This blog was created so that I can keep myself entertained after I come home from work. I don't plan on disposing a bunch of information about myself here, but I'll tell you this much:
✨I am 26
✨my pronouns are she/her, but it doesn’t really matter, in my mother tongue there are no pronouns
✨I am not a native English speaker, so you might run into spelling mistakes and gramatical errors, but hey, we’re all here to have fun
✨I’m not really comfortable with sexual themes, please do not expect me to write smut or anything similar
✨I also like music a lot, so if you have any song suggestions send them my way
✨I have ADD, if you cannot understand what I’m trying to express in my writing, I’m really sorry, my brain be doing that
𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅
✨Be nice!! To me, to others, and to everyone! Criticism is appreciated only if it is uplifting and does not make anyone else uncomfortable.
✨Please do not ask me to write anything sexual, I'm not comfortable with that!
✨Please do not steal my work, if you'd like to translate or quote anything, let me know.
✨Please take the fact that I am not a native English speaker into consideration. I might make some mistakes and I would appreciate it if you'd let me know if my spelling or grammar is faulty, just be nice about it!
✨Please let me know if you find something I have written disturbing or offensive, I am trying to do my best so that I won't hurt anybody, but I'm human and mistakes happen. I will change/remove all content that might cause harm.
𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅
lonely with our love - bang chan
Synopsys: As a rising music producer you land the opportunity of a lifetime, co-producing Stray Kids’ albums alongside Bang Chan. But as your relationship deepens beyond the studio, the harsh realities of fame, distance, and ambition threaten to pull you apart—until a viral song exposes the truth neither of you can ignore.
Genre: angst, with a fluffy end >.<
Song mentioned: Charlotte Cardin - Lonely with Our Love
Word count: 3.1k
花吐き病 - han jisung
Synopsys: Han Jisung catches Hanahaki disease—coughing up petals and blood from unrequited love. As his symptoms worsen, his bandmates rally to protect him, while he tries to get in contact with the girl he got into this mess for. Between humor, heartbreak, and fragile hope, Jisung must confront his feelings—and find a chance at love before it’s too late.
Word Count: 10,4k
Genre: ANGST (but it's a happy ending)
TRIGGER WARNINGS: Graphic descriptions of blood and illness, anxiety and panic attacks, fear of death / terminal illness themes, emotional distress / heartbreak / unrequited love, hospitalization / medical procedures, mentions of injury or blood loss, fainting/weakness / fatigue.
따뜻해진 너 - lee know
Synopsys: I don't know what this is, I wrote it at 1 am, please bear with me. Minho is soft and sleepy tho. 😭
A late-night spiral, a bathroom breakdown, and the realization that love doesn’t always come in words—but in every quiet, unfiltered thing he does.
Genre: fluff
Word count: 889
sherlock - kim seungmin
Synopsis: Seungmin goes into a spiral trying to figure out what he could have done wrong to make you so upset that you're giving him the silent treatment.
Word count: 2,5k
Genre: fluff
ENJOYYYYY!
tiktok trends that reveal your relationship - skz ot8
Synopsys: I think the title says it all, random viral tiktok video styles and how they expose your relationship with each skz memebr separately.
Word Count: around 800-900 each
Warnings: none, I guess?
ENJOY!
butterfly kisses - bang chan
Synopsys: Did I see the latest Racha Log where Hannie zoomed in on Chan's eye? Yes. Did I get cuteness aggression from his insanely long lashes? Also yes. Am I gonna make it everyone's problem by writing a 2k-word piece about it? Absolutely yes.
Warnings: the reader is mentioned to have worked out with Chan
Genre: FLUFF
ENJOOOOY!!!!!
𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𝐅𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐒𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅
SKZ - PRE-BOYFRIEND TEXTS
BANG CHAN // LEE KNOW // CHANGBIN // HYUNJIN // HAN // FELIX - TBD // SEUNGMIN // I.N.
SKZ - BOYFRIEND TEXTS - OT8
Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9 // Part 10 // Part 11 // Part 12 // Part 13 // Part 14 // Part 15
SKZ - PIC TEXTS
BANG CHAN // LEE KNOW // CHANGBIN // HYUNJIN // HAN // FELIX // SEUNGMIN // I.N.
𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅𝐀𝐋𝐓 𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅
STRAY KIDS HOT MEGAVERSE
someone i could love - han jisung // homecoming - han jisung // clingy - han jisung - coming soon
真夜中のドア - kim seungmin // homecoming - kim seungmin // clingy - kim seungmin - coming soon
Synopsis: basically the song honeybee by Olivia Rodrigo.
I saw an edit of Seungmin to this song, bawled my eyes out and got a little bit of inspiration. FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF tho
Word count: 1,63k
ENJOYY!
It hasn't been that long since you started dating Seungmin. You met very randomly; he was looking around this quiet shop in a hidden little street up a hill in the heart of Seoul, searching for an adequate birthday present for his sister.
It was one of your favourite little boutiques to visit when you had errands to run around the area, as it was whimsical, hidden, and all the little trinkets they sold were unique and to your taste exactly.
The second you first laid eyes on the boy with fluffy hair, his eyes wide, lips in a pout, as he examined the label of some kind of card game, your heart missed a beat. He looked so soft, his hands delicate, yet so out of place between all the pinks and golds surrounding him. You giggled softly as he seemed even more confused after reading the label, hesitantly putting the little box back on the shelf. You later found out that it wasn't actually a deck of cards he picked up, but a game for couples inspired by Kama Sutra, something his sister would not have appreciated at all, especially from her little brother. His eyes darted up upon hearing the little noise you made, and his ears went red in an instant.
"It's not what it looks like." he quickly states as his hands fly into the air in surrender.
"Really?" your eyebrows raise in curiosity, your tone playful. "Because to me it seems like you're really lost in here."
"Oh, I am." he nods, his lips part, and damn do they look so pretty. His eyes are still wide and you can't help but take note of his boyish charm. There's this feeling bubbling up inside you, this fleeting thought, that his face is one you could spend your whole life knowing. How it changes over the years, how age takes a toll on his skin, how his expressions change with different emotions - happiness, sorrow, love.
"You need help?" you ask politely, and he looks around before he nods softly.
You spend roughly half an hour shuffling through all the shelves with easy conversation flowing. He's not really talkative, but he seems like he enjoys listening to you ramble more. He laughs when you pull something absolutely ridiculous off the shelves, not necessarily being serious about your pick, but you find yourself enjoying the sound of his laughter and the brightness of his smile, so you try to bring it out as often as possible.
He tells you about his sister, how she appreciates gifts that are unique rather than expensive, which is why he's in this store. He apparently heard about it from a coworker, who loves to buy little trinkets from there, as he enjoys interior design a lot.
You both finally settle on a beautiful vintage jewelry set with colorful gemstones and intricate, whimsical nature elements. There is a pair of earrings, a necklace, and a dainty little bracelet.
As you both walk up to the checkout counter, he cannot stop saying thank you for your help, and you make sure to reassure him that it's all right.
You part ways without even finding out his name, and this deep disappointment settles over your shoulders as you try to get back to your own shopping, replaying all the little, fleeting moments and his beautiful smile etched in your mind's eye.
Two weeks pass by, and there's no day when you don't think about the mystery boy from your favorite boutique, whose name you don't know, but you would recognize him even in the biggest of crowds. You walk more attentively after that. Maybe fate has it that you will see him on the subway or at the raunchy bar you go to with your coworkers, or maybe you'll accidentally find the same awning to hide away from the summer rain washing through the streets of Seoul.
None of that happens.
So you decide to make your own fate, and you go back to the store again, deep down wishing that he wants to see you again just as much as you do, and he will suddenly become a regular there with a hopeful heart for a new meeting.
He's not there. You roam all the little corridors between the packed shelves for at least an hour, but he's not there.
"Excuse me, miss!" A worker approaches you. She's your favorite; you always make sure to chat with her while she packs up all your new findings at the counter. She's smiling widely at you. "A young man came in earlier this week and wanted me to give this to you. He described you as 'the pretty girl who knows every corner of this store, but doesn't work here.'"
She hands you a little box, wrapped in brown paper and a ribbon around it. There is a little card attached to the ribbon. You open it slowly as you read the message written in neat handwriting:
"Thank you for helping me find the perfect birthday gift for my noona. She LOVED it!
I would like to say thank you in person as well, maybe at a nice cafe?
If you'd like that, please text me at xxx-xxx-xxx.
Here's to hopin' this finds the right person!
Seungmin"
Your heart feels like it's about to beat out of your chest, and there's this prominent smile on your face that only ever appears when the golden threads of fate are pulled just right.
Of course, you text him. Of course, you go on that coffee date. And he's everything you've expected him to be: a delicate, very polite boy who refuses to use technology just to make his tasks simpler by seconds, who prefers phone calls over texting, who journals and sings old ballads about love so beautiful it seems unreal.
The boy you want to do mundane things with, like walking in the dark or hopping park fences, because even the smallest things feel grand with Seungmin.
He's a gentleman, through and through. He picks you up, walks you home, it feels like fate threw you a bone. He makes sure you're always comfortable, reminds you to eat and hydrate, sends you good night and good morning texts. One morning, as you arrive at work, you notice this little note stuck to your laptop. The night before, you went out on a date with Seungmin and fell asleep right after he said goodbye with a kiss to your cheek at the door. He must have snuck it into your bag without you noticing.
"Hope you think about me as much as I do about you when we're apart. Please meet me on our bench at the park tonight at 8.
Your sticky sweet tangerine, Sengmin"
The nickname comes from one of your dates: he went to Jeju Island for work, and when he returned, he insisted on seeing you as soon as possible. He gifted you this basket of Jeju tangerines, the sweet-looking fruit lying on top of this little handkerchief with an orange gingham pattern, the edges decorated with delicate lace. It's a small detail, but the cloth is so you, and it's so him to put effort into finding a version of the many that is uniquely to your taste.
He wants to be a gentleman, so he offers to peel one of the tangerines for you. However, they are so ripe and soft that the juice squirts everywhere, and he fusses about how his hands are sticky, but it would rather be his than yours.
"You're like the tangerines, Seungminnie. Sticky sweet." you tell him, and he smiles so bright he illuminates the whole park.
The night you find his little note in your bag, he asks you to be officially his girlfriend, while he's holding your hand so delicately like you're made out of porcelain, and you love the way he looks at you in that moment. His eyes sparkle, not with his usual mischief, but with a fondness so deep it creates stars in his irises.
It's been a long time since then, and your lives morph together, your love blossoming like the sakura in spring. And the feeling lingers, more and more fond as days pass. You find it difficult to voice it; it's so hard to describe it in a way that feels honest enough.
But you know that cliches you knew seem so commonplace since you first saw him in the little shop. That every time you're scared, in the dark, you can just reach out, and he will be there.
Lately, days with Seungmin are quiet. There is this lingering feeling in the air of something left unsaid. Something that you can both feel and know, but it is too difficult to put into words, fearing that there are no words grand enough to describe it in a way that is worthy.
But God, you hope you'll never see the way his face looks like going...
Even the thought of being away from him or losing him makes you want to cry. As tears are running down your face, you see him in front of you, his picture at the front of your mind, all smiles and silly jokes and an elegance that feels old school, all yours. You're reaching for a napkin to dry your tears, and you find a Polaroid picture on your coffee table, one you didn't notice until now: it's a picture of you, one you had no idea he took. You're laughing - so sincere and wide, you know it's because of Seungmin - the sun in the background creating a halo around you. And on the white border, there are two words scribbled in black marker:
"babygirl, honeybee"
It's not clear exactly what he's referring to by that; he called you babygirl before, but never honeybee.
But it all becomes clear on a random day, when it's least expected as you get a notification on your phone:
New Upload from Stray Kids
Seungmin - honeybee ( Olivia Rodrigo Cover) | [SONG By 2] S#2
There it is, the confession. You know it's dedicated to you. His babygirl, his honeybee. And this time around, the words are grand enough to describe the love you share.
hi…your title text makes it hard for me to read is there anyway you can change it
Honestly, at this point I'm not gonna change it...
I like it, it's whimsical, and it fits my theme sooo well. The point of my works is never the title, to be fair. I put most of my efforts in my writing or smaus, the titles I attach to them should be the least of anyone's concerns...
If you can't look past that, then I'm sorry... if you can read cursive, btw, they are easy to figure out anyway. I'm European, I'm ambidextruos, I speak 5 languages, I learned to adapt to a lot of stuff on the internet, you can fricking deal with my titles being funky to figure out...
Many of them are in Hangul or Japanese as well, hope that's not causing you any trouble either 😇
My moots and people who had been brave enough to reveal themselves have said it's hard to read, but they allowed me to make the final decision and have accepted me keeping it, so I'm sorry, I'm not gonna adjust to you alone... if there's one thing I do to myself, it will be keeping the font that makes my blog unique, becuase for me, it brings everything together.
Man, you make me want to just deactivate and disappear from the face of the earth. You could have had 100 nice things to say to me, but noooo, you had to complain about a minuscule design thing so you can bring me down...
Don't be fucking surprised if I don't come back to this blog ever again...
Btw I.N. grieving his grandma on his birthday should be a reminder that
1. We will only know what they show us about themselves
2. You never know what people go through, whether they are an idol or not.
I hope it was his own decision to go live that day, so it was lighter on him, I wish we could have been there for him, the way he supports and loves stay every day.
Synopsys: so this is a very unashamed self-insert, as I had oral surgery and while I was in a lot of pain and crazy stuff happened (the I.N. one is legit true) all I could think about how Stray Kids would react to their s/o going through the same thing.
I am fine now, my stitches are out and my check-up was super good, but yeah, for a week I was struggling for real for real!
Genre: established relationship, street interview, relationship reveal (?), fluff
Summary: You get stopped to do a street interview while you're in Italy with your boyfriend and decide "Why not?"
Except the question they ask isn't what you'd expect.
"So, what song were you humming just now?”
Normal question right? No biggie. But the song you were humming was an unreleased Stray Kids song written by your boyfriend Chan....
Oops?
Word Count: 1.6k
A/N: So this CONCEPTUALLY is a continuation of Bestie Knows Best (imo) but you don't specifically have to read that to understand this! Just know her and Chan are already dating <33
God Run It just REALLY got in my head. This fic was also partially inspired by @gingerayen 's TikTok Reveals Their Relationship series (a BANGER go read it if you havent)
Also this *may* lead to another part of this fic... it's an idea I've had for a while and I kinda set it up at the end to continue but hehe we shall see!
⁽ᵈᶦᵛᶦᵈᵉʳ ᵖᶦˣᵉˡ ᵃʳᵗ ᵇʸ ᵐᵉ⁾
(writing masterlist) | (Bestie Knows Best pt 1)
Before you and Chris had started dating, you’d never been to Italy. Now, you’d been four different times, which was still drastically more than zero.
Italy was stunning. From the rolling hills and vineyards, to the stunning architecture. You and Chris had played tourist a few times, and gone on a few date nights, too, between his photoshoots and other Fendi-related things.
When he could, he liked to slip you in to his Fendi photoshoots. Not in the pictures themselves, but he could normally get you into the set to at least watch the shoots happen. It was especially fun for you seeing how professional photography shoots went. You’d even gotten to talk to some of the photographers and make some friends.
And mayhaps you’d been invited to help as a photography assistant at the next fashion week event.
Today, though, Chris was busy with things you couldn't come to. Honestly, you weren't bothered by it. You didn't expect to trail behind him at every work thing he went to like a lost puppy, but he always felt bad when you came along and then had to be alone.
“Chris,” you told him as you ate breakfast in your hotel room, “truly I'm fine. I don't tag along on your trips because I expect you to be free the whole time.”
He huffed. “Yeah I know, I just…” The tips of his ears turned pink. “I want you there, too.”
You laughed softly, leaning over to give him a kiss. “You won't be gone all day, and don't act like you won't have fun still.”
He grumbled half-heartedly. “Well, what are you gonna do today?”
You shrugged. “The weather looks nice, so I think I'm gonna just do some window shopping.”
“Take my card at least, then,” Chris said, fishing out his wallet and handing it to you.
You sighed, knowing better than to fight him at this point. “And what if you need to buy something?”
He just shrugged. “I have another. Plus, Fendi usually has me covered.”
His car came to pick him up about 30 minutes later. You walked down to the lobby with him, lingering behind on the off chance someone was watching. That didn't stop Chris from giving you a soft kiss before he left.
Once his car pulled away, you decided to head off, too.
You didn't have any specific destination in mind. There was a cute cafe you'd seen the other day when you and Chris were out that you were hoping to stumble across again, but other than that, you had no plans.
You tried not to look too touristy, but you also couldn't help whipping out your camera from time to time.
There was just so much beauty in this city, it was hard to resist capturing it.
You did end up finding a cute boutique that you shopped around in for a while. You left with a nice new dress that you couldn't wait to show off to Chris.
With a bag on your arm, you meandered through the city happily. You sent Chris a picture of the bag with a winky face.
Contact name: Christopher 💜
Y/N: bought something cute <3
Christopher 💜: oh my gosh
Christopher 💜: well everything looks cute on you so
Y/N: says the man modelling for Fendi
Christopher 💜: exactly, so i know what i'm talking about ;)
Christopher 💜: i cant wait to see it love
You started humming absentmindedly as you walked. You always had a song in your head, and today was no exception.
This song, in particular, had been regularly popping up since Chris had you listen to it a few days ago.
“Excuse me.”
You blinked, glancing to your left and noticing a man standing there with a mic. Another person was next to him holding up there phone.
He smiled at you. “We're doing street interviews about music. Are you down to participate?”
Why not, huh?
“Sure,” you agreed, stopping to face him.
He beamed. “Great! So, what song were you humming just now?”
You blinked, starting to replay the song in your head as you tried to remember the name of it. You hummed some for a moment before your eyes went wide and you cut it off.
“Um,” you laughed sheepishly, “okay, actually I can't legally tell you that.”
His eyes widened and he laughed incredulously. “You can't legally share it? What is the name of it some government secret?”
You laughed more freely. “Not that kind of intense. It's just unreleased.”
He looked excited at that. “Something you wrote then? Are you a secret artist I don't know about?”
“Oh, no,” you said. “My creativity lies in photography. I love music, but I'm not skilled enough to make it.”
“Then how did you get access to secret files that are so top tier you can't share them?”
You hummed. “Should I answer that? I'm not sure how great this content is for your video. I'm sorry.”
“Are you kidding me? This is the juciest interview we've had all day!” He countered gleefully. “Come on, spill!”
“Okay, okay,” you laughed. “My partner produced the song, and it's for a fairly well-known music group, so.” You shrugged. “Legally, they'd have my head if I spilled.”
He leaned in excitedly. “Can't you give us any hints? Surely there's no rules against that.”
“I'm afraid the fans are already gonna find this somehow,” you admitted. “They're like, scary good, and I haven't even said any names!”
“I honestly don't think that narrows it down,” the guy countered. “Everyone online is an internet sleuth these days. What genre are they? Is it even a they?”
You winced. “They're not Italian, how about that?”
“Oh? So why are you in Italy then?” He asked, eyes glinting with curiosity.
You just shook your head, drawing your fingers over your lips to mime a zipper.
“Fine, fine,” he relents dramatically before turning and pointing at the camera. “If you're watching this in the future and you know what song it is now, comment down below!”
You told Chris about the interview that evening. After he checked that the guy wasn't rude or pushy, the two of you laughed about it.
“Which song were you humming?” He asked.
“That one you showed me a couple weeks ago,” you replied.
He laughed. “Do you think Stay will find it?”
“I wouldn't be surprised if they did.”
You honestly forgot about the video until it surfaced on your timeline a few months later.
The day after Stray Kids had dropped their teaser for “Run It.”
The video had nearly a million likes. It was edited well enough, nothing added or removed to make you sound bad, which you were grateful for.
Curious now what people thought, you decided to check the comments.
@ unkn0wn401 5 mo ago - I have never been more curious in my life. INTERNET DETECTIVES GET ON THIS
@ 143kpopfans 1 hr ago - okok so… does anyone else hear ‘Run It’ or am i delulu???
-> @ binchans-pinky IM GLAD ITS NOT JUST ME OMG
@ papawolf42 3 mo ago - watch us all come back here in the future with our jaws wide open
-> @ jennifer-ferret - GIRL COME BACK OUR JAWS ARE ON THE FLOOR
-> @ papawolf42 - IM BACK OH MY GOD IT WAS STRAY KIDS THE WHOLE TIME?!?!!!!
@ skzcodered 2 hrs ago - but ok fr she's either dating someone on Stray Kids's production team… or 3Racha themselves 👀
@ kingdomlvr20 30 mins ago - Thats CLEARLY Run It. IS SHE DATING CHANGBIN??
-> @ dwaekikiki - OR HAN OR CHAN?!!!
@ jypapi-is-my-bias 10 mins ago - if this ISNT Run It, I'll buy everyone tickets to the tour FR
-> @ binchans-pinky - soo i also think its Run It, but thats still a bet I'm willing to take
@ teffyx 2 mins ago - its so obvious??? Guys she was in *Italy* so clearly she's dating Chan?!!
-> @ bangchans-wifey - oh my god youre so right?!! Wasnt he doing a Fendi thing like a week or two before this video was posted?!!
-> @ noeasynoeasy - WHY DOESNT THIS COMMENT HAVE MORE LIKES OH MY GOD WE CRACKED IT
You took a screenshot of the comments section and texted it to Chris.
Contact name: Christopher 💜
Y/N: [screenshot.png]
Y/N: um… oops?
Christopher 💜: hahahahaha
Christopher 💜: Stay are sleuths, i'm not surprised they figured it out
Y/N: am i gonna get sued LOL
Christopher 💜: no i promise you wont hahaha
Christopher 💜: the song is already partially out anyway, and we've dropped bigger spoilers before haha
Y/N: okay but what about the relationship theorizing part..?
Christopher 💜: have they found your socials yet?
Y/N: no, thankfully it doesnt seem like it
Christopher 💜: well… its not the least evidence but also, if you dont want to be public yet, we can just ignore it
Y/N: do you want to be public?
Christopher 💜: we've been together for nearly 3 years, i'd love to show you off eventually, but i also know itd be a lot of eyes on you and i dont want to force you into that if you dont want it
Christopher 💜: we also dont need to use this as our reason to reveal us dating. we can just ignore it and it'll eventually fizzle out
Y/N: maybe we can talk about it tonight?
Christopher 💜: of course lovey <3
Christopher 💜: if it helps at all, the comments seem very positive about the whole thing ;)
Y/N: thats true…
Christopher 💜: i have to go to a 3racha meeting now, but i'll text you later ok? Love you
listen i GENUINELY could not care less if y'all be posting smut about people (idols, celebs in general, i do NAWT give a shit) but PLEASE stop tagging it as fluff dude im just tryna read my tooth rotting fluff in peace 😭
Synopsys: soulmates AU with Chan. Please note that it's my first time writing something like this, so this may not be the best, but WE BALL.
Word count: 5,1k
Warnings: none, but there are slight hints at melanoma, so read with caution
PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK CUZ I'M NERVY ABOUT THIS ONE hehe!!
ENJOYYY!!!
By the time you've reached your mid-twenties, you've given up on ever finding your soulmate. Other people had very prominent soulmarks: tattoos, hearing their soulmate's thoughts, drawings appearing on each other's skin, seeing the world in black and white—you name it.
But for you? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Nada.
And you were fine with it until you met Chan.
From the very beginning, you knew he was an extraordinary person. Someone who carried a light within him, capable of making others feel safe and at ease. It wasn't about his looks or his words; he was simply so bright and welcoming, warm and kind-hearted despite not always having the easiest life.
You clicked instantly—two young adults without soulmarks, without any grand sign from the universe that there was someone out there for you, that your soul had a forever match waiting somewhere in the world.
At first, you bonded over your shared desperation for some otherworldly sign from the universe that you weren't destined to be alone. But as the years passed, something shifted. You both began to feel a pull toward each other, fueled by the understanding that you weren't paired by destiny, but by choice.
You were good friends at first, both relying on each other.
For you, he was the level-headed, all-knowing Chan, someone who understood feelings and people on a deeper level than anyone else. He navigated conflicts with ease and remarkable maturity, despite not always being able to sort through his own thoughts and emotions. Instead, he drowned them out with work, burying himself in schedules and responsibilities to suppress the worries constantly running through his head.
And that's where you came in.
Because you were the one who took care of him.
You were the only person he listened to when someone told him to take a break. You remembered countless moments when his bandmates practically begged you to get him out of the studio after they'd spent an entire week trying and failing. Once, you showed up, snapped his laptop shut while his hands were still attacking the keyboard, and he instantly melted, allowing himself to be dragged to the designated nap corner on the floor of his studio.
He didn't need a soulmark to know he'd always have you.
The person who would pull him away from work, spend entire days glued to his side, and stay with him until the weight on his shoulders finally became too much to carry. Until he collapsed into your arms and let go, if only for a little while, of all the wild thoughts infiltrating that beautiful mind of his.
It was after one of those instances that he approached you, more serious than ever, wanting to talk to you about something important.
"You're scaring me, Channie," you said as you walked into his apartment—the one he shared with three other people at the time, all of them out for some reason you strongly suspected was his doing. He had sent them away.
He texted you that morning, so you had an entire day to spiral, the worst thoughts popping into your head. He didn't want to be your friend anymore. You were too close for comfort; you'd overstepped a boundary. By this point, you already knew your feelings were far from platonic—you were falling for him, hard, and had been for years. Maybe he'd figured it out and decided it was easier to cut you out of his life than navigate whatever your heart was trying to tell you. Or, even worse: he had finally found his mark. Meaning he had a soulmate. And it wasn't you.
"You have nothing to be afraid of, little one," he tried to assure you, but he seemed more nervous than you. "It's not necessarily a bad thing... or I don't think so?! We'll see."
That confused you even more. He was good with words—never stuttering, never struggling to express himself or second-guessing what he said. Or at least, he was like that with you.
"Chan, please..." you blurted out, tears welling in your eyes from the pure panic of what this conversation could lead to. "Just tell me. I'm not going to be mad, I swear."
"I... it's..." he stuttered.
"You found your soulmate?" you had to ask. You had to know.
"NO! Or yes... I don't know, maybe?"
"What?" Your entire world seemed to collapse in an instant. And he saw it—the disappointment in your eyes, the sadness.
"NOT LIKE THAT, PLEASE Y/N, NOT IN A PROPER WAY!" he exclaimed, quickly stepping closer and pulling you into a tight hug. His hand moved into your hair, cradling the back of your head against his chest. "I didn't find a soulmate like Hannie found Lee Know, or Hyunjin his muse. Not like that," he mumbled, resting his chin on top of your head. You could feel the vibrations of his voice through his chest—soothing, steady, even as his heart raced wildly beneath it.
"But I do believe I found a life partner. Someone who understands me on a level that feels too magical to be from this world, despite not having a mark or anything to prove it," he explained, and you slowly began to understand. "I think you're my person, little one. And I don't need a sign from the universe to prove it. I've read about it a lot, and many people say soulmarks aren't a law of physics. Some people end up hating their soulmates. Others never find their other half, despite having a mark. Some fall in love with people other than the one their soulmark is paired with. So what I'm trying to say is—I don't care that we're not paired by fate. You're my person. And I want to be your person forever, if you'd have me. Fuck soulmates and soulmarks. My heart is yours, as long as you'll have it."
He was looking into your eyes now, his gaze sparkling with a kind of adoration you'd never seen before. You had seen glimpses of it—on days when he needed you most, on days when you made him laugh so hard he spilled water all over his mixing equipment, on days he spotted you in crowds of over a hundred thousand people cheering for him.
You cried out again, but this time it wasn't fear. It was relief. You weren't losing him. You were getting closer. He had just voiced everything that had been tightening around your heart for years and shaped it into words you had never been brave enough to say. Because you knew he was your person too.
"I'm so happy, Channie," you said, a laugh bubbling out of you between your sobs, your tears still falling uncontrollably. Chris chuckled too, pulling back slightly to wipe the dark makeup smeared beneath your eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie.
"Aww, little one, you look like a raccoon," he said affectionately, and the two of you burst out laughing. "There it is—my favorite sound. Promise me, no more tears around me. Just laughter, okay, baby?"
"I promise, Chan."
"Good," he nodded, leaning in to kiss the very faint birthmark on the corner of your lips—one that was barely visible, but still there. One he loved to admire from time to time.
That night, the boys found the two of you curled up on the living room couch, wrapped around each other with not even a millimeter of space between you.
The next morning, you woke up in Chan’s bed, tucked in as if the world outside didn’t exist—but his body was missing from beside you.
Your smile faltered for a moment, until you noticed a tray on his bedside table with coffee and breakfast, everything made exactly to your preferences. Next to it sat a single rose with a letter attached.
You opened it, immediately recognizing the handwriting—clean lines, perfect strokes, the kind of precision you would never expect to come from a boy’s hands. But this was Chan. Everything about him was neat, intentional, and carefully composed.
As you read, every lingering worry from the night before dissolved—the fear that it had all been a dream, or that he might have changed his mind and left you alone in his bed.
“Good morning, Little One!
It was extremely hard to leave you alone in my bed when you looked so peaceful and ethereally beautiful, but I have a photoshoot this morning. I went to your apartment and picked you up some clothes. Could you please get ready by noon so I can take you on a lunch date, baby?
I would be the happiest person alive if you did so.
Your Channie
P.S.: I left many kisses on your forehead before leaving. Don’t worry hehe”
As you looked at the clock, you realized you had roughly one hour to get ready, so you quickly got up and ran into the bathroom attached to his room, where you saw your clothes lined up neatly, a fresh set of towels, as well as your toothbrush and all your skincare.
There was no other man as attentive as Chan. You weren’t even fazed by him going to your apartment without you being there—you had shared more of your life with him than just your living space.
He must have gotten up super early to get all of this before his shoot. You made a mental note to thank him later.
After a quick shower, you were ready to start your skincare routine. You took a long look at your face in the mirror. First, you noticed that you were glowing. You were surrounded by the scent of Chan’s shower gel and the smell of clean linen coming from the towel wrapped around your body. Everything felt right.
You’re his person. He said so himself. Whatever you were, it didn’t feel temporary—it felt like something final. There was no going back from here, only forward. And that felt incredible.
But beyond the glow of your skin, you spotted a few small dark marks on your face—moles. One in the corner of your lips that had always been there, but this time it looked darker, more visible, almost striking. The others were on your forehead—three of them exactly—ones you had noticed years ago, too faint to see unless you looked closely. Now they were darker too, one even slightly larger, more prominent.
You didn’t think much of it. They didn’t seem like something to worry about.
So you went on with your day—on your date with Chan—who, for some reason, kept kissing those little spots, as if drawn to them without even realizing why.
There have been a couple of months since you and Chan started officially dating. Ever since then, he has gone out of his way to pull back on work so you could spend more time together, slowly building a life that feels even more intertwined with yours. It was easy, as they had a few months with lighter schedules—less to do and a plethora of songs already lined up for at least three releases.
He still worked hard, as he has no stop button—he said so himself—but everything felt less rushed and less stressful now that you were there, closer than before, which had seemed impossible in the months prior to his confession.
But now he’s back in his head again. A comeback and a tour are lining up, and his thoughts are starting to darken once more. He’s aware he will have to leave you for extended periods of time, even months at once, and that scares him to death. He trusts you, trusts what you’ve built, but he doesn’t want to leave you behind. He fears you’ll suffer, that you’ll start pulling away because of the distance and his hectic life.
He’s also stressed because he wants this comeback to be a big one. He wants to be more successful than they are right now, because years of training have wired him to believe there is no point where it’s “enough.” There are always bigger awards to win, bigger crowds to conquer, more people to please. It’s frightening, even if he knows he should be content with having you, because you already give him enough happiness.
His overthinking leads to withdrawal. He becomes distant—less texting, not coming home to you but instead spending nights on the studio couch or arriving home late when you’re already asleep, leaving again before you can wake up.
You miss him, but more importantly, you’re worried about him. You know he isn’t taking care of himself. You know that in pulling away, he isn’t only hurting you, but himself as well.
It comes to a breaking point when you don’t hear from him for two entire days. Not one word, no replies to your messages—despite your repeated attempts to reach him. Nothing. You don’t even know if he’s alive.
You find out from Han and Changbin that he hasn’t left his studio in two days. No one is allowed to enter, no food is being delivered—just a fridge stocked with drinks and snacks to keep him going.
You get through the JYPE building security easily; you’ve been cleared as a relative of an idol long ago, given your own badge to access restricted floors, including the one housing Chan’s studio.
As soon as you reach the door, you punch in your personal code—and it returns as incorrect.
Panic rises in your chest. He’s never done this. Never changed or restricted it. He did it with the boys, but not with you.
“Channie, baby…” you knock, calling out softly. “Please open the door.”
You hear shuffling, and through the small blurry window in the door, you see movement. But nothing happens. The lock never clicks, keeping you out—and somehow pushing you even further away from him.
“Please,” you try again. “You don’t have to talk to me. I don’t even have to stay if you don’t want me here. I’ll just drop off your pho and I’ll leave, if you want me to.”
That’s the last thing he wants—because he doesn’t want you to leave. He wants you there, just lounging on the couch, doing your own thing while he does his, but still there with him. In his presence. Close enough for him to pull you in, kiss you, hold you, whenever he needs.
But he can’t have that. It would be cruel to keep you glued to his side only to leave you behind again—to go chase dreams with his brothers while you wait for him, diligently, slowly breaking in his absence.
“Okay, I understand,” you say after minutes of silence and no response. Your voice is broken and weak, almost sickly, like you’re forcing the words through a lump in your throat. You’re trying to keep your tears at bay, but failing.
And Chan’s heart breaks—but he convinces himself it’s for the best. You’ll be angry at him now, but you won’t miss him as much while he’s on tour.
“I’ll leave the food at the door. Please make sure you eat. I love you.”
The words are so quiet, so fragile, that they still make his ears perk up. He hears the sincerity in them. You had never said it before. Neither of you had. He knew it was true—you loved him, and he loved you—but it had never been spoken out loud.
You leave the food at the door, just like you promised, and slowly start walking down the corridor, wiping your eyes as stray tears begin to fall.
Then you hear the door being thrown open and heavy footsteps behind you. You don’t even have time to turn around before a body collides with yours, arms wrapping tightly around your torso and lifting you into a bone-crushing hug. You yelp in shock, but immediately relax into his arms as you recognize his scent. It’s a little worn, not as fresh as usual—but it’s still him.
You hear his sniffles, and feel his arms tighten around you as he carries you back into the studio, fumbling slightly with the takeout bags but still refusing to let you go. He kicks the door shut behind him, drops the bags onto the desk, and then carefully maneuvers you onto the couch, lowering your body weight onto it while he keeps crying into your hoodie—his hoodie.
Your hands keep running through his hair, trying to quiet his sobs, soothing him in the process. You press small kisses to the top of his head, and slowly but surely, he begins to calm down.
Then he lifts his head, looking into your eyes. You’re both in the same state—bags under your eyes, exhausted, broken, and very much not okay.
“Can you say it again?” he whispers, his voice hoarse, nothing like the sweet, steady tone he usually uses with you.
You’re confused for a second, but then it clicks, and you smile softly.
“I love you, Bahng Christopher Chan,” you say firmly, gently moving his bangs out of his eyes before leaning in to kiss his right eyebrow.
“I love you, little one. Please forgive me,” he breaks, tears welling up in his eyes again.
You don’t say anything. You just pull him closer as he falls apart in your arms once more.
Once he calms down, you help him sit up and eat, and let him tell you why he pulled away for those two days. It makes sense—and at the same time, it doesn’t—but you can feel him relaxing more and more as each of his worries is voiced and gently unraveled.
“Channie, you silly, silly man,” you shake your head, scolding him lovingly. “I knew what I signed up for when I started dating you, and we’ve survived being apart more than once already. Us being in a relationship and having admitted our feelings won’t change that. I’ll miss you, yes—but just like before, I’ll visit you when it gets too hard, and I’ll keep calling you, texting you, being with you in every way I can except physically. I love you. That doesn’t change when things get harder. You’re my person. You will always be my person. That doesn’t just go away.”
And that’s all it takes.
His mind quiets. No more overthinking, no more dark spirals. Because he believes you—every word, every touch, every breath of reassurance. You’ve done this before, and you’ll be able to do it again and again if it means staying together. Which it does.
The next day, when he comes home from a full day of music video shooting, he poses an interesting question.
“Little one, did you know I have a mole in my eyebrow?”
Your brows scrunch together as you gesture for him to come closer. You had just been washing the dishes and were still holding the hand towel you’d used when you heard his enthusiastic “honey, I’m home” from the entrance of your apartment.
As he steps closer, his hands immediately slip around your waist, and he pecks your lips quickly while you try to move his bangs aside to inspect his eyebrow.
“The makeup artist told me she’s seen it before, but it got significantly bigger—to the point she had to put brow gel around it,” he explains.
You’re still looking at it, trying to figure out whether it’s anything concerning, when you suddenly remember that moment in his bathroom—when your own moles had become darker.
“It did get bigger and darker, indeed,” you tell him after a few seconds of silence, during which he just stares at your face, completely mesmerized by your beauty as you focus with such care and intensity on the tiny mole.
“But I don’t think it’s anything concerning. If you were worried, it happened to me before too—with this one.” You point to the mole in the corner of your lips, and he smiles widely at it.
“Aww, I love that little guy. It’s so unique and pretty—perfect for leaving kisses on,” he says, and immediately proves his point.
“Now that you mention it, I love kissing your eyebrow too. I’m pretty sure I kissed that exact spot yesterday.”
“Keep kissing it then,” he says cheekily.
“I will—but just to be sure, please ask the dermatologist to take a look at it next time you’re there, okay?”
“I will, little one. Just to make sure it’s nothing worrying.”
He seals his promise with a deep kiss, pulling you impossibly closer, making you squeal as he lifts you onto the kitchen counter. And suddenly, all talk of moles is forgotten.
After that, your mind starts noticing all his moles. Maybe, deep down, you’re worried it could be something serious. You never know—his skin is pale, and he undergoes a lot of beauty treatments as an idol, the most concerning for you being all the laser hair removal.
There is one prominent one on his collarbone that has certainly grown since you started dating. One near his hand is perfectly hidden in the small crease between his thumb and wrist. That one hasn’t grown, but it’s definitely darker. You love that one—whenever you kiss his hands, it’s the spot you like to gently graze with your lips.
You begin examining your own body too: small marks on your face, tiny spots like dark freckles scattered across your skin. Your chest is dotted with them, one sits on your knee, and more appear on the inside of your thighs. You’ve had them all your life, but now they seem more visible, more prominent—some even slightly larger.
The most prominent one, and yet barely noticeable to you, is behind your ear. Chan loves kissing that spot, always nibbling gently there as he buries his face in your hair. But you fail to connect the dots. You’re simply concerned for your and your partner’s health.
You’ve read many articles about it. You’ve even known people who underwent surgeries to have similar marks removed, so your worry only grows.
Eventually, you both go to the dermatologist together to have everything checked out. Chan isn’t particularly thrilled about the idea, but he sees how concerned you are and knows that it would ease your mind, so he agrees.
And there’s nothing of concern. Everything is confirmed to be fine.
So Chris leaves for tour, just as he’s supposed to, and you make him promise to watch for any changes—if any of his lighter spots darken again or if they grow.
But they don’t. And none of yours change either.
Communication starts to shift between you two as distance grows, but there’s nothing of concern. You’re both busy—he’s extremely busy—but you still talk, still rely on each other, still show up whenever the other needs you. It’s not like Chan’s earlier fears are coming true.
And yet, you start to feel empty without his presence. His touch. His kisses. It’s like all the life has been vacuum-sealed into a bag and packed into his suitcase as he travels to the other side of the world.
You feel almost sick. Your body aches, your eyes are sensitive and burning, your head feels heavy, and you’re constantly nauseous.
Chan feels the same, but he runs on adrenaline before every performance, so he pushes through. But at night, when he returns to an empty hotel room that smells nothing like you or home—no you to curl up with—it hits him like a train. By morning, he’s so drained he can barely get out of bed.
He’s the one who notices it first, after the makeup artist points it out again: his mole has shrunk.
He takes a closer look at the ones scattered across his face—near his eyes, on his cheek, the one in the crease between his thumb and wrist—and realizes they’re all fading.
Something clicks in his mind.
That night, he searches everything he can find, going through every corner of the internet. There’s an old saying that your moles mark all the places your past lover used to kiss you.
He never believed in it. He’s never heard of soulmarks being connected to moles or freckles, so he searches for proof that this isn’t something his mind is inventing. And eventually, he finds it—very few documented cases, scattered across the globe and across centuries.
And once he understands what it means, he doesn’t hesitate. He has his manager book the earliest flight home.
They darkened because of kisses. They grew because those kisses meant the world to both of you—seals of important moments in your relationship. And now they’re fading because they haven’t been kissed in months.
No underlying conditions. No dangerous changes.
Just soulmarks responding to love—darkening with reassurance, with “I love yous,” with every kiss given in love, passion, or pain.
You wake in the middle of the night to rushed knocks on your front door.
Chan, in his hurry to get to the airport, has forgotten his house keys, leaving him with no other option but to wait for you to wake up and let him in.
You’re groggy, every movement aching down to your bones—just like it has been for the past couple of weeks—but something inside you urges you to get out of bed anyway. As if your body and subconscious already know it’s important that you open that door right now.
You don’t even bother checking the peephole. Your building has high security—no one gets in who isn’t supposed to.
When the door opens and you squint against the bright hallway light, a tall, blurred figure stands in front of you. Before you can fully process it, he steps forward and pulls you into his arms.
Your body instantly relaxes, recognizing him—the familiar shape, the warmth, the scent that sinks into your skin.
It’s him. It’s Chan.
You don’t even have time to ask why he’s suddenly home in the middle of the night when he should be halfway across the world, because he’s already pulling you into the lit hallway.
Then he starts kissing you. Repeatedly pressing soft kisses to the spot near your lips—the same small mark he always loved—watching, wide-eyed, as it slowly begins to darken and grow again with every touch.
He moves to your forehead next, then behind your ear, tracing each mark carefully, examining them like they’re the most important thing in the world.
He laughs then—relieved, almost euphoric. Like he’s floating.
He was right. Everything makes sense now.
“Chan, stop!” you finally shriek, and he halts immediately, still smiling like a lovestruck idiot. “What the hell are you doing?”
He doesn’t answer at first. He just pulls you back into your apartment, switching on all the lights as if he needs you to see everything clearly.
“Everything makes sense, little one. Everything is perfect,” he says, dragging you along—not aggressively, but excitedly. Like he’s about to reveal something huge. Which, oh boy, he surely is. “I knew we were meant to be!”
“What are you on?” you stare at him in disbelief. “Why aren’t you in Mexico?”
“We have a concert in Argentina in a few hours, little one. Keep up.”
“THEN WHY ARE YOU HERE?!”
“Because we’re soulmates.”
“Don’t piss me off, Bang Chan,” you snap. “We’ve established that before.”
“Not like that, you silly goose,” he says, far too smug for someone who should be asleep on another continent. “We’re soulmates with a soulmark.”
If you were confused before, now you’re completely lost.
“What?” you blink. “No, I don’t have a soulmark. HAVE YOU GOTTEN A SOULMARK?? ARE YOU LEAVING ME?”
He recoils immediately, as if the thought alone offends him.
“Of course not. You’re my person. You’re stuck with me forever,” he says firmly, like the idea of leaving you—or anyone else being his soulmate—is absurd. “I just figured it out,” he adds, his smile turning softer, almost smug. “Our soulmark.”
"What?" you're in disbelief.
“The moles, baby,” he says, pointing at the one on his eyebrow—probably his most prominent one, now significantly lighter and smaller.
He tugs at the collar of his hoodie, revealing the one on his collarbone, now barely visible.
“They are our soulmark. They darken and they grow from kisses. The darkening is for frequency, and the size changes depending on the importance of the kiss.”
He points back to his eyebrow.
“This one grew when you kissed it after telling me you loved me for the first time.”
Then he moves on.
“This one, on my collarbone—you kiss it the most, so it’s the darkest.”
He pulls his sleeve up slightly, revealing the one near his wrist. In this light, it’s almost gone.
“And this one is the one you always kiss when you’re holding my hand.”
“Why are they gone then?” you ask, fear creeping into your voice. Maybe they faded because he doesn’t love you anymore?
“We’ve been away from each other for so long, without kisses, that they started to fade,” he explains gently. “That’s why we both felt so drained, so sick. It was our soulmate bond telling us we needed each other to be whole again.”
“Really? How are you so sure?” you tilt your head to the side, now curious.
“Try it,” he says, pulling you closer and crouching down so you can reach his eyebrow.
You kiss it gently—and truly, the mark becomes slightly more prominent. So you kiss it again. And again. It grows slowly, darkening little by little until it returns to how it looked before he left.
Then, all excited, you move to his collarbone and watch as the same thing happens again. Then his wrist.
You start laughing. It’s all so unbelievable, so calming, so magical.
“Oh my god, you’re my soulmate!” you exclaim, jumping into his arms as it finally clicks.
He catches you instantly, holding you with all his strength.
“Exactly, little one,” he says softly. “I’m your soulmate. And you’re mine. We were soulmates all along.”
In that exact place, your fate is sealed once again.
You feel it—like you always have—that you belong to each other, that there is no one else out there for you but Chan.
You didn’t need a mark to find the person you were meant to be with. All you needed was your intuition, and time—time to get to know each other, to trust each other on your own terms, and to build a bond that existed even without the certainty of fate confirming it.
It was the real reassurance that what you had has always been there, waiting to unfold. Something inevitable, despite every doubt. Something real. Something sacred.
Chan presses a kiss to your forehead—soft, grounding, familiar—and you close your eyes, breathing him in like home. Because he is home.
Synopsys: soulmates AU with Chan. Please note that it's my first time writing something like this, so this may not be the best, but WE BALL.
Word count: 5,1k
Warnings: none, but there are slight hints at melanoma, so read with caution
PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK CUZ I'M NERVY ABOUT THIS ONE hehe!!
ENJOYYY!!!
By the time you've reached your mid-twenties, you've given up on ever finding your soulmate. Other people had very prominent soulmarks: tattoos, hearing their soulmate's thoughts, drawings appearing on each other's skin, seeing the world in black and white—you name it.
But for you? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Nada.
And you were fine with it until you met Chan.
From the very beginning, you knew he was an extraordinary person. Someone who carried a light within him, capable of making others feel safe and at ease. It wasn't about his looks or his words; he was simply so bright and welcoming, warm and kind-hearted despite not always having the easiest life.
You clicked instantly—two young adults without soulmarks, without any grand sign from the universe that there was someone out there for you, that your soul had a forever match waiting somewhere in the world.
At first, you bonded over your shared desperation for some otherworldly sign from the universe that you weren't destined to be alone. But as the years passed, something shifted. You both began to feel a pull toward each other, fueled by the understanding that you weren't paired by destiny, but by choice.
You were good friends at first, both relying on each other.
For you, he was the level-headed, all-knowing Chan, someone who understood feelings and people on a deeper level than anyone else. He navigated conflicts with ease and remarkable maturity, despite not always being able to sort through his own thoughts and emotions. Instead, he drowned them out with work, burying himself in schedules and responsibilities to suppress the worries constantly running through his head.
And that's where you came in.
Because you were the one who took care of him.
You were the only person he listened to when someone told him to take a break. You remembered countless moments when his bandmates practically begged you to get him out of the studio after they'd spent an entire week trying and failing. Once, you showed up, snapped his laptop shut while his hands were still attacking the keyboard, and he instantly melted, allowing himself to be dragged to the designated nap corner on the floor of his studio.
He didn't need a soulmark to know he'd always have you.
The person who would pull him away from work, spend entire days glued to his side, and stay with him until the weight on his shoulders finally became too much to carry. Until he collapsed into your arms and let go, if only for a little while, of all the wild thoughts infiltrating that beautiful mind of his.
It was after one of those instances that he approached you, more serious than ever, wanting to talk to you about something important.
"You're scaring me, Channie," you said as you walked into his apartment—the one he shared with three other people at the time, all of them out for some reason you strongly suspected was his doing. He had sent them away.
He texted you that morning, so you had an entire day to spiral, the worst thoughts popping into your head. He didn't want to be your friend anymore. You were too close for comfort; you'd overstepped a boundary. By this point, you already knew your feelings were far from platonic—you were falling for him, hard, and had been for years. Maybe he'd figured it out and decided it was easier to cut you out of his life than navigate whatever your heart was trying to tell you. Or, even worse: he had finally found his mark. Meaning he had a soulmate. And it wasn't you.
"You have nothing to be afraid of, little one," he tried to assure you, but he seemed more nervous than you. "It's not necessarily a bad thing... or I don't think so?! We'll see."
That confused you even more. He was good with words—never stuttering, never struggling to express himself or second-guessing what he said. Or at least, he was like that with you.
"Chan, please..." you blurted out, tears welling in your eyes from the pure panic of what this conversation could lead to. "Just tell me. I'm not going to be mad, I swear."
"I... it's..." he stuttered.
"You found your soulmate?" you had to ask. You had to know.
"NO! Or yes... I don't know, maybe?"
"What?" Your entire world seemed to collapse in an instant. And he saw it—the disappointment in your eyes, the sadness.
"NOT LIKE THAT, PLEASE Y/N, NOT IN A PROPER WAY!" he exclaimed, quickly stepping closer and pulling you into a tight hug. His hand moved into your hair, cradling the back of your head against his chest. "I didn't find a soulmate like Hannie found Lee Know, or Hyunjin his muse. Not like that," he mumbled, resting his chin on top of your head. You could feel the vibrations of his voice through his chest—soothing, steady, even as his heart raced wildly beneath it.
"But I do believe I found a life partner. Someone who understands me on a level that feels too magical to be from this world, despite not having a mark or anything to prove it," he explained, and you slowly began to understand. "I think you're my person, little one. And I don't need a sign from the universe to prove it. I've read about it a lot, and many people say soulmarks aren't a law of physics. Some people end up hating their soulmates. Others never find their other half, despite having a mark. Some fall in love with people other than the one their soulmark is paired with. So what I'm trying to say is—I don't care that we're not paired by fate. You're my person. And I want to be your person forever, if you'd have me. Fuck soulmates and soulmarks. My heart is yours, as long as you'll have it."
He was looking into your eyes now, his gaze sparkling with a kind of adoration you'd never seen before. You had seen glimpses of it—on days when he needed you most, on days when you made him laugh so hard he spilled water all over his mixing equipment, on days he spotted you in crowds of over a hundred thousand people cheering for him.
You cried out again, but this time it wasn't fear. It was relief. You weren't losing him. You were getting closer. He had just voiced everything that had been tightening around your heart for years and shaped it into words you had never been brave enough to say. Because you knew he was your person too.
"I'm so happy, Channie," you said, a laugh bubbling out of you between your sobs, your tears still falling uncontrollably. Chris chuckled too, pulling back slightly to wipe the dark makeup smeared beneath your eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie.
"Aww, little one, you look like a raccoon," he said affectionately, and the two of you burst out laughing. "There it is—my favorite sound. Promise me, no more tears around me. Just laughter, okay, baby?"
"I promise, Chan."
"Good," he nodded, leaning in to kiss the very faint birthmark on the corner of your lips—one that was barely visible, but still there. One he loved to admire from time to time.
That night, the boys found the two of you curled up on the living room couch, wrapped around each other with not even a millimeter of space between you.
The next morning, you woke up in Chan’s bed, tucked in as if the world outside didn’t exist—but his body was missing from beside you.
Your smile faltered for a moment, until you noticed a tray on his bedside table with coffee and breakfast, everything made exactly to your preferences. Next to it sat a single rose with a letter attached.
You opened it, immediately recognizing the handwriting—clean lines, perfect strokes, the kind of precision you would never expect to come from a boy’s hands. But this was Chan. Everything about him was neat, intentional, and carefully composed.
As you read, every lingering worry from the night before dissolved—the fear that it had all been a dream, or that he might have changed his mind and left you alone in his bed.
“Good morning, Little One!
It was extremely hard to leave you alone in my bed when you looked so peaceful and ethereally beautiful, but I have a photoshoot this morning. I went to your apartment and picked you up some clothes. Could you please get ready by noon so I can take you on a lunch date, baby?
I would be the happiest person alive if you did so.
Your Channie
P.S.: I left many kisses on your forehead before leaving. Don’t worry hehe”
As you looked at the clock, you realized you had roughly one hour to get ready, so you quickly got up and ran into the bathroom attached to his room, where you saw your clothes lined up neatly, a fresh set of towels, as well as your toothbrush and all your skincare.
There was no other man as attentive as Chan. You weren’t even fazed by him going to your apartment without you being there—you had shared more of your life with him than just your living space.
He must have gotten up super early to get all of this before his shoot. You made a mental note to thank him later.
After a quick shower, you were ready to start your skincare routine. You took a long look at your face in the mirror. First, you noticed that you were glowing. You were surrounded by the scent of Chan’s shower gel and the smell of clean linen coming from the towel wrapped around your body. Everything felt right.
You’re his person. He said so himself. Whatever you were, it didn’t feel temporary—it felt like something final. There was no going back from here, only forward. And that felt incredible.
But beyond the glow of your skin, you spotted a few small dark marks on your face—moles. One in the corner of your lips that had always been there, but this time it looked darker, more visible, almost striking. The others were on your forehead—three of them exactly—ones you had noticed years ago, too faint to see unless you looked closely. Now they were darker too, one even slightly larger, more prominent.
You didn’t think much of it. They didn’t seem like something to worry about.
So you went on with your day—on your date with Chan—who, for some reason, kept kissing those little spots, as if drawn to them without even realizing why.
There have been a couple of months since you and Chan started officially dating. Ever since then, he has gone out of his way to pull back on work so you could spend more time together, slowly building a life that feels even more intertwined with yours. It was easy, as they had a few months with lighter schedules—less to do and a plethora of songs already lined up for at least three releases.
He still worked hard, as he has no stop button—he said so himself—but everything felt less rushed and less stressful now that you were there, closer than before, which had seemed impossible in the months prior to his confession.
But now he’s back in his head again. A comeback and a tour are lining up, and his thoughts are starting to darken once more. He’s aware he will have to leave you for extended periods of time, even months at once, and that scares him to death. He trusts you, trusts what you’ve built, but he doesn’t want to leave you behind. He fears you’ll suffer, that you’ll start pulling away because of the distance and his hectic life.
He’s also stressed because he wants this comeback to be a big one. He wants to be more successful than they are right now, because years of training have wired him to believe there is no point where it’s “enough.” There are always bigger awards to win, bigger crowds to conquer, more people to please. It’s frightening, even if he knows he should be content with having you, because you already give him enough happiness.
His overthinking leads to withdrawal. He becomes distant—less texting, not coming home to you but instead spending nights on the studio couch or arriving home late when you’re already asleep, leaving again before you can wake up.
You miss him, but more importantly, you’re worried about him. You know he isn’t taking care of himself. You know that in pulling away, he isn’t only hurting you, but himself as well.
It comes to a breaking point when you don’t hear from him for two entire days. Not one word, no replies to your messages—despite your repeated attempts to reach him. Nothing. You don’t even know if he’s alive.
You find out from Han and Changbin that he hasn’t left his studio in two days. No one is allowed to enter, no food is being delivered—just a fridge stocked with drinks and snacks to keep him going.
You get through the JYPE building security easily; you’ve been cleared as a relative of an idol long ago, given your own badge to access restricted floors, including the one housing Chan’s studio.
As soon as you reach the door, you punch in your personal code—and it returns as incorrect.
Panic rises in your chest. He’s never done this. Never changed or restricted it. He did it with the boys, but not with you.
“Channie, baby…” you knock, calling out softly. “Please open the door.”
You hear shuffling, and through the small blurry window in the door, you see movement. But nothing happens. The lock never clicks, keeping you out—and somehow pushing you even further away from him.
“Please,” you try again. “You don’t have to talk to me. I don’t even have to stay if you don’t want me here. I’ll just drop off your pho and I’ll leave, if you want me to.”
That’s the last thing he wants—because he doesn’t want you to leave. He wants you there, just lounging on the couch, doing your own thing while he does his, but still there with him. In his presence. Close enough for him to pull you in, kiss you, hold you, whenever he needs.
But he can’t have that. It would be cruel to keep you glued to his side only to leave you behind again—to go chase dreams with his brothers while you wait for him, diligently, slowly breaking in his absence.
“Okay, I understand,” you say after minutes of silence and no response. Your voice is broken and weak, almost sickly, like you’re forcing the words through a lump in your throat. You’re trying to keep your tears at bay, but failing.
And Chan’s heart breaks—but he convinces himself it’s for the best. You’ll be angry at him now, but you won’t miss him as much while he’s on tour.
“I’ll leave the food at the door. Please make sure you eat. I love you.”
The words are so quiet, so fragile, that they still make his ears perk up. He hears the sincerity in them. You had never said it before. Neither of you had. He knew it was true—you loved him, and he loved you—but it had never been spoken out loud.
You leave the food at the door, just like you promised, and slowly start walking down the corridor, wiping your eyes as stray tears begin to fall.
Then you hear the door being thrown open and heavy footsteps behind you. You don’t even have time to turn around before a body collides with yours, arms wrapping tightly around your torso and lifting you into a bone-crushing hug. You yelp in shock, but immediately relax into his arms as you recognize his scent. It’s a little worn, not as fresh as usual—but it’s still him.
You hear his sniffles, and feel his arms tighten around you as he carries you back into the studio, fumbling slightly with the takeout bags but still refusing to let you go. He kicks the door shut behind him, drops the bags onto the desk, and then carefully maneuvers you onto the couch, lowering your body weight onto it while he keeps crying into your hoodie—his hoodie.
Your hands keep running through his hair, trying to quiet his sobs, soothing him in the process. You press small kisses to the top of his head, and slowly but surely, he begins to calm down.
Then he lifts his head, looking into your eyes. You’re both in the same state—bags under your eyes, exhausted, broken, and very much not okay.
“Can you say it again?” he whispers, his voice hoarse, nothing like the sweet, steady tone he usually uses with you.
You’re confused for a second, but then it clicks, and you smile softly.
“I love you, Bahng Christopher Chan,” you say firmly, gently moving his bangs out of his eyes before leaning in to kiss his right eyebrow.
“I love you, little one. Please forgive me,” he breaks, tears welling up in his eyes again.
You don’t say anything. You just pull him closer as he falls apart in your arms once more.
Once he calms down, you help him sit up and eat, and let him tell you why he pulled away for those two days. It makes sense—and at the same time, it doesn’t—but you can feel him relaxing more and more as each of his worries is voiced and gently unraveled.
“Channie, you silly, silly man,” you shake your head, scolding him lovingly. “I knew what I signed up for when I started dating you, and we’ve survived being apart more than once already. Us being in a relationship and having admitted our feelings won’t change that. I’ll miss you, yes—but just like before, I’ll visit you when it gets too hard, and I’ll keep calling you, texting you, being with you in every way I can except physically. I love you. That doesn’t change when things get harder. You’re my person. You will always be my person. That doesn’t just go away.”
And that’s all it takes.
His mind quiets. No more overthinking, no more dark spirals. Because he believes you—every word, every touch, every breath of reassurance. You’ve done this before, and you’ll be able to do it again and again if it means staying together. Which it does.
The next day, when he comes home from a full day of music video shooting, he poses an interesting question.
“Little one, did you know I have a mole in my eyebrow?”
Your brows scrunch together as you gesture for him to come closer. You had just been washing the dishes and were still holding the hand towel you’d used when you heard his enthusiastic “honey, I’m home” from the entrance of your apartment.
As he steps closer, his hands immediately slip around your waist, and he pecks your lips quickly while you try to move his bangs aside to inspect his eyebrow.
“The makeup artist told me she’s seen it before, but it got significantly bigger—to the point she had to put brow gel around it,” he explains.
You’re still looking at it, trying to figure out whether it’s anything concerning, when you suddenly remember that moment in his bathroom—when your own moles had become darker.
“It did get bigger and darker, indeed,” you tell him after a few seconds of silence, during which he just stares at your face, completely mesmerized by your beauty as you focus with such care and intensity on the tiny mole.
“But I don’t think it’s anything concerning. If you were worried, it happened to me before too—with this one.” You point to the mole in the corner of your lips, and he smiles widely at it.
“Aww, I love that little guy. It’s so unique and pretty—perfect for leaving kisses on,” he says, and immediately proves his point.
“Now that you mention it, I love kissing your eyebrow too. I’m pretty sure I kissed that exact spot yesterday.”
“Keep kissing it then,” he says cheekily.
“I will—but just to be sure, please ask the dermatologist to take a look at it next time you’re there, okay?”
“I will, little one. Just to make sure it’s nothing worrying.”
He seals his promise with a deep kiss, pulling you impossibly closer, making you squeal as he lifts you onto the kitchen counter. And suddenly, all talk of moles is forgotten.
After that, your mind starts noticing all his moles. Maybe, deep down, you’re worried it could be something serious. You never know—his skin is pale, and he undergoes a lot of beauty treatments as an idol, the most concerning for you being all the laser hair removal.
There is one prominent one on his collarbone that has certainly grown since you started dating. One near his hand is perfectly hidden in the small crease between his thumb and wrist. That one hasn’t grown, but it’s definitely darker. You love that one—whenever you kiss his hands, it’s the spot you like to gently graze with your lips.
You begin examining your own body too: small marks on your face, tiny spots like dark freckles scattered across your skin. Your chest is dotted with them, one sits on your knee, and more appear on the inside of your thighs. You’ve had them all your life, but now they seem more visible, more prominent—some even slightly larger.
The most prominent one, and yet barely noticeable to you, is behind your ear. Chan loves kissing that spot, always nibbling gently there as he buries his face in your hair. But you fail to connect the dots. You’re simply concerned for your and your partner’s health.
You’ve read many articles about it. You’ve even known people who underwent surgeries to have similar marks removed, so your worry only grows.
Eventually, you both go to the dermatologist together to have everything checked out. Chan isn’t particularly thrilled about the idea, but he sees how concerned you are and knows that it would ease your mind, so he agrees.
And there’s nothing of concern. Everything is confirmed to be fine.
So Chris leaves for tour, just as he’s supposed to, and you make him promise to watch for any changes—if any of his lighter spots darken again or if they grow.
But they don’t. And none of yours change either.
Communication starts to shift between you two as distance grows, but there’s nothing of concern. You’re both busy—he’s extremely busy—but you still talk, still rely on each other, still show up whenever the other needs you. It’s not like Chan’s earlier fears are coming true.
And yet, you start to feel empty without his presence. His touch. His kisses. It’s like all the life has been vacuum-sealed into a bag and packed into his suitcase as he travels to the other side of the world.
You feel almost sick. Your body aches, your eyes are sensitive and burning, your head feels heavy, and you’re constantly nauseous.
Chan feels the same, but he runs on adrenaline before every performance, so he pushes through. But at night, when he returns to an empty hotel room that smells nothing like you or home—no you to curl up with—it hits him like a train. By morning, he’s so drained he can barely get out of bed.
He’s the one who notices it first, after the makeup artist points it out again: his mole has shrunk.
He takes a closer look at the ones scattered across his face—near his eyes, on his cheek, the one in the crease between his thumb and wrist—and realizes they’re all fading.
Something clicks in his mind.
That night, he searches everything he can find, going through every corner of the internet. There’s an old saying that your moles mark all the places your past lover used to kiss you.
He never believed in it. He’s never heard of soulmarks being connected to moles or freckles, so he searches for proof that this isn’t something his mind is inventing. And eventually, he finds it—very few documented cases, scattered across the globe and across centuries.
And once he understands what it means, he doesn’t hesitate. He has his manager book the earliest flight home.
They darkened because of kisses. They grew because those kisses meant the world to both of you—seals of important moments in your relationship. And now they’re fading because they haven’t been kissed in months.
No underlying conditions. No dangerous changes.
Just soulmarks responding to love—darkening with reassurance, with “I love yous,” with every kiss given in love, passion, or pain.
You wake in the middle of the night to rushed knocks on your front door.
Chan, in his hurry to get to the airport, has forgotten his house keys, leaving him with no other option but to wait for you to wake up and let him in.
You’re groggy, every movement aching down to your bones—just like it has been for the past couple of weeks—but something inside you urges you to get out of bed anyway. As if your body and subconscious already know it’s important that you open that door right now.
You don’t even bother checking the peephole. Your building has high security—no one gets in who isn’t supposed to.
When the door opens and you squint against the bright hallway light, a tall, blurred figure stands in front of you. Before you can fully process it, he steps forward and pulls you into his arms.
Your body instantly relaxes, recognizing him—the familiar shape, the warmth, the scent that sinks into your skin.
It’s him. It’s Chan.
You don’t even have time to ask why he’s suddenly home in the middle of the night when he should be halfway across the world, because he’s already pulling you into the lit hallway.
Then he starts kissing you. Repeatedly pressing soft kisses to the spot near your lips—the same small mark he always loved—watching, wide-eyed, as it slowly begins to darken and grow again with every touch.
He moves to your forehead next, then behind your ear, tracing each mark carefully, examining them like they’re the most important thing in the world.
He laughs then—relieved, almost euphoric. Like he’s floating.
He was right. Everything makes sense now.
“Chan, stop!” you finally shriek, and he halts immediately, still smiling like a lovestruck idiot. “What the hell are you doing?”
He doesn’t answer at first. He just pulls you back into your apartment, switching on all the lights as if he needs you to see everything clearly.
“Everything makes sense, little one. Everything is perfect,” he says, dragging you along—not aggressively, but excitedly. Like he’s about to reveal something huge. Which, oh boy, he surely is. “I knew we were meant to be!”
“What are you on?” you stare at him in disbelief. “Why aren’t you in Mexico?”
“We have a concert in Argentina in a few hours, little one. Keep up.”
“THEN WHY ARE YOU HERE?!”
“Because we’re soulmates.”
“Don’t piss me off, Bang Chan,” you snap. “We’ve established that before.”
“Not like that, you silly goose,” he says, far too smug for someone who should be asleep on another continent. “We’re soulmates with a soulmark.”
If you were confused before, now you’re completely lost.
“What?” you blink. “No, I don’t have a soulmark. HAVE YOU GOTTEN A SOULMARK?? ARE YOU LEAVING ME?”
He recoils immediately, as if the thought alone offends him.
“Of course not. You’re my person. You’re stuck with me forever,” he says firmly, like the idea of leaving you—or anyone else being his soulmate—is absurd. “I just figured it out,” he adds, his smile turning softer, almost smug. “Our soulmark.”
"What?" you're in disbelief.
“The moles, baby,” he says, pointing at the one on his eyebrow—probably his most prominent one, now significantly lighter and smaller.
He tugs at the collar of his hoodie, revealing the one on his collarbone, now barely visible.
“They are our soulmark. They darken and they grow from kisses. The darkening is for frequency, and the size changes depending on the importance of the kiss.”
He points back to his eyebrow.
“This one grew when you kissed it after telling me you loved me for the first time.”
Then he moves on.
“This one, on my collarbone—you kiss it the most, so it’s the darkest.”
He pulls his sleeve up slightly, revealing the one near his wrist. In this light, it’s almost gone.
“And this one is the one you always kiss when you’re holding my hand.”
“Why are they gone then?” you ask, fear creeping into your voice. Maybe they faded because he doesn’t love you anymore?
“We’ve been away from each other for so long, without kisses, that they started to fade,” he explains gently. “That’s why we both felt so drained, so sick. It was our soulmate bond telling us we needed each other to be whole again.”
“Really? How are you so sure?” you tilt your head to the side, now curious.
“Try it,” he says, pulling you closer and crouching down so you can reach his eyebrow.
You kiss it gently—and truly, the mark becomes slightly more prominent. So you kiss it again. And again. It grows slowly, darkening little by little until it returns to how it looked before he left.
Then, all excited, you move to his collarbone and watch as the same thing happens again. Then his wrist.
You start laughing. It’s all so unbelievable, so calming, so magical.
“Oh my god, you’re my soulmate!” you exclaim, jumping into his arms as it finally clicks.
He catches you instantly, holding you with all his strength.
“Exactly, little one,” he says softly. “I’m your soulmate. And you’re mine. We were soulmates all along.”
In that exact place, your fate is sealed once again.
You feel it—like you always have—that you belong to each other, that there is no one else out there for you but Chan.
You didn’t need a mark to find the person you were meant to be with. All you needed was your intuition, and time—time to get to know each other, to trust each other on your own terms, and to build a bond that existed even without the certainty of fate confirming it.
It was the real reassurance that what you had has always been there, waiting to unfold. Something inevitable, despite every doubt. Something real. Something sacred.
Chan presses a kiss to your forehead—soft, grounding, familiar—and you close your eyes, breathing him in like home. Because he is home.
