hi hi
glad you're back at writing for skz!! can u do smth where you're usually spoiled by them, and they say "no" to you for the fisrt time?
hi anon!! omg that would kill me but omfg yes the angst soup. writing it down for future purposes 🫶 i might take some time cuz i write for p1harmony as well but ill get to it! :3
When you've been insisting you're fine but chan knows better!
approx. 1k words
The first sign that you'd been working for too long was when the words on your laptop stopped looking like words.
The second was when you tried to save a document by clicking your water bottle.
You groaned and dropped your forehead onto your desk.
"Nope."
You didn't even have to look up.
Bang Chan was standing in the doorway of your room with his arms crossed and the most unimpressed expression you'd ever seen.
"I'm fine."
"You've said that four times in the last hour."
"I'm actually fine this time."
Chan walked over and glanced at your screen. There were at least twelve tabs open. Three documents. A spreadsheet. An email draft.
And judging by the dark circles under your eyes, approximately zero breaks.
His eyebrow twitched.
"When was the last time you stood up?"
You paused.
"...Today?"
"Wrong answer."
"It counts if I got water!"
"You carried your water bottle back here and sat down immediately."
"How do you know that?"
"I live with you."
You sighed dramatically and returned to typing.
A hand suddenly appeared between you and your keyboard.
"Chan." "No." "Chan." "No."
"I have deadlines."
"And you'll still have deadlines after eating something."
You tried to type around his hand.
He moved it. You moved your laptop. He closed it.
"Christopher."
The use of his full name should've scared him.
Instead, he smiled.
"You know it's bad when you pull out the government name."
You buried your face in the palm of your hands.
"I don't have time."
Chan's expression softened instantly.
The teasing disappeared.
He crouched beside your chair and rested his chin on the armrest.
"Yah." You looked over. His eyes were warm.
"Genuinely. How long have you been working?"
You opened your mouth.
Then closed it.
Then looked away.
"...Since breakfast."
"Breakfast was seven hours ago."
"I know." "Did you eat lunch?"
Silence.
Chan let out the slowest sigh imaginable.
"Oh, sweetheart."
The nickname made your shoulders drop.
You hated how easily he could read you.
You hated even more that he was usually right.
"I just need to finish this one thing."
"You said that two hours ago."
"This is a different thing."
"You've got thirty different things."
You groaned.
Chan laughed softly and reached up to smooth a hand through your hair.
The gesture was automatic. Comforting. Familiar.
"You know what happens when you overwork yourself?"
"I become successful?"
"You become grumpy."
You gasped. "Rude."
"You snapped at your laptop fifteen minutes ago."
"It deserved it."
Chan's shoulders shook with laughter.
Then he gently took your hands.
"Come on." "No." "Come on." "No."
"We're taking a break."
You attempted to pull away.
He simply held on tighter.
Not enough to force you.
Just enough to keep you from retreating back into your work.
"Ten minutes." "Chan." "Ten." "I can't.” "Five."
You narrowed your eyes.
He grinned.
"Look at that. We're negotiating."
"You'd be an annoying lawyer."
"I know."
With a dramatic sigh, you finally stood.
Chan immediately looked way too pleased with himself.
"I don't like that smile."
"You should."
"It's making me want to sit back down."
"You won't."
"And why's that?"
Before you could react, he scooped your laptop off the desk and held it above his head.
"CHAN."
"You can't work if you can't reach it."
"Give it back."
"Nope."
"You're impossible."
"And yet here we are."
A few minutes later, you found yourself curled up on the couch with a blanket over your legs and a plate of food Chan had practically forced into your hands.
Your laptop remained safely out of reach.
You hated that the break was helping.
The tension in your shoulders had eased.
Your headache wasn't nearly as bad.
And for the first time all day, your brain didn't feel like it was running on fumes.
Chan sat beside you, scrolling through something on his phone.
Neither of you spoke for a while.
The quiet felt nice.
Eventually, you leaned your head against his shoulder.
His attention immediately shifted to you.
"Tired?" "No."
A pause.
"Maybe." "I knew it."
You rolled your eyes.
He laughed and nudged your shoulder.
"You know you don't have to do everything at once, right?"
You stared at your plate.
"I know."
"You'll finish it."
"What if I don't?"
Chan didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he reached over and intertwined his fingers with yours.
"Then we'll figure it out."
The simple certainty in his voice made something in your chest loosen.
Not because the deadlines disappeared.
Not because the work got easier.
But because suddenly it didn't feel like you were carrying it all alone.
When you get your nipples pierced without telling them!
theo & keeho | soul & jongseob
hi im back did u miss me? /j istg i just feel like takki would just be jealous that another man touched his partners boobs but im like.... also search up apadravya on your own precautions cuz that shit look like it hurt bro.
piwon 🏷️: @kamxstar @simplyangelixa @starryshota (open! comment or send an ask!)
When you get your nipples pierced without telling them!
jiung & intak | soul & jongseob
listen... i know this is lowkey ass. im getting my new laptop soon so expect better content soon! i need to write everything on my phone for now and the juices are not flowing 🥀 PUH LEASE SEND REQUESTS MY WAY I BEG.
piwon 🏷️: @kamxstar @simplyangelixa @starryshota (open! comment or send an ask!)
A dusty box of forgotten polaroids wasn't supposed to change anything. But when years of photos reveal a secret Jongseob never meant to tell, you're forced to confront feelings you've spent far too long ignoring.
first post after a while, pls treat it nicely:) I love angst. What can I say? Not proofread, pls forgive me if there are mistakes!
Helping Jongseob pack up his life should not have felt this dramatic.
People moved all the time. They went to university. They left home. They packed their things into cardboard boxes and drove them somewhere else.
Normal, completely normal.
You knew this because at least four different people had told you so since Jongseob got accepted into his dream university.
“You're so lucky you got in.”
“You'll have so much fun.”
“It's only a few hours away.”
“You'll visit all the time.”
The last one was your personal favourite because nobody ever seemed to say it to you, only him, as if you weren't also losing something.
You sat cross-legged on the floor of his room with a roll of packing tape in your lap and watched him try to fit approximately twelve books into a box designed to hold six.
The box made a concerning noise.
"You have a problem."
"That's rude."
"It's true."
"No, it's not."
You looked at him.
Then at the state of his bedroom.
Then back at him.
"Jongseob, I found three broken chargers, a calculator that doesn't work, and a singular shoe."
"Okay?"
"Where's the other shoe?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"No."
You picked the shoe up.
He pointed at it immediately.
"Don't."
"I'm thinking about it."
"Don't."
"You should've thought about that before becoming a hoarder."
"I'm not a hoarder."
The shoe hit him directly in the shoulder.
Jongseob stared at you. You stared back.
Then he threw a crumpled receipt at your head.
The receipt missed by an embarrassing amount.
Neither of you mentioned it. The room was a mess.
Half-filled boxes sat against the wall. His desk looked wrong without all the random junk usually covering it. His shelves looked wrong. The walls looked wrong. Everything looked like it already belonged to somebody else.
You hated that.
Not enough to say anything, just enough to keep noticing.
"Hey, Seob, look. I found some old polaroids."
The box had been shoved behind a pile of books and an alarming number of tangled cables. Dust coated the lid. Jongseob glanced up from where he was kneeling beside a half-packed box.
"Oh."
"That's all you have to say?"
"What do you want me to say?"
You ignored him and lifted the lid. The first few photos were exactly what you'd expected.
Birthday parties, School events.
A blurry picture from a convenience store run at midnight that neither of you remembered taking. You laughed.
"Oh my god, your hair."
"My hair was fine."
"It was not."
"It was."
You kept flipping through them.
One photo.
Then another.
Then another.
Years of memories stuffed into a cardboard box.
And then you noticed something.
You frowned.
The photo in your hand was a group picture. Everyone was facing the camera.
Everyone except Jongseob.
His head was turned slightly.
Looking at you.
You blinked.
Weird.
You grabbed another photo.
Different day.
Different people.
Same thing.
Jongseob wasn't looking at the camera.
He was looking at you.
A third photo.
A fourth.
A fifth.
The smile slowly slipped from your face.
"...Seob?"
"Hm?"
You didn't look up.
Your eyes stayed fixed on the Polaroid in your hands.
"Why are you staring at me in all of these?"
For a moment, all you could hear was the hum of the ceiling fan.
Then Jongseob laughed, a short sound.
The kind people make when they don't know what else to do.
You finally looked up. He was staring at the floor.
Not at you, the floor.
That felt significant.
"Seob."
"Hm."
"What does that mean?"
"I don't know."
You blinked.
"What do you mean you don't know?"
"I mean..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know."
That was not an answer.
You looked back down at the photos scattered across the carpet.
There had to be at least twenty of them.
Different years. Different places. Different people.
And somehow every single one told the same story.
Your stomach twisted.
"You're seriously telling me this just happened by accident?"
Jongseob didn't answer.
The silence was answer enough.
Oh.
Oh.
The realisation hit all at once, not like a lightning strike.
More like a puzzle piece finally clicking into place.
Every late-night phone call.
Every time he remembered something you'd mentioned months ago.
Every excuse to spend time together.
Every stupid little thing you'd never thought twice about.
Your chest tightened.
"How long?"
Jongseob closed his eyes, and somehow that was worse than if he'd answered immediately.
"...A few years," he said softly, biting his lip.
You stared at him. "Define a few."
For some reason, you couldn't look at him anymore.
Instead, you found yourself staring at the blank wall across the room.
Most of the posters had already been taken down, another thing that felt wrong.
"...Middle school."
You laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because it wasn't.
Middle school.
You turned the words over in your head.
Middle school was awkward school photos and terrible haircuts.
Middle school was passing notes in class and arguing over absolutely nothing.
Middle school was before either of you knew how to drive.
Before university applications.
Before all the boxes stacked around the room.
Middle school was years ago.
"Oh."
The word came out quieter than you intended.
Jongseob didn't say anything, nor did you.
Suddenly, every photo made sense.
Every glance.
Every stupid excuse he found to hang around.
Every time he'd chosen the seat next to you.
Years. He'd liked you for years.
"You couldn't have told me this before?"
The question came out sharper than you intended.
Jongseob flinched, just slightly.
But you saw it, for a moment, neither of you spoke.
Then he looked down at the photo in his hands.
"I was scared."
You blinked.
The anger you'd been building suddenly had nowhere to go.
"What?"
"I was scared."
His voice was quiet.
Not defensive, not annoyed, just honest.
"I didn't know what would happen if I told you."
The room felt smaller somehow.
Boxes lined the walls.
Half-packed pieces of his life sat scattered around the floor.
And suddenly, none of it seemed as important as the look on his face.
"I thought I'd ruin everything."
You laughed softly. A little bitter.
"A bit late for that."
Jongseob smiled.
It didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Yeah."
Silence settled between you again.
The kind that only existed between people who knew each other too well.
You looked down at the photo still clutched in your hands.
Middle school. Years. All those years.
And he had been carrying this around by himself.
"Idiot."
Jongseob looked up.
"What?"
"You should've told me."
His smile faltered.
For the first time since finding the photos, he looked hopeful.
And somehow that terrified you more than anything else.
"I know." It sounded a little broken.
"No, seriously. You waited until now?"
Jongseob let out a laugh.
"Trust me, this wasn't how I pictured it happening."
You looked around the room.
At the boxes.
At the empty shelves.
At his life, he was already packing away.
"You're leaving."
"I know."
"You're actually leaving, Jongseob"
"Do you know how unfair this is?"
"Unfair?"
"Yeah."
You laughed. It sounded terrible.
"Because now I'm sitting here wondering if I wasted all these years too."
The words hung in the air.
You wished they wouldn't.
Unfortunately, there was no way to take them back now.
Jongseob stared at you.
You stared determinedly at the floor.
Maybe if you hadn't looked at him, the last thirty seconds wouldn't have happened.
"What?"
You closed your eyes.
There it was. The question you'd been hoping he wouldn't ask.
"What do you mean, what?"
"You know what I mean."
"No, actually, I don't."
"Jongseob."
"Seriously."
You risked a glance at him. He looked completely lost.
Then something clicked.
Slowly. Painfully slowly. "Oh."
Oh.
You hated that oh.
His eyes widened.
"Oh."
"Please stop saying that."
"I'm trying." "Try harder."
A laugh escaped him.
Half disbelief, Half relief.
"You liked me?" You groaned.
The floor was looking very appealing right now.
"Don't make me say it." "Why not?"
"Because I've already embarrassed myself enough for one day."
Jongseob laughed again. This one sounded lighter.
Like he'd been carrying something heavy for years and had finally put it down.
"You liked me."
You threw a roll of packing tape at him.
It bounced harmlessly off his shoulder.
"You are unbelievably annoying."
His smile only grew.
"Is that a yes?"
"...Maybe."
Jongseob laughed.
A small, disbelieving sound.
Like he couldn't quite believe he was hearing it.
You hated that. Not because he was laughing.
Because he was leaving. In less than a week.
After all these years, after all those photos, after all the things neither of you had said, he was leaving. Funny.
You finally figured it out when it was too late.
You looked away. At the boxes. At the empty shelves.
At the pieces of his life disappearing into cardboard.
"I don't want you to leave."
The room fell silent.
You swallowed. "Please."
When you looked back at him, his smile was gone.
Not because he was upset.
Because he looked like his heart had just broken.
"Do you think I want to?"
His voice cracked on the last word.
And suddenly you realised this wasn't easier for him.
Not even close.
"Then don't." The words slipped out before you could stop them.
Immediately, you regretted them.
Because they were childish. Because they were unfair. Because you knew he couldn't.
Jongseob looked away.
"I have to."
You hated that answer.
Mostly because it was true.
Neither of you said anything.
The room was quiet except for the hum of the fan.
Around you, boxes sat half-packed.
Waiting.
You wondered if they felt as impatient as you did.
"I'm proud of you."
Jongseob blinked.
"What?"
"I'm proud of you."
The words felt strange.
Not because they weren't true.
Because they were.
You laughed weakly.
"I just wish I didn't hate it so much."
Something in his expression softened.
For a moment, he looked seventeen again.
Not the version of him leaving for university.
Just Jongseob.
The one you'd spent years growing up beside.
"I don't want to leave without knowing."
You frowned.
"Knowing what?"
His eyes found yours.
Whether you wanted them to or not.
"Whether I ever had a chance."
"You did."
The answer came so quickly it surprised both of you.
Jongseob froze. You stared at him.
Then immediately wished you hadn't spoken.
"I've—"
You stopped. Started again.
"I've..."
Nothing. Not a single coherent thought.
Years. Middle school.
The photos. The boxes.
The fact that he was leaving in less than a week.
Everything crashed together at once.
"Holy shit."
A laugh escaped Jongseob.
Small. Disbelieving.
"Holy shit?"
"Holy shit."
You pressed the palms of your hands against your eyes.
"This is not how I imagined this conversation going."
"You imagined it?"
"Don't focus on that part."
"I'm focusing on that part."
Of course, he was.
You groaned.
And for the first time all afternoon, Jongseob smiled.
Really smiled.
For a moment, neither of you said anything.
Jongseob was still smiling.
You hated that.
Not because of the smile itself.
Because it made your chest hurt.
"You know," he said eventually, "I thought this would be more dramatic."
You stared at him. "More dramatic?"
"I don't know." He shrugged.
"I thought there'd be more crying." "There was crying."
"There was almost crying." "That's still crying."
Jongseob laughed. You couldn't help laughing too.
The sound felt strange. Like neither of you had earned it yet.
The room still looked wrong. The boxes were still there.
He was still leaving. The thought hit you all over again.
Your smile faded.
Jongseob noticed immediately.
Of course, he did.
"What?"
You looked down at your hands.
"You're still leaving."
The words came out smaller than you intended.
The smile slipped from his face.
Neither of you needed to explain what you meant.
He understood.
He always did.
"Yeah."
You hated that answer. Again.
"This sucks."
A laugh escaped him.
"That's one way to put it."
"No, seriously."
You gestured vaguely around the room.
"You spend years liking me, I spend years being an idiot, and now you're leaving."
"In my defence, I was also an idiot."
"So what do we do now?"
Jongseob blinked.
"Now?"
"Yeah. Now." "I don't know."
"Great." "I know."
"I don't want this to be a goodbye." The smile disappeared from his face.
"Then don't let it be" Your throat tightened.
“Call me every day?”
A small laugh escapes him.
“Every day?”
“Every day.” “Hm”
He pretended to think about it.
“Yeah.” Something warm settled in your chest.
“I will.”
Somehow, that sounded more like a promise than an answer.
For a moment, neither of you said anything.
The room felt different now.
Not less empty.
Just less terrifying.
The boxes were still there. He was still leaving.
But somehow it didn't feel quite as much like the end of the world.
You stood, brushing dust from your jeans.
"I should probably go."
Jongseob made a face.
"Probably."
Neither of you moved.
"You're bad at goodbyes."
"So are you."
"Fair."
A laugh escaped you.
Before heading for the door, you glanced down at the photos still scattered across the floor. One caught your eye.
You bent down and picked it up.
Middle school, Terrible haircut.
Questionable fashion choices.
Jongseob looking at you instead of the camera.
You laughed.
"You were not subtle." "Apparently not." "Idiot."
He grinned. "You still took years to notice."
"Shut up." His hand found yours, and suddenly, you were in his arms.
Warm, Familiar. Neither of you let go.
And for the first time all afternoon, the future didn't feel quite so far away.
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