"Come on! Look, look, he's right there," your very intoxicated friend says, relentlessly pulling your wrist in a direction you never intended to go in. The exit and the restroom are both in different directions. You don't need to go that way.
"No. Wait." You laugh, nervously, trying to appear fine with the way things are happening right now, when really, you feel your stomach turning uncomfortably.
"It's fiiine. I'll talk," she says, continuing to drag you closer and closer to where you don't want to be. Crushing on someone from afar is safe. This is not safe.
"No. It'll happen. Just give me a few minutes," you say, tugging back to guide both of you closer to the dance floor. Thankfully, your friend doesn't fight you anymore and lets you lead. "Just go dance before the place closes."
"Fine," she groans, as if the interaction between you and sir handsome over there is just as important for her as it is for you. "If I don't see you making out in five minutes, I'm gonna have to step in!" She shouts over the music, instantly getting lost in the crowd of people.
You know she'll forget about it. Five minutes is nothing when you're having a good time. The club will be closed before she even realizes it.
You stand there idly for a minute or so, really thinking about how you're going to approach this man. If anything, you're looking for any excuse to not walk up to him. He seems to be having a good conversation with his buddies... maybe it's not the right time. You don't want to intrude. Maybe it's just not meant to be, and this is supposed to be another night of you simply admiring.
You're there for your friends. It's your mentality as you start towards the direction of that dark-haired, tall drink of water, and walk right past him, heading straight for the bar.
Only one person is waiting when you get there, and they have their drink within a few seconds of you taking a seat. You order something clean, no alcohol. A couple shots were enough to keep your energy up for a while, but it's later now, and you're almost entirely sober. As the appointed designated driver, it is your job to ensure that you and your friends get home in one piece. If that means you sip on fountain drinks and water for the rest of the night, then so be it.
Once you acquire your cup of Sprite, you swiftly make your way past the most handsome person you've seen all nightâin a while, maybeâand go back to the table you and your friends selected when you first got in.
It's just you there, mindlessly people watching. So much is going on, just the thought of being in the middle of all of it is making your chest feel tight. The flashing lights are mildly irritating you, but at least the music isn't as loud where you sit.
You check your phone every once in a while, scrolling through your socials to hopefully kill some time. Occasionally, you lift your head to politely turn down invitations to dance. It's not in your cards for the night, even the security guard knows it based on the short, yet, amicable interaction you shared about why you're sitting alone.
Sometimes you wish you were more into outings like this. Dancing carelessly looks fun, but when you actually get out there, you overthink it. Talking to strangers and flirting looks fun, but you think about the concept of having to pique interest and being entertaining in order to keep your company, and it starts to seem less fun.
You feel eyes on you every once in a whileâa man who already has a dancing partner. She isn't facing him, but you think that if she were, he would not be looking at you as often as he is. His hands are on her hips and he's swaying with her, but he keeps glancing over at you. In an attempt to ignore him, your eyes sweep the room in search of your friends. Once you find them, your attention switches between them, partially to ensure that they're comfortable and safe, but also to shift your focus from that stranger.
The sound of a chair scraping the floor reaches your ears, the screech of metal instinctively making you turn your head, before you turn back around like you saw something you weren't supposed to see.
In the nicest way possible... What is he doing here? There are so many other tables. Why did he choose the only one that has someone there already?
"Hi."
The voice attached to the man is deep, but smooth. It's a short and simple greeting, yet it's enough to make you want to kick your feet like a teenage girl thinking about her crush.
"Hello," you respond, facing him to offer a kind smile. Almost like an apology for reacting like a guilty dog the second you saw it was him.
"Mind if I sit here?" He asks, fingers curling around the back of the chair.
"Not at all. You're fine," you answer, doing your absolute best to keep your legs steady. You can feel them wanting to bounce.
"Might be the quietest place that isn't the bathroom," he says, plopping down beside you with a worn sigh. He scans the sea of people, catching the confused expression of the man from the dance floor who kept glancing at you before. He then turns to you again, like he wants to say more.
"Those your friends?" He asks, noticing the way your gaze remains on certain people, like they are your safety and comfort in this space.
"Yeah," you respond, resting your chin on your hand. You feel his attention so strongly, and it's not something you're entirely comfortable with. You feel nervous and overly aware of his presence. Your stomach is doing flips, your fingertips tingling. It's not that he's doing anything wrong, it's that you don't get why he sat with you when there are plenty other tables to choose from. He'll notice how non-talkative you are and leave, won't he?
"You don't talk much, do you?" The stranger asks, fern green eyes scanning your face quickly when you turn to give him your attention. You refuse to be rude, even if he is the source of your spike in anxiety.
"Sorry," you utter, folding your hands together.
"What are you saying sorry for? You don't wanna talk, you don't wanna talk. I'm not gonna make you," he says, in an attempt to brush off your unnecessary apology.
"Thanks," you mumble.
"What are you having?" He asks, eyeing your practically empty glass.
"Sprite," you respond. "I'm driving my friends home later."
He hums in acknowledgment. "You've been sipping on ice cubes for the last five minutes. How 'bout another one?"
"No, it's okay. I don't need anything," you try to explain, but he's already getting up.
"Sprite, no alcohol mixed in or anything. Just Sprite," he says, breaking down the simple order. "Don't go anywhere," he teases, throwing a devastatingly handsome smirk at you. With that he's off to grab your drink.
Shiu is at the bar, chatting up a girl that can seemingly keep up with his wit.
"Hold on, pretty," the brunette says to his company when he catches Toji waiting at the bar. He turns to Toji, who's glancing over in your direction to see if you ignored what he said and walked away as soon as he left your side.
"So, which one caught your eye, tonight? Hold on, let me guess. The busty one in the tight pink dress?"
"No."
"The one with the ponytail? In the short, gold dress?"
"No," Toji responds, again, monotonously.
"It's the one in the tight jeans, isn't it?" Shiu asks, smirking as he eyes the girl down.
"No," Toji repeats. It's so obvious. He's making it obvious with the way he's only been looking at you. Shiu's detective skills must be getting rusty...
"It's the one sitting by herself, huh? In the long sleeve? Cargo pants?"
Or not.
"It is, isn't it?" Shiu asks, again, attempting to lure out the admission from his stoic friend, even though the lack of response told him everything. "Really? The Toji Fushiguro has his eyes on the introverted girl," he says, amused. "That's a first."
"Shut up," Toji bites.
"Hey, i'm not judging. You know what they say about the quiet ones," Shiu teases, raising his brows. "Anyways, good luck getting her. You see the way she's dodging these people left and right? The second someone comes close, she turns them away."
Toji thinks he's allowed to feel special for not receiving that treatment from you. He's here, waiting to buy you a drink, and you're still there, waiting for him to bring it to youâor at least that's what he assumes, based on the way you haven't moved from your spot.
"Listen, how about we make a little bet?"
Toji is listening, but his attention has yet to leave you. He's watching as you once again pick up your glass to drink the melted ice water that pooled at the bottom of your cup.
"If you can get in the girl's pants by the end of the night, i'll give you all the money I have in my wallet. You know I carry cash all the time." The man full on belly laughs, because he thinks it may be impossible. "I just know her legs are super glued shut."
Toji hums, like he's agreeing with Shiu's assumption, but surprises the man himself. "I'll pass. Not feeling it."
Though Toji does love a good wager, he's thought about this a little more thoroughly. This is potential blackmail. Shiu can be kind of a dick sometimes and evidence is his forte. He digs up every receipt, even if it's covered in cobwebs, and uses it against people. It can be as violent as a weapon, sometimes.
"Buzzkill. Don't tell me you're actually gonna try and chop it up with her. You have no shot with a sweet thing like that. She'll start greying prematurely with you."
"Whatever, man," Toji grumbles, grabbing his drink and yours from the counter before heading back in your direction.
"Hey," your new friend calls. "Sprite..." he says, pushing the cup over to you. "With nothing added. And I mean nothing. I almost said no ice so that it really would have nothing in it."
"Oh," you laugh, taking the straw he offers. "Thank you. How much do I owe you?" You ask, reaching for your wallet,
"Nah, don't worry about it," he answers, waving his hand before lifting his glass to his lips and taking a sip of the amber colored drink.
"Please, let me give you the money," you insist.
"No. Take the drink and forget about the money," he pushes back.
"Okay. Well... thanks, again," you say, before turning your attention back to your friends. You aren't too focused on the one grinding on a stranger, or the one in the corner of the room with a tongue down her throat, but the one who looks like she's getting swept off her feet. She looks like she's enjoying herself, laughing as she dances completely out of sync with a stranger. He's spinning her around every once in a while and she's full on cheesing. You know she'll be telling all of you about it when the night ends.
"Are you normally the babysitter of your friend group?" The man beside you asks, shifting his gaze from the dance floor to you. "You're watching all of them like a hawk."
You blink, snapping out of your little daze. "Hm?"
"Your friends are out there enjoying themselves, right?" You nod, in response to his observation. "And you? Are you always the one that stands on the sidelines, taking care of them?" He asks, leaning forward to get a look at you.
"I don't usually go out, but I know how my friends are, so when I do, I just go into the default role of keeping them safe and making sure they're alright."
The man hums. "That..." he sighs heavily. "...sucks. Why are you somewhere you don't even wanna be?" He laughs, because if you dig real deep into the question, you can go on and on for a few hours, just answering and branching off the question. "That's a dumb thing for me to ask."
He notices you haven't taken a single sip of your drink, and knows what he has to do. He pours some of your drink into hisâweird combinationâbut if it helps bring you the slightest bit of comfort, he doesn't mind.
"It's clean. Look," he says, taking a sip of his newly mixed drink. Gorgeous, fern-colored eyes stay pinned to your eyes as he swallows the sip.
"Oh, I didn't mean- That's not what I was... It's-"
"You alright?" He asks, lips curling when you stop buffering and sigh, defeatedly, unable to get your thoughts out.
"Sorry," you manage, your gaze derailing from his and going back to the familiarity of your friends.
"What are you saying sorry for, now? For being cautious?"
"You bought me a drink and I made you look like a bad guy," you explain, unwrapping the straw and dipping it into your drink before finally getting a taste of the refreshing beverage.
"You don't know me and I don't know you. In a dingy place like this, you can't exactly accept drinks from strangers without being suspicious. That being said, I think i'd be a little disappointed in you if you took a sip without hesitation."
To that, he receives an unexpected reaction. You giggle. He thought you'd be annoyed, or have finally found your reason to walk away from him. Most people don't like being called a disappointment, especially by strangers who don't know them, so he would have understood if you left him there, but you didn't. You found it amusing.
"What's so funny?" He asks, playfully, fighting the urge to grin when you turn away to futilely hide your laugh.
"Nothing," you respond, still not looking at him in fear of your nervous giggles worsening.
"Saw a couple guys walking up to you earlier. Why'd you stomp on their balls?"
You smile, amusedly, a laugh easily pulled from you, again. He has such a way with words.
"They were plastered and I don't think they would have wanted to just sit here and talk to me," you respond.
"Why's that?" He asks, taking another sip of his drink. You may be right, because he sees one of the men that approached you sloppily making out with a girl against the wall, but he wants to hear you out, anyway. Who wouldn't want to listen to a nice girl like you?
"I don't know... I just don't have much to say," you answer, smiling sheepishly.
"Why not? Just say what's on your mind. You won't see most of these people ever again, anyway."
Toji didn't realize that he just gave you an "easy for you to say" response, until you silently nodded before turning your attention back to the dance floor. Clearly, you aren't the type to argue your point.
"Hey," he calls, tapping your arm. "Wasn't trying to be a dick by saying that. You're doing fine, by the way. You know, with the talking. I'm pretty invested in our conversation."
"It's okay. I'm better at listening," you admit, throwing in a smile to show that there was no harm done with what he said.
"Yeah? You like when people talk your ear off?"
You nod. "It's just easier, because it means that I don't have to lead the conversation. Sometimes, people don't even realize how much they talk, until I say a few words."
He hums, watching the way your eyes dart back and forth across the room to keep track of all your ducklings.
"Am I making it hard on you?" He asks, focused on your face and how your eyes halt their scanning of the room.
"No," you respond, turning to look at him for a couple seconds. Your eyes immediately dart to the scar that strikes through his lips, then quickly go up to meet his eyes for short stretches of time.
"Should I make it harder on you?" He asks, quickly taking in your features again before you turn away. He watches your lips. Sees the way the corners curl and how they press together. Your cheeks puff up and your eyes crinkle. It all evolves into that giggle he could hear over and over again.
"If you want to," you respond, still smiling.
"Okay, then," he says, with a sly smirk. "You have your eye on anyone here tonight?" He picks up his glass and takes another sip of his slightly fizzy drink. It's still weird, even when he was the one who made the decision to demonstrate the safety of your drink.
"No, it's a quick stop and go for everyone when I tell them I don't want to dance."
"Ah. If you weren't here with your friends, would you go home with anyone?" He asks, boldly. Some crazy, ridiculous part of him wants to hear you say him, but he thinks your reserved self would much rather scoop your eyes out than say something like that.
"No, because I wouldn't be here," you respond, simply.
"Okay, the question is being rephrased," he says, grinning when you chime out another giggle. He can see the way your shoulders shake slightly every time.
"Say your friends weren't wasted, right now... They're able to hang on their own, stomp on guys' balls like you've been doing for... fuck knows how long. Are you going home with any one of the guys you've talked to tonight?"
"No," you say, laughing at that returning phrase.
"No?" He asks, like he's waiting to see if there's a 'but' to your response. "Not even the guy who's been keeping an eye on you?" He nods towards the guy on the dance floor, earning a small shake of your head.
"No. I don't... it's not my thing," you elaborate, knowing it's a lame thing to say in a room full of people who have going home with someone as their end goal for the night. Maybe that's his end goal, too.
"Why's that?" He questions further, watching the way you slowly begin to crack under his full attention. You start playing with your fingers, feeling the smooth texture of your nails, digging the blunt ends into the pads of your thumbs.
"I don't know... I just want something real."
"Like?" He asks, wondering what someone like you considers to be real.
Humming in thought, you consider the best way to phrase it. You know exactly what you want, but what if it sounds stupid out loud? What if he tells you that? He said it himself, you most likely will never see most of these people again, which means the logic applies to him as well. He can say what he wants. He can judge you as he pleases.
"Like?" He repeats when you just stop. Stop humming, stop doing more than just scanning the room for the comforting visual of your friends. "What's real to you?"
"Uh," you laugh. "No, it's nothing crazy."
"Then there shouldn't be any fear of judgement from me, right?" He asks.
"I guess not... I'm just not very lucky, is all."
"What does that even mean?" He leans forward against the table, trying to get a better look at your face, trying to read the expression you display as you speak.
There's a sense of hopelessness in your eyes as you finally let the words flow. "What I want... I can't find it. It's starting to seem more and more unrealistic the more I look for it."
"What is it that you're looking for exactly? Because I can guarantee that if you have no standards, you would find someone so easily in a place like this. Not like winning the jackpot, but definitely someone."
Your hopelessness only worsens. "I want someone who wants all of me, but maybe that's too much to ask for. I mean," you laugh, veiling the self induced sting you feel in your chest. "I don't think anyone wants to be with a sponge."
"A sponge?" He repeats, finding amusement in the term.
"Someone who just absorbs things," you explain, vaguely.
Toji interprets this as a jab at your preference for listening over talking. You don't pick elaborate any further, but he doesn't let the conversation drop. Your calmness and stillnessâit's alluring, even during your mini self deprecation session. You are your own quiet little whirlpool of devaluation and he can't help but want to go down the spiral.
"You're a pretty functional sponge," he teases, appreciating the twitch of your lips. "Just need to be wrung out by people who get it."
"Sponge," you pronounce, like it's a nonsensical word.
"Mhm, a very functional one. Clearly, you're absorbing what i've been saying to you, right?" He asks, watching as you nod in response. "And you're making use of it, wringing out responses. I'd say it's a pretty smooth back and forth conversation between us, right now."
God, the way you smile to yourself shouldn't have him feeling the way he does, but he can't find it in himself to look away. Not when it looks like he just gave you the answer to your most difficult equation. You're smiling like he found the final missing piece to your thousand piece puzzle, like he fixed something you had already resigned to leave alone because you didn't think it could be fixed.
"Sponge," he says to himself, just for the hell of it, following it with a chuckle of amusement. He turns to you when he sees you practically jumping out of your chair.
"Sorry, I have to go. My friend... she just ran to the bathroom. Thank you for the drink and for the talk."
He takes a napkin from the napkin holder that's in front of him and pulls a black permanent marker out of his pocket. The napkin is dragged down the table until it's within your reach and the marker is extended towards you. You stare blankly at him, trying to remain unassuming despite what the signs clearly point to. He pulls the cap off when you just stand there before holding the marker out in front of you, again.
Finally, you take it, tentatively, careful to not brush your fingers against his. Leaning against the counter, you scribble once before looking up at him for approval. No words are spoken, but his little smirk says it all, so you keep scribbling until your unique combination is completely written out.
You stand up straight and return both the napkin and the marker to him. He admires your handwriting for a few seconds and takes in the numbers for the first time. One thing instantly stands out to himâthere is no full name, only your initials. Another puzzle for him to solve.
Toji stands from his chair, the beginnings of an amused grin causing his lips to twitch. He rests one hand on the napkin and watches you fiddle with your nails. The way you coil in on yourself as he merely observes you is precious.
"If I call, you're gonna pick up, right?" He asks, tapping his fingers against the table.
You smile, nodding affirmatively.
"Even if it's late? You'll keep your ringer on for me?"
Again, you nod. "Yes."
"Good. I'll do my best to keep an eye on the clock."
You don't even know his name. You want to know his name. If he doesn't forget about you and your phone number is put to use, you might find out, and maybe you'll get to tell him your name.
"Okay. Well... goodnight," you say, wishing you didn't have to leave so soon. This was most definitely the highlight of your night, and the fact that it was cut short is disappointing.
"Goodnight," he says in return, taking in your gentle smile one more time before you head in the direction of the restrooms.
Toji multitasks. He puts the cap back on the marker, folds the napkin you wrote on and stuffs it in his pocket, all while keeping track of you until you disappear into the hallway, no longer able to be seen.
a steve harrington miniseries: pregnancy plot, fem!reader, season five adjacent, angst, eventual smut. no real timeline, open to scenario suggestions and requests âĄÌ
[this series will include a pregnant reader, discussion of pregnancy, abortion and pregnancy symptoms, i.e vomiting and nausea. please protect yourself and do not read if you would find anything listed upsetting]
Hi! I really love the way you write. 𫶠I would like to place a request please
Si Eun has a girlfriend who kisses him with red lipstick that doesn't easily come off.
He won't stop going to class because of it.
kisses gone wrong
yeon sieun x fem! reader (one shot) | weak hero class 1 â
pairing: yeon sieun x fem! reader
wc: 2.3k
warnings: usage of y/n, intended lowercase, for storytelling purposes they arenât attending an all boys school, established relationship
genre: fluff, slight comedy
summary: you cover sieunâs face in playful kisses before school, not realizing your brand new red lipstick is extra waterproof. when it refuses to come off, you panic⊠but sieun stays weirdly calm about walking around with your lipstick stamped all over him.
you were sleeping over at sieunâs place on a school night â something he rarely allowed. he always claimed he couldnât concentrate on homework when you were around, but he always said it with that slight blush on his cheeks, that told you he didnât mean it in a bad way.
but sometimes he let it happen anyway, like today for example. because at the end of the day he liked having you around, even if heâd never say it out loud.
he liked making instant noodles with you, liked watching whatever dumb show you insisted was âsuper trending online right nowâ even though heâd never heard of it, liked the way you fell asleep on his chest and the way your hair got sprawled all over his pillows by morning.
it all felt so stupidly intimate.
something no one else ever got to touch.
this morning, heâd woken up first, of course. and had to remind you at least three times that you were gonna be late for school, before you finally crawled out of bed.
and then came his least favorite part of your sleepover aftermath: being the âwaiting boyfriend.â
he was already fully ready, uniform neat, hair perfect, bag packed â while you were still in front of the mirror, sitting at his desk, going through your entire morning ritual.
he sat on the edge of the bed and watched you curl your hair, blend your makeup, do all the things he absolutely did not understand but found himself unable to look away from.
âyou do this⊠every day?â he asked, genuinely confused. it just seemed like an exhausting amount of effort to him.
âyeah, i do. i like to feel good about myself.â you smiled at him through the mirror, adding your final touches. then you turned around, bright and proud âand with my makeup done, i get to do this!â
before he could react you grabbed him by the collar and smothered his face in kisses, one after another after another. he froze, blinking rapidly, his entire body stiffening like youâd just short-circuited him.
you pulled back, already laughing.
his face was covered in red lipstick marks â bright, fresh, and very obviously from you.
âhehe, now youâre branded as mine.â you grinned, turning the mirror towards him so he could see the damage.
sieun stared.
then stared harder.
expression flat, but his ears a violent shade of red.
ââŠdoes this come off?â he asked finally, voice painfully plain.
âyes, of course! see?â you grabbed a cotton pad, poured micellar water on it, wiped your own lips confidently.
but nothing came off.
barely a smear.
his eyes flickered from your lips, to the cotton pad, to your lips again âit⊠didnât come off, y/n.â his voice was slow and cautious, like he was trying to run calculations on a situation he absolutely could not compute. and underneath that calm exterior, his brain was exploding.
you stared at him for a second.
âwhat?â
you rubbed at your lips again. then again.
nothing.
you frowned, flipped the lipstick over, and there it was in microscopic letters: extra waterproof.
you let out the most awkward little giggle and slowly turned to sieun, holding the tube up like a confession âum⊠soooâŠâ
he looked at the packaging. then at your lips. then back at the packaging.
another sigh â long, tired, very him.
âwhatever. weâre gonna be late.â he said, heading to the door and already sliding into his shoes.
âwaitâ wait, youâre ACTUALLY going to school like this??â you shouted, practically sprinting after him to the front door.
âi canât skip school. itâs fine.â he said casually.
you just stared at him, because this was the same boy who hated pda, who barely let you hold his hand in public unless the sun was setting and literally no one was around.
half the school didnât even know you two were dating, thatâs how discreet he was.
and yet here he was. calm and completely serious about going out looking like this.
the walk to school was torture.
you thought he would be the flustered one, but no, somehow you ended up blushing harder than sieun, who walked beside you like he didnât have your bright red kisses stamped all over his face.
students stared. whispered. pointed.
because to be fair it didnât take a genius to connect the dots: your perfectly done red lipstick + his face covered in the exact same shade = you two were not subtle. at all.
you tugged at his sleeve, mumbling âsieun⊠seriously⊠itâs not too late to turn back home, people are staringââ
âignore them.â he said calmly, as if it was nothing.
you swore he was blushing this morning. you knew it.
but now?
nope. composed. annoyingly unbothered.
you, meanwhile, were ready to dissolve into thin air.
but nothing prepared you for entering the class.
the moment suho looked up from his desk and saw you two in the doorway, his stoic face twitched⊠and then completely cracked. he doubled over, laughing, full, uncontrollable, borderline wheezing laughter.
âno way. no freaking wayââ he wheezed, pointing directly at sieun âbro, whatâ what happened to your faceââ
âshut up.â sieun muttered, already heading to his seat.
but suho was only getting started.
âwoah, sieun,â he said, laughing harder âi didnât know you were a loverboy like that.â
you felt your soul leave your body.
suho came to sieunâs desk, eyeing the red stains like he was inspecting a crime scene evidence.
âaish man seriously? at least have the decency to clean your face before showing up like this!â he added, shaking his head with exaggerated disappointment.
âi tried to wash it off!â you blurted out defensively âitâsâ itâs waterproofââ
âclearlyâŠâ suho snorted âand you y/n, did you attack him? or is this your way of marking territory?â
you immediately covered your burning face with your hands.
sieun sent suho a glaring look, definitely a warning.
suho just smirked, still amused, still teasing, but with that soft glint in his eyes that said he wasnât actually being mean.
âunbelievable,â he sighed dramatically âyou two show up like this and expect me not to say anything? get real.â
and the rest of the school day didnât get any better after this.
if anything, it got worse.
because suho decided that teasing you two was now his full-time job.
every time you or sieun made an eye contact with him, he puckered his lips dramatically and made the most obnoxious kissy noises.
mwah mwah mwah.
sieun just rolled his eyes so aggressively you were surprised they didnât fall out.
âignore him.â sieun muttered under his breath, not even looking up from his notebook.
âi am ignoring him.â you whispered back.
you werenât. not even a little.
by lunch, suho was still at it.
you sat down with your tray, sieun beside you, and instantly suho leaned forward with a smirk, cheeks full like a chipmunk.
âsoââ he began, talking through a mouthful of rice âiâm gonna be honestâ sometimes i thought you two werenât even dating. like, i seriously thought you were just pranking meââ
âsuhoâŠâ you groaned, burying your face in your hands.
but he kept going.
âi mean, no hand-holding, no hugging, nothingââ
sieun shot him a death glare.
suho ignored it.
âbut today?â suho pointed a chopstick at you, then at sieun âtoday proved me wrong. because wow. that wasâ that was some serious dedication, y/n.â
you choked on your water.
he turned fully to you now, squinting.
âactuallyâ how did you get him to sit still for that?â he asked âlike, genuinely. this guy flinches when someone pats him on the shoulder. did you tie him down? drug him? hypnotize him? i need to knowââ
âcan you chew,â sieun cut in sharply âbefore you talk?â
suho blinked.
and sieun didnât stop there.
âand honestly,â he added with that cold edge only he had âitâs no wonder no oneâs kissing you. you eat like an animal.â
you wheezed.
suho put a hand over his heart like heâd been mortally wounded.
âwow,â he whispered dramatically âhurtful. completely uncalled for. iâm reporting this to the ministry of friendship.â
sieun just rolled his eyes and calmly stabbed another piece of kimchi.
you bit your lip to stop from smiling.
because even though he looked annoyedâŠ
his ears were pink.
however that wasnât enough for suho, so he continued ây/n, you hear that? you really donât care that youâre kissing a guy who spits venom from his lips?â
you opened your mouth to respond, but he kept going.
ârespectfully, y/n⊠how? why? are you okay? blink twice if he cursed you.â
you kicked him under the table.
âOWâ okay, okay, iâm done,â he groaned, rubbing his shin but still grinning like an idiot âiâm just saying. brave of you. someone had to say it.â
the walk home was quiet at first â the kind of quiet that wasnât awkward, just⊠full. full of all the things you wanted to say but didnât know how.
you kept sneaking glances at sieun, who walked beside you with his hands at his sides, hair falling into his eyes, looking like he was pretending none of today happened.
finally, you couldnât take it anymore.
âsieunâŠâ you murmured, tugging lightly at his sleeve âiâm really⊠really sorry about all of that. i didnât mean for you to go to school looking likeââ
âlike someone beat me with your lipstick?â he said flatly.
you winced âyes. exactly. i swear i thought it wasnât waterproof andâ i promise, when we get home, iâll try everything to get it off. oil cleanser, micellar, evenââ
ây/n.â
you blinked. his voice was quiet. careful.
he paused in the middle of the sidewalk and looked at you with that intense, unreadable gaze he got when he was fighting himself internally.
there was the faintest pink dusting his cheeks.
âi didnât⊠mind.â
your breath hitched.
âhuh?â
he looked away, ears turning red now too âi said i didnât mind.â
you stared at him, stunned.
his fingers twitched like he wanted to hide his face in his sleeves, but instead he kept talking, words a little rushed, like he wanted them out before he lost the nerve.
âit was embarrassing,â he admitted âobviously. and suho wonât shut up about it for a month.â
a tiny, awkward pause.
âbut⊠it felt kind of nice.â
you blinked again âniceâŠ?â
he nodded once, stiff but sincere.
âthat everyone saw.â
a beat.
âthat youâre mine.â
your heart flipped.
âand iâm yours,â he added quietly âwithout us having to⊠do anything extra.â
the air went warm between you, buzzing with something soft and shy and overwhelmingly tender.
you stepped closer, just a little, and his eyes flickered to your red lips for half a second before he tore them away, flustered beyond saving.
âsoâŠâ you whispered, smiling softly âyou liked my lipstick attack?â
he groaned âdonât call it that.â
you laughed and looped your arm through his.
he let you.
and he didnât complain once the whole way home.
BONUS à»ê±:
the moment you two got back to his apartment, you dropped your bag and marched straight to the bathroom like a soldier on a mission.
âsit.â you ordered, pointing at the edge of his bed.
sieun raised an eyebrow, but obeyed â a little too quickly, honestly â sitting stiffly with his hands in his lap, eyes following you as you gathered every makeup remover product known to mankind.
âokay. round two. this time it will come off.â
he muttered âi said i donât mindâŠâ
âshh,â you said, climbing onto your knees in front of him âi mind. youâre not going to bed looking like you got mauled by me.â
âi did get mauled by you.â he mumbled.
your hands froze. face heated.
he did not just say that.
âsâshut up..â you whispered.
his lips twitched â dangerously close to a smirk. a rare sight.
you dipped a cotton pad in cleansing oil and gently cupped his chin.
the moment your fingertips touched his face, sieun went rigid.
like someone unplugged him.
ârelax..â you said softly.
âi am relaxed..â he lied, shoulders up to his ears.
you rolled your eyes and began wiping away. except⊠the red stains barely budged.
you scrubbed a little harder.
âow.â
âsorryââ
âitâs fine.â he said instantly, even though his eye was twitching.
you tried again.
nothing.
you pulled back, holding the pad up. âokay⊠why is it not coming off? this is literally cleansing oil.â
he stared at the pad â clean as your crimes â then looked at you.
ââŠmaybe itâs a sign.â he said quietly.
you blinked âa sign of what?â
his voice dropped, soft and low and stupidly sweet.
âthat you should⊠leave it.â
your breath stalled.
he met your gaze for half a second before looking away, ears red again.
âi meant what i said earlier,â he muttered âi like it. even if itâs embarrassing.â
you couldnât help it â a smile pulled at your lips, slow and warm.
you reached out, brushing your thumb gently across one of the stubborn stains on his cheek.
âyouâre cute like this.â you whispered.
his inhale was sharp.
âd-donât say stuff like that.â he said, voice cracking.
âwhy not?â
âbecause,â he muttered, eyes flicking anywhere but you âi wonât⊠be able to think straight.â
you grinned.
âgood.â
he stared at you for a few seconds and then, with all the awkward, quiet determination in the world, he leaned forward and nudged his forehead against yours.
not a kiss.
not yet.
just a tiny, shy, warm press.
âyouâre the one who attacked me,â he whispered âbut iâm the one losing my mind right now...â
âi have a girlfriendâ âi have a boyfriendâ i have a longing for the most exquisite gothic romance, for centuries of eternal love where decay cannot touch us.
summary: You get it, you do, but your head is spinning and you can't stand the silence. So you make a mess.
warnings: 18+ , MDNI, mentions of trauma, angst, miscommunications, alcohol consumption, swearing, crying, hurt/comfort (kind of?), lmk if i missed anything!!
A/N: this takes place in the Family dinner universe, i reccomend reading it before this, but it can be read as a stand-alone as well!! i can't say absolutely nobody asked for this anymore because you guys were so sweet and kind about the last one! i love them too much and i wanna write these little blubrs from this world. btw!! heavily influenced by the likes of @pretentious-blonde , @andvys and so many other people writing soft! steve. i still haven't found a nickname i like for reader. also! look, it's the fist chapter title from a song by the man himself. can you believe?!
âWhat if something happened to her?â
âIâm sure sheâs fine Steve, sheâs an adult, she can take care of herself. Plus, you said it yourself, you heard someone shouting something at you in the background. That means, she wasnât alone. Sheâll be fine.âÂ
Steve heard the words but they werenât catching onto anything in his brain. As they say, they went in one ear and out the other. His hands tightened around the wheel and he exhaled loudly as his brain went haywire from the speed at which his thoughts were running around.Â
He shouldâve called you, shouldâve insisted heâd come over. He shouldâve answered the phone, shouldâve assured you that he couldnât stop thinking about you, that he hasnât cut an onion in any other way than you showed him since, that he already was stocking up on that strawberry-vanilla jam that you loved for your breakfast oatmeal, that he was having trouble falling asleep again, without your permanently cold feet pressing to his. But he didnât. He wanted to. But he also wanted to pace himself, not to scare you away, then he was just too tired and now he might have fucked it all up. His brian was running a million miles.Â
But then, he knew it was a little too good to be true. He knew that while you were the best thing that happened to him in long-long years, you canât just take away his pain, anxieties, his nightmares. He knew it also wasnât fair, putting all that on you, even unsaid. But could anyone really blame him for hoping? For hoping that letting himself have this one, just one really good thing, breaking a pattern - not the cycle, he wasnât delusional, but a pattern, for sure - the other not so good things might look a little brighter. And they kind of did. And now he doesnât even know if you ever want to see him again at all. He was trying to tell himself that you didnât mean it, well, not all of it, that he could still fix it. He just had to find you first.Â
What he didnât know, what he couldnât have known is that it all started with a stupid question last night.Â
The stupid question went like this:Â
âSo, how are things going with Casanova?â
Liv was never one for subtlety. Since sheâs seen Steve drop you off at the bar one night, she never misses an opportunity to tease you a little bit, to make you blush with her questions. But this was the first time, your smile didnât quite reach your eyes when you started talking.Â
âYou know, weâre good.â
âUh-ohâ Nina chimed and you immediately felt like you had to explain.Â
âNo, no, no, everythingâs fine, itâs just⊠I donât know, weâve been so busy these past weeks, we keep missing each other. We were supposed to spend the last weekend together but Will, one of his friends, had this weird dizzy spell and migraine and he had to run to the hospital with him, âcause his mom was out of town. I offered to go anyway but he said itâs a fragile situation. Then I had to do inventory at the library, I was just drained by the end of the day, then an old lady in town had a broken water pipe he had to fix, then as you guys know Dylan broke up with Jess, which took nobody but him by surprise but I had to take care of him and we just couldnât make it work.âÂ
âBut he still calls, right?âÂ
âHe does, Iâm just tired of only hearing him through the phone thatâs all.âÂ
âHave you guys had the talk yet?âÂ
âWhat talk?â
âGirl, donât play with me, the boyfriend-girlfriend talk?âÂ
The boyfriend-girlfriend talk? Jesus, Nina, what are we, 14?âÂ
âHey, fuck you! Youâre never too old for clarity, bitch!â Liv and you both snorted at that but Nina was right and you knew that.
It was the first time in about three months that you were anxious. You sort of clocked from the first moment that you probably had to be the one with the steady hand here. The one who acts like they know what theyâre doing, even if you donât. The one who radiated calm energy. You felt like if you showed just how scared you were, he might get scared too and run away. Liv once joked that you sounded like you were trying to get a rescue dog to trust you. You laughed it off but it wasnât completely off-base, if you were being honest. You didnât necessarily want to be so careful but you felt like you had to be. It was a delicate little dance, what you two were doing and you didnât want to take a wrong step and ruin it all.  Â
âYouâre right, Nina, okay? I know youâre right.âÂ
âLook, I know itâs scary, I know itâs been a while for you, to open up like this, to let him in, to allow yourself to feel enthusiastic like this, itâs all a little new, I know it feels like youâre learning to walk again and youâre taking baby steps and from what I can tell, heâs kinda the same. Which makes everything just a little bit harder. But you canât keep running away from this question just because youâre scared of not liking his answer.âÂ
âItâs only been, what, three months?â You ask like you havenât been counting. âIsnât it too early though? Maybe he doesnât know yet. Maybe he hasnât even thought about it.âÂ
âBabe, have you thought about it?âÂ
Youâre reluctant but after a beat you say:
âYes.âÂ
âAnd do you know?âÂ
âYes, but-âÂ
âNo buts! Youâve thought about it, you want this dude, if you have to water yourself or your needs down, to be digestible for him then maybe heâs just not the one!âÂ
You knew it was more complicated than that, you knew people worked in much more mysterious and inconsistent ways but it was so easy to just get angry. You were overworked and exhausted, you were missing Steve, you felt like youâve been stretching yourself way too thin lately and instead of going home, alone, and drinking a tea in your cold, dark apartment, maybe letting yourself cry your little heart out and get a good nightâs sleep, you decided that Nina was absolutely right and you started throwing back tequila shots like there was no tomorrow.Â
And although you blacked out around 2 AM, it was a sore realisation that there indeed was a tomorrow. The first thing you felt was the heavy eyelids. You could barely open them up and even when you did, it hurt. Your lashes stuck together, shoulders and body stiff from probably not moving a goddamn inch all through the night. Synuses clogged, you try to take a breath through your mouth which also hurts. Your throat scratchy from the cigarettes smoked, tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth from the dehydration. You groan as you bring your hands up to your face, squeezing your head together, hoping you might be able to stop the dull thudding you could feel was coming on. With a fucking vengance. Your groan, roll over and try to hide from the pressure, from the light, from the world, but itâs no use. After groaning and moaning for a while, you finally decide that it wonât get better if you just keep lying there.Â
When you finally manage to open your eyes and are able to take your surroundings in properly, you notice with horror that youâre not in your bedroom. After a couple of minutes of sheer terror, thinking you just went and fucked it all up, suddenly you strat noticing familiar details. A shirt youâve surely seen before, a pair of heels you think might belong to you although youâve never worn them, a picture in a frame that youâre in. So is Nina and Liv. So the night turned into a sleepover. Thank god. You crawl out of bed, almost feeling like the alcohol is still evaporating from your system through your skin. You make it to the kitchen and it almost feels like a fucking miracle.Â
âHey, gi-â Nina canât finish her sentence because the moment the smell of coffee and something cooking on the stove hits your nose, you can feel the bile rising in your throat and you know that you have about 26 seconds to get above a toilet before throwing up the contents of your stomach on the floor. It hurts in every way possible. Besides the very literal sour taste, you also taste the regret, the shame, the exhaustion and your sadness you tried so hard to push down with all the tequila shots. You hated yourself when you got like this. Avoidant and defiant of your vulnerability and sadness, precisely because it almost always resulted in this. All of it bursting out of you, granted, not always so literally. Thatâs when you start crying too. Pathetic you think to yourself. You donât really hear the door knob click, you only notice Nina when she crouches down beside you, running soothing circles on your back with her palm, setting a glass of water next to you.Â
âItâs okay, babe, Iâm here, youâre okay.â She keeps holding you and you keep crying for a good ten minutes before the sobs start calming a little. You keep clinging to Nina as she makes you drink the whole glass of water.Â
âCome on, thereâs a couch, a throw blanket and some grade A hangover cure calling your name.âÂ
You give her a wet chuckle and nod softly.Â
âOkay, so!â Nina claps her hands together when you make it to the couch, and it makes you flinch. âShit, sorry! No clapping from now on! So, I have coffee, I made a loaded omelet for when your stomach calms down a little, I have coke in the fridge and Iâve already put some ibuprofen on the coffee table there. Anything else Iâm missing?âÂ
âNo, thank you! This is already plenty.â You say while considering submitting Nina for sainthood and reaching for the ibuprofen. âHowâs Liv? She still asleep?âÂ
âUhm, I donât know, she hasnât called yet.âÂ
âWait, is she not staying here?â
âNo, babe, she went home. You donât remember?âÂ
âGod, no, I think I blacked out around the third round of shots.â
âOh, shit.â There was something in Ninaâs voice that made your stomach twist again, not with being sick this time. Or maybe, you didnât know, yet.Â
âOh, no, what did I do?âÂ
âNo, no, itâs fine! Itâll be fine, you just might have to make a phone call, thatâs all.âÂ
âPhone callâ seems to spark something in your mind. You called Steve last night.Â
âOh, no, no, no, no, noâ you groan while curling into yourself on the couch.Â
âOkay, how much do you remember?âÂ
âI literally just remembered that I called him.âÂ
âOkay, do you remember what happened after?âÂ
You groan, well, more like whine or squeal.Â
âDo you want me to tell you or do you wanna stay in denial for a little longer?âÂ
âNo, rip off the bandaid please! I need to know if I just ruined everything.âÂ
Nina snorted.
âYou called him from the bar. Knew his number by heart, even after all that alcohol, which was kind of impressive, if Iâm being honest. He didnât answer, it went to voicemail and you decided to leave one. You told him heâs probably out and that you are too, that you could be out together, that you missed him, it was really very sweetâ she took a breath and you braced yourself. Until:Â
âThen you started saying some of the stuff we talked about. That you deserve to know whatâs going on with you two, went on a little bit a tangent about communication-âÂ
âFuck me, the irony of that coming from the girl making a drunk phone call from the bar, at 3 in the morningâŠâÂ
âYeah, that part was a little roughâ Nina canât help but chuckle. âYou told him, you really liked him but that now you didnât really know where you stood and that you deserved better.âÂ
âWhat?! No, no, no, fuck, no! Oh, my god, I really did fuck up.â You started scrambling for the phone. It rang and all you could do was bounce your knees as you waited, begged for someone to answer. Pick up, pick up, pick up, please, just pick up so I can apologize. You muttered in front of yourself like a prayer.Â
Unfortunately it didnât work. The line went dead, again sending you to voicemail. The next hour went by like that. You paced up and down the living room, almost completely forgetting about the killer hangover. You called, it went to voicemail, you paced, you tried again. Nina, bless her heart, just there, supporting you through the whole thing. There was no point in trying to tell you that it really wasnât that bad. That this happens to everyone. That you didnât make a deadly mistake. When youâre hungover and canât remember what exactly happened the night before and you have a little bit of anxiety, thereâs no way you can calm down with just reason. Â
âOkay, I canât do this, Iâm gonna go find him.â Even then, Nina just nods.Â
âYou want me to go with you?âÂ
âNo. Thank you, but I think I have to do this alone.âÂ
âI can just stay in the car while you talk to him. I would be a lot calmer if you werenât alone right now.âÂ
âYeah. Yeah, okay, thank you Nina. Iâm sorry for being such a mess, Iâm just-â
âBun, you donât have to explain yourself. We werenât exactly helpful at that moment but we just want whatâs best for you.âÂ
âMy god, I love you so much. Okay, Iâll take a quick shower and we can go.â
âGo, Iâll be here.âÂ
Taking a shower does itâs magic that youâre used to. You hum to yourself a little, it clears your head, it soothes your nerves a little, it makes things seem like you can handle them again. You can do this, youâll explain yourself and youâll apologize, profusely, and maybe heâll hear you out. The good thing about a blackout and a punishing hangover including vomiting your guts out is that you have no more use for dignity. You will beg him if needed.Â
You never told this to anyone but the morning after your first night together you promised yourself that if he calls you after, you will give this an honest to god try. You wonât run away this time. Itâs been years since you let someone in for real but during the last few futile attempts at trying to find a partner, someone to share life with, some warmth and, well, love, youâve discovered that you tend to avoid nice people and anything that has the potential of being real, exactly because of that. Because if itâs real, thereâs a real chance of getting hurt too, of getting your heart broken, coming, again, one step closer to a point where you canât just fix it and put it back together anymore. And the closer you got to him the more you thought that he might be it. The one you never recover from because he seemed a little too good to be true. Like something you didnât deserve. And part of you knew that heâs probably feeling something similar and part of you knew you should probably talk about it but it just never came out. And so nursed the thought, made sure it never left you and when the silence and the distance grew, you filled it with anxiety and those thoughts of not being enough, being a burden, being, once again, just a little bit too much, just a little bit more than what he can handle right now. And instead of being patient or just talking to him, you came out swinging and tried to make sure that you were the one doing the leaving. Old habits and all that shit. And now you felt like not only did you probably hurt or at the very least confuse him, you also let yourself down. Again. And that this whole thing will go up in flames, before you can figure out if it even could work or not. Again.Â
Over the running water and the running thoughts you didnât hear the doorbell ringing. You didnât hear Nina shouting that itâs probably Liv, who she couldnât call yet because you were mostly occupying the phone. You didnât hear her pad through the living room and open the door. And you certainly didnât hear his voice.Â
âHey, sorry for just showing up here, I hope Iâm not bothering you, Iâm looking for Nina.âÂ
âThis is she. How can I help you?â Nina had a clumsily disguised, almost smug look on her face already, because she knew exactly what she can help this cute, messy haired stranger with.
âHey, sorry, again, they gave me your address and name in the bar a couple streets down.âÂ
âGoddamn snitches.â Nina jokes. Easy for her, knowing full well that youâre taking a shower right behind her. Steve on the other hand, doesnât really have a sense of humor about it. Not yet. His lips do⊠well, something. Best way to describe it might be a twitch. Itâs not a smile, not by a long shot, but itâs also not a frown, he doesnât want to be rude either to the one person who might have some information about you.Â
âMy name is Steve Harrington, Iâm your friendâs boyfriend, at least I hope I still am. I havenât heard from her since last night, sheâs not answering her phone, sheâs not at home and Iâm starting to freak out a little, and I just really need to find and talk to her. Not in a creepy way just-âÂ
âDo you wanna come in for a second?âÂ
âWhat?â he looksÂ
âYou look a little shaken, like someone who needs a glass of water. Iâd offer you a drink but youâre driving, so-â
âI- Uhm, thank you but I really do need to find her and I-â
âOh, my god, dude, sheâs in the shower, just come in. Sheâll be out in a minute, Iâm sure.âÂ
âWh- Wait, so⊠sheâs here?âÂ
âYeah.âÂ
âAnd sheâs okay?â
âYeah. I mean sheâs hungover as shit, she threw up a while ago but sheâll live.âÂ
âOh, thank fuck.â He exhales with a loud, long sigh, running both his hands through his hair and down his face and Nina thinks he might start crying with relief and she mentally adds a little plus mark to her tally.Â
âI, uhm, Iâm, Iâm with my friend, so Iâll wait in the car with her, can you just please tell her that Iâm here? I donât know if she wants to talk to me at all-âÂ
âIs it Nancy?âÂ
âWhat?âÂ
âYou said your friend, then you said âsheâ. Is it Nancy?âÂ
âNo. God, no, itâs Robin.âÂ
âGood. Then tell her to come in too.âÂ
âOkay, okay, thank youâ he has wet, puppy dog eyes. She guesses now that his hair looks so wild because heâs been running his hands through his hair all day, worrying about you.Â
When he comes back with an awkward, lanky Robin in tow, she has trouble keeping herself from smiling. She starts walking towards the kitchen but she looks back over her shoulder for a second when she notices he doesnât even sit down, just paces up and down the living room, just like you, with the only exception that he has his hands on his hips, like a worried father.Â
âHey, Steve!â His head whips in her direction faster than sheâs ever seen. âShe wants to talk to you, she just decided to go find you before going to shower.âÂ
He canât really form a sentence, the relief that comes from the reassurance, from one of your best friends no less, is so immense, it chokes him a little.Â
You want to talk to him. No, scratch that, you were on your way to him. Even hungover, even after being sent to voicemail. So maybe he wasnât doomed afterall.Â
After a few minutes, a glass of water and some awkward chit-chat about the weather and their drive there, they all heard the shower stop and from that point Steve could only hold his breath, staring in the direction of the bathroom. Nina left for the kitchen with some made-up excuse of having to check something on the stove and Robin followed her with a made-up excuse of her own about wanting to help out.Â
It only took a couple of minutes until he heard the door click and some shuffling. He straightened up and tried to swallow his nerves. It was not easy. Especially when he heard your voice.Â
âOkay, Iâm sorry for taking so long, but we can go now. He didnât pick up, so I donât think he-â you immediately stop in your tracks when you see him in the living room.Â
Those swallowed nerves donât stay swallowed for long. He hasnât even seen you and his heart already started thundering, brain melting down, because you were talking about him. You were just as desperate to find him as he was to find you. And on top of all that you show up, wearing an oversized hoodie, a pair of shorts, your hair was wet, your face a little puffy from crying and the lack of sleep, and you looked fucking adorable. He wanted to scoop you up, hold you immediately but he didnât know where you stood, he didnât want to rush you. Nina only said, you wanted to talk to him. She didnât say what about.Â
âSteveâ you whispered his name, a little wet, breathy, a bit unsure, thinking that he might just be a figment of your imagination. Â
âHey, sweetheartâ he answered, also barely above whisper.
âWha- I mean, how? What are you doing here? How did you get here?âÂ
âIâve been looking for you. I tried calling a-and I went to your place as well but you didnât answer and you werenât home and I started to lose my shit a little bit. Ask Robin, sheâll tell you.â He finished the sentence gesturing towards the kitchen. âSo I started asking around and-â
âOh, my god, Robinâs here?â you ask with a squeak and bury your face in your hands, trying to hide from embarrassment.Â
âHey, hey, itâs okayâ he says while he crosses the living room to get to you. Screw being patient and cautious.
âNo, itâs not, Iâm so stupid.â You say this with a shaky voice and his heart breaks a little to hear you cry like this.
âWhat? Youâre not stupid at all! At all, baby! You were right.â By the time he says this heâs standing in front of you, reaching out with gentle hands to peel yours away from your face. Actually seeing the tears makes everything worse. âOh, sweetheart, come hereâ and then heâs finally hugging you. You cling to him like itâs already reflex, like youâve done it a thousand times before and he feels a little bad about how good it feels. Because itâs not the thousandth time. This is the first time heâs seen you cry. The first time heâs seen you broken down and tired and not your best self. Whatever that even means. And it feels so good. He hasnât always been a person who can provide comfort and safety to other people in these moments. Not for a lack of trying, just for a lack of knowledge and example. He didnât have that warmth in childhood and by the time he got it, he already felt like he didn't deserve it. By the time he did get it felt like heâs cheating some kind of system somewhere. Itâs been a long road to get here, where he can hold you with steady arms in this moment and he makes a mental note to get a pack of red vines for Robin and Skittles for Dustin for the next movie night. But right now he can only focus on you. One hand around your waist, the other holding the back of your neck, so you stay steady while the little sobs come out and shake you. He keeps shushing, telling you itâs okay, that heâs there, that heâs not going anywhere, that heâs so glad youâre okay. And then you murmur something into his chest. It comes out muffled and he doesnât quite get it.Â
âIâm sorry, baby, can you say that again?â Itâs whispered into your hair and the softness becomes overwhelming, so you hide into his chest even deeper, if thatâs possible, trying to make yourself smaller.Â
âHey, sweetheart, can you look at me for a moment?â You shake your head a little. âPlease, baby! I really wanna see you and I really wanna hear what youâre saying.âÂ
You lift your head slowly, eyes squeezed shut, trying to steady your breath.Â
âIâm so sorry.â It still comes out almost inaudible but now he sees your mouth he can figure it out. And when he gets it, it almost knocks him over. You think this is your fault. He made you feel like this. He was not having any of that.Â
âBaby, can you look at me for a second? Please!â He was pleading with you. Even in this state you could hear the shake in his voice. You looked up at him and he felt his heart crack open even more than it already was. There were so many things behind the tears. He could see the sorrow, the fear, the hope still lingering there, the longing, the regret, the fatigue. He could see it, because he knew what he looked like when he looked in the mirror on his worse days.Â
âThe only thing, and I mean the only thing you should be sorry for is not showing up at my door and kicking my ass for making you feel this way. Iâm the one who should be sorry for the rest.â Your eyes went wide and you opened your mouth to say something.
âNo, please, just listen to me okay?â He held your face with both hands now, thumbs on the apples of your cheeks, soothing presence there. âI shouldâve told you that not a goddamn hour goes by when something doesnât remind me of you. I mean I saw a highlighter and even that made me think of you.â You chuckle a little bit at that and the tension in both of your chests start to ease a little bit. âOf course Iâm serious about this, about you, You scare the everliving shit out of me but in a good way, you know?â You do know. âI think youâre fucking incredible and I was so afraid of fucking things up that I just didnât do anything but I shouldâve. I did get busy, and it did get a little bit hard, but those are not excuses to make you feel like this. I donât want them to be, okay? I want to make an effort, a lot of it if needed. I know itâs not easy and god knows Iâm a fucking mess too but I wanna find a way to make this work. Desperately. Just donât disappear on me next time, please, because I spent this day almost pulling my hair out, thinking that something happened to you or that you just never wanted to see me again. I like you so much itâs stupid and I was starting to believe that I will never feel like this again in my life, like ever. Youâre the best thing that happened to me in a long time and I wanna show you.âÂ
The sincerity in his voice, the way his gaze never faltered from yours made you cry again. You didnât say anything, just lunged forward and captured his lips in a kiss that you hoped conveyed how thankful you were. When you pulled back you were a little breathless.Â
âI like you so much it makes me feel like Iâm going insane sometimes, if that wasnât obvious before, just so you know.â You tell him, voice still a little wet but more stable now. âBut I do want to apologize though. I couldâve talked to you but I got scared and I felt like you were pulling away and my anxiety got to me and I acted like a stupid teenager and you didnât deserve to be so worried about me. I fully blame Liv and the tequila though. It makes me go a little crazy. Well, more crazyâÂ
âIâm not pulling away and I like you crazy. As long as itâs for me.âÂ
âOf course itâs for you, you idiot.â
You both laugh and keep just holding each other in the middle of the living room for a few minutes before he speaks.
âHow about this? We agree to have at least one date night a week. No matter whatâs going on, no matter what it is, movie night, staying on the couch and watching a show or going all out, just one night when itâs just us.âÂ
âI do like the sound of that.âÂ
âYeah?âÂ
âYeah.âÂ
A few more moments of silence pass by you.Â
âThank you, by the way.âÂ
âFor what, sweetheart?âÂ
âJust for showing up.â He holds your gaze and waits for you to speak. âI just, Iâm always so scared of being too much and I kind of do this thing where Iâm so afraid of being told that Iâm just too much to bear at the moment that I dial it all up and push people away before they can tell me to fuck off.âÂ
âSweetheart, youâll have to try a lot harder than a drunk phone call to push me away. Youâre not too much.â Is being everything too much? he thinks briefly before he continues. âAnd trust me, I can be a real fucking handful sometimes.âÂ
âWell, Iâm looking forward to that handful very much.âÂ
âYouâre unbelievable, you know that?âÂ
âMaybe.âÂ
âOh, you definitely do, donât you?âÂ
And you giggle and it's the last blow to his poor heart. Itâs still and once again, again and again the most beautiful sound heâs heard in a long fucking time and he almost kicks himself for letting all this time pass by without making you laugh like this. But he doesnât. He just lets it flow through him and counts his lucky stars that this is how it can go now. Calm and sweet and just understanding, coming out of the other of a storm, together. Heâs sure it wonât always be this easy, heâs sure thereâll be bigger and worse fuck-ups than this but he also doesnât really care right then, because this is what is in front of him right now. A teary-eyed girl who likes him so much that she was afraid of losing him. A teary-eyed girl he would do a whole lot more for than one date night a week. He squeezes your hand, then lifts them to place small, soft kisses on your knuckles.Â
âYou wanna come stay with me tonight? Or I can stay here too, if thatâs better.âÂ
âWhat about Robin?âÂ
âSheâs a big girl, she can sleep in the back of the pick-up.â
âSteven!âÂ
âIâm kidding, Iâm kidding. We took her car, she can drive back, itâs okay.âÂ
âAre you sure?âÂ
âAs a heart attack.âÂ
âI donât think thatâs how that saying goes.âÂ
âAlright smarty pants. Have you had anything to eat yet?âÂ
You shake your head a little. âI was too hungover and then I was too nervous.âÂ
âAlright, letâs get something to eat then, huh? Heard thereâs a pretty good diner in this town.âÂ
âWhat about the girls?âÂ
âThey can come too. My treat.âÂ
âYouâre the best, you know that?â
âI try.âÂ
Before you walk into the kitchen, you hear scrambling, muffled curses and you both shake your heads. Your suspicions are confirmed when you enter to find Nina peeling nothing and Robin just straight up staring into the sink.Â
âYou can stop pretending like youâre not eavesdropping now.â You chime.Â
There are a few (very futile attempts) at denial and trying to come up with some excuse but you all know itâs pretty useless.Â
âAre you guys okay?â Nina asks finally.Â
âYeah, weâre okay.â You say with a reassuring smile, shared with Steve while you keep holding hands.Â
âSooooo, can I start teasing your boyfriend now or what?âÂ
Your breath hitches at the word a little, Robin snorts and Steve goes a little stiff beside you.
âI- We havenât- I-â you start stuttering and the playful, almost challenging smile disappears from Ninaâs face.
âYou havenât asked her, dude? Really?âÂ
âItâs just-âÂ
âYou waltz into my house, looking for my best friend, introduce yourself as her boyfriend and then you donât even ask her?! Jesus take the wheel, where the fuck do they raise you guys?â Sheâs standing there with her arms crossed now and you really wouldnât mind if the ground just opened up below you right about now. But then something hits you.Â
âYou introduced yourself as my boyfriend?âÂ
Steveâs cheeks are pink and he does that nervous habit that you find adorable and scratches the back of his neck.Â
âI mean, yeah. I just, I didnât really know what else to say, seemed like the most obvious choice.â He takes a beat and you hold your breath. âBut, uhm, yeah, if I werenât clear enough back there, I would really like to be your boyfriend. If you want that too that is, because I donât wanna put pressure on you or-âÂ
âShut up, you idiotâ and then youâre kissing him again, because yes, he might be an idiot and you might be crazy and you might be messes in your own rights but heâs your idiot now and youâre his crazy and the world seems to make a little more sense again.Â
We assume that Katniss doesn't convince everyone in the districts of the authenticity of her love for Peeta because Snow says so. Snow believes that convincing the districts will calm them down. But Snow, as characterized in the prequels, fundamentally does not understand love.
Katniss DOES convince most everyone in the districts. The only district people to question the love story are the other victors, because they alone understand how the Capitol's propaganda works, how stories are controlled and victors are forced to play their part.
But when Katniss visits District 8, everyone seems fully convinced. People assure Katniss that they know Peeta was just speaking under duress. They're so upset about Katniss "losing the baby" that one woman actually weeps over it. The everyday District citizens buy into it fully.
The issue is that Snow doesn't understand how powerful love is. Katniss and Peeta's act fuels the rebellion instead of tamping it because choosing love over violence is rebellious. Like when Katniss and Peeta hold hands and Haymitch calls it the perfect touch of rebellion, or when Katniss covers Rue with flowers, or when all the victors hold hands on interview night. Compassion, love, friendship between competitors, it's all in defiance to the Capitol's agenda.
Snow thought that the districts would hear, "I'm just a silly little harmless teenage girl doing impulsive things because I'm in love! How nice of the Capitol to let me keep my boyfriend!" Instead they heard, "My love gave me the courage to defy the Capitol." They heard, "My love held firm in the face of all the Capitol's power and cruelty. I refuse to kill him or even passively let him die." They heard, "The Capitol is not strong enough to corrupt a steadfast heart." And if the Capitol can't even overcome two teenagers' puppy love, it certainly can't overcome thousands of adults' love for their neighbors, children, and homes, or a unified people's passion for freedom and justice.
Snow underestimated love, and it was his downfall.
reader will be called dokja ïŒ because reader in korean is dokja
ÊŹÊŹ.luvmailz.com FOR REQUEST
It wasnât that Suho began to notice the feelingâit was warm, sweet. But he never expected it to shine through someone like Yeon Sieun.
He thought it would radiate from someone he'd known longerâDokja, his best friend. Her constant nagging, that irritating voice always interrupting his naps, the way her slaps would sting for a whole minute until the skin turned red, or her endless rants about the most mundane things. If love had a face, he assumed it would look something like her.
But this feelingâ it was different. It didnât burn or shout.
It glowedâsoft and slow and it radiated from Yeon Sieun, every time she was there.
He didn't know when he started realizing this, but he just knows.
He is a motherfucking genius.
First, it started with the small interruptions in his studyâher voice cutting through equations, sharp and familiar, refusing to be ignored.
Yeon Sieun prioritized his studies over everythingâanything. He didnât tolerate loud people interrupting his focus, especially not someone like Suho.
He remembered the time when he interrupted Yeon Sieunâs study.
It was one of those rare, quiet daysâclass humming with its usual buzz, while outside, the world carried on, blissfully unaware. Suho, finally granted some borrowed rest, felt more alive than ever, his energy endless for the moment.
The rest of the world felt like a dream he could escape into, but he never truly let go of his need for chaos. Without a second thought, he approached Sieun, who was lost in his textbooks, headphones blocking the outside noise. Suhoâs arm snaked around his neck, leaning over his desk, oblivious to the delicate balance Sieun had carefully maintained.
In that simple motion, his arm brushed the page, smearing the ink with careless ease. The page, once perfectly neat, was now a messy imprint of his interruption, and yet, it was something Sieun couldn't ignore.
Sieun turned to Suho, his gaze a mix of annoyance and pained patience. His eyes locked onto him, a silent storm brewing in them. Suho, suddenly aware of the mess heâd caused, felt his palms grow sweaty. He didn't know what he'd done, but the tension in the air was palpable. Sieunâs voice broke through the silence, low and biting. "What are you doing?"
Suho glanced down at the notebook, the ink smudged and the words barely legible. He blinked, processing the scene, before his lips formed a half-smile, trying to ease the tension. "Wow, I didnât know you had bad handwriting."
That only made it worse. Sieunâs glare couldâve pierced through stone. With a quick movement, he pushed Suhoâs arm off his neck, his voice colder now, clipped.
"Is that my doing" Suho swallowed, the weight of the situation settling on his shoulders. He nodded sheepishly, lips pressed together. "Sorry," he muttered, as if the apology could undo the mess he had caused. He retreated to his desk, the uncomfortable silence following him as he slumped into his chair, the need for sleep now a refuge from the tension.
But today was no ordinary day. It was a vacant day, where time seemed to stretch infinitely, a silent permission to do whatever they wanted without a care, without the watchful eyes of their teachers. The classroom was filled with a soft hum of voices, the usual chaos of students drifting through the air like forgotten melodies.
Suho, usually resigned to his quiet corner, found himself restless.
Today, there was no need to hide from the weight of responsibility. No deadlines, no lectures to attend. Just the rare luxury of time, unanchored and free. And in that fleeting moment, his impulse took overâsomething in him reached out toward Sieun, whose focus seemed endless, buried in the pages of his textbook, oblivious to everything around him.
He almost moved toward him, but then he remembered.
He remembered the smudged notebook, the irritated look in Sieunâs eyes, the frustration of being interrupted.
A soft sigh escaped him, and in that moment of hesitation, he decided against it. No, today wasnât the day for that. Instead, he turned his attention to Dokja and Beomseok, who were off in the corner, engaged in their own conversation. He approached them with a casual air, not wanting to overthink.
âHey,â he said, tapping them both on the shoulder. âWanna go to the vending machines? I need something to drink.â
Beomseok raised an eyebrow but shrugged, nodding in agreement. Dokja, always the laid-back one, followed suit. The three of them walked toward the door, the lightness of the moment helping to lift the weight of earlier hesitation.
They walked down the hallway, the sound of casual chatter filling the air as Dokja picked out drinks for everyone. Suho, however, was distant, his attention drifting. His gaze landed on Sieun through the cracked window of the classroom. The glass seemed like a fragile barrier, reflecting the weight of Sieunâs focusâa quiet intensity that radiated even from across the hall.
His brows were furrowed, the textbook spread wide in front of him like an impenetrable wall, a shield against the outside world. Every line on the page was absorbed with such concentration that it seemed as if the world outside didn't exist for him at all. Suho could almost feel the invisible force field around himâsomething that warned not to disturb.
Even from here, Suho could see it, the unmistakable tension in Sieunâs posture. A slight shift, the smallest interruption in his concentration, and Suho knew that it wouldnât be met with patience.
No, it would come with the sharp sting of irritation.
But thenâthere she goes.
Dokjaâs laughter echoed softly as she approached Sieun, her steps swift, almost like a challenge to the stillness that surrounded him. She was always the one who thrived in the chaos, the spark that ignited something unexpected.
Suho's heart skipped, a pulse of warning threading through his chest. Don't do it, he thought, but the words were already leaving his mouth, frantic.
âJaja, donâtââ
But it was too late.
Dokja was already standing by Sieunâs desk, her presence loud and bold as ever. She tapped him lightly on the shoulder, her finger teasing the edge of his concentration. The moment she did, Sieunâs pen stopped mid-air, his hand hovering over the page like a statue caught in time.
Beomseok raised an eyebrow. âWhatâs wrong with you?â Asked at Suho who was gaping at the scene, his voice laced with confusion as he glance at Dokja who was just, being herself.
Suho swallowed hard, watching the door. His mind was still flashing back to that one time Sieun had glared at him, a look so cold and cutting he had thought it would actually stop his heart.
The memory still stung, that quiet âDonât.â Sieun didnât say much, but when he did, it felt like a warning, a promise of his need for space.
For a beat, the room held its breath.
Please donât do it. Suhoâs chest tightened.
Sieun slowly turned, his expression cool, his eyes lifting to meet Dokjaâs with that familiar, disinterested gaze. But there was something in the curve of his brow, something unspoken that Suho noticed all too well. A flash of irritationâjust barely visibleâbefore it vanished.
Sieun said, his voice a calm, almost distant hum. âWhat is it?â
Dokja leaned over the desk, her smile wide and mischievous. âJust making sure youâre still alive in there, Sieun,â she teased. âYouâve been so buried in that textbook, I thought you were becoming part of it.â Her voice light as she placed the cold drink on the edge of his desk, its moisture seeping from the can.
There was a long, silent beat as Sieun shifted slightly, finally reaching out to pick up the drink sheâd left for him. The coldness of the can seemed to snap him back from the trance heâd settled into with his textbook. His fingers wrapped around it, but he didnât bring it to his lips just yet.
Instead, his eyes met hers for a moment, something unreadable flickering in the depths of them. He wasnât angry, wasnât frustratedâhe was just... there, a figure so still it was almost a challenge to read. And then, with an exhale that was barely audible, he muttered, âThanks.â
Dokjaâs grin softened, a touch of warmth hidden behind her usual teasing. She knew how hard it was to break through that outer layer of his. Sheâd done it many times before. But there was always a quiet satisfaction in knowing that, despite his indifference, there was a connectionâan understandingâbetween them.
Suho, still lingering by the door, felt the shift in the atmosphere, though he didnât know how to place it. He wasnât used to seeing Sieun like this, more open, more... approachable, maybe. And he definitely wasnât used to feeling this... unsettled by it.
Watching Dokja flit so carelessly in and out of Sieunâs worldâjust like thatâit was almost as if she belonged there, disrupting his focus, his calm.
Yet, it wasnât the disruption that bothered him.
It was the way Sieun seemed to allow it, the way his face softened just the slightest bit when he turned back to Dokja, though he said nothing. His eyes, still distant, but somehow... more open.
And Suho stood there, frozen, his thoughts scrambling as if trying to piece together the puzzle of this boy who was always so composed, so distant.
What was this?
Is this sorcery?
Beomseok, equally bewildered, glanced over at Suho, his face etched with confusion as he spoke, "Are you okay?"
Suho's eyes flickered between Sieun and the scene before him, his heartbeat thudding painfully in his chest. The world seemed to slow, every movement amplified. No way... he thought, disbelief creeping into his mind.
How did I not see this?
It was as if the truth had always been there, hiding in plain sight, a secret that had been slipping through his fingers for weeks... months. But now, standing before him, it was undeniable.
"Suho?" Beomseok's voice broke through his spiraling thoughts.
Suho didnât respond, still caught in the haze of realization.
How could he have missed it?
How could he have been so blind?
He has to be inlove with her.
The second time, Suho was asleep.
His body sinking into the mattress as the weight of exhaustion pulled him under. But when he woke up, it felt like he was watching the world unfold from a distanceâas though he were just an NPC in a game, drifting through a scene he wasn't meant to be a part of.
The classroom was alive with its usual buzzâvoices rising and falling, the clattering of textbooks, and the soft scratch of pens on paper. But in one corner, the loudest noise came from Beomseok and the reader, who were sitting across from each other, animatedly talking about the latest manhwa theyâd been reading.
âHeâs totally gonna confess in the next chapter, right?â Beomseok asked, slapping the readerâs arm with exaggerated force, causing her to laugh and playfully swat him back.
âI donât know, I think theyâll drag it out for at least one more arc!â The readerâs voice was bright, carefree. She loved moments like theseâthe kind where she didnât have to worry about anything, didnât have to pretend like life wasnât a bit too complicated.
Beomseok was leaning forward, his arms propped on his knees, both of them slapping each other in mock seriousness about their wild theories on the next plot twist. The noise was a bit too loud for the usual classroom dynamic, but neither of them seemed to care.
Sieun, sitting a few desks away, was headphones in, eyes fixed on his textbookâat least, thatâs what he was trying to do. Every so often, his gaze would flicker toward Beomseok and the reader, those brief moments when heâd glance over the top of his pages as if it was just a casual second.
His eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the scene. The sound of their laughter, the way they playfully bumped shoulders, the way the readerâs eyes sparkled as she animatedly described her theoriesâit was so natural, so easy.
Too easy, maybe.
He tightened his grip on his pen, the tension building in his hand as he tried to focus on the page in front of him. But his eyes kept drifting back to them. The connection between the reader and Beomseok was undeniableâeffortless.
So casual, so uncomplicated.
And for some reason, it gnawed at him.
He was aware of the slight flicker of irritation bubbling up inside him, and he immediately brushed it off. Itâs nothing, he thought. Why should it bother me?
But the feeling didn't go away.
Suho woke to the hum of chatter, voices soft but persistent like a breeze rustling through sleep. His eyelids were heavy, lashes clinging to the final remnants of rest as he slowly lifted his head from folded arms. The classroom was cast in a gentle hush of afternoon light, streaks of sun slanting through the windows, dust catching gold in the air.
Beomseok and Dokja were talking near the back, their laughter muffled in the haze of Suhoâs drowsiness. He blinked slowly, letting their voices drift around him like background noise, comforting and familiar.
But thenâhis eyes shifted.
And there he was.
Yeon Sieun.
Still, composed, with that same sharp focus that seemed immune to the pull of sleep or distraction. The soft flutter of notebook pages echoed as Sieun flipped through them, hand poised with a pen, elbow resting lightly against the desk.
But he saw it all.
He sat up straighter, the grogginess clinging to his bones loosening its grip as he watched.
He rubbed his eyes, trying to dismiss it. Just Sieun, studying again. Nothing new.
But then, there it was.
The flicker of discomfort in Sieunâs expression. It was subtleâbarely noticeableâbut it was there, a crack in the usually composed exterior.
As Beomseok and the reader continued their animated discussion, oblivious to the tension in the room, Suho's gaze flicked back and forth between Sieun and them. He could tell something was off, though he couldnât put his finger on it.
Just then, as if on cue, the reader said something particularly funny, and Beomseok laughed louder than usual. It caught Sieun off guard, causing him to flinch as if something had physically struck him. His eyes narrowed for a moment before he quickly refocused on his textbook.
But Suho saw it. The way Sieunâs expression shiftedâjust for a second, like a mask fallingâbefore he returned to his usual, emotionless self.
He was still wearing his headphones, yes, but Suho could see how his fingers were gripping his pen a little too tightly, the knuckles pale under the strain. Each time Beomseok and the reader laughed, Sieunâs gaze flickered in their directionâalmost imperceptibly, but still there.
Sieunâs lips tightened slightly, and his jaw clenched.
It was small, but Suho saw it all.
Suhoâs eyes narrowed slightly, following Sieunâs gaze as it flicked from the reader back to his textbook.
Wait, was he jealous?
The realization hit Suho like a punch to the gut. This wasnât the usual disinterested look Sieun wore when someone interrupted him. It wasnât the cold, detached stare that usually signaled his irritation. No, this was something⊠different.
Something that Suho had only seen in those Korean dramas the reader loved to watch. The ones where the guy would glare at the girl whenever another guy was too close.
Suhoâs jaw dropped a fraction. It was the same look, the exact same one, and suddenly he understood why Sieun kept making him watch those cheesy rom-coms with the reader.
âHoly shibal?â Suho muttered to himself, still staring at Sieunâs stiff posture, the way his eyes were locked on the pages of his textbookâbut Suho knew better. He could tell.
Sieun was pretending not to care. But he did.
And just as quickly as Suho realized it, Sieunâs gaze flicked away, his eyes returning to the textbook with exaggerated focus. But Suho could see through it. The words blurred in front of Sieunâs eyes, and Suho smirked to himself, shaking his head.
This is new.
He never thought the day would come when Yeon Sieunâcold, composed, calculatingâwould wear something as soft as longing on his face. He never thought heâd see him fumble with his words, glance too long, blink too slow. That sharp-edged boy who always saw emotions as disruptions was now, unknowingly, in the middle of one.
He always thought that he was the one who will the first one to be married over the four of them.
This wasnât that.
This was something else entirelyâunguarded, unplanned.
He never thought heâd see the day when Yeon Sieun would be this⊠human.
The third time, he saw it in front of him.
It started like any other hangoutâloud chatter, cheap tokens, the occasional shriek of victory or defeat echoing off neon lights.
The four of them drifted through the arcade like a tide pulled by static electricity and sound. Beomseok walked beside her at the front, their shoulders brushing in rhythm, laughter bubbling between them like carbonated joy. He'd shown her somethingâsome ridiculous memeâand her grin had been wide, bright, alive.
Behind them trailed Suho and Sieunâfewer words between them, but an awareness that felt almost heavier.
Sieunâs hands were tucked in the pockets of her jacket. Suhoâs eyes flicked between games, the crowd, her.
They spun through racing simulators, beat-matched themselves into a frenzy at rhythm booths, argued playfully over the rules of air hockey. And then, in the middle of Suhoâs boastingâvoice raised like a banner in mock triumphâhe noticed it.
He was still talkingâboasting, reallyâwhen the change came.
At first, no one noticed.
But the laughter had thinned. The warmth next to Beomseok had cooled. And when Suho turned, mid-sentence, he saw it:
She had drifted.
Not far. Just a few feet away. But far enough that the noise didnât seem to touch her anymore.
She stood in front of a claw machine, the kind that blinked in sugary pinks and blues, filled with pastel plushies and promises that never kept. The glass glared back at her. Her brows were furrowed, her lip caught between her teeth like she was holding back a storm.
One coin slid in.
The mechanical claw descended, swayed, snapped at the air.
Missed.
Another coin.
Another try.
The plush duck she aimed for barely moved.
A third. A fourth. A fifth, until endless times.
With each failure, her shoulders stiffened. Her face remained impassive, but there was something in the way she leaned into the machineâlike it had offended her. Like if she could just win this one small thing, something else might tilt back into place.
And then, finally, she gave up.
Let out a theatrical groan that echoed more hollow than humorous, and turned away, dragging her feet back to the group like a puppet with tangled strings.
âI hate claw machines,â she muttered, dropping beside them without meeting anyoneâs eyes. âTheyâre a scam.â
Beomseok chuckled, already thumbing through his wallet, easy as always. âYou want more coins?â
She shook her head. âNo point. Itâs rigged.â Her voice was light, but her hands were clenched.
Suho looked at her a moment longer, something flickering behind his eyesâsomething that knew her well enough to hear what wasnât said.
Then, without warning, he stepped forward and dropped his hands on her shoulders, giving her a firm shake, just enough to jostle the sulk from her frame.
âYouâre just bad at it,â he said, voice laced with smug amusement.
She scoffed, shoving him off with a mock glare. âI am not. I just have moralsâI donât negotiate with scammers.â
âOh, right. Good girl act,â he laughed, dodging a half-hearted swipe at his arm. Beomseok let out a wheeze of laughter, nearly dropping the coins in his hand. Even Sieun cracked a quiet smile, barely there but not missed.
âGo ahead, try it if you can,â she boasted, chin tilted with theatrical defiance, arms crossed like a challenge. Suho only laughed, shaking his head as he reachedâwithout askingâinto Beomseokâs stack of coins.
âNo thanks,â he said, holding up a token like it was beneath him. âMe and Oh-Beom are going to play guns. No need to waste time with rigged toys.â
âCoward,â she shot back instantly, voice full of glee.
He leaned in with no warning, close enough to see the flecks of challenge in her eyes, and blew a raspberry straight at her face. She shrieked, stumbling back with a grin half-formed, arms flailing like wings. âYouâre vile!â
âStrategic ninja,â he replied smugly, already retreating, hands in his pockets like a job well done. As she called after him. âYou fight like a toddler!â and hit his back making him groan.
âAnd yet, undefeated,â he tossed over his shoulder, grinning as Beomseok tugged him toward the nearest shooter game, the clatter of coins marking their path.
Sieun followed, silent as ever, her presence light but anchoring. Her expression unreadableâbut something lingered in her eyes, a trace of knowing, of recognition.
As the others drifted ahead, her gaze slipped back to the claw machine.
Its blinking lights pulsed dimly now, like fading stars on the edge of a storm, the glass smudged with fingerprints and the ghosts of forgotten wishes. Inside, the plush duck remained where she had nearly won itâtilted slightly, soft and crooked, as if waiting.
She stared at it the way one stares at the thing she wanted, and for a moment, the arcade around her dulledâthe shrieks of victory, the clatter of tokens, the neon humâall faded to silence.
Then she exhaled and turned her back, hitting Suho's back on the process. Making him groan in annoyance stepping back.
But while they squabbled behind himâtrading barbs like children with wooden swords, laughter sparking and echoing beneath the arcadeâs electric canopyâhe was already walking, silent and deliberate, as though pulled by something invisible and certain.
He came to a stop in front of the claw machine. No hesitation. No theatrics. Just stillness, sharp and unwavering.
The machine blinked softly before him, washed in hues of sugar-pink and sea-glass blue. Inside, the pink teddy she had tried so hard to win sat half-buried in a nest of plush and failure, its button eyes tilted skyward, like it had been waiting.
He studied itânot with hope, but with precision. His gaze narrowed, calculating the angles and weight, mapping the space between effort and outcome with quiet mastery.
âThe clawâs about two and a half centimeters thick,â he thought to himself, as though reciting a memory. âDistance from the glassâsix degrees left. Weight distributionâuneven. Best angle⊠just before the drop point.â
His hand moved. A token clicked into the slot. The machine whirred to life.
He stared at the claw.
The claw descended like a practiced breathâsteady, intentional.
Click, whir, drop.
Grab.
A brief pause, the hush of held breath. And then, against all odds and mechanics, the teddy lifted clean from its trap. No struggle. No falter.
He plucked it gently from the chute, the small toy cradled in his palmâbright, soft, a little lopsided, as if it had been waiting to be chosen by someone who understood impossible angles.
And for a long second, he just looked at it, and grasped the fluffy pink teddy bear.
Not because it was remarkableâbut because she had looked at it. Had wanted it. Had gone quiet in front of it, and that quiet had spoken louder than words ever could.
That was reason enough.
He turned and made his way across the arcade, weaving through streaks of neon and shadows that danced against the flickering walls. The others were too consumed to noticeâBeomseok locked in concentration, Suho barking out orders, both boys lost in the blur of fake bullets and flashing screens.
She was leaning against the back of Beomseokâs chair, one arm draped loosely over it, her body half-turned as though present but not fully thereâher thoughts drifting somewhere quieter.
He approached her from behind, slow and without sound, then lifted a hand and tapped her shoulder. Just once. Barely a touch.
She turned.
And he was thereâstill, quiet, eyes unreadableâand between them, the pink teddy.
He held it out without a word, the gesture simple but deliberate, like he was offering her something more than a toyâsomething he couldnât name.
She stared. At him and the teddy bear.
And in that moment, the arcade seemed to blur around themâits noise distant, its lights softenedâas though time itself had stilled for the space between a reach and a reply.
âYouâ! Waitâno way!â Her voice rang with something like awe, wide-eyed and almost reverent as she took the bear from his hands, cradling it against her chest like something precious, as though the softness of it might erase the ache in her bones. âYou actually got it? First try?â
He nodded once, slow and unbothered, a simple movement that spoke louder than words. There was no smileâjust that flicker in his gaze, something barely there, a glimmer that shifted behind his quiet eyes when she pulled the teddy closer, a moment too fragile to last.
She hugged it to herself, and for just a breath, everything else fell awayâthe buzz of neon, the clatter of tokens, the screams of victories lost and found. It was only her, the bear, and the soft weight of his gesture, the quietness of it settling between them.
Beomseok didnât glance up. His world was bound to a virtual battlefield, fingers moving with practiced precision, eyes fixed on pixelated enemies, lost in the rhythm of his own game.
But Suho saw.
He fucking saw it.
He watched as she leaned toward Sieun, her voice quick and light with laughter. âI knew it was rigged! How did you do that? Itâs impossible, right? You must be a genius to figure it out.â
And Sieun? He didnât speak. Didnât rush to fill the silence with empty words or forced smiles. He just listened. Quiet. Calm. The stillness of him settled like a quiet weight in the space between them. His gaze lingered on her, soft but steady, like he understood something even she hadnât yet named. There was no amusement in his eyesâno teasing. Just a quiet intensity, a steady presence.
And that was when Suho felt it. That knot, small but sharp, that tightened in his chest.
He turned back to the game, a coin slipping into the slot with a force that felt too sharp, too aggressive for something so simple. The machine hummed, unfeeling, as if unaware of the tension sitting in the air between them.
âNothing,â Suho said, and the words felt like a lie, slipping from his mouth too easily.
But inside, it wasnât nothing.
It was the third time, he saw it.
Infornt of him and his game?
The third time Sieun had done something so effortless, so quiet, something that had made her smile, made her laugh with that soft, genuine light that only he seemed to know how to bring out of her.
And if Sieun couldnât see itâcouldnât feel it thrumming between them like a secret chord stretched tautâHe did.
He saw it all.
The forth time, he wanted to bash their heads.
He physically and mentally cannot handle all this love bullshit.
The plan was simpleâmeet at the store, then walk together to the restaurant a few blocks away, something so ordinary and uneventful that none of them had thought to expect anything else, least of all a moment that might shift the quiet balance between them.
Sieun, unsurprisingly, was the first to arriveâhe always was, punctual not out of habit but something more precise, as though he couldnât bear the thought of making someone wait, even if he rarely said much when they came.
He stood beneath the narrow awning, shoulders squared, hands tucked into the pockets of his windbreaker, his expression unreadable but calm, and his gaze quietly fixed on the sidewalk as if the slow drizzle gathering across the street might carry some unspoken answer he was waiting for.
A few minutes later came Suho and Beomseok, voices low and jackets already damp with rain, their laughter subdued by the change in weather, both boys shaking water off their sleeves with a shared grimace as they ducked under the awning and took stock of who had arrived.
âSheâs not here yet?â Suho asked, voice clipped, not harsh but tinged with something between impatience and concern, as though the idea of her being late unsettled him more than heâd admit.
But Sieun didnât respondâhe didnât even look upâand instead continued staring at the uneven glimmer of wet pavement like it was a story only he could read, like something in him knew sheâd come, even if no one else believed it.
Beomseok shrugged, trying to keep things light, his voice casual as he said, âShe probably took another routeâletâs head over now before this rain gets worse,â already shifting on his feet like he was ready to move, unaware of the quiet tension beginning to form in the space between them.
But then Sieun spoke, his voice soft but unmistakably firm, cutting through the drizzle and idle chatter with quiet certainty: âLetâs wait. Just a moment more.â
And something about the way he said itâunshaken, unhurried, with the weight of someone whoâd already made the decision long before they arrivedâmade both Suho and Beomseok fall silent for a breath.
Suho turned to him, narrowing his eyes, trying to make sense of something he couldnât quite name. âYou serious?â he asked, not mocking, not annoyedâjust puzzled, like he was looking at Sieun and seeing something new.
Sieun didnât look back. He only nodded once, a single motion that somehow said more than words wouldâve managed.
Beomseok raised a brow, glancing between them, trying to read whatever had passed silently in that pause. âWhat?â he asked Suho, frowning slightly.
âNothing,â Suho muttered, though his gaze hadnât left Sieunânot onceâand in the tilt of his head, in the furrow just beginning to form between his brows, it was clear that it wasnât nothing at all.
The drizzle thickened, slow and steady at first, then heavier, as if the sky had made up its mind and chosen this moment to spill open, sheets of rain falling in silver streaks that danced on the pavement and blurred the edges of everything in sight.
Beomseok cursed under his breath and turned quickly back into the store, muttering something about umbrellas, while outside, under the small patch of shelter, Sieun and Suho remainedâone unmoving, the other watching him too closely.
Then Sieun stepped forwardâsuddenly, sharply, like his stillness had broken with purposeâand he froze there at the edge of the awning, eyes locked on something distant.
And Suho followed his gaze just in time to see it: a figure rounding the corner, soaked, laughing breathlessly, one hand holding her bag above her head as she skidded slightly on the slick pavementâher hair a mess, her smile unbothered, alive.
It was her.
And before Suho could react, before he could even call out her name or reach for the umbrella Beomseok had just handed himâ
Sieun ran.
No hesitation. No second thought.
Just motionâpure, fluid, driven by something Suho had never seen in him before.
Beomseok shouted behind him, âSieun! Umbrella!â but it didnât matterâSieun was already halfway there, pulling off his jacket mid-sprint, and by the time he reached her, he had draped it gently over her head like instinct, like heâd been waiting for this exact moment without knowing it.
And when they returned to the awning, drenched and breathless, she was laughing in that way she always didâcarefree and shining through the rainâand Sieun wasnât laughing, but he was there, already pressing a handkerchief into her palms, brushing droplets off her sleeves with shaky precision, even shielding her with the umbrella so fully that the rain barely touched her anymore.
Every motion was deliberate, every gesture careful, as though he believedâtruly believedâthat if he just moved right, just paid enough attention, he could keep her safe from the storm entirely.
He handed her his handkerchief with a kind of reverence, as though it were not just fabric but a lifelineâpressed it gently into her palms, like he feared she might dissolve if the rain touched her too long.
Without a word, he took her bag from her shoulder, cradled it like something fragile, and began to pat it dry with the edge of his already-soaked jacket, his fingers moving with meticulous care.
Each gesture was so deliberate, so startling in its softness, it was as though he was trying to shield her not just from the weather but from the very world itselfâlike if he moved precisely enough, if he accounted for every detail, he might protect her from the ache of living.
Beomseok blinked, momentarily caught in the strange stillness of it, then shook his head and mumbled, âIâll go see if theyâre selling shirts or something,â before vanishing into the warm, dry interior of the store, leaving only the three of them beneath the shelter of gray rain and unspoken things.
Suho didnât move.
He just stood there, eyes fixedânot on the rain, not on the wet city street behind themâbut on them. On the two figures standing close but not touching, their shadows tangled in the dim afternoon light, haloed by rain.
He watched the way Sieunâs brow furrowedânot with annoyance, but with unfeigned concern.
The way he shifted the umbrella just slightly, tilting it more toward her than himself without seeming to realize he had.
The way his hand hovered near hers, trembling faintly in the space between them, not daring to close the gap, because he didnât know if he was allowed.
And in that moment, something inside Suho bubbled.
This wasnât a crush.
This wasnât the kind of fleeting affection born of proximity or boredom or the warm confusion of youth.
This was something deeper, older than their years.
And Sieun probably didn't notice it.
Heck, Suho bet he didn't
Sieun wasnât just fond of her.
He didnât just care.
He was in love.
Utterly. Silently. Hopelessly in love.
Suho grinned at the sight, he always prided himself on knowing his friends better than they knew themselves, found he could no longer pretend he hadnât seen it coming.
And now, watching the boy who never reached first suddenly run without hesitation, without shelter, without shameâYeon Sieun.
Yeon Sieun heart had already given his heart away.
To his bestfriend.
To her.
The hospital room was quiet, the kind of quiet that seeped into your bones and settled there, wrapping itself around the rhythmic beeping of machines and the low hum of fluorescent lights above, painting everything in sterile shades of white and silver and sadness.
She lay there, still and fragile beneath too-thin blankets, a bandage wrapped gently around her head like a crown of cotton and worry, her breaths shallow but steadyâeach inhale a small promise, each exhale a whisper of relief.
Suho sat beside her, his arm bound in a sling, his body bruised but his thoughts louder than the silence that surrounded them, eyes trained not on her, but on the ceiling aboveâas though if he stared long enough, the answers would descend like stars.
The door creaked openânot loud, but not unnoticedâand Sieun stepped inside, shoulders hunched beneath the weight of his uniform jacket, his face pale, drawn, as if heâd left whatever sleep he had behind him hours ago, if not days.
His eyes flickered instantly toward the girl in the bed, and again, and againâsmall, fleeting glances, like instinct more than choice, like gravity had shifted and she was the center now, and everything else was just background.
Suho didnât speak at first. He just watched. Watched the way Sieunâs gaze couldnât stay away, the way his jaw tensed with every beep of the monitor, the way he stood like someone waiting for the world to end.
And then, with a voice low and sharp enough to cut the hush between them, Suho asked, âAre you in love with my best friend?â
Sieun flinchedâbarely, but enough.
He didnât meet Suhoâs gaze. He didnât move. He didnât blink. âIâm not in love with her,â he said, flat and fast, too fast, the words tumbling out like heâd rehearsed them a thousand times in his head but never once believed them.
Suho scoffed, a bitter sound that didnât quite reach his eyes. âYou sure?â
âI said Iâm not.â
âCouldâve fooled me,â Suho muttered, his voice thinner now, stretched by exhaustion and something that sounded too close to hurt. âYou keep doing things.â
Suho let out a short, humorless laugh that echoed too loudly in the stillness. âOh, you want a list? Fine. The glances. The jealousy. That time you ran across the street like a madman just to throw your jacket over her head. The goddamn teddy bear. When you shoved me out of the way after the fightânot even subtle, man.â
Sieun said nothing, and maybe that silence was its own kind of confession.
âI was right there,â Suho continued, his voice rough now, raw. âShe was bleeding. And you didnât even look at me. You just ran. You didnât think. You didnât hesitate. You justâmoved.â
Sieunâs hands had curled into fists at his sides, knuckles white, jaw clenched like he was holding something inâor maybe holding something back.
âI donât know,â he muttered, so softly it barely registered.
Suho blinked. âWhat?â
âI said I donât know,â he repeated, quieter now, like the words tasted strange even to him. âI donât know what this is. Itâs not like anything else. Itâs not something I understand.â
And then, finally, his gaze lifted againâto her, always to herâand there was something in his eyes that Suho had never seen before: something tender and terrified and too big for a boy who thought he didnât need anyone.
âIt hurts,â Sieun said, voice barely holding. âWhen she gets hurt, itâs like I canât breathe. Like I want to tear the world in half just to make it stop. My brain goes blank. All I can think about is herâbeing okay. Smiling. Safe.â
His voice cracked, just a little, and when he looked down again, it was like he was trying to steady himself on the floor beneath his feet.
âIs that what love feels like?â
Suho didnât answer.
He didnât need to.
Because in the hush of that sterile room, between the slow beeping of machines and the ghost of rain against the windows, the truth was already thereâquiet, undeniable, and alive in the space between one heartbeat and the next.
Yes.
Yes, it was.
â ïŸàč credit scene ৠâč àŁȘ
Suho had barged into Sieunâs apartment again, the door creaking open without a warning knock, his shoes only half-on, his coat dripping with the remnants of the soft spring rain that clung to him like a second skinâhis presence loud, chaotic, and familiar in the quiet that Sieun had so carefully constructed.
Sieun looked up from his desk, expression flat, unimpressed by the intrusion, as though heâd expected it the moment the clouds rolled in. âYouâre soaked,â he said, voice dry, eyes narrowing just slightly.
âAnd youâre emotionally constipated,â Suho replied without missing a beat, stepping into the living room as though it belonged to him, casually dropping a bag of chips onto Sieunâs lap like it was some sort of peace offeringâor a declaration of war. âSit down. Weâre watching a movie. Romantic. Educational.â
Sieun blinked. âEducational?â
âFor you.â
And somehow, that was the end of the argument.
They ended up on the couch, cushions sunken beneath the weight of reluctant companionship, a painfully cheesy 2000s rom-com flickering on the screen like a relic of simpler, louder, more earnest times. As Suho conversed every now and then towards the scene, he painfully watched it with Dokja. Now he's doing the same thing to her future boyfriend.
Suho sprawled across half the sofa, feet perched unapologetically on the table, arms loaded with snacks like a child unsupervised. Sieun sat at the edge, rigid and unreadable, already questioning every life choice that had led him here.
âOkay, see that guy?â Suho said, mouth full, gesturing to the actor leaning across the screen. âThatâs flirting. See how he tilts his head a little? Smiles just enough? Thatâs called flirting. Itâs subtle. Itâs soft. Itâs not a police interrogation, which is what you look like every time she-â
âI know what flirting is,â Sieun muttered and interrupted the end of his sentence, scowling at the screen like it had personally offended him.
Suho, without hesitation, hurled a single piece of popcorn at his forehead. âThen why do you look like youâre about to file a report every time she touches your arm?â
There was a beat of silence. The kind that sat between them like something waiting to be acknowledged. Then, barely above the sound of the rom-comâs swelling music, Sieun said his nameâsoft, hesitant.
â...Suho.â
Suho, still chewing, grunted. âMmm?â
A pause.
And then, quiet. âHave you ever liked someone?â
Suho paused mid-chew, turning toward him with wide eyes and theatrical dread. âAre you asking me to open the forbidden scroll of my tragic, sordid love history? Say less.â
And, without missing a single heartbeat, Suho launched into it allâthe middle school crush who liked anime and never knew he existed, the time he wrote a love letter and immediately regretted it, the girl at the convenience store with sharp eyeliner and a taste for sour candy, who once laughed at one of his jokes and accidentally ruined him for a week.
Sieun didnât speak. He just listened, the way he always didâquietly, fully, as though he was trying to memorize the rhythm of someone elseâs heartbeat for the first time. Every now and then, he scribbled something into the teared paper he kept when he was studying calculus until Suho interrupted him and he kept half-hidden in the folds of his hoodieâsubtle, but not invisible.
Suho, predictably, didnât notice until halfway through.
âWait. Are you taking notes?â
Sieun didnât answer. His eyes had drifted somewhere else entirely. As Suho laughed at him for doing that.
Somewhere quieter. Somewhere softer.
He was thinkingâof her.
The way her fingers would tug gently at his sleeve when she wanted his attention, like a whisper too shy to be a word. The way her eyes lit up when she managed to make him laugh, and how sheâd pretend not to notice when he tried not to. The way she pouted, just barely, when he pretended not to care, even when he didâespecially when he did.
He thought of the bear.
The umbrella.
The blood on her sleeve that day she got hurt.
The way something inside him cracked open like glass when he saw her in pain.
He wasnât really watching the movie anymore.
Suho noticed the silence. Noticed the shift.
âHey,â he said, leaning forward now, eyes searching his friendâs face. âWhat is it?â
Sieunâs voice came so softly it almost blended into the soundtrack.
âI like herâ he said.
Suho blinked.
Then leapt to his feet, arms flailing. âI knew it!â Popcorn exploded into the air like confetti as he jumped and pointed at him while laughing.
âI knew it! I knew it the second you did that ridiculous jacket thing like you were some kind of tragic K-drama lead! Oh my god, youâre down badââ
Sieunâs face turned a shade redder than Suho had ever seen. âYouâre cleaning that.â
âIâm a guest,â Suho replied, already reclined again, hands behind his head, smug satisfaction glowing from every inch of him.
Sieun exhaled through his nose.
Quiet. Exasperated.
But behind his earsâsoft pink.
And just barely, curling beneath all that embarrassment, was a smile so small he almost managed to hide it.
"You're totaly smiling"
"I'm not"
"You are"
"I'm not"
Silence threaded its way between them, not uncomfortable, but suspendedâfragile and fullâas the soft murmur of the couple on screen continued to fill the room, their dialogue playing out like some distant memory neither Suho nor Sieun could fully focus on.
"You totally are" Suho butted at him.
⥠note âââââ I miss the trio so bad </3 i think park jihoon just hear my request because he posted a story of him A SELCE IM EATING IT UP
â ïŸàč I'D DO ANTHING JUST FOR ME TO SEE YOU AGAIN ৠâč àŁȘ
᥎êȘ« which yeon sieun sees you visiting him
ৠâč àŁȘ first part ïŒ party on you
ৠâč àŁȘ second part ïŒconsole me, and then i'll leave without a trace
âââ angst to fluff , set on ep7 of s2 , depictions of self harm , bullying , graphic scenes
âžâž ââĄâ i got sick ... so i couldn't finish writing yesterday. please do make some requests <3
reader will be called dokja ïŒ because in reader in korean is dokja
For an entire year, she had tried everything to make herself feel whole again.
For someone, so bright â her smile had become rare, something she stored away in a locked box, fearing it would shatter if she opened it.
The fluorescent lights in the hallway buzzed above her, and the cold linoleum floor echoed each step as if the empty school itself whispered her name. Every corner held eyes that whispered behind tilted heads; every passing shoulder carried a story she used to be part of. She walked through that river of eyes like a stone sinking silently, carrying the weight of whispers in her chest.
She remembered how it felt at first, when the quiet ache had swelled like a balloon inside her ribs. She had tried to stretch it with excuses â busying herself with homework until her hands cramped, munching down snacks until her stomach ached, even jogging until her legs turned to jelly â anything to squeeze out a little satisfaction.
But nothing made the emptiness truly leave. It was like trying to fill a black hole with water; every drop vanished before it could make a ripple. In class, she doodled nothing except the back of her mind on the margins of her notebook: a heart that wouldnât fill, a mouth that wouldnât smile.
During lunch, while others crowded around tables trading jokes and laughter, she found a quiet corner.
The cafeteria lights and clatter of trays felt distant, as if she watched it happen in someone elseâs dream. She chewed slowly on her rice, its dull flavor on her tongue.
She wondered if they were wondering why she ate so slowly, or thought she must eat quickly to stay strong. In her head, she counted the seconds between bites, hoping to feel any sensation more than the gnawing void inside.
She would glance on the table near her, It was the table they used to sat on. But she quickly disregard the gnawing pain of memories her brain kept locked in.
She heard the rumors.
Kids at her locker thinking she couldnât hear, imagining her knuckles bruised from something they didnât understand, lips curling into cruel stories.
She was the shadow stretching long across the hallwayâs bright walls â not quite human, not quite monster. Some were scared to approach, afraid she might lash out with hands that had, one time, raised to defend something small and precious.
Each morning felt like climbing a hill she could never reach the top of. Even the sun casting light through her kitchen window failed to warm her insides. Her reflection in the mirror as she put on her uniform was a girl with tired eyes, the kind that quiet mornings and too many secrets give you.
She wondered if the corners of her mouth had forgotten how to go up. On some mornings, she pinched her palm with her nails just to feel a flash of anything real, a proof that she was still there and not just an echo.
She often thought about who she used to be, or who she wanted to be.
Sometimes, in rare moments alone in the afternoon, she would hum a tune she once loved, and for a breath sheâd almost believe everything would be okay again.
But when the bell rang and the hurried footsteps as the hallway became empty, reality clung to her again like a cold coat. She straightened her spine, squared her shoulders, tried to make herself small and unnoticeable so she could disappear into the background.
It was easier this way â so people wouldn't come closer anymore.
As the year dragged on, she built a quiet routine of coping.
Some days, after the final bell, she would find a hidden corner of the library and bury her face in a book, leaning into the paper and print so she could hold a whisper of someone elseâs story.
Other days, she walked home along side streets, feet crunching on gravel, head down so that the roofs of houses blurred her vision and no one would say her name.
At night, before sleep stole her away, she sometimes imagined a dinner table where just once someone passed her plate without a warning glance. Those dreams faded by dawn, leaving only the morning ache.
She watched the other students as if from behind glass. They passed her in the hallsâheads held high, friends jabbering shoulder-to-shoulder. They worried about tests, cram schools, summer vacation or going out.
Sometimes at night, late when everything was dark and the house was empty, she touched the scars she kept hidden on her wrist. They were faint lines, as if she had cut herself just enough to feel. Enough to remember that Iâm here.
The ache in her stomach and heart became the same longing, and she ached to feel anything but hollow. Yet morning would come, as it always did, and she would tuck those memories back inside her ribcage and wear her uniform once more.
She was careful now.
Careful to walk in the center of the corridors so no one had reason to crowd her. Careful to keep her voice low if a teacher asked her a question.
She preferred to blend into the pattern of her desk in class or the gray cement wall outside the school, so that anyone might forget she was there at all. She told herself that being invisible was the least she could offer the world.
Sometimes when she passed a reflection in a store window, she stared at the girl who looked back with hungry eyes and wondered if that was her, really, or just another stranger pulling a cart alongside the frozen aisles of life. She envied how warm and bright her classmates appeared in her imagination, as if they wore their warmth and hunger on their tongues without any effort.
She started learning how to ride Suhoâs motorcycle a month after everything happened. Not because she had a reason. Just because sitting still made her feel like sheâd disappear.
It wasnât easy. Her hands werenât made for handlebars or throttle grips, and the engine always roared too loud for her quiet head. But she kept practicing. Around the block, then across the neighborhood, then down the same roads Suho used to ride when he was stillâ
She doesnât finish the sentence. She just keeps riding.
Sometimes she visits his grandmother first, carrying grocery bags that dig red marks into her palms. They donât talk muchâjust share the silence like old friends do. She helps clean, picks up the mail, waters the plants that Suho forgot to before everything fell apart. And then, like ritual, she visits the hospital.
She doesnât bring flowers anymore. That stopped after the fifth week. Now itâs just her, a quiet chair, and Suhoâs breathing. She talks sometimes, about nothing. About school. About how the vending machineâs been out of her favorite drink for a week straight. About the bike.
She took the job to keep her mind busy. A delivery service. Something that paid just enough and asked for nothing back. Using Suho's helmet that's too big on her because she couldn't used the pink helmet he brought for her, a schedule, and a willingness to keep going even when youâre tired.
She took the job because she wanted to make up for what she didnât doâwhat she shouldâve done back then. Maybe if she earned enough, it could at least cover Suhoâs expenses for a few months. So when he woke up, he wouldnât have to think about wasting time trying to make money again. He could just rest, catch up with everything he missed.
That was the idea. That was a brilliant plan.
Oh, how wrong she was.
It was hard to juggle everythingâschool during the day, taekwondo classes after, then deliveries until late. Her body ached more often now. Sleep became something borrowed, not earned. And sometimes, when she stared too long at her schedule, she wondered how Suho managed to do it all.
Then she let out a bitter chuckle.
Right. He didnât study much.
He triedâshe remembered that. Showing up to class with tired eyes, scribbling half-hearted notes, pretending to care when the teacher called on him. But studying was never the plan for him. He wasnât built for libraries or lecture halls. He was planning to survive. To make a living. To take care of the people he loved, even if that meant running himself to the ground.
Now here she was, retracing his steps. As if mimicking his life could somehow bring him back. As if it could undo what happened.
But the truth was, she wasnât doing this because it was right.
She was doing it because she didnât know how else to grieve.
She was doing it to remember that she still lived for himâthe only one.
It wasnât like she suddenly believed in responsibility or wanted to prove something to her parentsâthey didnât care either way. They nagged her about it at first, asking why she had to deliver food like some desperate kid. She told them she was trying to live like an adult now.
That was a lie.
What she really meant was: I need to do something that hurts a little. Something that makes me feel like Iâm still here.
She picked up the helmet, looked at the old bike, and thought, If I could ride it well enough, maybe it would feel like Suho was still beside me.
At times, when she was in the saddle delivering food, her route veered past Sieunâs old neighborhood before she could stop herself. The engineâs hum would carry her right to the curb beneath that familiar streetlamp where they once sheltered from rain.
Sheâd cut the engine and sit in silence, remembering how he held the umbrella too highâas if standing close was its own kind of risk. Sheâd force a small, aching smile, tell herself it was only a shortcut on the map.
Other days, sheâd pull up behind a low brick wall, park the bike with a screech, and leap off, ready to startle him. But in her memory, his voice would reach her first: âToo loud,â heâd said, never bothering to turn around.
So sheâd shake off the pain, clip her helmet on again, and push forwardâdeliveries waiting, regret left to catch up on its own.
Most of all, she rode just like Suho used toâlate into the evening, weaving between streetlights and memories. Each package she carried was fuel for her guilt, her promise to cover weeks of missed chores and unspoken goodbyes.
She was learning to ride the weight of her grief as surely as she learned to handle the throttle: both made her body ache, but at least it meant she was still moving.
She remembered, when she smiled at the mirror for the first time in a long while.
It wasnât a triumphant smileâmore like a small, crooked thing, half-formed and unsure, but there nonetheless. The bathroom was filled with the sharp scent of drugstore dye, gloves stained with streaks of artificial chestnut. She worked in silence, dragging the brush through her hair, clumsily but with care, as if repainting herself would somehow peel away the weight she carried on her shoulders.
When she finished drying it, the strands fanned out like paperâtoo soft, too light, the color warmer than she imagined. Under the cheap lighting, it almost looked orange. She stared at her reflection, blinked once, and let out a short, surprised laugh.
She looked like she was wearing a wig. Like a stranger trying on someone elseâs softness.
She remembered when the three would glance at her when she questioned them if she would look good in a light brown haired color. The two nodded and Beomseok complimented her with a thought, then Suhoâthat bitch.
Said, "If you ever dyed your hair. You would look like wearing a wig"
She chuckled to herself that a kick was met on his face after he made a comment.
And yet... something about it made her pause. Not in shame. Not in regret. But in that fleeting, suspended moment where grief and girlhood blur.
It didnât fix anything. But it made her feel like maybe she could try again.
Even if it was just hair.
Even if it was just for a second.
Then, it started.
The bullying.
The girls started again, their voices high and biting, a chorus of yapping dogs circling, teeth bared but too afraid to bite. Each word they threw at her was a stone, meant to make her crack. But the cracks were inside. The outside? The outside was numb, coldâso cold it almost felt like she wasn't even there. Not until the bathroom, cornered between the walls, did she feel the heat of her own anger rising.
Not at them.
No, not at them.
At herself.
She hated how she'd let it get to this point. How had she become this quiet thingâthis thing that let them talk, let them push? If it were the old her, she'd have torn them apart by now. Fists flying, voice roaring. She wouldâve been the storm they couldn't handle. She wouldâve shown them what it meant to not be afraid.
A year ago, she would have struck firstâfists flying before thought. She would have tasted the shock in their eyes as blood bloomed on her knuckles. But that girl was gone. Now she stood still, back pressed to cool porcelain, heart hammering a fierce rhythm against her ribs.
But not now.
Now, silence was all she could afford them. Giving them her attention, her energyâit felt like losing, like handing them the power to keep dragging her back into their pit. So, she waited. Let them bark, let them jeer.
She was waiting for the one to make a move. She could feel it coming. The sharpness of her breath, the way her lip trembled under the weight of what she wanted to do.
The fluorescent light hummed overhead, and the walls felt too close, as if they meant to press her in. She looked at themâlow laughs, the scrape of heels on tile. Shadows swept across the stalls, narrowing in on her.
They surrounded her: girls with cigarettes dangling from their lips, eyes bright with cruelty. Their words stungâwhispers of psycho, freak, worse. Each insult landed in her chest like a stone.
Her lips were dry, chapped beneath the heavy lipstick, so bright it almost hurt to see. She imagined, for a moment, what it would look likeâif that lipstick were smeared with blood. Her blood or theirs, it didnât matter. The thought of wiping it off with their mocking laughter, of seeing them eat their own arrogance, was a sickening sort of satisfaction.
The laughter, the cigarette smoke curling around their wordsâit all burned her. She didnât need to move, didnât need to react. But the fantasy? The fantasy was enough. They'd never know the rage coiled inside her like a snake, waiting for the right moment to strike.
But that moment never came. And she realized, standing there, that maybe it never would. She was a prisoner of her own calm.
She paused, breath steadying, and Suhoâs voice cut through the noise in her head. âIf they corner you, donât let them control the space. Use anything around you. Make them intimidate you.â Not her teacherâs drillsâSuhoâs words, like a lifeline.
She straightened her spine. Every inch of her stood tall: shoulders back, chin up, eyes locked on the ring leader. The others fell silent, startled by the sudden shift in the air. She moved forward, step by deliberate step, until she was toe-to-toe with the girl whoâd cornered her.
Her voice was low, rough from disuseâbut clear.
" You done spouting bullshit? "
The hallway seemed to hold its breath. The girlâs smirk faltered as a tremor of hesitation rippled through the circle. And for the first time that day, She felt something bloom behind her ribsânot fear, but a fierce, electric calm. The world had tilted back into place. She owned this moment. And they knew it.
The girl scoffed, a bitter sound curling from her lips like smoke. Her voice trembled, mechanical and unsure, stuttering as if caught between fury and fear. âWhat did you say?â she asked, trying to hold the edges of control, to wear confidence like armorâthough it barely clung to her.
âYou just keep talking,â she spat. âSaying things you donât even understand. Youâve got the ego of a man compensating for something smallâso small. Always acting like you're above everyone, but youâre nothing more than a coward in a mask.â
Her anger was wildfire now, unchecked and consuming. She moved fastâtoo fastâreaching out to strike, to make the moment hers again. But the other girl was faster. Calm. Cold. She caught her wrist mid-air, twisted it hard.
There was a snapâsharp, sickening.
A breath caught in the girlâs throat.
She screamed in pain then came the kick, swift and brutal, sending her stumbling backward, wounded pride trailing behind her like a torn ribbon. She hurled in pain clutching her hand as she lay on the ground.
And thenâsilence.
She had the space she needed. A clear path to run, to disappear, to let this be over.
But she didnât move.
Not yet, she isn't done.
They circled her like wolves, four against one, grinning with the kind of confidence that came in packs. Cheap perfume, chewing gum, and bad intentions hung thick in the air.
The first came charging, wild and loud. She sidestepped, smooth as water, and swept a leg out low. The girl hit the ground with a thud, her pride landing harder than her body. As another was baffled but lungedâfists swinging, rage without form. She caught her wrist mid-swing, twisted, and sent an elbow into her ribs. The sound that followed was breathless, raw.
The third tried to out-think her. She went low, hands reaching for ankles, but didnât see the spin. A heel cracked across her jaw with the grace of violence learned in silence. She folded, crumpled, still.
The last girl hesitated.
She couldâve run. Couldâve walked away with just a bruise to her ego.
âDonât,â she warned, softly. Like mercy.
But pride struck first, than being humble.
She attackedâand in seconds, she was face-down, her wrist bent behind her back, the ground cold and unforgiving. Her face met with the cold disgusting floor where many student stepped in.
She exhaled.
She looked at them with no compassion, she knelt and plucked a crumpled cigarette pack from one of their jackets. Held it up between two fingers like something dead.
âPick them up,â she said.
No one answered, nor moved.
She exhaled with a look of annoyance.
She stood over them, still as a statue, the echo of violence humming in her bones. Around her, the bathroom was silent save for their ragged breathingâtile cold beneath scraped palms, smoke clinging to the walls like ghosts.
âPICKED THEM UP!â she shouted, voice cracking through the air like a whip.
It boomed off the tiled walls, reverberating through the stillness. The room swallowed the sound, but it stayed there, vibrating in the bones of those crouched on the floor.
They moved slowly, heads bowed like scolded children, fingers fumbling for the torn paper and crushed filters. One by one, they gathered the pieces.
She didnât blink. Didnât move.
"Eat it." she commanded at them, as the other stare at her in fear. Others obeyed too quickly afraid to have more blooming bruises on their faces.
But the one who had confronted herâthe first to strike, the first to fallâdidnât look away.
She sat against the tiled wall, cradling her broken wrist with the other hand, eyes burning with fury. It wasnât fear in her faceâit was defiance. Pride refusing to kneel, even in defeat.
Blood at the corner of her lip. Breathing sharp. Hate alive in her throat.
She walked toward herânot rushed, not cruel, just deliberate. Controlled. Her knees bent with a soft thud against the tile as she knelt before the girl. A single cigarette still burned on the floor, its ember a fading eye. She picked it up between her fingers, unflinching as the heat kissed her skin.
âStill holding onto that pride?â she asked, almost gently.
She caught her face in one hand, fingers gripping her cheeks, steady and strong. Thumb pried her mouth open.
âNo more talking.â She murmured at her, and smiled at her. Sickingly.
She watched her chew itâeyes wet, teeth grinding through heat and paper and humiliation. The taste of defiance turned to ash on her tongue.
She held her gaze the whole time at her. Chewing at her own pride.
Then she let go.
Her fingers slipped from the girl's face like a dying breeze. And then, without furyâonly finalityâshe slapped her. A clean, echoing sound that cracked through the heavy stillness like a gunshot in a chapel. No rage in it. Just closure. She rose to her feet, slow and composed, the chaos behind her shrinking as if it had never touched her.
At the door, she paused.
The air in the bathroom was thickâsmoke curling like ghosts above the flickering light, blood and ash staining silence. The girls were curled inward, pain folding their bodies like paper. Eyes wide, throats dry. Beaten, but still watching.
She turned to face them one last time.
âTell a teacher,â she said, voice low but thunderous, coiled with quiet venom. âAnd it wonât just be my fists or my feet kneeling to your faces.â Her eyes swept over themâeach one trembling, pride shattered and stinging beneath the skin.
âIâll make sure you canât even look in the mirror without choking on what you see.â
A breath.
âI will kill you.â
No screams. No theatrics. Just that promiseâquiet and unshakeable.
Then she stepped through the doorway and disappeared. The door slammed behind her with the force of a verdict. The lock clicked shut, sealing the room like a tomb.
She walked slowly, each step measured, as though the weight of her own actions had yet to fully settle. Her heartbeat still echoed in her chest, a steady drum beneath the skin. The rush, that surge of power, still coursed through her veins like fire, bright and consuming.
But she remained composed.
Her breath, though quick, was steady, like the calm after a storm. The chaos of the bathroomâthose faces crumpled in pain, the smell of smoke and defeatâwas already fading into the periphery of her mind.
Her fingers, still tingling from the force of the slap, brushed against the cold metal of the doorframe as she passed. Her body knew what it had done, but her mind? Her mind was already someplace else, already turning over the pieces like a puzzle that had just been solved.
She didn't regret it. Not in that moment.
She didnât need to look back.
She just have to keep moving forward.
Its been a year.
After endless of orders, knocking on doors, she fell asleep face-down on a half-finished worksheet, the highlighter uncapped and bleeding neon yellow into the page.
When she slept, she was impossible to wakeâlike the world could end outside her window and sheâd sleep through the fire. It had become her escape, her only silence. But not tonight.
Her phone rang loud and sharp, slicing through the quiet like panic often does. She stirred, groggy and annoyed, until her eyes caught the caller ID: Hospital.
She blinked.
Hospital
Her heart didnât stopâit collapsed.
She answered without thinking, her voice breathless, the fear already creeping up her spine. âHello?â
The voice on the other end was formal, wrapped in professional indifference. âHello. Is this Dokja-ssiâs phone?â
Her breath hitched. Something about the tone felt wrong. Off. Too careful. âYesâyes, this is her. Iâm Dokja. Why? Whatâs going on?â she asked, already standing, legs shaky, the panic flooding her veins.
âThereâs been a complication,â the voice replied, each word like a crack in her chest. "Patient Anh Suho, is in a critical condition, Unfortunately, Sieun-ssi responded but he didn't came. Are you able to come?" The nurse voice replied.
For a second, time slowed. Then it shattered.
She didnât respond. The call had ended. Or maybe she had ended it. She couldnât remember. Her limbs moved on instinct. She didnât change clothes. She didnât think. She just ran.
She ran like she did the night everything fell apart.
She ran like apologies could catch up to prayers.
She ran like her heart would stop before she made it.
She ran even if her tears wouldn't stop streaming until her eyes became blurry at the sight.
She called and called Suhoâs grandmother, but the line rang endlessly. The silence on the other end pressed against her ears like grief.
When she burst through the hospital entrance, breathless and wild-eyed, she was met with chaosâblurred voices, sharp lights, the dull smell of antiseptic, and somewhere behind it all, fear.
A nurse met her halfway, calm hands reaching to steady her. "Dokja-ssi? "she asked gently, guiding her to a seat. She nodded, unable to speak.
Then everything came too fastâ loud shouts, jarring footsteps.
Too real.
She couldnât move. Couldnât blink. She just stood there, rooted to the floor as the world blurred into chaos.
Through the small square of glass, her eyes locked onto the scene like it might disappear if she looked away. Suhoâs body, too still on the stretcher, wires snaking across his chest. The defibrillator pads were already in place. The sound of machines echoed even through the door, shrill and unrelenting.
She saw the moment his heart flatlined.
The jagged spike of the monitor became a flat line.
"He's in cardiac arrest!"
Doctors shouted orders she couldnât understand, but her body translated their panic anyway. Hands moved fast, efficient and desperate, as if time could be bribed to give them more.
His chest liftedâonce, twiceâunder compressions, and she could barely hear the nurse behind her asking her to sit down.
But she didnât. She couldnât.
All she could do was stare at the blinking lights, watching as they flickered like dying stars in a collapsing sky. He had always burned so bright. And nowâNow he was fighting to stay lit.
Tears clung to her lashes, but she didnât cry. Not yet. Not when he was still in there. Not when he might still wake up.
She placed a hand against the glass.
âSuho,â she whispered like it was a promise. Like her voice could reach him where machines couldnât.
She didnât know how long she stood there. Couldâve been minutes. Couldâve been forever. Time twisted itself into knots.
All she knew was that she had never felt so helpless.
Inside, the doctor called for another round. The paddles pressed to his chest.
Clear.
His body jolted.
She flinched.
Her knees gave out before she even realized she was falling. The cold linoleum kissed her skin, and her fingers clawed at the base of the emergency room doorâdesperate, aching, as if she could tear through it and pull him back with her own bare hands.
âSuho,â she choked out, once, then againâuntil his name was no longer a name, but a prayer dragged through broken sobs.
Her body folded in on itself. Shoulders shaking, forehead pressed against the wood like it could listen. Like maybe if she stayed close enough, heâd hear her crying and come back just to scold her for it.
She wailed quietly at first, then louder, all the grief she had buried beneath discipline and duty unspooling in the rawest of ways. She gripped the doorframe like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to the earth, nails digging in until her knuckles turned white.
Her voice cracked, mouth trembling as she whispered, âPlease⊠please donât go.â
No one answered.
Only the muffled chaos of the emergency room beyond the door. The soft buzz of machines still fighting to keep him here. The frantic shuffle of shoes and fabric and sterile urgency.
She quickly kneeled, blood in her throat and prayers in her lungs. Asking the universe, begging God, âIf you're here, save him.â
Not long after, the noise settled. The beeping of machines, the shouting of doctors, the chaos in the emergency room all blurred into a dull hum as Suhoâs heart slowly found its rhythm again.
She sat there, knees still trembling beneath her, as a nurse gently approached her. She had no words to offer, no comfort to give, but the way she placed a steady hand on her shoulder said enough. It was an anchor in a sea of uncertainty.
âSuhoâs stable now,â the nurse said softly, but her voice was still kind, despite the exhaustion that clung to her like a second skin. âHeâs in critical care, but the immediate danger has passed.â
âHis vitals are steady. Weâll monitor him, of course.â The nurseâs tone was reassuring, but she couldnât shake the cold dread that clung to her, the fear that, at any moment, everything could tip back into the unknown.
The doctor stepped in next, his presence steady but brisk, offering the facts as they were. âHis heart stopped for a few moments, but we were able to stabilize him,â he said, glancing at the monitor and then at her. âWeâll continue monitoring him closely for the next few hours. Heâs strong. Heâll pull through. But itâs too early to say much more.â
She nodded, the weight of his words settling into her bones. But her mind couldnât quite rest on the relief; it was tangled in the knots of everything she had felt before this moment, the panic, the helplessness, the feeling of losing him before she even had the chance to understand what he truly meant to her.
She managed to speak, though her voice felt foreign. âCan I see him?â
The nurse and doctor exchanged glances. The doctor nodded. âJust for a moment. Heâs sedated, but weâll allow a brief visit.â
As they led her to Suhoâs room, She felt her legs heavy, like she was walking through water. When she reached the threshold of his room, she stopped, standing there in the doorway for a moment, watching him. The sight of himâhis face pale but familiar, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath the monitorsâwas almost too much to bear.
But she stepped inside. Slowly. Quietly. As if afraid that if she moved too fast, she would wake from this nightmare too soon.
There, in the quiet hum of the hospital room, she sat by his bed, her hand carefully brushing through his hair.
She didnât speak.
She didnât need to.
All she could do was stay. And wait.
"You scared the shit out of me, you bastard." Her voice cracked, soft but heavy with the weight of everything she had felt in the past few hours.
A bitter chuckle escaped her lips, her fingers trembling as they lingered on his hand, still warm, still steady. The tears she had held back now fell freely, pooling on the edges of her lashes before they slipped down her cheeks.
"I thought... I thought I was going to lose you," she whispered, the words raw and honest, the fear she hadnât known how to voice finally spilling from her. "I didn't know what I'd do without you."
"You always make me worry, donât you?" she said, her voice quieter now, almost a fond reproach, as if she was talking to herself more than to him.
The sterile room felt colder now, quieter, but her presence by his side warmed the space. She could almost pretend that things were normal, that this moment was just one of those fleeting, quiet moments they used to haveâwhen everything felt right, when there was nothing but them, no chaos, no questions. Just the quiet hum of being together.
"If you scared me like that again, i will kill you." she murmured, her hand brushing over the cool fabric of his hospital gown. "Please, wake up."
But silence was the loud answer.
Soon, she would hear his voice.
Again.
Soon she left the room, as the doctor checked his vitals.
She stepped away from the cold, sterile walls of the waiting room, seeking solace in a quiet corner where she could break without being seen. Her breath caught in her throat as her body trembled, each sob a sharp, painful release of everything she had held back.
She pressed her hand against her mouth, trying to muffle the sound, but it was useless. The grief, the fear, the desperate prayer to some higher powerâshe couldnât contain it any longer.
"Please," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Please, donât take him too."
She was lost in her own panic, until her gaze lifted, and through blurred eyes, she saw them.
Three figures in the distance, standing near the entrance of the waiting area.
Their presence felt like a strange disruption, their calm demeanor a stark contrast to the storm inside her. She quickly wiped her tears away, forcing herself to steady her breathing, her chest still tight, aching from the earlier rush of emotion.
She couldnât show them the cracks. Not now. Not here.
Her eyes darted to the sound of heels clicking against the floor, the sound sharp and confident as it drew closer. Without even looking, she knew.
She recognized the familiar cadence, the polished, poised steps of someone who had a presence that filled the room. And when she heard the words, soft yet piercing, she couldnât stop herself from glancing over.
âSieun,â his motherâs voice echoed, a quiet, clipped tone that made her blood run cold.
Her heart stopped for a moment, suspended in time. She didnât move. She didnât dare.
She had to stay still. To breathe. To keep herself from trembling at the sight of his mother, at the thought of Sieun.
As the woman turned, disappearing into the hallway, the rest of themâthose familiar figures from long agoâremained.
She heard those words again, echoing in her chest like a cracked bell, "Don't worry. He's stable now."
But âstableâ felt hollowâan empty promise carved from glass. It pressed against her ribs until she could hardly breathe. Stable meant he had already teetered on the edge.
Stable meant the world had nearly slipped him away once, and could do so again.
In that moment, the corridorâs light blurred into silver dust, and every step she took felt haunted by the question: What had broken him, and could she piece him back together?
Her legs moved before her mind could catch up, standing up as the need to know, to understand, burned through her chest. She walked toward them, each step hesitant but determined, her feet carrying her forward as if they knew the path she needed to take.
When she reached them, her voice was steady, but the question she asked felt like it came from someone else, someone too broken to stop herself.
âWhat happened to Sieun?â she asked, her voice barely a whisper, though she hoped it didnât sound as fragile as it felt.
Her eyes caught theirs, scanning each face, searching for a truth that had eluded her. And for a split second, in that fleeting moment, she realized how deeply she had missed them, how much she had needed to see them. But all she could focus on was Sieun. Where was he? Was he okay?
They met her gaze, each face shifting with somethingâpity? Worry? It was hard to tell, but she needed to know. She had to know.
The first met her gaze for an instantâhis head shaved close, eyes hardâbefore he looked away. The second hunched forward, hood drawn tight, fingers drumming an anxious rhythm against his knee. The third leaned back, arms crossed, but his glance flickered to her like a startled bird.
âWho are you?â the one wearing a blazer asked, voice cautious.
Her throat constricted. âIââ She forced the words out. âIâm just asking if heâs okay.â
âWhy do you care?â the first boy challenged, sharp eyes narrowing.
âI was his friend,â she whispered, voice thin as spun glass. âPlease⊠just tell me.â They exchanged hesitant looks, the silence stretching between them like a wound.
âWe werenât there,â the boy with folded arms finally said, each word weighed by uncertainty. âSomeone brought him in. He⊠hasnât woken up yet.â She bowed her head, letting the news settle like snow in her chest.
The boy with a fur jacket on as his voice softened, almost a murmur: âYou close to him, then?â She blinked at him, She didnât know how to answer him. Are you close to him? â the question wasnât cruel, just curious. Simple. But it rattled something. She would've said we are, once. It wouldâve been easy. Natural.
But they werenât.
Not anymore.
So the silence stretched for a second too long, and she could feel it waiting â the question, the boys, even the fluorescent lights buzzing above. âI was,â she said. Quiet. Honest. Maybe too honest. She didnât know what else to say. Nothing she could say would explain it anyway.
The words hung in the air behind her as she walked, not really expecting them to understand.
The three boys watched her go, but none of them tried to stop her. It wasnât like they could.
As she neared the hallway where Sieunâs mother had disappeared, the heels clicking sharply on the tile floor were unmistakable. The woman, tall and dressed in black, walked with a certain kind of authority, but there was something fragile about the way she moved â like even the weight of her own footsteps might be too much for her.
She didn't hesitate. Her legs carried her forward, and before she could second-guess herself, she was standing at the door where his mother had entered.
By the time she reached the door â the same one his mother had disappeared through â her hand was already on the frame, fingers trembling.
She leaned in.
The glass was small, but clear enough to steal her breath.
There he was.
Sieun. Still. Pale. Wires crawling across his skin like questions with no answers. Machines blinking quietly beside him, a soundless rhythm of worry. Her stomach turned. Something inside her dropped.
Her breathe hitched.
Him too?
And she didn't even know.
Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes before she could blink them back, stinging sharp and sudden. Not just because of the sight. But because it felt like some invisible thread had snapped â and she hadn't even realized it was still there until now.
It hit her like a quiet betrayal.
She used to pride herself on noticing thingsâon knowing when people were hurting even if they didnât say it out loud. But this?
She hadnât known a damn thing.
She didn't know what happened.
There was no warning. No signs. Just a body behind glass. A boy who once walked beside her now laid out like a question without an answer.
Her chest ached. Not sharp, just hollow.
She wondered if he tried to reach out. If he hesitated before deleting her number. If he thought about her at all.
Would it have changed anything?
Would she have come running sooner, if she knew?
She didnât even know what floor he was on until she heard his name from someone else's mouth. And now here she was, heart pressed against glass, breathing in grief like it was her fault she didnât notice him slipping.
She didnât notice the door open. Not until a voice sliced through the haze, sharp and clean like a blade pressed too close to skin. âWhat is it?â The womanâs tone was briskâbusinesslike, wrapped in steelâbut not cruel. Not yet.
And for a moment, she couldnât answer. Couldnât speak. She stood there, breath caught halfway, spine tense like sheâd been caught somewhere she shouldnât be.
What was she supposed to say? That she was standing outside the room of a boy she hadnât seen in months, one who used to walk beside her like a shadow, now lying still behind glass like a stranger? That she didnât know why she was here, only that her feet wouldnât let her go anywhere else?
But none of that would sound right. None of that would explain the tears she hadnât wiped away, the guilt tightening her chest, the ache of realizing she was too late.
ââŠWhat happened to Sieun?â She asked the question again, but it felt heavier this time. More desperate.
The woman paused.
Sieunâs mother glanced at her, with a mask of recognition.
âYou...â Sieunâs mother said softly, her voice filled with the weight of years of distance. âYouâre the girl who visited us... a year ago?â
She nodded, her throat too tight to speak.
âI was,â she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper.
The woman paused, studying her carefully. There was something in her gazeâconcern, perhaps, or understandingâsomething that made her feel exposed in a way she hadnât expected.
Sieunâs motherâs eyes softened for just a moment, her expression unreadable, but there was a kindness in the way she spoke next.
But at her first question, her jaw tensed â a small, silent betrayal of everything she refused to let slip. There was a flicker in her eyes, something restrained and quiet, like a dam holding back too much water. She gave a slow shake of her head â not dismissive, not angry â just tired. The kind of tired that lived in the bones, not the muscles. The kind that grief makes permanent.
For a moment, the hallway felt too still. The soft mechanical murmurs behind the walls seemed distant, unimportant. Time hung suspended in fluorescent light and stale air.
Then, finally, Sieunâs mother exhaled â low, controlled, as if she could force herself to stay composed with nothing but breath.
âHeâs in a bad state,â she said, and the words landed with the weight of something half-buried. âUnconscious when they brought him in. He got hit by a bus, thankfully it wasn't that critical. But the doctors are trying. Theyâre doing what they can.â
The ache hit without warning â a sharp, invisible thing that cracked down her spine like lightning. She didnât know when she started shaking. Only that it hurt to stand still, and it hurt more to listen.
She wanted to ask more. A thousand questions pressed behind her teeth, begging for air. But none of them mattered. Not right now.
âDo you... want to see him?â Sieunâs mother asked, her voice softer now, like she understood what it meant to be left behind by someone still breathing.
âYes.â Her voice came out too fast, too fragile. âPlease. Iâ I need to.â The older woman gave a quiet nod and turned, her steps slow and heavy. And the girl followed, unsure if her knees were steady enough to carry her through the weight of the moment.
Behind every step was a memory. Behind every breath was something she wished sheâd said.
But ahead⊠ahead was the hope of seeing him again â and maybe, just maybe, a chance to fix what time and silence had fractured.
âAre... are you a friend of Sieunâs?â Sieunâs mother asked, her voice faltering slightly. âI always believed something must have happened... between the two of you.â
The words hit her like a punch to the gut, a sharp reminder of the distance she had put between them, a distance that had been as much her doing as anyone elseâs.
âI used to be his friend,â she replied, her voice faltering, unsure of what else to say. Sieunâs motherâs eyes softened for just a moment, her expression unreadable, but there was a kindness in the way she spoke next.
She steps slowly toward Sieun's room, her heart racing in her chest, and each step feels heavier than the last. The guilt still lingers, but she pushes it aside, forcing herself to focus on the present. She canât afford to think about the past anymore. Not now.
The reality of whatâs happening hits herâsheâs finally facing Sieun after all this time, after everything thatâs happened. She doesnât know what sheâs going to say, or if sheâll even be able to say anything at all.
But she knows one thing for certain: she has to be there for him, even if itâs just in silence.
The sterile smell of the hospital room fills her senses. The sound of beeping machines and the soft rustle of sheets are the only noises that break the stillness of the room. She looks at him, lying unconscious in the hospital bed. His face is peaceful, but his body is marked with signs of his struggle.
Itâs hard to look at himâhe looks so fragile, so far from the boy she used to know. Sheâs reminded of all the things left unsaid, of the friendship that was lost, and the connection that never truly faded, even when she thought it had.
His mother gave a small nod, saying nothing, only shifting slightly to offer the empty seat beside her.
She sat down, the chair cold beneath her, the air colder still.
Silence erupted in the roomânot hollow, but thick. The kind that fills your lungs until itâs hard to breathe. Machines hummed gently, steady and indifferent. But everything else felt still, like the world had paused just outside these walls.
She didnât look at him right away. She couldnât. Her hands rested in her lap, fingers laced tightly together, as if they were the only thing keeping her grounded.
She heard sieun's mother sighed softly, a mix of relief and lingering worry in her voice. âThe doctor says it wasnât critical, but his nervous system was affected. Heâs been having trouble...â Her voice falters a bit.
â...trouble sleeping.â Her voice barely above a whisper, heart racing at the realization. As she finished Sieun's mother sentence. Her eyes widen in surprise, as if a flash of recognition crosses her mind. âDid Sieun tell you this?â
She shakes her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips, though itâs drowned in the ache of regret. âNo, I havenât talked to him... not since he switched schools.â She glanced at her lap, fiddling at the edge of her t-shirt, afraid to look at her.
A pause, her gaze softening, yet heavy with understanding. Her voice becomes quiet but firm, almost as if sheâs been waiting to say this. âThe moment I saw you standing at our door... I knew you had a connection with him. I donât know what happened between you two, but I could tell you meant a lot to him.â
She is struck by her words, her heart sinking in guilt. She bows her head into her lap, the tears threatening to spill over. She couldnât hold it back anymore, not with all the emotions swirling inside her, not after everything she wished sheâd done differently.
Her voice lowers with empathy, a soft sadness in her words, as she takes a cautious step closer. âSieunâs always been reserved... Heâs never been good at opening up, especially when it matters the most. Thatâs how he is... always locking everything inside.â She paused as she glanced at the girl's appearance.
She trembled, shoulders tight, voice barely holding beneath the weight that had sat on her chest for far too long.
âI... I let my pride get in the way,â she whispered, each word splintering against the silence. âI didnât talk to him when I had the chance... I shouldâve, but I didnât. I thought heâd be fineâlike he always is. I told myself heâd figure it out. But nowââ her breath hitched, ânow heâs in here, like this. And I wasnât there. I wasnât even close.â
Her hands lifted, covering her face as the tears finally broke through, warm and merciless.
She hated herself for waiting. For hesitating. For thinking there would always be more time.
The silence they once shared now felt like punishment. A distance she couldâve closed, but didnât. And now the air between them was filled with wires and machines and too many what-ifs.
If only sheâd said something. If only she hadnât let fear speak louder than her heart.
Now, it might be too late to say any of it at all.
Her voice was calmâsteady in a way that only someone who had learned how to carry pain without letting it break them could manage. It reached her like a soft touch, like the kind of comfort that doesnât need to be loud to be heard.
âItâs not your fault,â she said, not accusing, not dismissiveâjust honest. A breath left her lips, weary but full of knowing. âYou canât predict everything. Especially with someone like Sieun.â
She paused, as if weighing her next words with care.
âSometimes... people need to fall a little. Walk into the dark by themselves before they can find their way back. Thatâs not on you. You canât carry that alone.â
The words lingered in the quiet, gentle but undeniable. A truth that she hadnât let herself believe. She had been so sure it was her failure, her silence, her pride that led to thisâbut maybe... it wasnât all hers to hold.
Then, softer now, almost like an offering:
âIf you were once his friend... maybe you still are. Maybe that hasnât changed. Itâs not too late. Heâs been through more than we know, but maybeâjust maybeâseeing you now will remind him... that heâs not alone. That someone still cares.â
And in that moment, the she felt something shiftânot the ache, not the guilt, but the helplessness. It didnât fade completely. But it loosened just enough to let hope slip in.
She feels a sudden rush of uncertaintyâan ache that rises to her throat and threatens to pull her under. Should she stay? Should she leave? What right did she have to be here, after everything?
Her pride claws at her, whispering that itâs too late. That she should walk away quietly, like she always did. But something deeperâsomething older and softerâfights back. The part of her that still remembers his tired eyes, his rare half-smiles, the way he tried even when no one else saw it.
Regret crashes against her chest like a wave, but itâs no longer paralyzing. Itâs a reminder. Of time wasted. Of words left unsaid. Of the cost of silence.
She glances at Sieunâs mother, who doesnât speakâjust waits with that patient, knowing gaze. Her breath stutters, but her feet donât move. Something has shifted. The guilt is still there, heavy and sharp, but now itâs tethered to something elseâresolve.
She canât go back. She canât undo the past.
But maybe... she can be here now.
Maybe this is the moment that matters.
For a moment, the room is silent again. The machines continue to beep steadily, and the she wonders if Sieun can hear her. Wondering if maybe, deep down, he knows that sheâs here, that sheâs trying. Her eyes start to blur with tears, but she blinks them away.
She stands by his bed, her hands shaking slightly as she places them on the edge of the bed, as she closed her eyes and whispered.
"I'm sorry, Sieun-ah"
The next day felt like a blur.
She quietly steps into the sterile hospital room where Suho still lies, unmoving. She finds solace in the mundane, almost as if speaking about ordinary things could bridge the chasm of everything that had happened recently.
She talks to him, her words flowing easily, the way they used to when everything was simple. She tells him about her dayâhow the schoolwork felt heavier than usual, how his grandmother seemed well despite the worries she had about him. And she mentions Sieun too, his mother, how strange it felt to walk that line between regret and the need to reconnect.
âI saw his mom yesterday,â she continues, her voice softer now. âShe said heâs not critical... but his nervous systemâs been hit harder than I expected. Heâs having trouble... sleeping. I didnât know, Suho... I thought I was the one to blame for everything.â
She doesnât expect an answer, but the words feel like they needed to be said.
She pauses, blinking away a few tears, but laughs softly to herself as she recalls the comforting words of Sieunâs mother. âShe said I wasnât the cause of it... that people sometimes have to go through things alone before they come back. I guess... I didnât think it would be like this.â
The quiet hum of the machines fills the silence as she sighs, her shoulders slumping as though the weight of it all is settling in. She leans back, taking a long breath, her exhaustion creeping in after days of emotional strain.
Her eyes flutter closed, and before she knows it, the chair becomes a quiet refuge, the steady beeping from Suhoâs side becoming the lullaby she never thought sheâd need.
Her hand, instinctively, rests on Suhoâs, and in the quiet of the night, she falls asleep. Itâs not the restful sleep of peace, but the kind that brings temporary reliefâa brief escape from the chaos of everything around her.
And even if itâs just for a moment, she finds some comfort in the familiarity of the space, the stillness, and the softness of hope that maybe, just maybe, things will begin to heal.
She stirred awake slowly, but didnât move. The heaviness in her limbs wasnât from sleepâit was from everything else. Her head remained rested against the hospital bed, her hand still loosely curled near Suhoâs.
The room was dim, still caught between the fading night and the gentle glow of morning.
The door creaked open quietly. She heard it but didnât open her eyes. Part of her wanted to turn, to seeâbut she stayed still. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was both.
Then, his voice.
âSuho⊠Iâm sorry Iâm late.â
Her breath caught in her throat. That voice, distant yet achingly familiar, dragged her right back to every moment she spent waitingâfor answers, for closure, for him.
She felt like she couldnât breathe. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest, her fingers twitching slightly.
And then, the second wound.
âIâm sorry, Dokja-ah.â
It was said softer, like a ghost brushing past her.
She heard the shuffling of shoes, the sound of someone about to leave. Her pride couldâve let him walk. Her anger, too. But grief, time, and the ache of everything unspoken pushed her forward.
She sat up slowly, eyes still fixed ahead, and her voiceâtired but sharpâcut through the sterile room, as the machine beeping echoed.
âTook you a year to say that?â
The footsteps paused. Silence stretchedâlong enough for her heart to pound in her ears.
He froze.
The sound of her voiceâraspy, fragile, but laced with something unmistakably rawâstopped him in his tracks. He faced her, still seating on the chair faced forward. She didnât look at him.
Not yet.
Her eyes stayed on Suho, like she was still guarding something, or maybe just trying to keep herself from unraveling.
A long silence passed before she finally turned her head, just slightly. Enough to see the outline of him in the soft light.
Her gaze didnât soften, but it didnât harden either. It just held.
âI waited,â she said, barely above a whisper. âNot for an apology. Just⊠something. Anything.â
Her hand brushed lightly against Suhoâs, grounding her. She didnât want to cry. Not again. Not in front of him.
âBut you disappeared,â she continued. âLike none of it mattered. Like we didnât matter.â Her voice wavered, but her words stayed steady. âYou donât get to walk in and say sorry like thatâs enough.â
She wasnât yelling.
She didnât need to.
Her silence hurts the both of them.
She looked at him then, fullyâand for a moment, he looked like the boy she used to know. And someone else entirely.
Still, her next words werenât bitter. Just⊠tired.
âI donât know what you want from me, Sieun.â
And beneath it all, she meant it.
Do you even know what you left behind?
He stood there, caught in the doorway like someone who didnât belong in the scene he'd wandered into. His hands twitched at his sides, empty. Always empty when it came to her. And yet, somehow, this felt heavier than any fight heâd ever taken.
Her words didnât cutâthey lingered.
Hung in the space between them like mist over a lake he was too afraid to step into.
He wanted to speak.
He wanted to explain.
What could he say that wouldnât sound like an excuse?
So he just looked at her.
The way her shoulders curved inward now. The way her voice cracked like a fault line trying to stay closed. The way she kept glancing at Suhoâas if he were the bridge between them. As if he was the only one allowed to still believe in them both.
He swallowed the guilt, thick and sharp. âI didnât know how to come back,â he said, barely above a whisper. âAnd when I finally did⊠I wasnât sure I deserved to.â
She didnât respondânot right away.
But her looked says it all, "You didn't even try?"
So he took a step closer.
âI didnât stop caring,â he murmured. âI just⊠didnât know how to carry it without breaking.â
"You think I didnât notice, but I did," she said, her voice low, not shaking, not angryâjust tired. The kind of tired that sits deep in your bones, where no sleep can reach.
She let out a breath, almost a laugh, but it was hollow.
"I just didnât want to believe it. So I made excuses. I told myself you were busy, or overwhelmed, or just... thinking things through. I waited. I gave you space. And you took itâso much space there was nothing left of you. No message. No call. Not even a goodbye. Just... absence. You left, and I stayed behind trying to stitch something back together that I didnât even break." Her hands were still clenched at her sides, but her shoulders had slumped slightly, the weight of it all pulling her down again.
"Do you know what that feels like?" she asked, not looking at him now. "To lose everyone, one by one, and then have youâyouâjust disappear like you were never part of any of it? Suho ended up in a hospital bed. Beomseok vanished like smoke. Yeong-i stopped answering. And then there was just me. Alone. And you were supposed to be the one who stayed." She turned her head toward him, finally meeting his eyes again.
"I waited for you. I waited so long, and it got quiet. So quiet that it hurt. Iâd stare at my phone for hours. I'd start typing something to you and delete it before I sent it. Iâd run out of reasons to pretend like it was okay, like you were coming back. But I still hoped. Isnât that sad? I still hoped." Her voice wavered now, just a little. But she didnât let it fall apart.
"I kept asking myself, what did I do wrong? Was it something I said? Something I didnât say? Should I have asked more questions, held on tighter, yelled, cried, anything? I was folding myself into pieces trying to find the version of me you wouldnât walk away from." Her breath caught, but she blinked it back.
She didnât cry.
She didn't want to anymore.
"And now you're here, and you look sorry, but sorry isnât a time machine. Sorry doesnât put things back where they were. Sorry doesnât tell me why you thought I couldnât handle the truth when I was already surviving the wreckage you left behind." She took a step back.
"You left. You made that choice. And I lived with the silence. Donât come back now and act like you were the one hurting."
She stood now, walking past the bed until she was closer to himâarms still at her side, fists clenched.
She shook her head, a bitter laugh slipping past her lips before she could stop it. It sounded smaller than she expected. Tired, too.
âI waited,â she said, the words sitting heavy in her throat. âEvery day, I waited for you to come back. And when you didnât⊠I started to hate you. But worse than thatâI hated myself.â
Her voice thinned, the way it does when something old and buried rises too fast, too sharp. Like the weight of it had finally lodged in her chest and was pressing, hard.
âBecause I kept thinkingâif Iâd just opened my mouth. If I hadnât let my pride win. If Iâd said anything instead of staying silent... maybe we wouldnât be here. Standing like strangers, pretending we used to be something more.â
Sieun looked pale, like the guilt in his chest had found its way to his face. He looked like he wanted to reach for her, but didnât. Couldnât.
âIâm sorry,â he said. Softer now. Like he meant it, but didnât believe it was enough.
She looked at him, hollow-eyed.
âI donât need your sorry,â she said. âI needed you.â
The silence that followed didnât feel empty. It felt deafeningâlike the aftermath of a scream. Like the room itself was holding its breath.
She turned away and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket, pretending the motion was casual. It wasnât.
âIf youâre going to leave again,â she said quietly, âjust go now.â
âIâm notââ he stated.
âDonât promise me things,â she snapped, too fast. âYouâre not good at keeping them.â
That stopped him. His gaze dropped for a second, shame flickering across his face. But when he looked up again, something had changed. His eyes werenât defensive or desperate. Just steady. Heavy with everything he hadnât said until now.
âI know,â he said. âI know you did. You waited.â
He stepped away from the door, not closer to herâbut toward the weight between them. Like he was choosing, finally, not to run.
âYou think I didnât want to come back?â he said, his voice quiet. âI did. Every day I told myselfâjust one message. Just one call. But then Iâd remember the way you looked at me the last time. Like Iâd already broken something important.â
She opened her mouthâmaybe to argue, maybe to agreeâbut he kept going.
âI couldnât face Suho. Or you. Or who I used to be. Because after everything fell apart, I thought it was my fault. I thought I ruined everything. And maybe I did.â
There was no anger in his voice. Just weariness.
âI told myself staying away was cleaner. That I wouldnât hurt you more by showing up broken. But the truth is... I was just scared. Scared of being the one who couldnât fix what he shattered.â
She didnât speak. She just stared, hands clenched at her sides, like letting them relax might make all of this too real.
âI thought forgetting would be easier if I stayed gone. But I didnât forget,â he said. âI just kept losing parts of myself, until there was nothing left that felt like enough.â
He didnât raise his voice. He didnât need to. His words came steady, quietâbut sharp enough to cut.
âI couldnât face it. I told myself I was protecting you, giving you space, whatever lie made it easier to breathe. But the truth isâI was a coward. Not the dramatic kind, not the ones who run screaming. The quiet kind. The kind that slips out the back door and convinces themselves itâs mercy.â
He looked at her then, really lookedâlike maybe it had taken this long to let himself.
âI thought if I stayed away long enough, youâd stop needing me. That youâd forget whatever version of me you used to count on. That youâd move on, and I could pretend I didnât break anything.â
She didnât say a word. Her jaw was tight. Her eyes were red. But she listened.
âI saw Suho in that bed,â he went on, softer now. âI saw you next to him. And I realized how much I missed. How much I left you to carry. Alone. You always carried everything so quietlyâI think I convinced myself youâd be okay without me. But you werenât. And I wasnât okay without you either.â
He took a step forward, not asking permission. Just letting her see that maybeâfor onceâhe wasnât hiding behind silence.
âIâm not going to make promises. I donât think I have the right to anymore. But I will say this: I never stopped thinking about you. And I was wrong. You didnât deserve that kind of silence. You didnât deserve to feel like you were the one left behind.â
âIâm not here to undo it,â he said, voice low, steady. âI know I canât. I know showing up now doesnât erase anything.â
His gaze lingered on herâthe shine in her eyes that wasnât light, but tears; the shadows beneath them carved by sleepless nights; the way her hair had grown longer, falling like silence across her shoulders.
She looked heartbreakingly beautiful. Not in the way the world defines it, but in the way sorrow shapes someone who kept going anyway.
And it killed himâ
That he was the reason her eyes were wet.
That her sadness wore his name.
She stood there, shoulders tight, something trembling at the edges of her expression. She wanted to scream. Or cry. Or fall into his chest and tell him to hold her like nothing ever broke. But all she could say was, âThen donât leave again.â
He looked at her, really lookedâno flinching, no turning away.
âI wonât,â he said. âNot if you want me to stay.â
The moment his words settled between them, she didnât thinkâshe moved.
Two steps. Three.
She crashed into him.
Her arms wrapped around his shoulders with a desperation that trembled. He froze at first, caught in the sheer force of her pain, then slowlyâgentlyâhis arms came up, holding her like she might disappear again if he let go.
Her voice broke between sobs against his shoulder. âI hate you⊠for disappearing from me.â Her fists curled into his jacket like she wanted to push him away and pull him closer at the same time.
âI hate that you left without a word. I hate that I waited. That I made excuses. That I let you take everything with you.â Sieun didnât flinch. He just held her tighter, his chin resting lightly against the top of her head, grounding her in the way she didnât know she still craved.
"I know" he whispered into her ear, as his hands rested carefully on her waist, "I hate myself too."
Her crying wasnât loudâbut it hurt. It was the kind of crying that sounded like years of swallowed grief cracking open in the arms of someone who once knew her heart.
And in that hospital room, with the beep of Suhoâs monitors humming steady in the background, it was the most honest theyâd ever been.
No more pride.
No more what ifs.
No more sleepless nights.
No more wondering.
No more pretending.
Just them.
The two of them.
And maybe Suho too.
Just themâtired, broken, but finally, finally not alone.
The sobs had quieted into soft sniffles. She didnât let go at firstâbut Sieun gently pulled back, just enough to meet her eyes. His voice still low from everything that had been said. "I have to go."
She didnât flinch. She just blinked, slow and steady, like she was trying to brace herself for something she already knew. âTheyâre waiting for you, aren't they.â she said to him.
That made him pause. His brow pulled in, confused. âHave you met them?â She nodded once, wiping gently under her eye with the edge of her thumb. Her voice softened, raw at the edges. âThey remind me of Suho, Yeong-I and...Beomseok before.â She whispered like a broken tale.
There it wasâthe way his shoulders dipped, almost imperceptibly. Something in him shifted. A ghost passed between them. And for the briefest second, something rare flickered across his face: a smile. Small, hesitant. It didnât quite reach his eyes, but it curled faintly at the corners, like it was trying.
Like it still hurt.
âYou want to meet them?â
The question sat between them like glass. Fragile. Waiting.
She looked down, flexed her fingers once, then met his eyes again.
âDo you want me to?â
The air shiftedâjust slightly. It was still thick with history, but the weight of it wasnât unbearable anymore. Something in it had softened. And for once, there was no panic in his silence.
He didnât rush to answer. He just breathed.
âYeah,â he said at last. âI think I do.â
She took a breath of her own, the kind that comes from choosing to stay, even when the past clings to your ribs. Then she stepped forwardâclose enough that their shoulders nearly brushed, not quite touching, but near enough that warmth moved between them again.
âThen letâs go,â she said.
So they did. No grand declarations. No clean endings. Just two people walking slowly through the quiet, side by side, carrying what couldnât be fixedâbut not alone this time.
They stepped into the lobby, their fingers still loosely threadedâbarely holding, but not letting go. The world outside the hospital buzzed with fluorescent hums and distant footsteps, louder now, clearer somehow. And yet, the quiet between them was no longer something sharp. It was calm. Steady. A kind of peace.
Sieunâs pace faltered when he saw them.
Jun-tae stood with a gaze filled with worry. Go Tak was next to himâalways alert, the crease between his brows softening the moment his eyes landed on Sieun. Baku sat on the bench, knee bouncing restlessly like heâd been trying not to bounce off the walls entirely.
Jun-tae noticed first.
âSieun,â he said simply.
Go Tak straightened, the edge in his posture lifting slightly. âYou okay?â
Sieun gave a small nod. His voice was low, but there was something solid in it now.
âYeah. I'm pretty sure.â
He didnât elaborate, but none of them needed more than that.
Jun-tae gave a tearful confession, she smiled at him. He was a nice kid. Then this guyâstands up and pats him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Saying that he doesn't need to worry about Sieun at all. Go Tak offered a small nod, concern folding quietly into relief.
âTook you long enough,â he said, voice just above a murmur.
This guy, Baku.
He stood with all the dramatic energy of someone whoâd been holding back a performance, like the entire hospital lobby was his stage and heâd just found his cue. With a flourish only Baku could pull off, he patted Jun-taeâs shoulderâa casual gesture that somehow still managed to be loudâand then turned, eyes narrowing like heâd spotted something scandalous.
His gaze dropped to their handsâstill loosely laced, still warm from all the unspoken things they hadnât let go of yet. Bakuâs eyes darted between them, growing comically wide. He pointed, slowly, accusingly, like heâd uncovered a government secret.
âWAITâSIEUNâYOUâSHEâYOU HAVE A GIRLFRIEND?!â
Sieun blinked.
She blinked.
The hand-holding, still soft between them, hadnât quite registered until that exact moment.
Sieun looked down at their hands like he was just now remembering heâd been holding hers. She didnât let go, though. Neither did he.
Go Tak rolled his eyes with a sigh. Jun-tae chuckled softly even with tears brimming his eyes.
But Baku was already mid-spin, arms out, voice raised dramatically.
âCan we just take a moment to appreciate this development? Sieun! With a hand-holdingâa hand-holding!âin public!â
Sieun groaned under his breath.
âItâs not like that.â
She lifted her chin a little, trying not to smile.
âWeâre just close.â
Baku gave them both a slow, skeptical once-over before the corners of his mouth curled up into a knowing grin.
âItâs like the confession scene in Slam Dunk,â he said, voice dipped in exaggerated awe, clutching his chest as if overcome by the sheer romance of it all. âYou knowâwhen Rukawa says nothing but itâs everything? The hands, the silence, the undeniable tensionâah, iconic.â
She laughed at him, ââŠRukawa never confessed.â
âThatâs the point!â Baku cried, throwing his arms up. âThe beauty is in the restraint! In the mutual understanding! In the unspoken emotions shimerring beneath the surface!â
Go Tak sighed, clearly done with this.
No one bothered correcting him again.
The group moved on, steps falling into rhythm. The jokes kept coming, the teasing never quite biting. And between all of it, their hands stayed where they wereâstill laced, still sure.
She smiled as she watched themâthree boys tangled in their usual chaos, laughter sparking like old warmth in a place too quiet for too long. Her voice came low, almost a sigh dressed in fondness.
âWah⊠he really is like Suho.â She murmured quietly but enough for Sieun to hear. At the sound of her, Sieun turned. His gaze found hers, lingeringânot with surprise, but something quieter. Something like recognition. âYouâre leaving?â
She nodded, the edges of her smile softening. âI should. Iâve been here too long⊠and youâve got company now.â But he was already moving before she finished, closing the distance like a reflex he hadnât forgotten.
âIâll walk you out.â
The three looked at them, and just let them be.
They stepped into the hall together, silence pressing gently between themânot heavy, not awkward, just full of all the things neither of them had the courage to name.
Then, from behind themâ
âYEAH, SIEUNâTAKE CARE OF YOUR GIRLFRIEND!â Bakuâs voice rang out, unfiltered and obnoxiously proud.
Sieun didnât miss a beat.
âSheâs not my girlfriend.â
He stated, but his eyes glint at him. "Back off"
Baku grinned wider, unbothered. âSo I can ask her out?â A sharp thwack cracked through the air as Go Tak smacked the back of Bakuâs head, exasperated. âYou idiot.â
She laughed, quietly.
And Sieun, for a moment, almost smiled too. He grasped tightly to her hand as they walked side by side.
The automatic doors slid open in front of them. The cold outside air kissed her cheeks, sharp and sobering. Sieun stepped out beside her, hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes cast toward the horizon like he was searching for something that hadnât quite arrived yet.
They walked a few steps in silence, their shoulders not quite touching, but close enough to feel the presence of one another.
âI wasnât planning to stay long,â she said quietly, watching her breath curl in the air like smoke. âBut it felt hard to leave.â
Sieun looked at her. âIâm glad you didnât.â
She nodded, eyes fixed on the ground. âI didnât know what I wanted to say when I saw you again,â she admitted. âBut it was never about the words, was it?â
âNo,â he murmured. âIt was about showing up.â
The silence this time wasnât heavy. It hung between them like a thread, soft and delicate, but strong enough to hold something unspoken.
She paused near the curb, the edge of where she had to go. He stopped with her.
âText me,â she said again, barely above a whisper. âEven if itâs just one word.â
âI will.â This time, she smiledânot wide, but real. She took a step backward, eyes still on him.
âTake care of them, okay?â He nodded. âI will.â
And when she turned to leave, he didnât stop herânot out of apathy, but trust. Trust that she would turn around if she ever needed to, and heâd be there.
Sieun stood beneath the washed-out glow of the awning, the light pooling softly at his feet. He didnât call her name. Didnât move. Just watched as she walked into the night, her figure slowly swallowed by shadows and streetlight.
She didnât look back. Not at first.
But a few steps before the crosswalk, she stopped. The kind of pause that wasnât hesitationâit was decision.
Then she turned.
Her eyes werenât bright with tears, and her expression held no drama. Just a kind of quiet knowing. She walked back toward him, deliberate, steady. When she stopped again, it wasnât hesitationâit was declaration.
From her pocket, she pulled something small.
Thenâflickâthe arc of motion was smooth, unceremonious. It landed in his hand with the soft clink of metal.
A black punch ring.
Sieun blinked down at it, the cool weight settling into his palm. He didnât need to ask why. Her voice came low and firm, laced with something fiercer than sadness. âYou canât possibly win with just a ballpen, Sieun-ah. I donât know what youâre fighting for⊠but you better win.â
And just like that, she turned.
No goodbye. No glance over her shoulder.
Only the echo of her footsteps and the charged silence she left behind.
Sieun stared at the ring, the hard curve of it pressing into his lifeline.
And thenâjust barelyâa smile found its way to his face.
Not joy. Not hope.
But the kind saying that he was ready.
Ready for her.
Reay to face it all.
After all, he is a hero. A weak one.
⥠note âââââ I'd do anything just for you to be mines again. I felt sadness pour into me. When you became a stranger, I knew that you'd be leaving me. Then you became a danger, I felt sadness pour into me.
⥠note ââ hope you enjoy it, this would be the last part <3 Probably there would be another one but in S3
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