you danced like it was the only way to keep your chest from splitting open. like movement was the only thing louder than the ache. the way your body hit the floor didn’t sound like choreography, it sounded like heartbreak. like desperation. like the only thing left to say.
he’d never seen you like this. not even close.
and he’d seen it all.
every bruise. every studio meltdown. the night your mom forgot to pick you up from rehearsal so he walked you home. the time you twisted your ankle two days before your first competition and swore your life was over.
he was the one who iced it. the one who stood on the side of the stage with his hands in fists, silently counting beats under his breath like it might help you land the ending clean.
you were still in pigtails when he first saw you cry over a routine. still too small to reach the top of your locker without him lifting you up.
he’d been there through it all. the good, the ugly, the loud, the barely-held-together.
this wasn’t a tantrum. this wasn’t nerves. this was grief, raw and quiet, shaking its way through every inch of your body.
he stood there, just outside the door, like a kid again. too scared to touch anything in case it broke.
his hand hovered at the glass, frozen.
he didn’t realize he was holding his breath until your knees gave out from below you, like your body had finally surrendered.
you didn’t brace for the fall. your palms hit the floor with a dull thud, arms barely catching you, like even gravity had grown tired of asking you to fight.
your head dropped forward as your shoulders caved in.
there was no sob. no scream either. just the kind of silence that rang louder than anything he’d heard all night.
that was what broke him the most.
he moved before he could stop himself, pushing the door open like it hurt to be on the other side of it. the soft click behind him sounded too loud in the stillness, but you didn’t flinch.
he didn’t speak. not yet. just crossed the room in slow, careful steps. like if he moved too fast, you’d disappear.
he sat down a few feet away, knees bent, arms resting on them, mirroring your shape without even thinking. the distance between you was small, but somehow, it still felt like miles.
“why haven’t you answered me?” his voice wasn’t sharp. it was soft and cracked around the edges, like he’d been rehearsing it for days and still didn’t know how to say it right.
you didn’t turn around. your hands were still on the floor. your breathing was still uneven. your eyes didn’t move from the spot on the floor where you’d fallen.
“you’ve left me on read for three days now, doll.”
he wasn’t accusing you. it sounded more like he was trying to figure out how that even happened in the first place.
“is it because of the kiss?”
you shook your head, just once. small and automatic. not enough to mean anything.
“it’s not,” you said. too quietly.
he moved forward. slowly. like he was waiting for you to push him back. “then what is it?”
you didn’t answer.
“you’ve never gone quiet on me. not like this.” his voice was closer now. you could feel it.
“i’ve just been busy,” you muttered.
“don’t,” he said gently. “don’t do that.”
you swallowed hard. “the showcase is in four days. i don’t have time for anything else right now.”
there was a short pause before he continued. “you always have time for me.”
your throat burned as you tried to keep your voice steady. “well. maybe i don’t this time.”
his voice dropped. “that’s bullshit and you know it.”
your jaw clenched. you could feel the weight of him at your side now, but you still wouldn’t look.
“i watched your run-through.”
your stomach sank when those words came out of his mouth. you didn’t realize he’d been watching you.
“you’ve never danced like that before,” he said softly. “it looked like it hurt.”
you swallowed hard as you closed your eyes.
“i said i’m fine,” you whispered.
“no,” he said gently. “you didn’t.”
you hated how steady he sounded. like he wasn’t angry, just wrecked.
your voice cracked before you could stop it. “it wasn’t the kiss.”
he didn’t say anything.
“it was what you said after.” you could feel him flinch. not visibly, just in the way the air shifted between you.
“i figured,” he murmured.
you nodded once, bitter and small. “you said you shouldn’t have kissed me.”
he didn’t defend it. didn’t backpedal either. “i didn’t mean it like that,” he said. “i was scared.”
your voice was thin. “yeah…so was i.” you didn’t even know what you were admitting. you just knew that it was true.
you hugged your arms around yourself tighter. like if you held on hard enough, maybe it would hurt less.
“i don’t know what i thought would happen,” you whispered. “but you kissed me, and for a second i let myself believe it meant something. and then you said you shouldn’t have.”
he didn’t move. didn’t speak either. just let the words sit between you like they were burning through the floor.
“you looked at me like you regretted it,” you said, barely audible now. “like touching me was some kind of mistake.”
“if i ruined everything,” he whispered, “i need you to tell me so i can fix it properly.”
you shook your head, slow but sure. “you didn’t ruin anything.”
his voice broke as he moved closer. “then why won’t you look at me?”
you didn’t answer. you couldn’t.
your breath had already turned uneven, your shoulders already trembling with the weight of it all. like your body had known that you were going to break before your mind caught up.
you lifted your head slowly, almost unwillingly, like the movement itself might hurt.
when your eyes finally met his, that was it.
your face crumpled instantly, your next breath catching on a sob you couldn’t hold back. the kind that had been stuck in your chest for days. weeks. maybe longer.
his expression shattered right along with you.
“oh,” he whispered. “oh, doll…no.”
his hand hovered for a beat, then reached out, gentle and open, like it always had been. and the second your fingers found his, it was over.
your whole body gave out. not from weakness, but from finally allowing yourself to feel.
you collapsed into him, your hands fisting weakly in his shirt as the sobs came harder and heavier.
he caught you like he always did. like he always would.
his arms around your back, hand cradling your head, like he was trying to piece you back together with his touch alone.
you sobbed into his shoulder, causing him to he hold you even tighter.
“i didn’t mean it,” he whispered. “what i said after—i didn’t mean it like that. i panicked. i thought i ruined everything and i didn’t know if you—”
you pulled back just enough to see him. your cheeks were streaked with tears, your mouth trembling.
“i thought you knew,” you said, and it came out like it hurt.
he stilled.
“i thought you knew,” you repeated, quieter now. “i thought you always knew.”
he opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
you shook your head, trying to breathe through it. “i didn’t say anything because i didn’t think i had to. you’ve been there my whole life. every performance, every birthday, every broken piece—” your voice cracked. “you were always the one who stayed.”
his eyes burned, chest rising unevenly.
“and i kept thinking—if anyone could see it…if anyone could feel it without me having to say it…” you looked at him like it was breaking you open. “i thought it would be you.”
his lips parted like he wanted to speak, but nothing came out.
“you were always there,” you said, barely holding steady. “every time. every piece of my life that ever meant anything—you were in it. so i thought…” your breath caught, “i thought maybe you felt it too.”
he looked wrecked. completely still, except for the way his hands curled at your sides.
“i did,” he said, hoarsely. “i do. i just—” he blinked hard, trying to stay composed. “i was so fucking scared that i made it all up. that if i said something, or did something, i’d lose you.”
you shook your head, hurt flickering through your chest.
before you could respond, his hand cupped your cheek like it was instinct. “i’ve loved you every second of my life,” he said, voice cracking. “i swear to god.”
your chest pulled tight. “then why did you say it was a mistake?”
“because i was terrified,” he said. “because we’ve always had us. and the second i kissed you, i thought maybe i’d ruined the only thing that ever made sense to me.”
you blinked fast. “you didn’t ruin it. you were it.”
he closed his eyes like that hurt more than anything else.
“i just needed you,” you whispered. “and you weren’t there. not this time.”
his forehead dropped to yours, his breath shaking. “i didn’t know how to be. you pushed me away.”
“because you made me feel like a mistake,” you choked. “and you’ve never done that before.”
he was silent for a beat before whispering, “i’m sorry.”
he leaned in, but this time he didn’t kiss you. just rested his head against yours. his thumb brushed lazy circles into your palm, like he needed to remind you he was still there. still yours.
“i’m so fucking sorry, doll.”
you didn’t reply. you didn’t need to. he already knew you’d forgiven him. he felt it in the way you didn’t pull away. in the way your fingers stayed curled around his.
for a while, neither of you moved. his hoodie soaked in your tears. your bodies cold against the floor.
the silence, for once, didn’t feel like a punishment. it felt like grief. like history. like maybe, finally, forgiveness.
his hand never left yours. not even for a second.
you didn’t know how long you stayed like that, curled into him on the studio floor.
his hoodie still smelled like fabric softener, cedar and whatever cologne he’s used since high school. your fingers clutched it like it could keep the ache from pulling you under again.
“doll,” he whispered, voice close to your ear. “come on. let’s get you out of here.”
you didn’t move right away.
your eyes were swollen, your body heavy, but he shifted anyways, arms wrapping around you, slowly and carefully.
you didn’t stop him. you didn’t even try.
he lifted you easily, like it didn’t matter that he was exhausted too. one arm under your knees, the other cradling your back. your head fell against his chest, and his chin rested on top of it like instinct.
the door buzzed as he nudged it open with his foot, stepping into the soft night with you still in his arms.
the world was quiet.
he didn’t speak as he carried you to the car, just tightened his hold every time your breath hitched, like he could feel it coming before you did.
when he opened the passenger side door, he hesitated.
you looked up at him for the first time in minutes.
and he looked down at you like he was memorizing the moment. not for romance, but for survival. for you.
he helped you settle into the seat, pulled the seatbelt across your lap, then gently shut the door.
you watched him walk around the front of the car, hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets, head low.
he climbed in and turned the key. the car hummed to life, but he didn’t say anything right away.
the drive started in silence. you didn’t turn on the radio. didn’t say where to go. he already knew.
the windows were down halfway. the air was cool and smelled like nighttime.
you stared out the window with your fingers curled in your lap. his hand stayed loose on the steering wheel. his other hand rested on the gearshift, like always.
you could feel him glancing over at you every few minutes, but he didn’t push.
not until you were about halfway home.
“doll?” his voice was soft. cautious.
you looked over at him, eyes still tired. “yeah?”
he didn’t look back right away, just kept driving.
“you don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” he said. “but i’m not gonna pretend i’m not scared shitless right now.”
your breath caught slightly. “why?”
he let out the smallest laugh. “because you’ve never shut down on me before. not like that.”
you looked down, almost out of shame.
“you’ve been through hell and back,” he went on. “and you’ve never shut me out. not once.”
you didn’t answer.
“i meant what i said earlier. about being scared.” his fingers tapped against the steering wheel. “i’ve never felt anything like that before, and i didn’t wanna screw it up. but i did anyway.”
“you didn’t,” you said quietly. “not really.”
he finally looked over towards you.
“you hurt me,” you said honestly. “but i think, maybe i needed to hear it. even if it broke me a little.”
he blinked, like that hit deeper than you meant it to.
“but i still love you,” you added, quieter. “i never stopped.”
he pulled in a slow breath. “i never wanted you to feel alone,” he said. “and i hate that you did.”
you nodded once. “me too.”
the silence after that didn’t feel as hard.
he pulled up in front of your apartment, but you didn’t move to get out right away. neither did he.
“hunnie?”
he turned toward you, brows pulled slightly.
you leaned your head back against the seat. “what happens now?”
he exhaled, eyes falling to your hand in your lap. his pinky reached out and brushed against yours.
“we survive this week,” he said. “you dance your heart out. the boys and i debut. and after that…” he shrugged. “we'll figure it out.”
you nodded. “okay.”
he gave you a crooked, tired smile. “still best friends, though?”
you let out a soft giggle. “forever.”
“damn right.” he grinned.
your hand found his this time, fingers laced together. you didn’t kiss. didn’t say anything else.
just held on for a second longer before you finally opened the door and stepped out into the night.
he waited until you were inside before driving off.
you watched the taillights disappear from your window with your heart still aching, but beating a little steadier than before.
you didn’t sleep much that night.
not because you were upset, but because the silence felt too loud without him.
you kept picturing him parked outside, his pinky latched onto yours. you kept hearing the way he said “we’ll figure it out,” like it was a promise, even if it didn’t actually fix anything.
he called the next morning. and that night. and again the next day. always soft, always just checking in.
he didn’t ask to come over. didn’t try to see you. he just talked. about your day, your rehearsals, your routine, your nerves. anything to hear your voice.
whenever you asked about the debut, he always downplayed it; said it was hectic, yeah, but good. said they were still running through everything. said he missed you. said they all missed you
it felt mostly normal after that, but not fully.
because even when the calls felt easy, when your laughter slipped out more than once and when he called you ‘doll’ like it was muscle memory, there was still something in the pauses.
something in the way neither of you brought up friday night again. not the kiss. not the aftermath. not the ache of almost losing each other.
and maybe it was for the best; after all, your showcase was today, and so was his debut.
your chest had been aching since you woke up.
you were sat at your makeup table, already dressed, but it didn’t feel like you’d gotten ready at all.
the mirror reflected someone composed; curled lashes, cheeks dusted pink, ribbons crossed just right at your ankles, but the stillness in your body gave it away to anyone who really knew you.
you weren’t even performing, and yet, you were still putting on an act.
your tutu fanned out around you like a shield. your leotard clung too tight across your ribs. every inch of you looked like it belonged here, like it had done this a thousand times before.
but your hands stayed folded in your lap, unmoving and unsure.
it felt like you were holding your breath in reverse. like something was pressing into your lungs from the inside out.
you wondered how he was feeling.
you wondered if he felt it too, that tightness that in his chest that had nothing to do with nerves, and everything to do with you.
you wondered if somewhere, right now, he was thinking about you too.
you could almost see it.
him backstage, shoulders loose but eyes scanning the crowd, like he was hoping you’d somehow be in it.
maybe running a thumb over the mic in his hand the way you smoothed the ribbons on your shoes; a quiet ritual before stepping into the light.
you imagined him leaning towards his manager, pretending to listen, mind somewhere else entirely. somewhere with you.
for as long as you could remember, he’d been in your crowd. grinning, clapping, waving the flowers you’ve never once had to ask for.
just like how you’d been in his, screaming the lyrics no one else knew yet, camera shaking in your hands.
but tonight, the seats you normally saved for each other would remain empty.
no matter how many lights hit you, no matter how loud the applause, it wouldn’t feel quite right without him there to see it.
he was your other half. your anchor. your constant. and now, you have no choice but to take the stage without him in the crowd.
a knock sounded at the door.
“five minutes.”
you didn’t move.
behind you, another dancer asked gently, “are you okay?”
you nodded, barely.
you were, but you weren’t.
your body was ready; stretched, warmed up, knew every step like muscle memory. but your chest was still aching.
regardless of the pain, you stood up, because you knew he’d want you to.
and even if he couldn’t be there, even if this was the first time you had to cheer for each other from opposite ends of the city, you’d still dance like he was watching.
and you prayed to yourself that he’d perform like you were listening.
what you didn’t know was that he was already in the audience, and had been for almost an hour.
sitting in the sixth row. pink lilies in hand. his tie a little crooked from how fast he’d changed.
he didn’t tell you the debut got pushed to tomorrow. instead, he just showed up.
the boys were with him too, crammed into the row like they had no idea how theater seating worked.
“this seat’s so tiny,” daesung whispered, squished between armrests.
“why are you wearing sunglasses?” youngbae hissed at jiyong, already pulling them off of his face.
“no one’s gonna see me anyways,” jiyong argued. “don’t kill my vibe.”
“they’ll see you if we get kicked out,” seunghyun muttered, not looking away from the stage.
the others stilled at the sound of his voice. it was steady, but sharp. almost like he was trying not to feel too much and was already failing.
a moment of silence passed, but it never lasted long with them around.
“he memorized the choreography,” jiyong smirked. “he’s been pacing through it in the living room for days now, i swear.”
seunghyun didn’t deny it.
“yo, does she even know we’re here?” youngbae asked, glancing around.
“nope,” jiyong said, popping the p.
“you really didn’t tell her?” daesung asked, quieter now. “about the debut being rescheduled?”
seunghyun just shook his head.
“damn,” jiyong muttered. “that’s kinda romantic.”
“it’s not romantic,” seunghyun said, voice taut. “it’s…hers. this night’s hers. i just wanted to be here for her.”
they didn’t tease him. not this time.
the lights dimmed before anyone could say another word, and a hush fell over the crowd.
well, maybe not the whole crowd.
the second the first dancer stepped onto the stage, the three boys, who had sworn to seunghyun they’d behave, immediately started whispering critiques to each other like they were seasoned professionals.
“is she supposed to be a swan?” daesung whispered, squinting.
“looks more like a confused goose,” jiyong said.
youngbae leaned in. “what is this song? it sounds like elevator music, but if the elevator was broken.”
“she’s doing the arms wrong,” jiyong added. “y/n looks way cooler when she does that.”
“her foot just slipped,” daesung said. “minus points.”
“you’re not a judge,” youngbae hissed.
“clearly i should be,” daesung argued.
seunghyun didn’t say a word. just exhaled slowly and adjusted the bouquet in his lap.
the next dancer came out.
“wait, is her tutu lopsided?” jiyong asked.
“yes,” youngbae nodded, serious. “and it’s distracting me spiritually.”
“she looks nervous,” daesung whispered. “i’d be nervous too if y/n was going after me.”
“they saved her for the end for a reason,” jiyong added. “she’s the ringer. the finale. the fan favourite.”
“she’s literally the youngest one here,” youngbae whispered. “and she’s still the best.”
“boys,” came a sharp voice from in front of them.
they froze.
a mom had turned around in her seat with narrow eyes. she didn’t even tell them to be quiet. she just gave them the look.
jiyong sank into his chair. daesung covered his mouth. youngbae folded his hands like he was praying.
when your name was finally announced over the speakers, they all sat up straighter.
seunghyun didn’t move. he sat there with his heart thudding so loud he was sure the others could hear it.
the moment you stepped out, everything else around him disappeared.
you didn’t see him. you didn’t know he was there.
but god, if you danced any harder, he swore the floor would’ve cracked open beneath you.
you moved like the music was stitched into your skin. like you weren’t just performing it, you were remembering it. feeling it.
every turn, every extension, every single line of your body said what your mouth never could.
grief. joy. ache. defiance.
it was all there. raw, clear, and devastatingly beautiful.
his chest hurt. not in the poetic, romantic kind of way, but in the real, physical, aching kind of way.
he knew how much this piece had cost you.
he just hadn’t realized how much it would cost him to watch you give it away like this.
you were the youngest one in the program. the only one still nineteen, surrounded by juniors and seniors with polished resumes and expensive training.
but none of that mattered now.
not when it was only you moving on stage, taking up all of the air in the room.
not when even the spotlight seemed like it was holding its breath.
he couldn’t look away. he barely registered the boys beside him.
didn’t hear jiyong whisper “holy shit” under his breath, or feel youngbae nudge him, as if to say ‘are you seeing this?’
he didn’t even notice daesung blinking too fast, almost like he might cry without knowing why.
he only saw you.
you, dancing like this stage had been waiting for you your entire life.
like your body remembered something your heart hadn’t even realized it had lost.
when you reached your final pose, chest rising quickly and arms still trembling from the hold, he stood.
not because he thought he should, but because his body moved before his mind could catch up.
you didn’t bow right away.
you just stayed there, still and breathless. your arms softened a second too late, like they didn’t want to let go. like your body hadn’t caught up to the fact that it was over.
in the silence between the last note and the first clap, seunghyun could have sworn the whole world had paused just for you.
it didn’t take long for the crowd to erupt. not politely. not because they were supposed to. but because they had to.
because something in them recognized what you’d just done, even if they couldn’t name it.
you bowed once, quickly and cleanly, before walking offstage.
the second your feet disappeared behind the curtain, seunghyun exhaled like he hadn’t even realized he was holding his breath.
he didn’t sit back down, just turned towards the boys. “let’s go,” he said, quiet but final.
jiyong blinked. “wait what?”
“we’re leaving?” daesung whispered, looking around like someone might stop them. “but the show’s not over.”
“i don’t care,” seunghyun murmured, already stepping towards the aisle. his voice wasn’t sharp, but it was full.
full in the same way his chest felt whenever he looked at you. “i just need to see her.”
the bouquet was still in his hand, crumpled slightly from how tightly he’d been holding onto it. his tie was off-centred, hair a little messy from the rush to make it in time, but none of that mattered.
he didn’t care about the rest of the program. the applause. not even the fact that they’d probably get side-eyed for sneaking out mid-performance.
he just knew his entire heart was already backstage, and he wasn’t going to wait any longer to catch up to it.
they slipped out the doors without a sound.
no one stopped them. no one even noticed.
the hallway outside of the auditorium was quiet in comparison, dim and echoey under too-bright fluorescent lights.
seunghyun didn’t stop walking. not until he felt a hand tug lightly at his arm.
“hyung,” jiyong said, just behind him.
seunghyun turned impatiently, until he felt jiyong’s fingers brush lightly against his collar.
“your tie,” jiyong mumbled, fixing it without hesitation. “you’ll thank me later.”
seunghyun didn’t say anything. just stood there, breathing a little too hard, bouquet still clenched tightly in his fist.
a quick tug, a gentle press at the knot, and it was done. it wasn’t perfect or precise, but it was enough.
jiyong gave his shoulder a small squeeze and fell into step beside him again.
the hum of the other performances faded behind them, swallowed by the stillness of the hallway. their footsteps echoed softly against the linoleum, but none of them said a word.
he didn’t know what he expected to see when he turned the corner, but it definitely wasn’t you.
you were standing near the backstage door, still in costume, sweat cooling on your skin. your body hummed with leftover adrenaline, but your chest felt heavy, like all of that dancing had only packed the ache in tighter.
you’d missed him before, but never like this.
your phone was in your hand, thumb hovering over the call button. the numbers blurred on the screen. you told yourself you’d press it in a minute. you just needed one more minute.
someone laughed down the hall. a door closed. footsteps passed. none of it mattered. you kept staring at your phone like if you looked long enough, it might tell you where he was.
you were still staring when a voice cut through the noise. not loud. not questioning. just steady, and certain, like it had been meant for you all along.
“doll.”
your gaze lifted slowly, almost afraid you’d imagined it.
but there he stood, only a few feet away; breathless, eyes locked on you, and a bouquet of pink lilies clutched in his hands. the same exact kind he’d been bringing you since you were four.
jiyong was right behind him, wide-eyed, and already attempting to take the bouquet from seunghyun’s hands like it was second nature. daesung and youngbae were there just behind them, dressed up like they’d been scolded into it, which, knowing them, they probably had.
none of that mattered right now, because all you could see was him.
“you—” your voice cracked. “how—”
you didn’t say anything else. you couldn’t. your body moved before your brain could catch up.
you ran straight into him, arms flying around his neck, legs wrapping around his waist, tutu flaring out so dramatically that the boys had to duck to keep it from smacking him them the face.
seunghyun stumbled a little, laughing under his breath, but he still caught you like he always did.
his hands braced under your thighs as jiyong quietly slid the bouquet out from between you, muttering something about ‘saving the tradition.’
seunghyun wasn’t paying attention to any of that. he was only looking at you.
you pulled back just enough to see his face, hands now cupping his cheeks, as your thumbs brushed the corners of his smile.
that’s when the tears hit, much faster than you could stop them.
you buried your face in his shoulder. “you’re not supposed to be here.”
his arms tightened around you. “i know.”
“i thought—” your voice broke again. “i thought you were debuting tonight. i thought—i missed it.”
“you didn’t,” he whispered, mouth against your temple. “they moved it. it’s tomorrow.”
you pulled back again, eyes wide. “what?”
“i didn’t tell you,” he admitted, brushing a stray lash from your cheek. “i wanted you to focus on your moment. not mine.”
“hunnie,” you breathed. “i’ve been crying about this all week.”
“me too,” he said softly. “but for different reasons.”
you huffed a laugh through your tears, forehead falling against his. “you’re such an asshole.”
“yeah,” he smiled. “but i’m your asshole.”
your laugh was wet and breathless, your arms still locked around his neck like you might float away if you let go.
“you are,” you whispered.
he grinned, proud and a little breathless too. “and i always will be.”
you kissed his cheek before you could think twice about it. not just once, either. three quick ones in a row, just like you used to do when you were little.
the boys stood back, letting the moment breathe. but eventually, jiyong quietly stepped in holding the lilies with both hands like they were sacred. “yah,” he murmured to seunghyun. “do it now.”
seunghyun glanced at him, then back at you. his smile softened.
he let out a breath and gently tapped your thigh. “okay, miss ballerina. down for a second.”
you whined, dramatic as ever, but loosened your legs. as soon as your toes hit the ground, jiyong passed him the bouquet again like it was a an olympic torch.
seunghyun didn’t even blink. he took the lilies, and just stared at you. wide-eyed. quiet. almost overwhelmed.
you blinked up at him. “you good? you look like you’re about to pass out.”
“i’m fine,” he murmured, but he didn’t sound very convincing. he glanced down at the bouquet, then held it out with both hands. “these are for you.”
you hesitated. not because you didn’t want them, but because you hadn’t expected them.
you hadn’t expected him.
your fingers curled around the stems, and the second the weight shifted into your arms, your chest caved in.
“i thought—” your voice broke. “i thought i wasn’t gonna get any this time.”
he frowned. “what? why?”
“because,” you said, breath catching, “you weren’t supposed to be here.”
“hey,” he whispered, stepping closer. “you really thought i’d let you dance without these?”
you tried to laugh, but it dissolved into another sob. “i didn’t want to think about it.”
“you won’t ever have to,” he said. “i’ll be here. always.”
he wiped a tear from your cheek with his thumb, then took a shaky breath, and suddenly you realized his eyes were glossy too. he kept blinking, like he was trying to force it back, but it wasn’t working.
“there’s something i’ve wanted to say,” he murmured, barely above a whisper. “for a really long time now.”
you stared at him, waiting. your grip tightened slightly around the bouquet.
he looked like he might fall apart.
“do you remember when we were five?” he asked. “and you told me you were never gonna get married?”
you furrowed your brow, sniffling. “vaguely.”
“you said that boys were gross, and that you were gonna be too busy being a ballerina.” he paused to let out a small laugh. “and because you and i do everything the same, if you weren’t getting married, that meant i couldn’t either.”
you bit your lip, suddenly shy. “…that sounds fair.”
he laughed softly, but it cracked halfway through. his voice was breaking.
“i was so upset,” he admitted. “i remember just…standing there, kind of frozen, and then it hit me. i didn’t want to not get married because i wanted to marry you.”
your eyes widened, watery and stunned.
“i didn’t even know what that meant back then,” he went on, rubbing his thumb along the edge of your hand. “i just knew that you were my favourite person in the whole world. and the idea of not being allowed to stay with you forever made me lose it.”
your heart cracked open.
“and i guess you must have noticed,” he said softly. “because after that, you got real quiet…and then you told me that i could marry you. but only if i bought you a big ballerina ring with all of my famous rapper money.”
you choked out a laugh through your tears, shaking your head.
“you said it had to sparkle,” he smiled, though his voice trembled, “and it had to be big enough so that everyone would know it was real.”
he reached into his pocket slowly.
his hand was shaking when he pulled it out, a tiny white box tucked in his palm, and the second you saw it, your breath hitched.
“what is that?” you asked, voice quiet.
his eyes darted to yours, then down again, thumb nervously brushing over the lid.
“i…bought it last week,” he said. “right after we kissed. when you weren’t talking to me.”
your eyes were already starting to water again.
he turned the box slowly in his hand. “i saw it in the window. i wasn’t even looking, really. just walking by. but it stopped me.”
he opened the lid, and the world seemed to still.
a thin band of gold cradled a marquise diamond, so brilliant it almost looked like it was dancing. it was delicate and luminous, like it had been spun from the light of a stage.
it looked exactly like what a ballerina’s ring should be. elegant. timeless. impossibly soft in its beauty.
like it had been designed with you in mind; with every curve, every shimmer, every quiet detail whispering ‘this is hers.’
your free hand flew to your mouth, both in shock and awe.
“i don’t know if it’s considered a ballerina ring,” he said softly. “but it looked like the kind of thing you would wear. it reminded me of you.”
you blinked fast, but the tears still fell. “hunnie…”
“i know it’s dumb,” he said quickly. “i know we’re not—like, we’re not even dating yet and this is probably the most backwards way anyone’s ever done this and i’m already fucking it up—”
“you’re not,” you whispered, gently setting the bouquet down as you stepped in closer.
you took his free hand into both of yours.
he looked at you like you’d just given him air. like the second you touched his hands, the panic started to settle.
you held onto him gently. “breathe, hunnie.”
he gave the tiniest nod, eyes shining. “okay. okay, i’m—” his voice wobbled. “i’m okay.”
your thumbs rubbed over his knuckles.
“i’ve been trying to get this right,” he said, barely above a whisper. “but i don’t think i can. not really.”
“it’s just me,” you said softly.
he exhaled. “that’s the thing, though. it’s you. i’ve never wanted to get something more right in my whole fucking life.”
your heart cracked in your chest.
he looked down, then up again, a little steadier this time.
“you’ve always been everything to me,” he said. “my first memory is literally you stealing my graham crackers and then hugging me so i wouldn’t be mad.”
your laugh broke on a sob. “they were mine first.”
“they definitely weren’t.” he smiled through the tears. “but i let you have them anyways”
you were already crying again, but he kept going, voice still trembling, but stronger now.
“you’ve always been my best friend. my safe place. the one person who’s always known what i’m thinking before i even say anything.”
his voice cracked. “you’ve always seen me as something good. even when i didn’t.”
your heart stopped for a moment.
“you were the first person i ever wanted to impress,” he said. “the first person i trusted. the first person i wanted to be better for.”
you could barely see him through the blur of your tears now. “hunnie…”
“i don’t know when it shifted,” he whispered. “maybe it never did. maybe it’s always been this.”
he reached up and wiped a tear from your cheek.
“i love you, doll,” he said. “i’m in love with every version of you that’s ever existed. i love you when we’re laughing, when we’re fighting, when you’re dancing, when you’re exhausted, when you’re mad at me. especially when you’re mad at me.”
you choked on a laugh as he continued.
“and i know this is backwards,” he said, gesturing a little wildly. “i bought the ring before i even asked you to be my girlfriend and i know that’s stupid but i saw it and—i just knew. it felt like you. like us.”
“it is us,” you whispered.
he looked down at your joined hands, knowing your touch was the only thing holding him together.
his thumb brushed over your knuckles, and his voice cracked as he started again. “doll…” he blinked, hard. swallowed.
“i don’t have it all figured out,” he said. “i don’t know how to say it right, and i know i messed a lot of things up recently, and i know i probably should’ve waited or planned it better—”
you shook your head, gently.
“but i love you,” he whispered, tears slipping down. “i’ve always loved you. i…i don’t wanna do this halfway anymore,” he said, voice shaking. “so if it’s okay with you…if you’ll let me…can i be yours? like—officially? finally?”
you didn’t answer right away. you just stepped into him, your arms around his neck, your face buried in his chest as you laughed and cried all at once.
“yes,” you choked, burying your face into his neck. “yes, yes, god hunnie, yes.”
he laughed through the sob that broke out of him, wrapping you tighter, swaying slightly in place like it was the only way he could stay grounded.
behind you, the hallway broke into noise.
a sharp sniffle. a strangled “fuck,” followed by a slap that definitely landed on someone’s arm.
“shut up, i am not,” youngbae snapped, wiping at his face aggressively.
“he totally is,” jiyong said, grinning through watery eyes. “oh my god—dude. so am i. what the fuck.”
seunghyun didn’t let go of you, not even as you both laughed through your tears. not even as you turned your head slightly to glance at the chaos unfolding behind you.
the boys were a mess. daesung was blinking way too fast, youngbae was clearly trying not to outright sob, and jiyong was biting his lip so hard it was probably already bruising.
“are we supposed to clap?” jiyong asked. “should we clap?”
“do not clap,” seunghyun said, without looking back. his voice was thick. “i swear to god.”
you laughed again, soft and muffled into his shirt.
seunghyun tilted his head toward yours, his palm sliding up your back, holding the base of your neck like it kept you real.
then, gently, he pulled back just enough to reach for your hand.
his fingers trembled as he slid the ring on.
“it’s not a proposal,” he said quietly, his eyes never leaving yours, “but it’s a promise. for everything that’s coming.”
he paused, breath hitching.
“and a thank you,” he whispered, voice breaking, “for every version of you i’ve ever been lucky enough to love.”
hello my lovelies ! i’m excited to announce a new writing challenge !! from the 4th till 31st of august, i’m holding a collaboration AND celebration event w some of my gorgeous & talented writer friends !! Thank you guys so much for 241 followers i really appreciate each and every one of you guys <33. ♡ every track on sabrina carpenters SHORT N' SWEET album (including the deluxe version) will be adapted to fics by a different writer each day! the list can be found below ❀ i hope you all enjoy <3
Best viewed in dark mode ~
~ TRACKLIST ~
1: taste - {daesung} | @gdinthehouse
2: please please please - { } |
3: good graces - {seunghyun} | @sevendaysummer
4: sharpest tool - {seunghyun} | @flymetothexmoon
5: coincidence - {g dragon} | @moonqz
6: bed chem - {felix} @emmiesoverthemoon
7: espresso - {g-dragon} | @mashtatosworld
8: dumb and poetic - {hyunjin} | @emmiesoverthemoon
9: slim pickins - { } |
10: juno - {g dragon} | @loveesiren
11: dont smile - { I.N } | @makeitworse
12: 15 minutes - {jungkook} | @stlllle
13: couldnt make it any harder - {g dragon} | @jiuewy
14: busy woman - {daesung} | @moontabi
16: bad reviews - {seunghyun} | @lovemepartly
Please use the tag “short&sweetwritingevent!” When the fic is released <3
now that the bigbang fandom is getting active on tumblr and there’s more choi seunghyun fans… can we please watch IRIS and write for top’s character, vick??? i BEG. i just wanted to makeout with that man every time he was on screen
You know I’m loving the fact all the sudden there’s an explosion of GDragon fics. I could never find any before, now there’s been a giant influx. I am LIVING for this. Ugh. Yall. Keep them coming.
Also. Tag me. Please. I’m begging. Fluff. Smut. Angst. One shots. Chapters. Text fics. Anything’s really. Please. Go ahead, tag me. It’s fine, I’m down.
You might even find me requesting 😂
I am down bad Kwon Jiyong, yall don’t even know. It’s been over 15 years. He’s the Ult bias. People make fun of me for my love of Min Yoongi? They forgot Jiyong. I mean. Like. Come on.
“You’re full of it,” you laughed, snatching a drumstick off the plate. “Hot & spicy is the OG. The Beyoncé of flavors.”
Daesung gasped like you’d personally offended his ancestors. “I can’t believe I’m dating someone with no palate.”
“I can’t believe I’m dating someone who thinks 'elegant' describes fried chicken.”
He squinted at you over the table in that over-the-top, exaggerated way only he could pull off. “This is betrayal. I should break up with you.”
“You say that every time I win an argument.”
“That’s because you cheat!” he whined, flopping back dramatically in the tiny restaurant booth.
You leaned forward with a smirk. “Is it cheating if I’m just smarter?”
He didn’t respond.
Instead, he grabbed a piece of chicken, leaned across the table—and smeared sauce on your nose.
“DAE—”
You chased him out of the shop with napkins and laughter, the sound of your footsteps echoing down the street. He didn’t even run fast, just enough to keep the game going.
And when he let you catch him—because of course he did—you both stumbled into each other, breathless and grinning under the flickering streetlight.
Then he kissed you.
Greasy fingers, spicy lips, and all.
—
Flashback: The Wedding Chaos
Your wedding was supposed to be elegant.
Keyword: supposed to.
White roses. A simple garden setup. Classical music. Everything minimal and classy. You’d gone out of your way to make sure Daesung didn’t sneak in confetti cannons or a gospel choir last minute.
You even made him sign a handwritten contract that said:
“I, Kang Daesung, solemnly swear I will not cause a scene at our wedding.”
(Signed with a smiley face and a doodle of you two kissing.)
So of course, the first thing you saw when you arrived at the altar was…
Daesung.
Wearing sunglasses.
And holding a mic.
Your maid of honor whispered, “You’re marrying a menace.”
You were already walking down the aisle when he started singing. Not even a romantic ballad—no, this man chose to serenade you with a ballad remix of Taeyang’s ‘Eyes, Nose, Lips’, except he changed the lyrics to make it about you.
And he cried halfway through.
Loudly.
Like, ugly sobbing.
Half the guests were crying with him. The other half were trying not to laugh.
Then came the vows.
You wrote something sweet. Gentle. Loving.
Daesung pulled a scroll from his suit pocket.
An actual scroll.
“I may not be good with words,” he began (a lie), “but I made a list of 67 reasons why I love you.”
He read all of them.
Even number 45:
“I love how you yell at me when I steal your fries. It makes me feel loved.”
Even number 52:
“I love how your laugh sounds when you snort. You say it’s ugly, but I think it’s magic.”
Even number 67:
“I love that somehow, some miracle, you said yes to me.”
And when the minister finally pronounced you husband and wife, Daesung kissed you—dipped you back like it was a scene from a movie.
Except he tripped.
You both went down.
There’s a wedding photo where your dress is tangled around his leg, your shoe is flying in the air, and both of you are wheezing on the grass.
You kept it framed by the bedside.
Because it was messy. Loud. Disastrous.
And so, so you two.
—
Flashback: The “Oh My God, I’m Pregnant” Moment
It started with a craving.
You were halfway through demolishing an entire jar of pickles at 9:43 in the morning, wearing one of Daesung’s old hoodies, sitting on the kitchen counter like it was your throne.
Daesung walked in, blinking blearily, scratching his head.
“…Are you okay?”
You blinked. “Yeah. Why?”
He stared. “You hate pickles.”
You stared back.
And then slowly looked down at the half-empty jar.
“…Oh.”
You both froze.
A beat.
Then in perfect unison:
“No way.”
The pregnancy test sat between you two like a live grenade.
You were pacing in the bathroom. Daesung was sitting on the toilet lid, hands clasped like he was praying to every higher power in the universe.
“What if it’s positive?” you whispered.
“What if it’s negative?” he countered.
You both paused.
“…What do we want it to be?” you asked, barely audible.
Daesung looked up at you.
“I want it to be you and me. Forever,” he said.
And then the timer beeped.
You snatched the test off the sink like it burned.
Looked.
Stared.
Looked again.
Two lines.
“Holy shit,” you breathed.
“Holy shiiit,” Daesung echoed—grinning like a maniac now. “WE MADE A HUMAN??!”
“DAE—!”
He jumped up, lifted you off the floor in a spinning hug, nearly knocked the test out of your hand. “BABY BABY WE’RE HAVING A BABY—”
“I’M GONNA THROW UP—”
He put you down instantly. “Right! Okay! Breathe! Sit! Where’s the pickles?!”
And that’s how your morning turned into the two of you sitting on the floor, snacking on weird food combos, alternately panicking and giggling and planning a life you suddenly couldn’t imagine without each other in it.
Daesung pressed a kiss to your temple and whispered, “You think we’re gonna be good at this?”
You looked down at your tummy.
Then at him.
“You’re gonna be insane at this.”
—
Flashback: The Pregnancy Meltdowns (Plural.)
Three months in, and Daesung had already read three baby books, subscribed to two parenting YouTube channels, and downloaded five different pregnancy tracker apps.
“Look!” he said one morning, shoving his phone in your face. “The babies are the size of lemons this week!”
You blinked. “They feel like bowling balls.”
He paused. “Okay. But like… tiny bowling balls?”
You glared.
He backpedaled immediately, kissing your forehead. “I’ll get you ice cream.”
Smart man.
Then came the baby name war.
“I want to name them something meaningful,” you said, sprawled out on the couch with swollen feet and an emotional support donut.
Daesung, holding a notebook filled with name suggestions, grinned. “What about… Cherry and Berry?”
You deadpanned. “We’re not naming our kids like a smoothie order.”
“Okay, okay. What about Sky and River? Earthy. Poetic. Kinda hot.”
You squinted. “Do you want our kids to be a boyband or the Avatar?”
“…Maybe.”
The next day, you found “Princess McSnuggles” on the list.
You almost threw a pillow at him.
He ducked behind the fridge and yelled, “IT’S A WORKING TITLE!”
At seven months, you cried because your hoodie wouldn’t zip over your belly.
Daesung cried with you in solidarity.
At eight months, he got kicked in the face while trying to sing to your stomach. “Baby A is a fighter,” he mumbled, rubbing his jaw.
You just laughed. “That one’s mine.”
—
Labor prep classes? A disaster.
Daesung got kicked out of one for “asking too many hypothetical questions,” like:
“What if I faint mid-birth? Do I still get the skin-to-skin bonding?”
“Can I bring a fog machine to the delivery room? For vibes?”
You had to physically drag him out while he shouted, “IT’S A VALID QUESTION!”
The instructor banned him.
You high-fived her.
And still—through every mood swing, craving, and absurd baby name debate—he held your hand.
Rubbed your back.
Talked to your belly like it was already his best friend.
“Two little chaos monsters,” he whispered one night, lying beside you. “Just like their mom.”
You smacked him half-heartedly.
He kissed your bump anyway.
—
Present Day: Welcome to Chaos (a.k.a. Parenting)
Your house has been quiet for exactly 46 seconds.
That’s suspicious.
Too suspicious.
“Where are they?” you whisper.
Daesung, who’s sprawled on the couch with one sock on and a glitter sticker stuck to his forehead, sips from a mug that says #1 Girl Dad like it’s whiskey. “Last I saw, they were in the bathroom arguing about who gets to flush.”
You blink.
“…They’re not potty trained yet.”
You both stare at each other.
Cue the sprint.
You find the twins in the bathroom bathing Barbie dolls in the toilet, shrieking with laughter. The younger one is wearing your bra like a superhero mask.
“WE’RE MERMAIDS,” they scream in unison.
You look at Daesung.
He looks at you.
You both start laughing, because of course. Of course this is your life.
Parenting with Daesung is:
Brushing tangled hair while doing Dora impressions (“Swiper, no swiping those bows!!”)
Cutting pancakes into tiny hearts
Making up bedtime stories where you and Daesung are superhero spies who fell in love and adopted two chaos goblins from space (the twins’ favorite plot)
Some days, you cry in the pantry with a cookie in each hand.
Some days, you fall asleep holding hands on the floor while the girls climb you like jungle gyms.
Most days, you look at Daesung chasing them around the yard with a tutu on his head and think,
God, I love this man so much it hurts.
—
Nighttime: The Freaky Finale (a.k.a. “Finally, They’re Asleep”)
It's 9:47 PM.
The twins are finally in bed. After 3 lullabies, 2 pee breaks, 1 tantrum, and Daesung having to pretend to be a dragon who gets defeated by a hug.
You collapse on the couch.
He joins you a moment later, head in your lap.
“They asked me today if I used to be a prince,” he mumbles. “I said yes. Then they asked if you were my queen.”
You smile. “What’d you say?”
“I said you were my dragon slayer. You tamed me.”
You snort.
His eyes flick up. Mischievous. “Wanna tame me again?”
“Daesung—”
He’s already climbing on top of you, kissing your neck, fingers teasing the hem of your pajama shorts.
It was going so well.
Daesung was shirtless, lips trailing down your neck, hands under your shirt, breath hot on your skin.
Your legs were already wrapped around his waist.
“I’ve been waiting for this all day,” he growled against your ear.
You grinned. “What happened to the tiara?”
“It’s in the drawer,” he mumbled, lips moving down.
“You’re insane—”
Knock knock.
Both of you froze.
Tiny voice from the hallway:
“Mommy? Daddy? There’s a monster in the closet and it stole my unicorn.”
You and Daesung lay there, mid-makeout, just staring at each other.
He let out the softest groan known to man and collapsed on your chest. “I swear to God if the monster’s name is Sparklecorn again—”
You pushed him off, giggling helplessly.
Five minutes later, you were both in the twins’ room. One of them was sitting on the floor holding a sock puppet named Captain Fart, the other pointing dramatically at the closet.
“It went THAT WAY!”
Daesung got on all fours and crawled into the closet like a Navy SEAL, muttering, “This is how I die.”
You just stood there, arms crossed, trying not to laugh while holding a very concerned-looking unicorn hostage.
Eventually, Sparklecorn was “rescued.” Hugs were given. Blankets were tucked. Goodnight kisses planted.
Back in your room, Daesung flopped face-first into the bed with a muffled groan.
“We need a lock,” he mumbled.
You laughed. “We need a vacation.”
He peeked up at you, grinning again. “We need to finish what we started.”
You smirked. “Tomorrow night?”
He rolled over and pulled you close. “Make it a date.”
And even though the freaky finale got postponed...
There was something extra romantic about knowing the two little humans who interrupted you were made from nights just like that.
—
Author's note: erm thats pretty much it... yes the 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 time was disrupted by the monsters 🧌🧌 i can literally imagine daesung as a girl dad cuz i can clearly see it in my naked eye 😼
wherein the 7th class mage asks the traveler for help in finding the long lost princess.
cws: mentions of schizophrenia and manic disorder (please do not take anything mentioned here to heart, for i only used what i know from the show), patient!reader. proceed with warning!
a/n: this kdrama has a special place in my heart :,)
"hello, fair maiden," a voice greets you from behind. looking back to meet him, seo-wan looks down on your sitting figure with a toothy smile, his hands fiddling with themselves.
"um, hello," you greeted back, your crayon raising from the piece of paper you were working on.
seo-wan inched closer to you, eyes moving from your drawing to features of your face rather quickly. "you're from the neighboring village, right? here to gather materials from this tower?" he asks, his tall frame looming over you.
you raised your eyebrow at the foreign terms he used, "uh, i was transferred, yes," you nodded, "although i'm not sure if i'm here for the materials you speak of."
seo-wan nodded, a grin forming on his face. "you're a traveler, then. you drew the scenery well," he compliments your simple crayon drawing of the room.
a smile tugged at the ends of your lips. "thanks." you said, scooching to the side of the circular table, as if inviting him to sit beside you.
his eyes widened almost comically, mouth parting to speak before smiling to himself instead. you offered him a piece of paper and placed your crayons in between the two of you, making him nod in gratitude.
in contrast to your soft strokes of the crayon, seo-wan's rather extreme usage of crayons were all that you heard in the room that only the two of you were in, aside from the hum of the air conditioning.
"hey, glasses," you called, making his head raise to face you with an expression mixed of confusion and surprise.
"me?"
you nodded. "yeah."
"my name is seo-wan, kim seo-wan. and i'm gonna be the first eighth grade mage." he says.
your mouth tugged at the ends into a flat line, unsure of how to respond to whatever gibberish he seems to be saying. "okay, seo-wan the mage," you say, making his face light up at your correct call of his class. "what're you talking about?" you ask, tilting your head in question.
seo-wan let out an ahh, using the red crayon in hand to point at you. "i've never met a noob traveler before. they're always experienced and in level seventy like me," he says.
you pursed your lips into a confused pout. "i'm sorry..?" you said, unsure of how to approach your fellow patient.
"yes, yes, it's alright," he says, looking down at his paper to continue his drawing. "would you like me to teach you the terminologies of our world and help you navigate this tower? i could help you with quests, as i'm the more experienced one."
you stared at his focused face, feeling your interest piqued at the man. "sure, go ahead," to which he grinned at.
you found yourself listening to the rambling of your new friend, your eyes glancing to take a peek at his face as he did so. despite not fully grasping the concept of his fantasy world, you understood how his reality was different from everyone else's and listened closely at how excited he was in talking to you.
seo-wan spoke of how many creatures he's slayed and quests he's completed to reach his level, asking him to explain terms such as mediator, ambrosia, and the various kinds of elixir he's mentioned, which he gladly did so with the undertone of belittling your low level.
you completed two drawings over the past three hours, with your new friend's drawings of dragons scattered across the table with labeled names and breeds.
"mister kim, it's time to take your medication," nurse jung calls from behind the both of you, making you look up at her smiling face. "oh, mister kim, you drew today?" she asks, an impressed expression on her face.
you bowed at her in greeting, to which she returned with a smile. "nurse hong will be with you shortly, too," she says your surname. you nodded at her with a small smile.
"ah, mediator, i'm glad you came." seo-wan says, adjusting his glasses using his crayon-stained fingers. "i would like to introduce you to the newest addition to our guild and hunting team, the traveler." he says, an excited grin on his face.
nurse jung made a small O shape with her mouth as she nodded. "is that so?"
you nodded at her, glancing at seo-wan whose smile never faltered. "he introduced me to our enchanting world," you emphasized the last words to quote him, "and has tasked me to locate the long lost princess while he prepares his mana to slay the fire-breathing dragon." you explained.
nurse jung smiled softly at the understanding of your new friendship. "i see. well, mister kim here needs his medication before continuing on with your journey," she says, making him and you nod.
"the pill that grants the effect of everlasting mana!" he exclaims, excited eyes darting to you as he grinned. you nodded profusely at him.
seo-wan stood on his feet and begun to walk alongside nurse jung before strutting back to your table. "almost forgot the portraits of the great mage," he says, referring to his crayon drawing of him facing a bright red scribbled dragon, and his many others.
he smiled at you shyly upon gathering and retrieving them, which you mirrored. you both nodded at each other. "goodbye, maiden." he says before rushing to catch up to his attending nurse.
"open your mouth, please," said nurse hong. you opened your mouth and lifted your tongue to showcase your empty mouth, making her nod in satisfaction at the sight. "good job."
you scrunched your nose at her, turning your attention back to your work in progress of the view from your window.
your corned of the room had drawings of many sceneries you've viewed plastered all over, and a drawing made by nurse hong taped near the head of your bed from when she comforted you during an episode.
"i made a friend today," you mentioned to her casually, making her hum in surprise.
"oh! that's great, miss. who's your new friend?" she asked, hands moving to pack up the plastic of your medication and other medical instruments.
"there's this guy, kim seo-wan the mage." you said, a smile subconsciously tugging at your lips as you scribbled away. "i think his mind lives in a video game of some sort."
"i see, why do you think so?" nurse hong asked.
you shrugged, eyes never leaving the paper. "he was talking about fire-breathing dragons and gold and quests, or whatever." you answered.
"and how did that make you feel?"
your hand halted mid-stroke, your lips pursing. "i think he talks a little too much nonsense. i don't mind, though. he's cute," you answered once more, bringing your attention back to your drawing.
nurse hong scoffed to stifle her laugh, showing you a wide grin. "i see. it's great to know that you've made friends, miss."
you smiled to yourself at her words, feeling proud of yourself for making a friend—a cute one, as you mentioned. "i wonder if he knows i'm crazy when he approached me." you chuckled to yourself.
"i'm off now, miss. call me if anything happens, okay?" nurse hong sighed softly, offering you a small smile.
you nodded and bowed to her to bid goodbye, diverting your attention back to your drawing of the view.
a couple weeks passed since your first interaction with your mage friend seo-wan. you've witnessed each other's episodes and relapses since then, making yourselves shy away from the friendship for a moment out of embarrassment in showing your true colors, but you found your way back to each other through the help of other nurses, and through the feeling of missing one another.
you taught seo-wan about color theory and how to map out his drawings better, while he guided you to explore more of his world through his words, spending your free time together as you drew the events of your quests and talked about whatever in your room or over lunch.
you knew for yourself that the world you and seo-wan played in was nothing but imaginary. but sometimes, in even in the quiet evenings with the soft rain as the only source of noise, you found yourself thinking of which quests to complete in order for seo-wan to purchase the five billion won dagger that he's been talking about.
"open your mouth, please," asked nurse hong. you showed her your mouth as you always did, making the woman praise you for doing so.
small talks that you shared with your appointed nurse was always something that you looked forward to. your view of nurses from when you were first admitted was rather sour, but the new nurses and medication changed your opinion over time, feeling fond over nurse hong.
aside from the many additional drawings of old and new sceneries you drew plastered on the free spaces of your corner of the room, nurse hong favored the one you drew of her and you plastered just above your headboard.
she took this as a positive sign of improvement in your condition as she acted as a bridge for you to create a healthy and professional with other nurses as well, lengthening the duration of every episode of yours.
"i think seo-wan is pretty silly," you said, your figure hovering over your paper as you drew.
nurse hong raised her eyebrows at your words, a smile making its way to her face. "how so?"
you shrugged. "he just is. can't stop talking about wanting to find this lost princess. she's supposedly pretty and kind, and kept prisoner by this mighty dragon, which makes her more desirable for him, i guess."
soft clanks were heard as nurse hong packed her materials up. "oh, really?"
you hummed. "yeah. it's getting really annoying, honestly. i've told him many times that maybe the princess just likes to stay hidden and he keeps denying me, saying how she's meant to be freed by her one true love, or whatever," you explained further.
"must be frustrating, huh?" she answered, tucking her neatly-packed materials under her arm.
you sighed, continuing your drawing. "yeah. i wish he wanted to go on more quests with me instead of gushing about her all the time, or we could just take a walk around the hospital, or something."
nurse hong smiled at your words, taking note of your knowledge between fantasy and reality, but thought of how you found enjoyment in playing along with kim seo-wan.
a knock from the door disrupted your conversation. you both turned to face the person, seeing seo-wan and nurse jung standing in the hallway.
"oh, mister kim, nurse jung." nurse hong greeted with a bow, making you bow as well as the two mirrored you.
"hello!" nurse jung greeted as she entered the room and walked towards your bed while seo-wan only smiled at you shyly from behind her.
"usually it's just mister kim visiting us this hour." nurse hong points out.
a light blush dusts over seo-wan's cheeks as his eyes wandered the room. "oh, mister kim has requested to be accompanied by me." nurse jung answers.
nurse hong's eyes meets his, making him nod in agreement. "yes, i, uh, needed the mediator's guidance before completing a task." he explains.
nurse hong only nods before moving her eyes to meet nurse jung who widened her eyes to give her a knowing look. "i see, we should leave it to you, then," says nurse hong.
"goodbye," you bid, nodding at the nurses as seo-wan did the same.
upon seeing the nurses leave, seo-wan turned to face you, his hands fidgeting in front of him. "hello, fair maiden," he greets.
"hi, seo-wan." you said with a small smile.
you continued your drawing as your friend tapped his shoes together, deciding to sit beside you at the edge of your bed, where he usually sat while you hung out, before the nervousness got to his nerves.
"hello," he greeted again.
you turned to him with a raised eyebrow before laughing and offering him a smile. "hello, great mage."
seo-wan felt warmth bloom from his chest upon hearing his title. he attempted to take a peek past your shoulders to see what you're working on, before giving up and gulping, "i've to tell you something."
"oh?" you turned to look at him, hand covering your paper while your body couldn't. "what is it?"
seo-wan took a deep breath as he felt his face getting warmer after every second he spent under your gaze. even though it makes him utterly shy, he stares back into your pretty, shiny eyes. "i-i've thought it over for weeks," he starts.
"mhm?"
"erm," he trails, his tongue poking out to lick his chapped lips nervously. "i don't think you're a traveler." he said.
you tilted your head at his words, eyebrows furrowing. "what do you mean? i've reached level fifty-six as a traveler just a few days ago."
seo-wan shook his head, his body inching closer to yours. "i was mistaken. a sorceress concealed your true identity."
you pouted at him in confusion. seo-wan stuttered slightly before looking away with a deep sigh, as if finding the right words to use. "i—" his eyes closed before opening, locking into yours. "you're the long lost princess."
your lips parted in surprise, eyes widening at his words. "w-wh—"
"t-the long lost princess was said to provide support far greater than mediator could, and only she surpasses the one hundred limit of favorability." he said, feeling warmth on his ears and cheeks. "and you've done both, a-and more," he adds.
you breathed out softly, pursing your lips at the confession. "so, your favorability for me is.."
"a hundred and ten." he answers, making you smile at him. the warmth seo-wan felt now spread to every corner of his face, a small smile found its way to his lips as he answered, "a hundred and eleven."
your smile widened, your body inching closer to his. "is that so?"
"mhmm," he answers, his eyes moving to your lips before finding its way to look into your eyes once more. "you're my long lost princess."
"the?" you corrected his term in question.
seo-wan shakes his head, face merely an inch from yours as he answered. "mine."
your eyes closed immediately, leaning in to feel his lips press against yours. his hand hovered over your shoulder before pressing against it as you pecked him deeper.
pulling away from the kiss, you stared into each other's eyes with flushed faces, your breaths too heavy for either of your liking.
the sound of paper was heard as you moved your hand across it, making seo-wan turn to your now exposed drawing. "you drew us?" he asked in surprise, making you nod. "i thought you only drew sceneries?"
you smiled at him softly, "i only draw things i like." you answered. "i guess i have to change my traveler gear into a princess dress, huh?"
seo-wan smiled at your words before nodding firmly. "oh, the dress is purple, by the way, not pink." he said, adjusting his glasses.
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