Y/N Seo's life gets turned upside down when her crush, Hyunjin, starts dating her old friend turned enemy, Yeji. Suddenly, Yeji is part of their rich kid's group, even though y/n and Yeji can't stand each other. They pretend to be friends, but it's all fake.
Things get super messy when old secrets spill out, and new faces join the gang. Rumors fly, and trust crumbles as people in the group start leaking secrets, trying to wreck everyone's reputations. With newbies entering the scene, will the schemers in the group get busted for their sneaky plots?
Y/N's in the middle of it all, trying to figure out who's real and who's fake. Will she stick around with the rich kids, or will she find her own way? And what about Hyunjin? Will Y/N win his heart, or will she find love in an unexpected place?
PROFILE ONE
"THE RICH KIDS"
Y/N Seo: Y/N is the brainy YouTuber daughter of a business tycoon, alongside her dropout-turned-millionaire brother, Changbin. Together, they're the dynamic duo of South Korea, known for brains and business smarts. Plus, she's also a college student, balancing academics with her online presence.
Changbin Seo: College dropout turned startup sensation, Changbin is the brother of Y/N and the mastermind behind his own wealth. In a secret relationship with Lee Felix.
Hwang Hyunjin: Hyunjin is the prince of South Korea's elite circle. Son of the third richest man, he's not just a pretty face but a model and dancer extraordinaire.
Yeji Hwang: Yeji is the princess beside Hyunjin's prince. A rising star in modeling and dancing, she's the perfect match for her wealthy beau, Hyunjin.
Lee Felix: Son of a fashion mogul, Felix struts his stuff on runways and social media alike.
I.N: Son of a top doctor and lawyer. Despite his privileged background, he's all about hard work and making his own mark.
Wooyoung: Changbin's business partner in their gym startup, Wooyoung is a college buddy and y/n's roommate.
"THE NEWBIES"
Bang Chan: Born in Australia but moved to Korea at 13 due to his parents' separation, Bang Chan is anything but ordinary. Despite not being from a wealthy family, he's a genius who aced the Korean college exams. On top of that, he's a part-time composer for big idol companies, showcasing his incredible talent.
Kim Seungmin: From a regular middle-class family, Seungmin is Bang Chan's buddy, and he's a riot! He never thought he'd crack the college exams, but guess what? He did, landing at the 200th spot. Even he is surprised.
summary: stays always talk about how chan could discreetly be their oomf on twitter, but they never stop to think that a member’s secret girlfriend could also be their oomf
a/n: inspired by chan being in our walls and possibly being an oomf lmao i had this idea for a while and finally got around to downloading and learning how to use the fake tweet app haha tweets inspired by my own crash out tweets lol anyways i had a lot of fun making this! tysm for reading!!
*ssd is stay selca day where stays on twitter post selcas every month on the 25th :)
pairing: Bang Chan x f!reader
wc: 25 ss
tags/warnings: enemies-to-lovers, cursing, angst/fluff, inaccurate depictions of the inner workings of kpop companies, chan is mean and unreasonable (for plot purposes!), alcohol consumption, drunkenness
part one // part two // part three // part four
masterlist
Summary: Hyunjin and Felix keep an eye on things. Chan gets sick. You find out how far Chan is willing to go. Felix takes you out for a night on the town with the boys.
part three
perm. taglist: @virgopotterhead @sue-reads @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @1giss4swft3 @emmalabo @snoop136 @velvetmoonlght @ch3rry15pin @danielle143 @thisisnotjacinta @geni-627 @barbie-girl84 @clairementsolo @stvr-l0stt @bangchansbig-nose @chandlxa @flippedccc @astrayapple @ylstacy @cchapssaltteok @NiKu_0704 @writtenbypeachy @emeraldgem22 @bahngarang @cb9711 @parkairis18 @persassyismysecrettwin @hey-i-really-miss-you @mikachux3 @haunted1nk @my-neurodivergent-world @girlblogger-04 @book-mark @mladyluna @simpqueen2025 @kimberlydynamite @hunter-or-the-hunted @chuahuahua @ncityswrld @wobblewobble822 @aiyanotfound @i-like-pandas5 @superboywife @kpopishgirlie @kpopdiva89 @theboldandthebootyful @snoopykittycat @bi-and-panicking @smiileflower @linokiss (to join the permanent taglist fill out this form; if your username is in red I can't tag you for some reason)
series taglist: @fenya-stays @fruitymoonbeams-blog (continued in rb; to join the series taglist, let me know in a comment)
pairing: Bang Chan x f!reader
wc: 25 ss
tags/warnings: enemies-to-lovers, cursing, angst/fluff, inaccurate depictions of the inner workings of kpop companies, chan is mean and unreasonable (for plot purposes!), alcohol consumption, drunkenness
part one // part two // part three // part four
masterlist
Summary: Hyunjin and Felix keep an eye on things. Chan gets sick. You find out how far Chan is willing to go. Felix takes you out for a night on the town with the boys.
part three
perm. taglist: @virgopotterhead @sue-reads @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @1giss4swft3 @emmalabo @snoop136 @velvetmoonlght @ch3rry15pin @danielle143 @thisisnotjacinta @geni-627 @barbie-girl84 @clairementsolo @stvr-l0stt @bangchansbig-nose @chandlxa @flippedccc @astrayapple @ylstacy @cchapssaltteok @NiKu_0704 @writtenbypeachy @emeraldgem22 @bahngarang @cb9711 @parkairis18 @persassyismysecrettwin @hey-i-really-miss-you @mikachux3 @haunted1nk @my-neurodivergent-world @girlblogger-04 @book-mark @mladyluna @simpqueen2025 @kimberlydynamite @hunter-or-the-hunted @chuahuahua @ncityswrld @wobblewobble822 @aiyanotfound @i-like-pandas5 @superboywife @kpopishgirlie @kpopdiva89 @theboldandthebootyful @snoopykittycat @bi-and-panicking @smiileflower @linokiss (to join the permanent taglist fill out this form; if your username is in red I can't tag you for some reason)
series taglist: @fenya-stays @fruitymoonbeams-blog (continued in rb; to join the series taglist, let me know in a comment)
summary: your world collapses when you find out that he cheated on you
pairing: bang chan x fem!reader
genre: heavy angst, no comfort
word count: 2936 words
a/n: based on this request
Part 2
Masterlist
~°~
You were lying on the couch, half-distracted, scrolling through Twitter while the room around you stayed quiet. It was late afternoon on a weekend, and your mind felt pleasantly empty, the way it usually did when you let yourself think about nothing at all.
Then the page refreshed.
#BANGCHAN was trending.
A small smile tugged at your lips.
Of course your fiancé was trending. He always was. Maybe he’d posted another gym photo on Bubble, or maybe he’d written something flirty teasing STAYs on Bubble or FANS, the kind that made them scream while you rolled your eyes fondly because you knew who those words were really meant for. So, it was probably another one of his chaos moments. You could already imagine the captions.
You let out a soft giggle as you tapped the hashtag, already prepared to tease him about it later.
He’s at it again, you thought fondly.
The smile didn’t even have time to fade slowly. Instead, it dropped sharply and immediately as if someone had ripped it straight off your face as you saw the first photo that loaded.
There was no mistaking him, Bang Chan, dressed casually, a black cap pulled low, shoulders tense as if he were aware he was being watched. His hand was held slightly behind him, fingers wrapped around someone else’s wrist in a way that was instinctive and familiar.
A blonde woman walked beside him.
Another photo followed, it was blurry, clearly taken in a hurry. The two of them stepped out of a private building, dimly lit, discreet. The kind of place kpop idols didn’t go unless they really trusted who they were with.
Your chest tightened.
Your heart dropped for a split second but it was enough to knock the air from your lungs.
No. No, this had to be wrong.
You scrolled faster as you felt your pulse thudding in your ears.
There was a video that you played quickly. The footage was shaky and was taken from a distance. A bodyguard moved ahead of Chan and that woman, motioning them towards a car quickly. You saw Chan’s hand reach back automatically, fingers closing around her wrist protectively. He guided her forward, placing himself slightly between her and the cameras. His expression wasn’t soft. It was worried, stressed and almost strained.
You barely registered yourself breathing.
The video continued. He opened the car door for her, shielding her as she got inside, his body angled deliberately so she wouldn’t be seen. Only after the door shut did he move to follow, the bodyguard stepping in front just in time.
The clip ended and your chest felt hollow. You stared at the screen, replaying the moment his hand had closed around hers. Your heart broke seeing how easy it looked, and how it was done without hesitation, without fear and without the careful distance he always kept with you.
You scrolled further and read the comments under the video.
“who is that?”
“chan looked stressed as hell”
“is he dating??”
“bro was HOLDING HER HAND”
“we have a mom now?”
“that should be me”
“luckiest girl in the world”
Your fingers felt cold.
Maybe she was staff, or a new manager, or someone foreign who needed protection, maybe even someone important enough to warrant secrecy. There were explanations, yes, there had to be.
But none of them explained why it hurt like this.
You had been hidden from the beginning. Always a step behind him. Always waiting indoors while he left. Always careful not to touch him in public, not to stand too close, not to exist where someone could see. You’d learned how to love quietly, how to shrink yourself into the shadows because that was the price of being with him. And yet here he was holding someone else’s hand in public. Protecting her without hesitation. Letting the world see that.
Your phone felt heavy in your hand as your heart began to race, and maybe also because it wasn’t about who she was, but instead it was about the fact that he had never allowed to see you like that. Not even after your engagement.
Your phone vibrated in your hand bringing you back to reality. You flinched as if it had burned you. You didn’t have to unlock the screen to know who it was, but you did anyway. You were right, it was him, he was texting you.
Channie 💘
Baby, I can explain.
I’ll be home soon, okay?
I love you.
You stared at his texts, the words blurring slightly as your head began to spin.
Explain what?
Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, then froze. You couldn’t reply. Your chest felt tight, your thoughts crashing into each other too loudly to form a sentence. Whatever was happening felt too big, too sudden, like the ground had shifted beneath your feet without warning.
You set your phone down and stood up slowly, the room tilting just enough to make you pause.
You decided to make some tea. Tea always helped calm down your nerves. You moved into the kitchen on autopilot, filling the kettle, waiting for it to boil, focusing on the familiar routine because it was easier than thinking. Easier than replaying the video again and again in your mind.
When you finally wrapped your hands around the warm mug, your shoulders loosened just a fraction. You took a careful sip, letting the heat settle in your chest.
Your other hand drifted absentmindedly to your ring.
You twisted it gently around your finger, a habit you’d developed without realizing it. The engagement ring caught the light softly, quiet and private, just like everything else between you and him.
There was no way. He wouldn’t. Your Channie wouldn’t cheat. Not him. He was your angel boy. He couldn’t. You were engaged.
You remembered the engagement and how much effort he put in to propose to you, how his hands had shaken when he slid the most beautiful ring that you had ever seen on, how he’d whispered that you were it for him. That no one else mattered. The way he kissed you and how you both made love that night.
Just then you heard the front door open. You heard his frantic steps as he called for you.
“Baby?” Chan’s voice called out, breathless and panicked.
“In here,” you said, clearing your throat.
His hurried footsteps followed as he appeared in the kitchen doorway. His hair was slightly damp, his chest rising and falling too fast, eyes wide as if he’d been holding himself together by force alone. He crossed the room in seconds, as his arms wrapped around you tightly, almost desperately, pulling you against him as if he was afraid you might disappear. His body shook as he buried his face into your shoulder, a broken sound leaving his chest.
“I’m sorry,” he choked, words muffled. “I’m so— I’m sorry.”
Then he started sobbing uncontrollably. It was raw and frantic, like everything he’d been holding back had finally snapped.
You stood there, frozen, your tea forgotten on the counter, your mind struggling to catch up with the scene unfolding in front of you. This wasn’t anger. This wasn’t defensiveness. This wasn’t what you’d prepared yourself for on the walk to the kitchen.
You were confused.
So many questions pressed against your tongue—Who was she? Why were you holding her hand? Why does the world get to see that and I don’t?
But his grip tightened, his breathing turning shallow and uneven, and you felt it then, he was on the verge of a panic attack.
You swallowed hard.
Whatever this was, whatever answers you deserved, they would have to wait.
Slowly, you lifted your arms and wrapped them around him, one hand pressing gently between his shoulder blades, the other rubbing small circles into his back.
“Hey,” you whispered softly, steadying your voice for him. “Breathe, Chan. I’ve got you. Just breathe, okay?”
His sobs stuttered, uneven breaths hitching against your neck as you held him together while everything inside you threatened to fall apart.
You wanted answers but right now, he needed comfort, and you loved him enough to give it. As you felt him calm down a bit, you guided him gently toward the living room, one hand pressed firmly against his chest as you tried to ground him.
“Channie,” you said softly, steady despite the chaos in your head. “Let’s sit down. Okay? Come sit with me.”
He shook his head at first, arms tightening around you as if letting go—even for a moment—might make you vanish. His fingers dug into your back, his breath still uneven and sharp.
“Please,” you murmured again, firmer this time. “We need to sit.”
Reluctantly, he loosened his hold. The second your body shifted away from his, his hand shot out, gripping yours with startling strength, fingers lacing through yours so tightly it almost hurt. It felt less like affection and more like fear.
Like if he let go, he’d lose you.
You swallowed, your confusion deepening as he let you lead him to the couch, never once releasing your hand. Even when you sat, he stayed angled toward you, knees brushing, shoulders tense, eyes flicking to your face again and again as if memorizing it.
You sat there in silence for a moment, his thumb rubbing frantic circles against your knuckles.
He finally spoke.
“Please,” he said shakily, voice already breaking. “You have to know how much I love you.”
Your stomach tightened.
“I need you,” he continued, words tumbling over each other, desperately. “I need you more than I need air. I can’t— I can’t function without you. You’re everything to me, you’re my home, you’re—” He choked, dragging in a breath. “I would die without you.”
Your chest ached, but not in the way it used to when he said things like this.
Something felt wrong.
You gently pulled your hand back just enough to get his attention. He resisted at first, then froze, eyes snapping up to yours as if he’d been caught doing something unforgivable.
Your voice came out steadier than you felt.
“Chan,” you said, stern now, grounded. “What did you do?”
The words landed heavily between you. His face went pale.
You watched it happen—the way his jaw tightened, the way his eyes flicked away, the way his breath stuttered like he’d been punched in the chest. Your heart sank slowly, dread curling deep in your gut.
“Don’t,” you warned quietly. “Don’t beat around the bush. Tell me what happened.”
Your instincts screamed that something was deeply, horribly wrong.
He swallowed hard, shoulders slumping as if the weight he’d been carrying had finally become unbearable. His grip on your hand loosened just slightly as if he was bracing himself.
“I didn’t want you to find out like this,” he whispered.
Your chest felt tight.
Find out what?
The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, and you realized with a unsettling ache that whatever came next would change something fundamental between you.
He stared at the floor for a long moment, jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it hurt. When he finally spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper.
“It happened during the North America tour.”
Your body went cold.
“One night,” he continued shakily, “after the concert, everyone was exhausted, and… there was drinking. Too much drinking. I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t myself.” His words stumbled over each other. “One thing led to another and—”
He couldn’t finish the sentence. He teared up and then confessed.
“I slept with her,” he said quietly. “Once. It was a mistake. The biggest mistake of my life.”
Your hand slipped out of his as if his skin had burned you.
The movement was small, but the effect on him was immediate. His head snapped up, eyes wide, devastation written clearly across his face.
“She contacted me recently,” he said, tears spilling freely now. “She said she’s pregnant.”
Pregnant.
The word echoed in your head as you felt your world spinning.
“Baby, please,” he sobbed, reaching for you again. “I made a mistake. Please forgive me. I love you. I love you so much.”
Your voice came out broken, stripped of warmth. “You cheated.”
The words felt unreal as they left your mouth.
“I never expected this from you,” you whispered. “Never.”
He shook his head violently, desperation etched into every line of his face. “It was an accident. I was drunk out of my mind, I didn’t mean—”
“I don’t care!” you yelled at him.
The sound shocked both of you.
“I don’t care,” you repeated, standing up abruptly. “Being drunk doesn’t erase what you did.”
He tried to grab your arm, words pouring out in frantic fragments—apologies, explanations, promises—but you pushed him away and walked straight toward your shared bedroom.
You didn’t look back.
Your hands shook as you opened the wardrobe and grabbed a suitcase, throwing it onto the bed. You began packing without thinking—clothes, essentials, anything within reach—your movements were sharp and angry.
Behind you, he followed, crying openly now.
“Please, stop,” he begged, pulling clothes out of the suitcase as fast as you put them in. “We can fix this. Please don’t do this.”
“Stop it,” you said, voice trembling.
He didn’t.
You turned on him, chest heaving. “I said stop.”
“Please,” he cried, pulling items back out. “Don’t leave. Please don’t do this.”
The slap landed before you could think twice. The sound of your palm against his cheek echoed sharply through the room. He froze as you continued packing.
“There is no us anymore,” you said, your voice trembling but unyielding. “You destroyed it.”
He collapsed in front of you, sobbing openly now. “Baby, please. Don’t leave me. I can’t live without you.”
A broken laugh escaped you.
“Go to her,” you said bitterly. “Take care of the baby.”
“No,” he cried. “She doesn’t want it. She told me she doesn’t want the baby.”
“Oh,” you laughed again humorlessly. “So I’m supposed to stay?”
You pulled the engagement ring off your finger, the metal cold against your skin, and tossed it toward him. It landed on the floor between you with a dull clink.
“Do not try to contact me ever again,” you said. “Let’s pretend we never existed in each other’s lives.”
“No,” he sobbed, stumbling after you. “You don’t mean that. Please. You don’t mean that.”
You didn’t respond. You lifted the suitcase from the bed and walked toward the door without looking back.
He moved fast, panic overtaking him, and stepped directly in front of the bedroom’s doorway, blocking your path. His hands trembled as he reached out to hold your hand, you jerked your hand harshly.
“Please,” he cried. “Don’t leave. Please. I can’t lose you like this.”
You stopped inches away from him.
“You hid it from me,” you said quietly.
The room went still.
His breath hitched as the words sank in, his shoulders sagging like he’d been holding himself upright by force alone.
“I was scared,” he whispered. “I was so scared that my one night of drunken mistake would come back to haunt me. I thought if I kept it buried, if I never said anything, we could stay the same.”
Your grip tightened on the suitcase handle.
“I can never forgive you for this,” you said, voice breaking despite your resolve. “Not for cheating. And not for lying to my face every day after.”
He shook his head frantically, tears spilling. “I was drunk. I wasn’t in my senses. Please, baby—please. It never happened before. This was the only time.”
You looked at him then, really looked at him.
“I don’t trust you,” you said.
He broke completely then.
“Baby,” he cried, voice rising, raw and desperate. “Yell at me. Please. Slap me again. Do anything… hurt me, punish me but please don’t leave. I’ll take anything. Anything is better than this.”
The words made something in your stomach turn.
You stared at him, really stared, and for the first time you didn’t see the man you loved. You saw someone clawing at you out of fear, not love. Someone trying to keep you at the cost of your dignity.
“If you love me,” you said slowly, your voice shaking but firm, “if you respect me even a little bit… then you’ll move and let me leave.”
He shook his head violently, tears dripping from his chin. “No. No, please. I’ll do anything else. Literally anything. I’ll disappear, I’ll beg, I’ll fix it, I’ll—”
“Move, Bang Chan.”
The way you said his name flatly, made him freeze. He noticed how you looked at him with utter disgust. There was no warmth or love in those eyes, he never saw your eyes like this. His mouth opened, then closed. His shoulders sagged as shame crashed over his face, and his eyes dropped to the floor, unable to meet yours any longer.
You pushed past him firmly. His legs gave out, and he stumbled back against the doorway, collapsing to the floor. Your suitcase swung by your side as you moved past him, not looking back.
He reached for you one last time, fingers brushing empty air as you turned away.
Seconds later, the sound of the main door slamming shut echoed through the apartment.
He froze, eyes wide, chest heaving, listening to the finality in the noise.
And in that moment, standing in the bedroom doorway, he realized with crushing clarity that you were never coming back. And no amount of tears, apologies, or desperation could ever bring you through that door again. You were gone forever.
synopsis: a long term couple joins a relationship retreat disguised as a reality show, where commitment is tested, emotions are exposed, and unexpected connections begin to form. as pressure mounts, love is no longer just about staying together. it’s about choosing each other, despite everything.
warnings: reality show au, angst, emotional cheating, suggestive themes, swearing.
wc: 22,097
You met Hyunjin when you were twenty. It was the kind of meeting that felt like it had been written before you ever got there. He walked into your life like he already belonged, like some missing part you hadn’t known you were aching for. He had that smile, the kind that reached all the way to his eyes and made you forget the noise of the world around you. The kind of smile you could trust without asking questions.
It started slow. Texts, long conversations over coffee, late night phone calls where neither of you wanted to be the first to hang up. And then it wasn't slow. Suddenly, you were inseparable. It wasn’t just love, it was something more. A rhythm you both fell into naturally. He understood your silences, and you memorized the way he said your name like it was sacred. You loved him so much you didn’t have the words for it. And he loved you right back. Fiercely, patiently, completely.
People noticed. Friends, family, even strangers who saw you two on the subway or sitting across from each other at some late night diner. You'd hear it all the time.
“You two are so adorable together.”
“He looks at you like you hung the stars.”
“I can’t wait to see you guys married someday.”
The last one always made your stomach twist.
At first, it was easy to smile through it. You could pretend. You could deflect. You could say something like “Maybe someday,” and laugh it off. Hyunjin would squeeze your hand, not pushing. He was too gentle, too kind. But you knew he thought about it. You could see it in the way he watched couples with wedding rings or smiled at babies toddling down sidewalks.
He wanted that life. He wanted that life with you. But you weren’t sure you ever wanted that life at all. You’d known that since you were ten. Since the night your parents screamed at each other so loud you hid under your bed, hands over your ears. Since the day your dad left and your mom said, “That’s what marriage gets you. Don’t make the same mistake I did.”
And she said it again. And again. Every time they fought, every time you were caught in the crossfire, every time they used you like ammunition for their bitterness.
You learned early that love wasn’t enough to save a marriage. Love wasn’t enough to keep people from hating each other. Marriage was a trap, a promise that turned into a prison. You never said it out loud, not to Hyunjin, not even to yourself in the mirror but it had taken deep root. Still, you tried to ignore it for years. You and Hyunjin built something beautiful. Five years of holidays together, of late night talks and quiet mornings and moving in and arguing over furniture and laughing until your ribs hurt. Five years of loving each other. And all the while, that quiet fear stayed with you, curled in your chest like a secret you didn’t know how to let out.
Hyunjin first brought up marriage gently. Almost offhand, like a thought he wanted to share.
“Would you ever want a wedding on the beach?” he had asked one night, both of you curled under a blanket on the couch. His voice was soft. “I think it’d suit you.”
You smiled, kissed him, changed the subject. He didn’t push then. But it happened again more often. Little questions and jokes. “My mom said she’s saving her wedding hanbok for when we get married,” he laughed once, eyes flicking to you like he was checking for a reaction. You just smiled tightly and looked away. You started to feel it building. That quiet pressure. He wasn’t trying to manipulate you, wasn’t doing anything wrong but you could feel it all the same. Like a wave swelling far out at sea, one you couldn’t stop from reaching the shore.
You told yourself it was okay. That you’d deal with it when the time came. But Hyunjin had other plans. He wanted to do it right. To do it the way it was supposed to be done.
Talk to his parents and yours. Talk to you. He wanted to propose but not just spring it on you. He wanted a conversation first, a real one. Because he respected you too much not to and he wanted to understand. But that conversation never seemed to happen, because every time he tried, you changed the subject. He noticed, of course he did and it started to hurt.
He didn’t say anything at first, just quieter sighs when you’d brush off the idea. A longer pause when his mom brought it up during dinner and you suddenly had to check something on your phone.
Then, one night, he asked. Really asked.n He sat across from you at the small kitchen table in your apartment, his hands folded, eyes serious.
“Can we talk about something?” he said, voice even but a little tight. You knew what was coming. And you weren’t ready.
“I know you’re not into big weddings,” he said carefully. “And that’s okay. But... do you not want to get married at all?”
The question felt like a loaded gun between you.
You looked down. “I don’t know.”
“That’s not a no,” he said, and there was something desperate under the words, a hope trying to keep itself alive. “Is it?”
You didn’t answer you really couldn’t. So he waited and waited. Then got up quietly, walking into the other room.
That was the beginning of the unraveling.
It didn’t all fall apart at once, it came in pieces. Silence and misunderstandings that led to avoided eye contact. Nights where you turned away from each other in bed, unsure of how to bridge the growing distance. And all the while, his parents kept asking. Joking, mostly. But it was the kind of joke that had an answer expected behind it.
“So... when are we getting those grandkids?”
You laughed nervously. Hyunjin would look at you after, that hopeful look in his eyes dimming a little more each time.And still, you couldn’t find the words. You tried. More than once, you tried to explain. But every time, the fear won. That deep, gnawing fear that marriage was a trap, that love could curdle into hatred, that one day he would look at you the way your father looked at your mother. The way your mother looked at you when she said, “Don’t ever let yourself end up like me.”
Then came the final argument. It wasn’t supposed to be a fight. But that’s what years of unspoken fears and misunderstood silences do, they boil over. It started small with a stupid comment. You forgot to respond to his text about dinner with his parents. He thought you were avoiding them again and maybe you were. It spiraled fast.
“You never want to talk about the future!” he shouted, pacing the apartment like he couldn’t breathe.
“I do, just not—like that,” you said, hands shaking.
“Not like what?” he snapped. “Not like marriage? Not like a life with me?”
You flinched. “That’s not fair.”
“No, what’s not fair is loving someone who won’t even tell you if they see a future with you.”
You hated fighting with him. Hated the hurt in his voice but your walls shot up anyway.
“I’ve told you before, I don’t believe in marriage—”
“Because of your parents?” he yelled, cutting you off. “I’m not your dad!”
You froze. His chest was heaving. He looked like he didn’t even mean to say it, but it was too late.
“And I’m not your mom,” you spat back, voice cracking. “But that doesn’t mean I forget what it felt like! You didn’t live in that house, Hyunjin. You didn’t grow up listening to the people you love tear each other apart every single night. You didn’t hear your mom say she wished she’d never married your dad.”
“My parents are still together,” he said, desperate now. “They love each other. It’s not always like that—”
“Not everyone gets that,” you snapped. “Some of us never saw it work! Some of us were raised to believe marriage ruins everything!”
It went on. Painful, raw, and just loud.
“I can’t,” you said. Barely a whisper. “I can’t marry you.”
And something in him broke, he looked at you like he didn’t recognize you then he grabbed his coat, stormed to the door, and slammed it shut behind him. The echo rang through your bones.
Silence.
You sank to the floor, knees giving out under you like the world had cracked open. The tears came hard and fast, the kind that shook your whole body, the kind that didn’t care if anyone saw.
Because no one did. You were alone. And for the first time in five years, you didn’t know if he was coming back.
—
The apartment didn’t feel the same after that night. His absence hung in the air like the echo of a slammed door that wouldn’t stop ringing. You sat on the floor until the cold from the hardwood soaked into your bones, until your tears dried in silent streaks down your cheeks, until your hands stopped shaking. You told yourself you’d call him but you didn’t. You told yourself he’d come back in an hour but he didn’t.
The hours ticked by in a suffocating silence.
You cleaned the kitchen out of habit, out of panic, out of not knowing what else to do. Folded the blanket on the couch he always left messy. Picked up the hoodie he left draped over the chair and pressed it to your face, breathing in the faintest trace of his cologne like it might bring him back. He didn’t text, didn’t call, didn’t come back that night.
And when you finally went to bed, you couldn’t sleep. Your brain wouldn’t stop. Your chest wouldn’t stop aching. Every creak of the apartment made you think it was the front door. It never was. It had been building for weeks. Arguments that were small but sharp. Miscommunications that turned into hurt feelings. His voice louder than usual. Yours quieter, colder.
Neither of you wanted to admit it aloud, but it was happening. You were slipping. The rift was forming, slow but deep, and neither of you knew how to close it without reopening the same wound. And then came another fight. Another storm. This one louder. Meaner. You said things you didn’t mean. So did he. You had started with a simple question “Where were you today?” and it spiraled out of control before you could stop it. He thought you were accusing him. You thought he was being dismissive. It turned into a screaming match before either of you realized what you were even fighting about.
“Why are you even still here if you can’t see a future with me?” he had shouted.
You froze, he saw it and he left. Not with a door slam this time, but with a quiet click that somehow hurt worse. You waited again. This time until dawn.
5:03 AM.
That’s when the front door creaked open. You were already sitting on the couch in the dark, blanket around your shoulders, heart in your throat. He didn’t expect you to be there, he stopped when he saw you.
His hair was messy, his eyes rimmed red, and he reeked alcohol, smoke, sweat, and something tired that wasn’t physical.
You wanted to yell at him. To ask where the hell he’d been, what he’d been doing, why he had to run every time it got hard. But the words died in your throat because as soon as he saw you, really saw you, he broke.
Hyunjin stumbled toward you and fell into your arms like he was falling apart. You caught him, arms wrapping around his shoulders as he collapsed against your chest, breath shuddering, tears coming hot and fast. His body trembled with the weight of everything he hadn’t said, everything you hadn’t said.
“I’m sorry,” he choked out, voice breaking. “I just—I didn’t know where to go.”
You swallowed hard, blinking back your own tears, your hand slowly stroking through his hair as he cried. “You come home,” you whispered. “That’s where you go. You come home.”
You didn’t argue that night. You couldn’t. The pain was too raw. Too heavy. You held each other like you were trying to keep the pieces from falling apart completely. His tears soaked into your shirt. Yours fell silently into his hair.
He clung to you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered. And when the tears stopped, and his breathing evened, he fell asleep in your arms on the couch.
You didn’t move, you just stared at the curve of his jaw, the way his long lashes brushed his cheek, the frown that stayed on his lips even in sleep. You loved him so much it hurt. That had never been the problem. But as you watched him sleep, heart aching in your chest, you felt something else just as sharp guilt.
Because he was unraveling. Because you had said no to the life he had dreamed of building with you. You loved him. But that memory, the one that lived behind your ribs like a second heartbeat kept coming back.
You were eight years old the first time your father slammed a door so hard a picture frame shattered. You had screamed, your mother had cried, and your father had yelled that he wished he’d never met her.
You were ten when they finally separated. Your mother sat you down and said, flatly, “Never get married. Don’t be stupid like I was.”
You were eleven when she told you love was a scam. That people change. That nothing lasts.
And you believed her. Because it was easier than believing in something that could break you.
So when Hyunjin asked you to believe in marriage, in forever, in vows and rings and promises, it felt like asking you to walk into a burning house and trust you wouldn’t get burned.
You couldn’t. And he didn’t understand that.
When he woke up, the sun was just starting to rise, painting the walls in soft pink light. His head rested in your lap, his eyes opening slowly. You didn’t say anything at first. You just looked at each other. Long and quiet. Like words were too big, too dangerous. Then, softly, he reached up and brushed the hair from your face, his touch so gentle it made your throat tighten.
“Hey,” he whispered.
“Hey,” you replied.
A long pause.
Then he sat up slowly, stretching his sore limbs, avoiding your eyes at first. But then he sighed, voice rough from crying, from drinking, from everything.
“There’s something I want to ask you.”
Your heart jumped. You weren’t ready for another argument. You weren’t ready for another proposal, either. He saw your face and added quickly, “Just hear me out. Please.”
You nodded. He hesitated, then continued. “There’s this show. A reality show.”
You blinked. “A what?”
“Eight long termish couples,” he said carefully, rubbing his hands together like he was trying to warm up from the coldness in the room. “Each couple, one person’s unsure about commitment. Marriage. They go to this... retreat. For a few weeks.”
You furrowed your brow. “Hyunjin…”
“They separate,” he went on, like he had to get it all out before you interrupted. “They meet other people. Kind of like dating, but also to understand themselves. What they want. What’s missing.”
“Like dating?” you repeated, voice flat. “Are you being serious right now?”
He nodded. Hesitant. “By the end, every couple has to decide. Get engaged. Or break up.”
You just stared at him. Speechless.
You felt your chest tighten, a slow boiling anger that rose beneath your ribs.
“You want to put our relationship on national television? You want strangers picking apart everything we’ve been through—watching us fall apart for entertainment?” Your voice rose with every word.
Hyunjin looked away, his jaw tense. “I just… I don’t know what else to do anymore.”
You stood up, hands shaking. “So the answer is to date other people? To put me in a house where you might fall for someone else, and I’m just supposed to be okay with that?”
“I don’t want anyone else!” he snapped, standing too. “I want you! But you can’t even tell me if you’ll ever want to marry me!”
“Because I’m scared!” you shouted back. “Because every time I think about walking down an aisle, I hear my mom telling me not to. I hear my dad saying he regrets ever meeting her. I see everything falling apart before it even begins!”
“I’m not your dad,” he whispered.
“You keep saying that like it’s enough to make the fear go away.” Another long silence.
He looked exhausted. You sank back onto the couch, your voice softer this time. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“Then tell me what to do,” he said, nearly pleading. “Because I’m running out of ideas.”
You didn’t answer. Because you didn’t know. And that was the scariest part.
—
You almost forget about it. Days pass in a strange, fragile truce. You and Hyunjin don’t fight the way you did before, but you don’t really talk either, not about anything that matters. You exist together in the same space, orbiting each other carefully, like one wrong word might shatter what little stability you’ve managed to rebuild. He cooks dinner. You wash the dishes. He asks about your day. You answer with safe, surface level details. You sleep in the same bed, sometimes curled toward each other, sometimes facing opposite walls, the space between you heavy with everything you’re not saying.
The show becomes something unspoken. A ghost hovering at the edge of your relationship. You tell yourself he dropped it. That the idea was a desperate suggestion made in the heat of pain, something he wouldn’t actually go through with. You want to believe that because the alternative is that he’s still thinking about it, still weighing your relationship against a televised ultimatum, feels too cruel to sit with. So you let yourself forget.
Until one evening, you come home late. The apartment is quiet, the kind of quiet that settles deep into your bones. Hyunjin isn’t home yet. His shoes aren’t by the door. The lights are off except for the soft glow coming from the kitchen.
You kick off your shoes, drop your bag on the chair, and that’s when you see the folder.
It’s sitting on the kitchen counter, neat and deliberate, like it was placed there on purpose. Thick, cream colored, the kind used for important documents. Your stomach twists before you even touch it. Something in you already knows.
Your fingers were trembling when you opened it.
Page after page, neatly filled out.
Name: Hwang Hyunjin. Length of Relationship: 5 years, 3 weeks, 4 days Primary Conflict: One partner is afraid of marriage. Desired Outcome: I want us to commit. I want to marry her. I want to build our life. Willing to Participate Fully: ✔️ Yes. Consent to be Filmed, Shared, Edited, and Aired for National Broadcast: ✔️Yes. Prepared for Outcome Regardless of Result: ✔️Yes.
His signature was on every page. His handwriting was steady, no hesitation in the loops of his letters. He had signed without waiting for you.
Only one signature was missing. Yours.
You sat down at the kitchen island, the folder open in front of you like it had split your life into two chapters: before and after.
You kept reading and you had skipped to the testimonials, blurbs from past participants of the show, printed on glossy paper like endorsements for a product. The faces were pixelated for privacy, but the words were clear.
“I went on this show with one foot out the door. I didn’t think I could ever trust someone enough to marry them. But now? We’re engaged. We’re getting married in October, and we just found out we’re expecting a baby girl. This show saved us.”
You swallowed hard. The ache in your chest pulsed deep.
“I realized I was holding on to a relationship I had already outgrown. The retreat helped me see that. I met someone new on the show… and I finally feel ready for marriage. With her.”
Your chest caves in. You swallow hard, the words cutting deeper than you expected. You picture Hyunjin reading these. You picture him wondering which ending you’ll be. You picture him imagining a future that doesn’t include you and the thought feels like something sharp being dragged across your ribs.
You don’t notice when the door opens. You don’t notice Hyunjin come home until you hear his breath hitch, you look up slowly. He’s standing there, keys still in his hand, eyes fixed on the folder spread out in front of you. For a moment, neither of you speaks. The air feels heavy, charged, like the seconds before a storm breaks.
“I… I left it out,” he says quietly. “For you.”
You nod, eyes dropping back to the papers. “I figured.”
He steps closer, hesitant, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to sit next to you. Eventually, he does, lowering himself into the chair beside you. His knee brushes yours. You don’t move away.
“I signed everything,” he says softly. Not defensive. Just honest. “I agreed to all of it.”
You keep reading, flipping through more pages, more stories, more outcomes. Engagements. Breakups. New beginnings that don’t look anything like the life you’ve been building together for five years.
“Did you read these?” you ask quietly.
He nods. “Yeah.”
Your voice trembles despite your efforts to keep it steady. “Didn’t it scare you?”
He exhales slowly, staring at his hands. “It did. It still does.”
You finally look at him. Really look at him.
He looks tired. Like someone who’s been holding onto hope so tightly his hands are starting to cramp. Like someone standing at the edge of something terrifying, knowing that staying where he is might be just as painful as jumping.
“Do you really think this is a good idea?” you ask.
It’s not accusatory or angry. It’s broken. He swallows, jaw tightening. For a moment, you think he might say no. That he’ll backtrack, admit this was too far, too much. That he’ll tell you he doesn’t want to risk losing you. Instead, he nods.
Slowly and reluctantly.
“I don’t think we have any other choice,” he says.
The words land like a final verdict. You look back down at the folder. At the empty line waiting for your signature. At the future laid out in black ink, neat and merciless. Your mind fills with memories you’ve spent your whole life trying to outrun.
Your childhood bedroom door locked, your back pressed against it as voices rise on the other side.
Your father’s voice, sharp and full of regret. Your mother’s voice, exhausted and bitter, telling you love isn’t enough. Telling you marriage is a cage.
Telling you being alone is safer.
You look at Hyunjin. At the man you love. At the man who wants a future you’re terrified to promise. At the man who is slowly losing himself waiting for you to meet him somewhere you don’t know how to reach.
Your chest aches and hands shake as you reach for the pen. Hyunjin watches you closely, eyes searching your face for any sign of doubt, any hint that you might change your mind. You don’t look at him when you sign. You can’t. If you do, you’re afraid you’ll stop.
The pen scratches against the paper. Your name appears beside his. And just like that, there’s no taking it back. You set the pen down, your hand lingering there for a moment longer than necessary. Hyunjin exhales, long and unsteady. “Okay,” he says quietly. “Okay.”
You nod, even though your chest feels like it’s splitting open. Somewhere deep down, you know this isn’t just a show anymore. It’s a line. And once you cross it, nothing will ever be the same.
—
Five months later, everything looked different.
The sky was a deeper blue, the kind of blue that made you squint when you looked up, like even the atmosphere here was brighter than what you were used to. The air was warm, almost tropical, with a breeze that played with the hem of your dress and made your skin hum. You stood on the stone steps of the retreat house, sunshine spilling over the horizon, bathing the sleek architecture in golden light. Everything around you screamed paradise, ocean glimmering in the distance, palms swaying lazily in the wind, birds chirping like this was a honeymoon destination, not a battlefield.
You wore a dress you would have never worn back home.
It clung to your body like it had been made just for you. It was soft, silky, and low in the back, revealing just enough to make you feel exposed but powerful. Something about the sun made you brave, or maybe it was just the illusion of distance from the real world, from the pain you’d left behind on another continent.
Hyunjin hadn’t stopped touching you since you arrived. His arm draped loosely around your waist, his fingers drawing soft circles on your side through the thin fabric of your dress. His chin occasionally brushed your temple as he leaned in to whisper something quiet, something meant only for you. You couldn’t really hear the words. Your heart was too loud in your ears. You hadn’t spoken much on the flight here. Not because you were angry, things between you had been strangely calm lately. Calm in the way people are when walking a tightrope, afraid that one misplaced step would send everything crashing down. You existed in a holding pattern now, hearts clinging to something familiar, even as your hands hovered over the eject button.
It was real now. No longer just a folder on the kitchen table. No longer a “maybe.”
You were here. On national television. Participating in a show where couples went to see if they were meant to marry… or meant to part ways. You glanced around, eyes catching on the other couples standing nearby, all in various stages of closeness or distance. Some clung to one another like you and Hyunjin, arms wrapped tight, fear hidden behind smiles. Others stood apart, stiff, unreadable. Everyone had their own story, their own cracks.
Everyone was here to test the same question.
Hyunjin leaned in close, his lips brushing just behind your ear. “You look incredible,” he murmured. “They're all staring.”
You turned slightly to face him, catching the smirk at the edge of his lips.
“They’re staring at you,” you said softly.
“Let them,” he replied. “You’re mine.”
The word mine made your stomach flutter, and not entirely in a good way. You liked the way it sounded coming from him, sure. But deep down, you still didn’t know if you could be someone’s forever. Someone’s wife. nStill… you let him hold you. You held back tighter.
The buzz of conversation stopped when the host appeared, sharp suit, polished shoes crunching against the gravel path. He smiled broadly, oozing confidence and warmth in a way that immediately commanded everyone’s attention.
“Welcome,” he said, voice ringing clear over the quiet murmurs. “Welcome to your new home for the next few weeks. I hope you had an easy flight, and I hope you took in the views. Because the real journey starts now.”
Everyone chuckled nervously. You forced a smile, fingers gripping Hyunjin’s hand tighter.
The host continued, gesturing behind him toward the retreat house. “This is one of two homes on the property. The one you’re standing in front of now has been carefully designed for comfort, growth, and yes, connection.”
You didn’t like the sound of that last word.
“There’s something a little different about this season,” the host went on, smiling. “A twist that’s never been done before in the show’s history.”
Hyunjin straightened beside you. You could feel the tension coil in his posture, his thumb pausing mid circle on your waist.
“This season,” the host said, “your first challenge begins now and it’s separation.”
A ripple of whispers and confusion broke out among the couples. You turned toward Hyunjin instinctively, already shaking your head.
“The retreat will begin,” the host explained, “with a division. All couples will be split based on a single criteria. commitment.”
You felt like you were freezing, despite the heat.
“All participants who have stated that they want to get married will remain here, in this house.”
He gestured again, this time to the elegant house behind him. Its glass windows shimmered in the sunlight, promising comfort, safety.
“And those who have expressed fear or hesitation around marriage…” He turned, pointing behind the crowd toward a line of waiting black SUVs parked discreetly in the gravel lot. “...will now be transported to a second home, about thirty minutes from here.”
Your breath caught in your throat. Your feet went cold. Beside you, Hyunjin's hand never left your waist but his grip changed. Reassuring and protective. The host smiled like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb. “This separation will only last a week. During that time, you’ll meet other individuals who share your mindset. You’ll talk. You’ll reflect. You’ll connect. The goal isn’t to test loyalty. it’s to better understand yourselves, and to do it without the emotional comfort of your partner beside you.”
You stared straight ahead, heart pounding.
“You’ll each get a chance to see what it’s like to speak your truth,” he said, “without fear of disappointing the person you love.”
Your eyes burned. You hadn’t expected this.
You reached for Hyunjin’s hand, already tangled with yours, and squeezed it hard. He didn’t look at you. His jaw was set, eyes straight ahead, muscles rigid under your touch. You knew what this meant. You were leaving him. Again.
“And now,” the host said brightly, “you’ll have just a few minutes to say goodbye. Your cars are waiting.”
The group broke into gasps, some couples already clinging to one another. Some panicked. Some shocked.
You couldn’t breathe. A week. A week without Hyunjin. A week with strangers. A week to connect with someone else? Your stomach dropped.
Hyunjin turned toward you, finally. His eyes softened instantly at the look on your face.
“I didn’t know,” he said quickly. “I swear. I didn’t know they’d do this.”
You nodded numbly. “It’s fine. I just… I didn’t think it’d start like this.”
He stepped in close, pressing his forehead to yours. “It’s a week,” he said, voice low. “Just a week. We’ve done worse.”
You swallowed hard, tears prickling at your lash line. “But not with other people.”
“I know,” he whispered.
You wanted to scream, Then why are we here?
But you didn’t because you already knew the answer.
“I don’t want to meet someone else,” you said quietly.
“I don’t want to either.”
“Then why—”
“Because I want you to be sure,” he said, voice shaking. “Because if you choose me, I need it to be your choice. Not fear. Not guilt. Not because I begged you. Because you want to marry me.”
You squeezed your eyes shut. He kissed you slow and desperate. Like this might be the last kiss. Like if he could just kiss you hard enough, he could brand himself into your soul.
When he pulled back, his hands trembled against your arms.
The host’s voice rang out again. “Please make your way to your assigned vehicles. We'll begin shortly.”
The others began moving. You didnt, you couldn’t. Until Hyunjin gently, painfully, let go of your hand.
“Go,” he whispered. “It’s okay.”
You backed away slowly, each step like tearing a bandage off skin that hadn’t healed. He stood still, watching you, his hand lifting in a small wave, like he didn’t trust himself to speak again.
You turned toward the waiting cars. And walked away. Your heart screamed with every step.
—
The car ride was silent.
The producer in the front seat tried to make small talk once or twice, but you weren’t in the mood to respond. Neither were the others in the vehicle. The silence between you all was thick, not the comfortable kind, but the awkward, we don’t know what we’re doing here kind. Everyone kept their eyes on the tinted windows, watching the palm trees blur past like they might offer answers you couldn’t find in yourselves. You kept replaying the goodbye in your mind. Hyunjin’s voice. His kiss. His hands shaking when he let you go. You wanted to believe it was just a week. But something about the separation felt… different. Permanent, almost.
When the car pulled up to the second house, the difference was stark. It was beautiful, of course, modern and minimalist with large windows, wide open spaces, soft neutral colors, and everything perfectly curated to make you feel relaxed. It was a facade, really. A luxurious one.
Because everyone stepping into that house brought baggage with them no interior designer could soften. You were the last one to walk in.
There was no dramatic welcome or cheesy introduction, just a producer’s soft voice urging you all inside, saying you’d “get time to settle in later,” and that dinner was already waiting in the main room.
The dining table was long and elegant, already set for eight. The food looked amazing, salmon glazed with something sticky and sweet, grilled vegetables, baskets of warm rolls, platters of fruit. It might have felt like a celebration if you didn’t feel like you were going to throw up.
Everyone hesitated. No one sat first. No one wanted to act like they were comfortable being here.
Eventually, the guy with warm brown eyes and dimples that looked almost out of place in such a tense space stepped forward and slid into a chair. “Well,” he said in a relaxed tone. “I’m starving.”
That broke the ice, barely. You all followed, awkwardly taking your seats. You sat near the middle of the table, not too close to anyone, but not completely at the edge either. The producers hovered out of view but close enough to remind you that yes, the cameras were already rolling.
Everyone stared at their plates for a while, picking at the food.
Then someone cleared their throat.
“I’m Chan,” the same guy who sat first said, glancing around with an easy but slightly tense smile. “My partner’s in the other house. Her name’s Esther.”
He said it like he wanted to get it out of the way. Like he didn’t want the name to sit too long in his mouth. The introductions started slowly after that, like falling dominoes.
“Haru,” said a soft voice from two seats down. She had long black hair and wide eyes that kept darting toward the window like she was looking for an escape. “Minho’s my partner.”
You said your name next, quieter than usual. “I’m… with Hyunjin.”
That got a few subtle nods.
“Byul,” said the girl next to you. She wore bright earrings and had an edge in her tone, like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to play nice yet. “Seungmin’s my boyfriend.”
“Yuri,” said a girl from across the table. Her tone was clipped but confident. “Changbin’s my partner.”
The guy next to her shifted uncomfortably in his chair, like he didn’t want to be there at all.
“Jisung,” he muttered. “I’m here with Mae.”
He said her name like it tasted bitter. Or maybe like it hurt to say it at all.
Then came a soft, cheerful voice. “Felix. My girlfriend’s Jina.”
He smiled, sweet and warm, and you wondered how someone so obviously kind could be scared of commitment. But then again, so were you.
The last guy leaned forward, raking a hand through his hair. “Jeongin,” he said. “Chaewon’s in the other house.”
And that was it. Eight partners and eight stories waiting to be unpacked like suitcases filled with emotional landmines. The silence that followed was different than before, still awkward, but less sharp. You all had said something now, even if it was only your names. It made the space feel slightly more human.
You were about to go back to poking at your food when Byul, blurted out, “So… how do we all actually feel about being here?”
It was so straightforward, you all froze.
Chan let out a low whistle. “Wow. We’re really going there already, huh?”
Byul shrugged. “Why not? We’re here, aren’t we?”
There was a beat of silence. Then Yuri snorted. “I feel like shit.”
A ripple of laughter broke out, the kind that surprised even the people who made the sound. It wasn’t really funny, but it was honest.
Chan nodded. “Yeah. Same. I’ve been with Esther for six years. Six. Years. And we’re still stuck.”
Felix chimed in, softer. “Jina talks about marriage all the time. I keep saying we need time, but I don’t know what I’m waiting for.”
Haru picked at a piece of bread. “Minho wants kids. Like, now. I’m barely keeping my plants alive.”
Everyone chuckled again, even you. Jisung stayed quiet, jaw tight. Byul leaned her cheek on her hand. “Seungmin’s the kind of guy who already has the wedding planned. I freak out if someone brings up anniversary plans more than a week in advance.”
Yuri added, “I love Changbin. I do. But I saw what marriage did to my parents. I don’t know how to want it.”
Everyone nodded. It came to you last. All eyes shifted your way, waiting. You swallowed hard.
“I—” you started, surprised to feel how dry your throat was. “I love Hyunjin more than anything. But the idea of marriage… terrifies me. I grew up watching it destroy people. I guess I thought love was safer without the paperwork.”
Jisung finally spoke up, voice tight. “Sometimes I wonder if love’s even enough.”
That silenced the table again, but not uncomfortably. You all sat with that for a moment.
Then Chan clapped his hands and said, “Well. Now that we’ve trauma dumped, who wants dessert?”
Everyone laughed. And for the first time since stepping off the plane, you didn’t feel like running away.
—
By the second night, the silence was gone.
Not completely, awkwardness still lingered around the corners, heavy and hesitant but the space had softened. After that first dinner, you weren’t strangers anymore. You were still strangers to each other’s souls, yes, but now there was a shared understanding. A quiet, unspoken truce.. We’re all broken in our own ways. We’re all afraid. We’re all here because we love someone but love isn’t enough right now.
You weren’t used to saying things like that out loud. You didn’t think you ever would be. But there was something about the air in this house, the way the producers carefully crafted intimacy, the low golden lights, the sound of the ocean not too far off. It made people honest. It made you honest. So when Chan suggested after dinner that you all hang out in the sunken living room and just “talk,” no one resisted. The eight of you sat sprawled across the oversized couch and cushions on the floor, the fire pit on the back patio flickering through the glass doors, the occasional beep of a camera letting you know, yes, this moment is being captured. This conversation might air in front of millions of strangers. But somehow… it didn’t matter.
“Alright,” Chan said, clapping his hands together. “New group prompt.”
“Oh no,” Byul muttered, already rolling her eyes.
Chan smirked. “Come on, it’s a good one. I wanna know—how did you find this show? Like, who brought it up first, and what pushed you to actually sign your names on the dotted line?”
Everyone was quiet for a beat, thinking.
Then he shrugged. “I’ll go first, obviously.”
You leaned back against the cushions, pulling your knees close to your chest, arms loosely wrapped around them. Hyunjin’s name sat on the tip of your tongue, even now.
“Esther found it,” Chan said, voice quieter now. “She saw an article about the show. Said it popped up on her feed like the algorithm was taunting her. We were on the brink of breaking up.” He looked down at his hands, thumb brushing over his palm like he could scrub the memory away. “She wanted to get married. I didn’t even want to talk about it. It’s not just marriage. I’ve got my own shit. And I didn’t think I was ready to drag someone else through it.”
He exhaled slowly. “But I didn’t want to lose her either. So… here I am.”
Nobody said anything for a moment. Everyone just nodded, slow and understanding. Then Haru picked at the seam of the cushion in her lap and spoke next.
“Minho’s been… pushing more lately,” she said, staring down. “Not in a bad way. He’s just surrounded by it. Our friend group, two of the couples are pregnant. One just had twins. The others are already trying or have toddlers. He feels like he’s running out of time.”
She paused.
“I get it. I do. But I can’t do it. Kids. Maybe ever. And he knows that. I’ve told him, over and over. I love him so much, but the thought of being pregnant, being a mom… it feels like losing myself. And he just, he begged me not to give up on him.”
Her voice cracked slightly at that part. “That’s when I realized I didn’t want to give up either.”
She gave a half hearted laugh, eyes glinting. “I still think this is stupid. This whole show. I don’t believe it’ll change my mind. But… I’m here.”
You felt a sharp twist in your chest. Because Haru’s voice could’ve been yours. Next was Byul, who rolled her eyes when everyone turned to her. “Seungmin and I got scouted. Some assistant producer reached out on Instagram, and Seungmin was immediately interested. He probably sent a calendar invite ten minutes later.”
Everyone laughed. Byul smirked. “He’s always been like that. Planning, fixing, organizing. He has our wedding colors already picked out. Me?” She shrugged. “I feel like I got tricked into coming here. But I guess I love him enough to let myself be tricked.”
Then came Yuri. And she didn’t smile when she spoke.
“I asked to come,” she said. “I told Changbin I needed something to change. I’m scared of marriage because I watched my parents destroy each other inside of it. I don’t trust it. I don’t trust forever. But I trust him. That’s the problem.”
She looked around. “Did any of you read the testimonies from last season? The ones in the packet?”
A few people nodded. You included.
Jisung shook his head. “Wait, there were testimonies?”
Yuri nodded, curling her legs underneath her. “Yeah. They were kind of hidden in the paperwork. But I read them. Some couples said this show helped them more than years of therapy. Said the challenges made them confront everything they were avoiding.”
Felix frowned slightly. “Challenges?”
Yuri looked at him. “They’ll test you. In every way. The show does everything in its power to make you jealous. Or insecure. Or to push you into imagining a life with someone else.”
That made your stomach turn. You remembered Hyunjin’s arms around you. The way he’d kissed you goodbye like it hurt. The way he whispered, It’s just a week. Was it?
Byul scoffed, “Sounds like reality TV at its worst.”
Yuri smirked. “Would you feel jealous if Seungmin kissed someone else on camera?”
Byul’s eyes dropped to the floor, her jaw tightening just for a second. She didn’t answer.
Everyone laughed softly. Even Jisung cracked a grin.
“It’s weird,” he admitted. “Hearing all of you talk about how much you love your partners. It’s like… if there’s so much love, why are we all here?”
That quieted the room.
You didn’t realize you were the next to speak until your voice left you.
“I think… love isn’t always the problem. Sometimes it’s everything else around it. The fear. The past. The expectations.” You swallowed hard. “Sometimes you can love someone with everything you have and still not be able to give them what they need.”
Chan looked at you closely.
“So,” he said, “did you read the testimonies?”
You nodded.
“They scared me,” you said. “But… they also made me think.”
Everyone went quiet again, this time in a more settled way. A softer way. Like each of you was still carrying a thousand pounds of uncertainty but now, maybe, you weren’t carrying it alone.
And for the first time since you got here, you realized something. This house? It might not be the worst place to be after all.
—
The next morning came faster than expected.
Maybe it was the time zone change, or the unfamiliar bed, or the quiet hum of anxiety that buzzed in your chest the moment your eyes opened but you hadn’t slept well. You stared at the ceiling for a while after waking up, the sheets twisted around your legs, the soft whir of the ceiling fan doing little to calm the rising tension in your body. This place was beautiful, but it wasn’t home. You kept telling yourself, it’s only a week. But each hour stretched longer than the last.
The house was beautiful. Airy, full of windows and natural light. There was a cozy reading nook, a sprawling sunroom, a glimmering pool outside that overlooked the ocean. It felt like the kind of place you’d come with Hyunjin, if things were different. You kept thinking about him. What was he doing right now? Was he talking to someone else? Laughing? Smiling that soft, shy smile of his? The thought made your stomach turn. You tried to shake it off. Everyone was still getting used to the space, migrating in little groups. Some had already formed easy conversations, gravitating toward people they felt naturally drawn to. Haru and Byul were in the kitchen, chatting as they made something to snack on. Yuri had her legs draped across one of the patio lounge chairs while talking to Jeongin and Felix, all of them laughing over some shared joke you weren’t part of.
You were sitting on one of the smaller couches in the corner of the main living space, nursing a cup of lukewarm tea you didn’t even want. It felt like middle school all over again. Watching people from a distance. Wanting to join, but too unsure, too afraid to interrupt. You weren’t angry at anyone. Everyone was kind enough. But you felt like the odd one out.
It didn’t help that your mind kept drifting back to Hyunjin. You wondered if he was making anyone laugh. If someone else was sitting close to him right now. If he’d told them about you. If they were already getting closer. Your throat tightened.
Then, just as you were about to get up and disappear somewhere quiet, someone slid onto the couch next to you.
You jumped a little, surprised.
Jisung.
He didn’t say anything at first just offered a crooked, slightly mischievous smile and leaned back into the cushions like you’d both been sitting there together this whole time.
You looked at him, equally amused and confused.
“Hey,” he said, casually, voice soft.
“Hey,” you replied, tucking a leg beneath you.
“You okay?” he asked, glancing sideways at you without moving his head.
You nodded quickly, maybe too quickly. “Yeah. I’m just… bad at talking to new people.”
He laughed and you couldn’t help but smile. “Same,” he said. “Which is why I figured I should probably approach the one person who looked more awkward than me.”
Your smile widened, embarrassment blooming on your face, but his tone wasn’t mocking. If anything, it was reassuring.
“Figured we could suffer through this weird social stuff together,” he added.
You relaxed a little. “That sounds fair.”
He angled himself toward you more. “So… tell me about you. Where are you from?”
You hesitated, but only for a second. “Born and raised in Seoul. Lived in the same neighborhood my whole life until I moved in with Hyunjin.”
He nodded like that made perfect sense. “Nice. City kid.”
“What about you?” you asked.
He leaned his head back against the cushion, eyes drifting up. “Incheon. My mom still lives there. Went to Seoul for school and… stayed.”
You asked what he did for work, he was in music production, of course. It fit him. He had that creative, slightly chaotic energy. Passionate but grounded. You told him you worked in marketing and branding, which he said was “the kind of job title that sounds way more glamorous than it actually is.”
And you laughed. The conversation flowed easier than you expected. Jisung had this way of making you feel like you didn’t have to try so hard. He didn’t prod too deeply, didn’t pressure you with questions. He just listened and joked. A lot.
You were halfway through telling him about the time you and Hyunjin accidentally set off the fire alarm trying to cook steak when you noticed it.
Every time you mentioned Hyunjin, his name, your relationship, Jisung stiffened. Just a little. His eyes flicked elsewhere. His smile dimmed. You didn’t call it out. You didn’t need to. You’d seen that kind of avoidance before. You changed the subject.
When you asked about his partner, Mae, his tone shifted. He spoke vaguely, quickly, brushing it off with a tight smile and a deflection. “She’s doing her thing. I’m doing mine. That’s the whole point, right?”
You let it drop.He didn’t owe you that story. Still, the two of you kept talking. Kept laughing. You didn’t realize how loud you’d gotten until chan cleared his throat behind you. He stood there, half grinning, arms crossed loosely.
“Hey, lovebirds,” he teased. “We’re starting a game. You in?”
Your cheeks burned. You hadn’t even realized how much time had passed, how many people had gathered on the floor and the bigger couch around the coffee table.
A game? You looked around. Everyone was already watching you. Yuri smirked. Byul gave you a knowing look. Jeongin looked mildly entertained. Haru was sipping from a water bottle and clearly holding back a laugh.
You shrank slightly, feeling like you’d just been called out on stage.
“Oh, um…” You hesitated, glancing at Jisung.
He shrugged. “I’m down.”
He looked at you, encouraging. “You should play. Come on. It’ll be fine.”
You hesitated a moment longer then nodded.
“Okay,” you said, your voice quiet, but sure.
You set your empty tea mug on the side table and followed him toward the circle, your bare feet soft against the cool tile floor.
As you sat cross legged on the floor beside Jisung, something about the warmth of the group, about the way everyone shuffled to make space for you felt… different. Like maybe you weren’t as alone here as you thought. Maybe this place wasn’t home. But maybe it didn’t have to be hell either.
You thought it would be something harmless.
Something soft and easy, like a game of “Would You Rather” or charades. Maybe one of those mildly awkward but ultimately forgettable bonding games where people asked what your go to karaoke song was, or your favorite snack, or your dream vacation spot. A safe game. A surface level game. You didn’t get that. Instead, you got Yuri’s idea.
“Truth or drink,” she announced, her voice clear, confident, and mischievous. She reached beneath the couch like she’d been planning this, pulling out a bottle of tequila like it was a secret weapon. “Come on. If we’re gonna be here together for a week, we might as well get the real stuff out now.”
The group erupted into half laughs, half gasps.
Byul leaned forward immediately, already curious.
Chan winced playfully. “This will ruin lives. I hope we’re all ready for that.”
You hesitated, already feeling the knot tighten in your stomach. You weren’t. You weren’t sure if anyone really was. But the room was shifting. Everyone leaned in. The energy was rising, the same kind you felt right before a storm broke sharp, expectant, uncontrollable.
You were going to say no. You were ready to shake your head, smile awkwardly, and excuse yourself with a polite excuse about being tired or not wanting to drink tonight. But then you felt a gentle tug at your sleeve.
You turned, Jisung. Eyes bright, boyish grin playing on his lips. He leaned closer, close enough for only you to hear.
“Come on,” he said, nudging you lightly. “Don’t be a buzzkill. You’ll be the only one not playing.”
You swallowed, throat dry. “This feels like a mistake.”
“Of course it is,” he said easily. “That’s why it’ll be fun.”
You stared at him. He grinned wider. “Just drink when it gets weird. Easy.”
And just like that, against your better judgment, you caved. You always did when someone made you feel like you didn’t want to be left out. So you sat back down on the floor beside Jisung as Yuri poured the first round of shots. The glasses glinted like liquid gold under the low, moody lighting.
The game started innocently enough. Chan was up first, naturally.
“Who’s the more affectionate one in your relationship?” Yuri asked.
“Esther,” he answered easily, no drink required. “She’s a hugger. I’m emotionally stunted.”
Laughter. The next few were softballs, mostly. Then it shifted. Yuri had a question for Haru. “Do you actually want to have kids with Minho someday?”
Haru hesitated. Then picked up her shot and downed it without a word. Jeongin was asked who he thought the most attractive person in the retreat was, not counting Chaewon. He blushed bright red, stammered something unintelligible, then drank so fast he nearly choked.
The tequila warmed everyone up. You felt it yourself, the way your skin buzzed, the way your limbs felt less tense. But your mind was still sharp. Too sharp. The questions turned quickly.
“Have you ever thought about cheating on your partner?”
“Who do you find most attractive besides your partner?”
“What’s something your partner does during sex that annoys you?”
Your breath hitched as the intimacy of it all shifted from playful to almost painful. This wasn’t just drinking anymore. This was confession dressed up as entertainment. And everyone was watching. Byul, who had laughed off her first question, answered her second too fast Then she drank her way through the third.
Jisung? He didn’t answer anything. He smiled. He laughed. But when it was his turn, he drank. Every time.
Did you ever fake it in bed with your partner? Shot. Would you hook up with anyone here if your partner wasn’t watching? Shot. Who do you think your partner’s going to bond with in the other house? Another shot.
He drank all three without hesitation. He didn't flinch. But you noticed the shadow that crept across his face each time Mae’s name was mentioned. Your turn came too soon. You could feel everyone’s eyes on you before the question was even asked. Byul asked it, almost apologetically. “When’s the last time you had sex with your partner?”
The silence stretched. You didn’t answer right away. Your brain raced. Was it a week ago? Two? The night before the fight? The night before the papers were signed? Or was it the night he held you like he knew he was already losing you?
The memory made your throat tighten.
Jisung glanced at you, his expression unreadable.
You picked up the shot glass. Lifted it halfway. Then paused. And lowered it.
“Two weeks ago,” you said softly, your voice like glass.
Everyone nodded. No one laughed.
Next question came quickly, Yuri’s turn this time. “What’s your favorite sex position?”
Groans, laughter, dramatic gasps.
The game continued. More shots. More confessions. More tension layered beneath the surface of casual laughter and blushes and half-drunken smirks. You laughed more than you expected. You caught Jisung watching you when he thought you weren’t looking. You caught yourself doing the same.
You told yourself you were done after that round.
Your head felt light, your cheeks warm, your thoughts a little too loose for comfort. The room hummed with that familiar, dangerous mix of alcohol and vulnerability, laughter echoing a second too long, words tumbling out before anyone could stop them. The bottle was noticeably lighter now, the shot glasses smudged with fingerprints and lipstick marks, proof of how far the night had gone. But then Yuri poured one last round.
“Last one,” she said, holding up a finger like a promise. “Then we sleep before we ruin our lives any further.”
No one objected. You didn’t realize how tipsy you were until you shifted slightly and felt yourself lean, just barely against Jisung’s arm. It wasn’t intentional. It was instinctive. Warmth finding warmth. For half a second, you stayed there. Then reality snapped back into place. You straightened immediately, muttering a quick apology that Jisung waved off with an easy laugh, though you noticed the way his shoulders stiffened just a fraction afterward. Like he’d noticed too. Like he’d felt it. Everyone else was just as gone as you were. The questions got messier. More invasive. Less playful, more dangerous. The kind that made people groan dramatically before reaching for the bottle without even pretending to consider answering.
“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever thought about your partner?” Drink.
“What’s one reason you shouldn’t be together?” Drink.
“Who do you think your partner would replace you with if you broke up?”
Loud groans. Immediate drinks. It was easy to get swept up in it. Easy to forget the cameras. Easy to forget where you were and why. But there was one thing everyone started noticing. Jisung still hadn’t answered a single question about Mae.
Not one. At first it hadn’t stood out. Plenty of people were drinking instead of answering. But his pattern was too consistent. Any question even vaguely related to his partner, drink. No hesitation. No joking deflection. Just a quick grab of the glass and down it went. Byul squinted at him across the circle. “Okay, hold on,” she said, waving a finger. “You haven’t answered anything about Mae.”
Jisung laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just really like tequila.”
“That’s not an answer,” Chan said, grinning. “You’re dodging.”
Jisung lifted both hands in mock surrender. “Alright. Alright. Fine. Next question. I’ll answer, Honestly.”
That caught everyone’s attention. Yuri’s eyes gleamed. She didn’t hesitate.
“Okay,” she said slowly, savoring it. “Would you cheat on your partner right now with anyone here? And if yes… who?”
The room went dead quiet. Your stomach dropped. You felt it before you could stop it, that sudden, sharp awareness, like cold water poured down your spine. You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t. You stared at the rug between your knees, your fingers twisting together unconsciously. This wasn’t funny anymore.
Jisung let out a breathy laugh, clearly tipsy, clearly nervous. “Wow,” he said. “You guys really want me dead, huh?”
“No drinking,” Yuri reminded him sweetly. “You promised.”
A beat and then another. You finally looked up.
Jisung was looking at you. Like the answer had been sitting there the whole time.
“I’d cheat,” he said, voice a little slurred but steady. “With her.”
And he pointed at you. The reaction was instant.
Laughter exploded around the room loud, shocked, disbelieving. Someone whistled. Someone else clapped like it was a joke well told. Chan shook his head, grinning. “Bold choice, Ji.”
“No way,” Felix laughed. “Respect the honesty.”
Yuri raised her glass. “To this crazy chaos.”
The moment passed as quickly as it came. Or at least, it did for everyone else. For you, time stretched thin and sharp.
You stared at Jisung. He stared back. Just for a second. Not smiling now, not laughing. Something unspoken sat between you heavy, charged, terrifyingly real. You cleared your throat, the sound too loud in your ears. The alcohol haze cracked just enough for reality to seep back in. Cameras. Partners. Hyunjin. Mae.
You shifted away slightly, putting space where there hadn’t been any before.
The game lurched forward again, people eager to move on, to laugh it off, to pretend nothing had just happened. A few more questions were asked. A few more drinks taken. But the energy had changed. Softer now. Eventually, Haru checked the time and groaned. “Okay, I’m officially done. I need sleep before I say something I can’t take back.”
Everyone agreed quickly. People began standing, stretching, collecting empty glasses and blankets. The night dissolved into quiet goodbyes and sleepy laughter as everyone drifted toward their rooms. You stood slowly, your head still buzzing, your chest tight in a way that had nothing to do with tequila. Jisung lingered beside you. For a moment, it looked like he might reach for you, his hand lifted slightly, hesitated midair.
Then it fell back to his side.
“I should—yeah,” he said quietly, gesturing vaguely down the hall.
You nodded. “Yeah. Me too.”
Neither of you said goodnight. You walked away with your heart pounding, sobering faster than you wanted to. Because suddenly, this wasn’t just a show. And that scared you more than anything else so far.
You almost broke the rules as you reached your room. After everyone had shuffled off to their rooms, the house fell into a heavy kind of silence. The kind that made your thoughts echo too loudly. You sat on the edge of your bed, the lights still on, your phone screen illuminating your face as your thumb hovered over the messaging app.
Hyunjin’s name stared back at you like a bruise you couldn’t stop touching. It was almost muscle memory, the way your fingers moved. The way your mind started to form the words
“Are you okay?”
“I miss you.”
“Thinking about you.”
But none of those messages ever made it past the blinking cursor. You told yourself it was just the alcohol. Even though you’d sobered up by now, your body still hummed with the residual heat of tequila and unspoken tension. Or maybe it wasn’t the alcohol at all. Maybe it was the silence. The absence. The way the bed felt too big, the air too still. Maybe it was how your heart had felt when Jisung pointed at you.
You didn’t want to think about that. About how your chest had fluttered when he’d said your name, when he hadn’t even laughed it off like the others. You weren’t supposed to feel anything. Not for anyone else. That wasn’t why you were here. Still, the guilt sat thick and hot in your chest.
You turned off your phone. And you didn’t text Hyunjin. Instead, you crawled under the blanket, pressing your face into the pillow. You fell asleep with the sound of your own breathing, the weight of your silence, and the ache of someone else's name sitting heavy in your throat.
—
You avoided Jisung. It wasn’t intentional at first. You simply weren’t ready to face whatever had sparked between you two last night, whatever that moment was. You needed space, and if he noticed, you didn’t care. Or at least, you told yourself you didn’t.
You found Byul and Haru already at the breakfast bar, giggling about something on Yuri’s phone while sipping iced coffee. The three of them welcomed you with sleepy smiles, and you gratefully sank into a chair between them.
It felt safer here. You avoided looking across the room, even though you felt him looking.
You could feel his eyes on you like gravity. Yuri was the first to bring up the game from last night. “I forgot how chaotic this group is,” she said, stretching. “Felix didn’t even flinch at some of those questions. He’s so attractive.”
Byul grinned into her cup. “Honestly? Chan’s voice does things to me.”
You blinked, heart suddenly too loud. The way they talked so casually, so openly about the others here. As if they hadn’t come into this house already belonging to someone. As if there wasn’t someone on the other side of the island waiting and wondering just like Hyunjin was.
You swallowed hard.
“Are we really all just…” You trailed off.
Yuri looked at you. “Scoping people out?”
You nodded slowly.
She shrugged. “That’s the whole point, isn’t it?”
“But don’t you feel…” You couldn’t finish the sentence.
“Guilty?” Byul filled in for you. “All the time. But it’s weird. We’re supposed to be open, right? I mean, this is literally what the producers want. Connection. Clarity.”
“Jealousy,” Yuri added dryly. You looked down at your coffee, your reflection rippling in the dark liquid. You didn’t know how to respond.
By the time everyone began to disperse into the rest of the house, heading out to the pool or slipping away to nap or just breathe, you were already feeling that familiar gnawing sensation, the one that crawled up the back of your neck when you knew something was coming.
Jisung caught you just as you were stepping out into the patio, trying to escape to one of the shaded lounge chairs where you could be alone.
“Hey,” he called softly.
You froze.
He jogged up beside you, his voice awkward, quieter than usual. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”
You turned, crossing your arms loosely over your chest. “Yeah?”
He ran a hand through his hair, clearly nervous. “Listen, about last night…”
You didn’t say anything. You didn’t make it easier for him. You weren’t sure how you felt yet, so you stood there and waited.
He shifted his weight. “I’m sorry. For making you uncomfortable. I was… tipsy. That game got really out of hand, and I said some stupid shit. I probably made things weird. I honestly don’t remember everything I said, but the way you’ve been avoiding me all morning—” He stopped. Winced. “Yeah. I probably screwed up.”
Your chest softened slightly. You hadn’t expected him to say it. He looked so sincere. So not smug, not like last night. Just a guy who realized maybe he crossed a line and didn’t know how to fix it.
You sighed and shook your head. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable.”
He blinked. “I didn’t?”
You gave him a small smile. “No. I was just… thinking a lot. I guess I needed space. But it wasn’t about you. Not really.”
He stared at you for a moment longer, as if trying to decide if he believed you. Then he let out a breath, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck.
“That’s good,” he exhaled. “Thank you. That’s… yeah, that’s a relief.”
There was a pause. Then he reached behind him and pulled out something from his hoodie pocket, a can. He held it out to you. You took it, blinking.
It was your favorite drink. One you hadn’t seen stocked in the fridge here. Imported. Specific.
Your eyes widened a little. “Wait… how did you—?”
He looked surprised too. “Seriously? That’s your favorite?”
You nodded slowly, still holding the can like it might disappear. Jisung gave a stunned laugh. “That’s mine too. I brought a couple from home. I didn’t think anyone else even liked this brand.”
You looked at him. And despite yourself, despite everything your lips curved into a genuine smile.
“You just happened to bring my favorite drink,” you said softly.
He smiled back, just as softly. “Maybe we’re more similar than you think.”
You didn’t say anything to that. You just sat down on the edge of the lounge chair and cracked the can open. He sat next to you, not too close this time. But close enough.
That was when the hosts walked in just as you two settled. Two of them, dressed sharply but casually enough to blend in with the retreat aesthetic, smiling with practiced warmth that instantly shifted the mood. You and Jisung both went quiet. He straightened in his seat, and you instinctively tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, heart already rising into your throat.
“Good morning, everyone,” the taller host said, as the other joined in greeting the others who were already making their way toward the living room.
There was a brief, tense shuffle as everyone gathered, Byul walking in barefoot with a half eaten banana in hand, Haru trailing behind her with wet hair from the pool. Chan and Jeongin followed, the latter already looking suspicious. Yuri was last, arms crossed but intrigued.
“We wanted to drop in for an important announcement,” the host said with a bright, rehearsed grin. “Today, you’ll be participating in your first and only official challenge in this house.”
The group groaned in unison. Byul flopped onto the couch dramatically. “Of course it’s today.”
“Right when I just stopped being hungover,” Felix muttered, rubbing his eyes.
Jisung was mid sip when he whispered toward you, “They really know how to kill the vibe, huh?” You cracked a small smile but didn’t say anything. The shorter host took over. “This is what we’re calling a one on one connection challenge. It’s meant to help you understand how you engage with someone new, how you communicate, how you bond when there’s no buffer.”
Everyone exchanged wary glances.
“The challenge is simple,” the host continued. “We’ve got four curated date options prepared for you. Each will last several hours and is fully private.”
“Sounds like a setup,” Chan muttered, though he was grinning.
You felt your stomach flutter uneasily. The host pulled out a small card and began listing the options.
“One: a private beach afternoon. picnic, sun, and all that tropical beauty.”
You looked up. Your heart hitched. Beach.
You felt the ache immediately, a sudden bloom of memory. You and Hyunjin sitting on a blanket as waves rolled in, his hand laced with yours, warm sand between your toes. Laughter in the wind. His voice calling your name through the spray. You swallowed the memory quickly.
“Two: a joint painting session with a local artist,” the host continued. “Three: a cooking challenge with one of the island’s top chefs. Four: guided yoga and meditation.”
Byul raised her brows. “They really said date and therapy.”
You tried to laugh, but your chest felt too tight.
“You’ll have a little time to pick,” the host finished. “Pair off however you like but once you choose, you’re locked in. Be ready to leave in an hour. The cars will take you to your locations.”
And just like that, they were gone smooth, efficient, leaving a room full of suddenly nervous people behind. Everyone immediately moved.
Felix leaned toward Yuri, already deep in conversation about cooking. Byul nudged Chan, and he smiled with a kind of sheepish ease that said he didn’t expect it but wasn’t opposed. Haru and Jeongin both looked at each other and shrugged before agreeing to paint.
And just like that… you were the only one left standing without a partner.
You glanced sideways and realized, so was Jisung. He looked at you, almost sheepish. “Guess we’re the last ones.”
You shrugged. “Would’ve been weird if we weren’t.”
His voice softened a little. “Do you want to… go together?” You hesitated. Not because you didn’t want to. But because you did.
“Sure,” you said quietly. “I mean… yeah. I don’t think I’d want to go with anyone else.”
He smiled, relieved.
“Which one?” he asked. “I’m fine with anything except yoga. I don’t want to pull a muscle trying to impress you.”
You laughed, genuinely this time.
“The beach,” you said, without thinking. Then the memory struck again, fast and cruel, Hyunjin’s hand brushing yours as you ran down the shoreline, the sand sticking to your skin after a kiss.
You forced the thought down. “The beach sounds good.”
Jisung smiled. “Perfect. It’s been a while since I’ve just… been somewhere calm.”
You didn’t tell him it wasn’t going to feel calm for you. That the beach had always been yours and Hyunjin’s. That it meant something. That it hurt.
But you didn’t want to be the one to ruin it either.
So you just nodded. An hour. You had an hour to prepare. You went back to your room, your drink still in hand, and sat on the edge of the bed again. The same place you’d almost texted Hyunjin the night before. Your chest felt tight. Your skin felt hot. You were scared. Not of Jisung. Not really. But of what this could become. Of what it meant to say yes to someone else. Even for one afternoon. Even when it was just for the show. You changed into something light and breezy. You stared at yourself in the mirror for longer than you needed to. Wondering if Hyunjin was staring at someone else, too.
When you walked back out into the living room, the others had already left or were being ushered out by production assistants.
Jisung was waiting near the front door, holding a water bottle in one hand and a small towel draped over his shoulder.
He looked at you and smiled, then looked away.
When the host told you both it was time to head to your car, he shifted awkwardly beside you.
“I hope this isn’t, like… weird,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “I mean, it probably will be, but maybe not in a bad way?”
You smiled softly, surprised by how much your heart stuttered in your chest.
“I guess we’ll find out,” you replied.
Neither of you said much on the walk to the car.
But when your arms brushed as you slid into the backseat, you didn’t move away. And neither did he.
The car ride was quiet, but not uncomfortably so.
A soft instrumental track played through the speakers, barely noticeable over the hum of the road. You sat beside Jisung in the backseat, a small basket of curated snacks resting between you, which neither of you could ignore for long. You’d both skipped breakfast. There was a wrapped bundle of crackers and cheese, little jars of honey and jam, cold meats folded like ribbons, and a pair of glass bottles filled with sparkling water and fresh fruit. The kind of spread you only ever saw in movies or on pinterest boards titled romantic picnic for two.
You hadn’t even arrived yet, and it already felt more intimate than it should. You picked at the cheese as Jisung reached for a strawberry. He made a face at the fancy goat cheese, and you laughed, genuinely, forgetting for a moment what today was supposed to be about. You both made small talk in between bites, but even the small talk had weight like you were circling around something inevitable.
When the car slowed and turned onto a winding, coastal path, you caught a glimpse of the ocean. Your heart ached immediately.
Hyunjin loved the ocean. Always said the salt air cleared his mind. He used to close his eyes and say the sound of waves reminded him that life was bigger than the small problems you thought would end you. He would have loved this view. You used to love it with him. Now, the sight of the sea was both beautiful and punishing.
The car finally stopped. What waited for you looked like a scene straight out of a Tv show.
A private stretch of beach, untouched, quiet, tucked behind a cove that made it feel like you were the only two people in the world. A white blanket laid out over the sand, pillows and cushions, wine chilling in a bucket of ice, and the ridiculous addition of long stemmed roses scattered carefully around the edge of the setup. Lit candles flickered gently even in the daylight, somehow protected from the breeze. You blinked.
“Okay,” Jisung said slowly, stepping out of the car first and taking in the scene. “This is… a lot.”
You laughed under your breath, stepping out behind him. “Are we accidentally getting engaged right now?”
He snorted. “You better not propose. I cry too easily.”
The tension broke instantly, and just like that, the awkwardness from that morning was gone. It dissolved with the wind and the smell of salt and the warmth of the sand under your feet. Maybe it was the quiet setting. Maybe it was the way he kept making you laugh like it was the easiest thing in the world. Or maybe you were just tired of carrying everything on your own.
But as you both sat on the blanket, eating and talking, the vulnerability came easily.
“I started writing music when I was sixteen,” Jisung said, eyes on the horizon. “Like… obsessively. Every night. I’d record demos in my room, upload them to forums, try and get people to listen.”
You sat with your knees pulled up, watching him more than the view.
“I met Mae when I was seventeen,” he continued. “She was my first real relationship. My first everything, honestly. She was older, a little more polished, more.. put together, I guess. She saw the potential in me. Said she believed in my music. And I believed that meant she’d be patient with me.”
He plucked a piece of cheese off the board, turning it in his fingers.
“But music didn’t pay. Not then. I’d send demos to labels and get ignored. I was a kid. No one took me seriously. I’d barely make any money from streaming. I worked three part-time jobs just to keep afloat. Mae never said it out loud, but I could tell... it embarrassed her.”
You stayed quiet, listening. Letting him speak.
“She once told me that being with someone who couldn’t afford to take her out made her feel like she was settling.” He gave a dry laugh. “She didn’t say it in those exact words but I understood.”
Your heart twisted. He looked at you. “So I worked harder. Started doing composing jobs on the side. Sold some lyrics. Saved up to buy her stupid expensive things I couldn’t afford. Bags. Perfume. Shit she never even really liked but I thought it mattered.”
You swallowed, hard. Because Hyunjin had always tried to spoil you too gift after gift, bracelet after bracelet. And every time, you’d turn him down gently, tell him you didn’t need things. That you just wanted him. He’d always look at you like he didn’t quite believe it, but he’d smile anyway.
“I don’t blame her,” Jisung said, pulling his knees up to his chest. “I was a kid trying to chase a dream. And dreams don’t pay the bills.”
You didn’t say anything right away.
But you felt the moment shift.
“I met Hyunjin when I was nineteen,” you said quietly. “It felt like fate. One of those stupid meet cute moments where someone introduces you and then two days later, you can’t stop thinking about him.”
Jisung nodded.
“We moved in together a year later,” you said. “Not officially. At first it was just… he wouldn’t leave my place. Or I’d be at his for days. Eventually, we stopped pretending we had separate homes.”
You paused. “He’d always try to buy me things. Jewelry. Bags. Fancy dresses. And I’d always tell him I didn’t want them. Not because I didn’t appreciate it but because I never needed proof. I just wanted him.”
Jisung smiled faintly. You shared more. Little things. Details you hadn’t spoken aloud in a long time. Some things Hyunjin barely even knew, small pieces of your childhood, the way your dad always burned toast, the time you got lost on the subway and cried until a stranger helped you.
It felt natural, sharing all that with Jisung.
And that scared you. Somewhere in the middle of the conversation, Jisung stood up.
He pulled off his shirt in one smooth motion and tossed it onto the sand. His skin glinted under the sun, smooth and tan and lean, and you looked away too quickly. He turned to you, hand extended.
“Come on.”
You shook your head, panic setting in. “No way.”
“Come on,” he said again, grinning. “The water’s perfect.”
“I didn’t bring a change of clothes.”
“Neither did I.”
You laughed, half protesting. “What if I drown?”
“I got you,” he said, more serious this time. “I promise.”
He didn’t push after that. Just held his hand out.
You stared at it. Then, slowly, you reached for it.
His fingers curled around yours, warm and steady, and he tugged you forward. You squealed as he pulled you into the water, the cold shocking against your skin.
“Jisung!” you yelled, splashing him instinctively.
He just laughed. You splashed again.
The tide rolled in, soaking your clothes, clinging to your skin, and suddenly none of it mattered. You were squealing, giggling, your cheeks hurting from smiling so much, and Jisung’s laugh was loud and real and close in your ears.
A wave pushed against you, harder than expected. You stumbled and he caught you.
Arms around your waist, steady, pulling you close so fast your breath caught in your throat. His face was only inches from yours. The air between you was heavy with something you couldn’t name. His hair was wet and slicked back, droplets clinging to his lashes. He blinked slowly, his hands still holding you like you might slip again.
“You okay?” he asked, voice quieter now.
You nodded. Your heart thumped too loudly in your chest. You were suddenly very aware of the water between you. The way your hands rested on his chest. The way he looked at you like he didn’t want to look away. You didn’t realize how cold the water was anymore. Didn’t realize how much time had passed. Only whatever this was, was becoming too real. He splashed you again.
You gasped, laughing, and returned the splash tenfold. Soon you were both drenched, soaked to the bone, clothes clinging to you like second skin. But neither of you cared. Not about the cameras, not about the challenge. Not about who was supposed to be waiting in another house.
But when you finally walked back to the picnic blanket, dripping wet and breathless from laughter, something settled uncomfortably in your chest. Because now… you were conflicted. Not just because you missed Hyunjin. But because for the first time since the show began, you weren’t sure who you were supposed to miss anymore.
The breeze came in stronger as the sun began to dip lower, and the warmth from the water quickly faded from your skin. You shivered. Not violently but enough that your teeth clicked together just once, just enough that you tried to hide it. But Jisung noticed. Immediately.
He blinked out of whatever daze he had been in, whatever quiet spell had passed between the two of you in the water and scrambled toward the picnic setup, digging through one of the woven baskets.
“Oh—here,” he said, rushing back toward you. “Towel. I got it.”
You hadn’t even realized he’d moved so fast, but suddenly he was wrapping the soft white fabric around your shoulders, gentle and quick. It smelled faintly like lavender and sun. You didn’t expect him to be so careful about it, but his hands were warm against your arms, tucking the edges of the towel in like he’d done this before like he knew how to take care of someone. You shivered again, less from the cold and more from the intensity of the day finally catching up to you.
He noticed that too.
“Are you okay?” he asked, voice soft, close, searching your face for something you couldn’t name. You nodded, lips slightly parted, still catching your breath. “Yeah. Just cold.”
“Guess we pushed it a little,” he said, wiping some of the salt water off his own face with the edge of his shirt. “I swear the water was warmer when we first got in.”
You shrugged under the towel. “It was probably adrenaline.”
“Or wine,” he said with a grin.
You smiled, your shoulders still hunched under the weight of the towel, your body finally beginning to relax again.
Jisung glanced toward the path where the car had dropped you off. “We should probably head back,” he said, more serious now. “Get cleaned up before they start hunting us down with cameras again.”
“Yeah,” you agreed, your voice smaller than you meant it to be. “We should.”
He offered you his hand again, but not in a flirtatious way this time, just steady, friendly, familiar.
The walk back to the car was slower. Neither of you said much. The silence wasn’t awkward but it wasn’t light, either. It carried something heavier now, something you couldn’t ignore anymore. The awareness of what had just happened between you. What you’d allowed to happen. The warmth. The laughter. The way he’d pulled you in close, held you steady, looked at you like he knew you, like he wanted to know more. And the worst part was that you hadn’t wanted to pull away. Not once.
That realization made the air feel heavier, even as the sun dried the remaining water from your clothes. You held the towel tighter around yourself and glanced at Jisung, who was quiet now, biting the inside of his cheek like he was trying to stop himself from saying something. You didn’t ask what he was thinking. Because you were afraid you already knew. The car was waiting just beyond the trail, doors open, engine idling.
He helped you in, closing the door gently behind you. Neither of you spoke on the way back.
The silence between you wasn’t cold. But it wasn’t simple either. Something had shifted.
The sun was nearly gone by the time the car rolled back into the driveway. The golden haze of the beach still clung to your skin, though the warmth had faded. You felt it like an echo faint but lingering. Jisung had gone quiet again beside you, his expression unreadable as he leaned back against the seat. You didn’t say anything either. You hadn’t for the whole ride back. Everything had felt too full. Too close. By the time you stepped out of the car and walked into the cool, softly lit hallway of the house, the laughter from earlier already felt like a dream.
You slipped away to your room quickly. You needed a moment without Jisung’s voice, without the sound of your own breath hitching when his fingers brushed your waist, without the guilt that had begun to claw its way up your throat the moment your feet touched dry land again. The shower was hot. Too hot. But you didn’t turn it down. You scrubbed the sand from your skin, washed the salt from your hair, tried to breathe it all out the tension, the confusion, the faint scent of the ocean still trapped in your memory. But none of it washed away. When you looked in the mirror afterward, your face was flushed and tired. Your eyes looked darker than usual. You wrapped a towel around your head and got dressed, ignoring the heat clinging to the back of your neck.
When you finally came down to the main room, your hair still damp, the house was filled with the smell of something incredible. You stepped into the kitchen and were immediately met with the sound of sizzling, laughter.
“There you are!” Jisung called from the far side of the room, waving you over. His face lit up when he saw you, and despite everything, you smiled. You walked toward him, slowly, like your feet remembered earlier even if your brain didn’t want to.
“What’s all this?” you asked, voice softer than usual.
“Dinner,” he said, gesturing toward the spread. “Courtesy of Yuri and Felix.”
You gasped, sincerely. “No way. This looks amazing.”
You filled yours next to his and sat at the edge of the island, forks clinking against ceramic. The food was amazing, flaky grilled fish with herbed butter, roasted vegetables, and something with mushrooms that melted in your mouth. For a moment, the exhaustion of the day, the salt still in your scalp, the confusion swelling behind your eyes, it all gave way to something simple.
You were hungry. You were here. And he was next to you.
“I don’t think I’ve moved this much in the sun since I was like… nine,” you mumbled around a mouthful, chewing slowly.
Jisung laughed beside you. “Same. My legs are gonna betray me tomorrow. I can already feel it.”
You leaned your elbow on the table, sighing contentedly. “I can’t wait to sleep.”
“You should go crash now,” he offered. His voice was light but laced with something you couldn’t place.
You glanced at him. “Yeah. I should.”
But just as you were about to stand and take your plate to the sink, a familiar voice rang out from the living room.
“Everyone to the lounge!” the host’s voice called, smooth and authoritative. “We’ve got something for you.”
You froze halfway to standing.
“Hey everyone,” the taller host greeted. “Sorry to interrupt!”
The rest of the group trickled into the room as if on cue, each person glancing around warily. You saw Yuri mouth now what to Felix, who only shrugged. Byul appeared behind you, already frowning. Jisung shifted slightly in his seat.
“I know it’s been a long day,” the host continued, “but before we wrap it all up and head into the final stretch, we’ve got a little surprise.”
Everyone groaned at once. You cracked a smile despite yourself. Jisung leaned toward you and whispered, “Ten bucks says it’s group therapy or a crying circle.”
You bit your lip to stop from laughing and elbowed him lightly. The host grinned. “Nothing bad, promise. We just wanted to give you something personal, something to remind you why you’re really here.”
You tensed. He lifted his hand. Eight envelopes.
White. Simple. Each one held like a gift. He began handing them out one by one.
“While you were out on your challenge,” the host said, “your partners had no idea what you were doing. But we asked them to write you a letter. Unfiltered. Unscripted. Just… a message from them to you.”
You felt your breath catch in your throat.
Because suddenly it made sense. The timing. The setup. The warmth you’d felt earlier, the laughter, the sand between your fingers, this was what they were leading you toward. They wanted you to feel something real with someone else. And then throw you back into the arms of the person you might be starting to question.
How cruel.
The envelope was handed to you with a soft smile. Your name was written in Hyunjin’s handwriting. And that was it. That was all it took for your chest to cave in. Your throat tightened.
You didn’t realize how much you missed seeing his handwriting until now, the curve of your nickname, the way he always dotted his i’s too high and crossed his t’s with a long line.
You looked over to Jisung, whose envelope sat untouched beside his plate. He stared at it for a second too long before picking it up and placing it on the counter without opening it.
“I’ll read it later,” he muttered.
You didn’t say anything. Because you were already sliding your fingers under the flap, your hands trembling. You unfolded the letter slowly.
And then you read it. I don’t know where to start because there are too many things I want to say and not enough words that could make you feel how much I miss you. The room here is… beautiful. But it’s empty without you. The bed is too big. The air is too quiet. I talk out loud sometimes hoping you’ll answer.
I sit on the balcony at night and look up at the stars. I pretend you're beside me. I imagine your hand in mine, the way you lean your head on my shoulder when you’re tired. I imagine whispering that I love you while you fall asleep.
And I do. I love you. So much. Even when it hurts. Even when I don’t understand. Even when I’m scared I’m losing you.
Please don’t forget me.
Love, Hyunjin.
Your hands shook. Your eyes blurred. You bit down hard on your bottom lip to keep from crying, but it didn’t work. Because that letter, those words cut through every defense you had built since stepping into this house. Since saying goodbye. Since the night you almost texted him but didn’t. You looked up. Jisung was staring at his own envelope, unmoving.
Everyone else had scattered now, some reading silently, some crying, some pretending they weren’t. The hosts had disappeared again. The room was hushed. You swallowed hard, folding the letter back up with trembling fingers.
You swallowed hard, folding the letter carefully as if it were something fragile because it was. Because you were.
“I think I’m gonna go,” you said quietly, breaking the silence that had settled between you and Jisung.
He looked up immediately. “Hey—are you okay?”
There was genuine concern in his voice, not curiosity, not expectation. You nodded, forcing a small smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah. I’m just… tired. It’s been a long day.”
He studied your face for a second longer than necessary, like he was trying to read something you weren’t saying. Then he nodded. “Yeah. Of course. You should get some rest.”
You stood, clutching the letter tighter to your chest without even realizing you were doing it. The paper crinkled softly under your grip.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he added gently.
“Yeah,” you said. “Goodnight.”
You didn’t look back as you walked down the hallway, your steps quiet against the floor. The house felt different now, heavier, like it was holding its breath along with you. When you reached your room, you closed the door behind you and leaned against it for a moment, eyes shut, forehead resting against the cool wood.
Then you crossed the room slowly and sat on the bed.
You opened the letter again. You read it once then again and again. Each time, the words felt heavier, more real. Like Hyunjin was sitting beside you, whispering them into the dark. You could hear his voice in every line. See his handwriting move across the page. Feel his arms around you, solid and familiar. The bed is too big.
Your chest ached. You curled onto your side, pulling the letter close, pressing it against your heart like it could anchor you there. Like it could pull him closer across the distance, across the rules, across the confusion this place had stirred inside you. You missed him. So much it hurt to breathe. And when sleep finally claimed you, it was with the letter resting beside you on the pillow, your fingers brushing the edge of it like a promise you weren’t ready to break.
—
Jisung stayed behind.
The lounge slowly emptied, one by one, doors closing softly, laughter fading into quiet. Some people drifted off to their rooms alone. Others lingered a little longer in the hallways, low voices murmuring before disappearing together. Eventually, the lights dimmed, leaving only the soft glow from the kitchen. Jisung sat there alone.
Mae’s envelope rested on the counter in front of him.
He stared at it. Nearly an hour slipped by as he sat there, elbow on the counter, fingers tapping absently against the paper. He glanced around the room, making sure no one was watching, no cameras lingering too close, no footsteps approaching. Finally, with a quiet sigh, he picked it up. He didn’t open it gently. He tore it open with two fingers, eyes scanning the page quickly.
Barely a sentence. Something short. Polite. Flat.
Hope you’re doing okay. This experience is… interesting. I think we both need space to think. We’ll talk when it’s over.
That was it. His jaw clenched. He let out a sharp breath through his nose and crumpled the letter in his fist without even thinking about it. The paper made a hollow, disappointing sound as it collapsed in on itself.
Of course.
He leaned back against the counter, rolling his eyes up toward the ceiling. Mae was never romantic. Not like this. Maybe once back when everything was new, when he was seventeen and stupid and convinced love could survive on dreams alone. Back when she’d say she believed in him, before bills and expectations and resentment took over. Lately, she could barely stand being in the same room with him. He’d expected it. That didn’t stop it from hurting. Every time. He stared at the crumpled paper in his hand for a moment longer before tossing it into the trash. It landed with a dull thud, disappearing beneath empty bottles and folded napkins.
His mind drifted, uninvited.
To you. To the way you’d laughed earlier that day, breathless and real. The way you’d listened to him without judgment. The way you’d looked at him like he mattered, not for what he could give, not for what he could afford, but just for who he was. And then, just as quickly, guilt followed. You were in love. He knew that. He saw it in the way you held that letter. The way your entire body softened and broke all at once. The way you didn’t even hesitate before opening it.
Jisung ran a hand through his hair and sighed.
“This show is fucked up,” he muttered to no one.
He turned off the lights and headed toward his room, the quiet swallowing him whole.
As he lay in bed later, staring at the ceiling, he realized something that unsettled him far more than Mae’s letter ever could.
He hadn’t just enjoyed today. He hadn’t just felt distracted. He’d felt seen. And that realization that he’d felt more connected to someone else in one afternoon than he had in months sat heavy in his chest as sleep finally found him. Tomorrow was the last day. And none of you were ready for what that meant.
—
The morning light filtered through the linen curtains, soft and gold, wrapping the house in a quiet warmth that didn’t quite reach the edges of the anxiety creeping into your chest.
It was too quiet.
Maybe because the countdown had begun.
Just one more day. One final stretch before the separation ended. Before the reunions. Before decisions would have to be made, publicly and painfully. And even if no one had said it out loud yet, you could feel it in the air like a storm waiting on the horizon.
You padded into the kitchen barefoot, the floor cool beneath your skin. Your damp hair was loosely tied back, and you wore one of the coziest things you packed not cute, not formfitting, just comfortable, like armor. You hadn't slept well, the letter still lying beside your bed, its edges already soft from where your fingers had folded and unfolded it over and over again. You didn’t know why you felt so nervous. Or maybe you did.
You were just too afraid to admit it. You yawned, rubbed at your eyes, and opened the pantry, scanning the shelves for something simple. Your gaze settled on a box of cereal, something familiar, easy, non emotional.
But it was on the top shelf. Of course it was.
You groaned and reached up, stretching your body as far as it would go, the tips of your fingers brushing the bottom of the box. Just a little more…
“You know,” a voice behind you said, “you should probably give up before you pull a muscle.”
You startled, spinning around just as a hand reached past you.
Jisung.
His hair was still messy from sleep, his hoodie slightly oversized, one sleeve pushed up, the other falling low. His voice still held that scratchy morning rasp, and his sleepy smile was unreasonably soft.
He grabbed the box and handed it to you with a casual shrug. “You’re welcome, shortie.”
You narrowed your eyes. “I’m not that short.”
“You were about to climb the shelves like a raccoon.”
You snorted, shaking your head as you turned back to the counter to grab a bowl. “Well, thanks. I guess.”
He leaned casually against the kitchen island, watching you pour cereal. Then, with absolutely no shame, he reached over and grabbed a handful straight from your bowl before you poured milk.
You blinked at him. “Excuse me?”
“You didn’t claim it with milk yet. Fair game,” he said, popping the cereal into his mouth.
You gave him a long, unimpressed look. He gave you a lopsided grin in return.
You couldn’t help it, you laughed under your breath. You sat down at the table with your now slightly diminished bowl of cereal, and he followed, bringing his own. It was quiet for a moment, just the crunch of breakfast and the low hum of the house slowly waking.
Then he asked, “What’s your plan for tomorrow?”
You shrugged, the smile fading a little. “I don’t know. Just trying to survive it, honestly. Being with everyone again after all this it’s kind of terrifying.”
He nodded. “Yeah. Same. I think it’s gonna be a mess.”
You glanced up at him, your expression thoughtful. “I think Yuri and Felix really like each other.”
Jisung exhaled, smiling bitterly. “Yeah. I think you’re right. And Byul? She’s definitely into Chan.”
You chuckled. “It’s not even subtle anymore.”
“It’s like watching a slow motion car crash,” he added. “Except we’re all in the car.”
You laughed again, but the weight came back just as quickly.
“What do you think their partners are going to do?” you asked quietly. “When they see it? When they realize?”
Jisung didn’t answer immediately. His smile faded, his gaze dropping slightly.
“I think the show is cruel,” you said softly.
He looked up then. And nodded.
“This show is cruel,” he said finally. “Cruel in how it makes you feel something just long enough to tear you in half again.”
You glanced at him, surprised by how raw his voice suddenly sounded. He looked at you for a moment longer. And then, when you turned away to finish your cereal, he dropped his gaze to the table and thought quietly.
Tomorrow, we’ll leave. And you’ll go back to Hyunjin. Who clearly loves you. Who wrote you a letter that made your entire face soften like the world had just made sense again. And I’ll go back to Mae. Pretend I still believe there’s something left to salvage, when I know there’s not. When she barely even tried.
He picked up another piece of cereal from his own bowl but didn’t eat it. He just held it there, staring at it, suddenly feeling like a teenager again. The kind who fell in love too easily. The kind who always hoped too much.
He looked back at you, and you were looking out the window now, sipping milk from the bowl with a faraway look in your eyes. He didn’t say anything.
Because if he did, he was afraid of what might come out. So he just sat there in the quiet, chewing slowly, swallowing down everything he wanted to say. And wondering how much it would hurt tomorrow to pretend he wasn’t already falling for you.
—
The night crept in slowly. The air outside had cooled, soft and still, brushing against the windows of the retreat house like a breath held too long. The lights were dim in the hallway, most of the others already tucked away behind closed doors, resting up for what tomorrow would bring, the final day. The reunion. The looming decision. But you couldn’t sleep. You hadn’t even tried, really. You were curled on the oversized outdoor couch at the far end of the balcony, knees hugged to your chest, arms wrapped loosely around your legs, a thin blanket across your lap.
The stars above were painfully clear tonight.
Too beautiful for how heavy you felt inside.
You didn’t hear him at first.
So when Jisung’s voice broke the silence, you jumped slightly.
“Whoa, didn’t mean to scare you,” he said immediately, both hands up like he was caught red handed. “Sorry.”
You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and gave him a weak smile. “It’s fine. Just zoned out.”
He walked closer and nodded toward the seat next to you. “Mind if I…?”
You shook your head. “Go ahead.”
He dropped down beside you with a soft groan, the kind that came from exhaustion and a day full of quiet tension. You both stared ahead for a while at the stars, the way they shimmered across the sky like a stitched on ceiling of someone else's dream. The quiet between you wasn't awkward anymore. It hadn't been for a while. It was just... peaceful. Jisung turned to glance at you, his voice softer this time. “What’s on your mind?”
You blinked. Then shrugged. But something about the stars, or the chill in the air, or maybe just the weight of everything building in your chest over the past several days, something made him try again. This time, more gently.
“Can I ask you something? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
You looked at him, cautious but open. “Sure.”
He hesitated, fiddling with the edge of the blanket. Then, without looking at you “Why have you been so afraid of marriage?”
You didn’t answer right away. Your breath caught slightly at the directness of it, not because he was harsh, but because the question had lingered at the edges of so many conversations you’d had, both on this show and in your real life. Everyone asked, eventually. But no one ever waited long enough for the real answer.
You let out a small, dry laugh.
“That’s a long story.”
“I’ve got time,” he said simply.
So you shifted, pulling the blanket a little tighter around your knees, your voice barely above a whisper.
“I don’t remember my parents ever… being in love,” you started. “I don’t remember them kissing. Or holding hands. Or even… smiling at each other. No date nights. No affection. Just silence, or shouting.”
Jisung’s eyes didn’t leave you, but he said nothing.
“My dad used to disappear for days,” you continued, voice steadier now, like the words were finally unfolding after years of being locked away. “Sometimes longer. He’d come back like nothing happened. My mom would pretend she didn’t care. Then they’d scream at each other when they thought I wasn’t listening.”
You swallowed, looking down at your hands.
“But I always heard. Everything.”
A pause. Then a quiet laugh, almost bitter.
“I remember locking myself in my room while they fought downstairs. I had this notebook I used to draw in just to drown them out. One night, I heard my dad yell that he regretted marrying her. That he regretted ever meeting her. And I just… I never forgot that.”
Jisung’s fingers curled slightly against his knee, the only sign of how tightly he was listening.
“My mom…” You exhaled sharply, “When she finally left him, she took me and told me to never fall in love. To never get married. Said it wasn’t worth it. Said being alone was better than being trapped.”
You looked back up at the stars again, blinking hard.
“I believed her. I still kind of do.”
There was silence again. And Jisung, after a long moment, said gently, “Then how did you end up with Hyunjin?”
You smiled.
“I met him when I was nineteen. I didn’t expect anything. Honestly thought we’d last, like, three months max. But he stayed. And stayed. And every time I pushed, he didn’t push back. He just… waited. Loved me.”
You paused.
“And after a while, the talks started. Marriage. A future. Kids. But all I could hear in my head was my mom’s voice. And my dad’s screaming.”
You shook your head. “I couldn’t see past it. Every time he brought it up, I felt like I was standing at the edge of a cliff, about to fall. And no matter how much I love him it’s like something inside me shuts down.”
Jisung looked at you like his heart was breaking for you. Like he wanted to reach out but didn’t know if he had the right to. You turned to him after a long stretch of silence, your voice thin. “It’s messed up, right? I have someone who loves me. Who’s never hurt me. Who’s always tried. And I still can’t say yes.”
He shook his head slowly. “It’s not messed up.”
You looked at him.
“It’s not,” he said again, firmer. “You grew up thinking love was supposed to hurt. That it came with screaming and doors slamming and regrets. That kind of stuff doesn’t go away just because someone else shows up and treats you better. You’re unlearning an entire childhood.”
You blinked at him. It was quiet for a while again.
Then, softer than anything yet, Jisung added, “I’m really sorry you went through all that.”
You felt something stir in your chest. Something you didn’t want to name. So you just gave him a small nod, eyes stinging.
“Thanks,” you whispered. Neither of you said anything after that. The stars kept shining overhead. The wind moved gently through the leaves. You leaned your head back against the couch, feeling the weight of the blanket and the weight of his presence beside you steady, warm, unintrusive. And for the first time in a long time, you let someone see the scar, not just the wound.
And he didn’t flinch.
—
The morning felt wrong from the moment you opened your eyes. You lay there for a few extra seconds, staring at the ceiling, listening to the house wake up around you. Footsteps. A nervous laugh cut short. Someone clearing their throat too loudly. Everyone was on edge, and no one was pretending otherwise. Today was the reunion.
You got dressed slowly, deliberately. You chose something simple, not too revealing, not too distant. Something that still felt like you. Your hands trembled just slightly as you zipped your bag, and you had to pause, breathing in through your nose, grounding yourself.
When you stepped into the common area, everyone was already there.
No one was really talking.
Jisung stood near the counter, leaning back with his arms folded loosely, eyes scanning the room like he didn’t quite know where to land them. When he saw you, his expression softened immediately. Just a little. He lifted his hand in a small wave. You walked over before you could overthink it.
“Ready?” you asked quietly, forcing a light tone.
He shrugged, lips twitching. “As I’ll ever be.”
Then, before either of you could second guess it, he leaned in and wrapped his arms around you in a brief hug. Nothing lingering. You hugged him back just as lightly and pulled away first, smiling. “Guess I’ll see you at the other house.”
He nodded, his eyes searching yours. “Yeah. We’ll… see each other.”
You tilted your head, trying to make it a joke. “Don’t be weird.”
He huffed out a quiet laugh. “No promises.”
But when he added, softer, “Things will be different now,” you felt it land in your chest.
And he was right. Things would be different. You swallowed the lump in your throat and turned away before either of you said something you couldn’t take back.
The ride to the other house felt shorter than the first one had. Too short.
You barely had time to let the nerves settle before the car slowed, the familiar driveway coming into view. Your heart started pounding so hard you were sure the camera microphones could pick it up.
The door opened and there stood Hyunjin. He was the only one outside, pacing slightly, hands shoved into his pockets like he couldn’t stand still. The moment his eyes landed on you, his face lit up in a way that knocked the breath straight out of your lungs.
“Hey—” you barely got the word out before he was there.
His arms wrapped around you, strong and certain, lifting you clean off the ground as he spun you around. You squealed, laughing, instinctively clinging to him as he pressed quick, messy pecks all over your face, your cheek, your temple, your forehead.
“I missed you,” he said breathlessly, voice breaking just a little. You laughed, giddy and overwhelmed. “I can tell.”
He set you down but didn’t let go, his hands resting on your waist like he was afraid you’d disappear if he loosened his grip. His forehead rested against yours for a moment, his smile soft and relieved and so him it made your chest ache.
Behind you, the others began arriving, reunions unfolding at different paces. Some hesitant. Some awkward. But you barely noticed. Because Hyunjin was holding you like you were something precious. Like something he had almost lost.
From the back of the group, Jisung watched. He had stopped walking when he saw it. The way Hyunjin lifted you so easily. The way you laughed so freely. The way Hyunjin kissed you without hesitation, without fear, without wondering if he was allowed to. Jealousy rose sharp and sudden in his chest, catching him off guard. He looked away quickly when Hyunjin glanced in his direction, pretending to be interested in anything else, the ground, the sky, the luggage at his feet.
But it was too late. He had seen it. The softness.
He swallowed hard. He loves her, Jisung thought, jaw tightening. And she loves him.
Inside the house, things only got heavier. Everyone filtered in slowly, the energy shifting the moment doors closed behind them. Conversations overlapped, greetings exchanged, but not all of them warm. Jisung stood near the entryway, scanning the room. And then he saw Mae. She was leaning against the wall near the stairs, arms crossed, expression unreadable. When her eyes flicked to him, there was no smile. No hug. Just a flat, unimpressed look.
“Huh,” she said. “You’re back.”
That was it. Then she turned and walked away, heels clicking sharply against the floor as she headed down the hall. Jisung stood there, frozen for a second longer than necessary. He watched her go. Then, almost against his will his gaze drifted back across the room. To you, again.
Hyunjin had one arm around your shoulders now, his thumb tracing idle, familiar patterns against your skin as he spoke animatedly to someone nearby. You were listening, smiling softly, leaning into him without even thinking about it. That was the part that hurt the most. How natural it looked.
Jisung clenched his jaw, the muscle jumping beneath his skin.
He picked up his suitcase and turned away, dragging it down the hallway toward the room he now had to share with Mae. Each step felt heavier than the last. Tomorrow, everyone would talk.
But right now, all he could think was this how
This show didn’t just test relationships. It created wounds it had no intention of healing.
And as he closed the door behind him, alone with the weight of it all, Jisung wondered how he was supposed to pretend, how he was supposed to stand on the sidelines and watch the woman he was starting to fall for walk back into the arms of the man who had always been hers. And somehow… still was.
—
Hyunjin didn’t let you go.
Not when the cameras started rolling again. Not when the producers gently reminded everyone to head inside. Not even when you laughed and told him you could walk on your own. His hand stayed locked in yours like he was afraid the space between you might swallow you whole if he loosened his grip.
“You’re not disappearing again,” he murmured, half joking, half deadly serious as he guided you down the hallway toward your room. You barely made it there.
The door had barely closed behind you when he kissed you slow at first, like he was grounding himself, like he needed to make sure you were real. Then it turned breathless, desperate, his hands cupping your face, your waist, pulling you closer until there was no air left between you.
“Hyunjin,” you laughed softly against his lips, dizzy. “I can’t breathe.”
“Good,” he said, smiling against your mouth before kissing you again, softer this time. “Means you’re here.”
When he finally pulled back, your foreheads rested together, both of you breathing hard.
“Sit,” he said gently, steering you toward the bed. “You need rest. You look exhausted.”
You let him guide you, still stunned by the way he hovered attentive, protective, unwilling to let more than a foot of space grow between you. He showed you the room like it was something sacred. The bed. The balcony. The bathroom. All of it narrated with his hand still wrapped around yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles in a way that felt familiar enough to ache.
“You really missed me this much?” you asked quietly, watching him more than the room. He stopped walking. Turned to you. His expression softened in a way that made your chest tighten.
“You don’t even know,” he said. “It felt wrong without you. Everything did.”
Your throat closed around the words you didn’t say. He sat beside you on the bed and brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “What did you do over there?” he asked, casual, but his eyes were searching. You shrugged, keeping it light. “A stupid challenge.”
He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Same here. They had us doing all kinds of stuff too.”
Something in his tone made you pause. “Like what?”
He smiled but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll tell you later.”
You didn’t push. You followed him without hesitation when he stood, hand already reaching for yours again.
“I’ll introduce you to everyone,” he said. “They’ve been asking about you.”
You walked with him back into the common area, his arm slipping naturally around your waist now, fingers resting there like they’d always belonged.
Minho was the first he stopped by.
“This is her,” Hyunjin said proudly, like the name alone wasn’t enough. “I told you about her.”
Minho gave you a small smile and a polite nod. “Nice to finally meet you.”
Seungmin and Changbin followed, friendly but reserved, each offering a brief wave, eyes flicking between you and Hyunjin with curiosity they didn’t try to hide. You smiled back, trying not to feel overwhelmed by how visible your relationship suddenly was. How obvious.
Then, without meaning to you saw Jisung.
He sat on the far couch with Chan, leaning back, arms crossed loosely. When his eyes met yours, he lifted his hand in a small wave. You didn’t wave back. Not because you were angry or because you wanted to hurt him. But because Hyunjin’s arm was tight around you. Because cameras were everywhere. Because your heart was already too full, too conflicted, too raw.
Jisung’s hand fell slowly.
His lips pressed into a thin line, and something in his eyes dimmed.
That’s it, he thought. He looked away first this time. He felt foolish for expecting anything else. Foolish for hoping. Foolish for letting himself believe even for a second that the way you’d laughed with him, opened up to him, leaned into him, meant something that could survive this moment. You were where you belonged. With him.
Jisung swallowed hard and turned back to Chan, nodding absently as Chan spoke, even though he didn’t hear a word. Across the room, Hyunjin leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. And Jisung felt something settle painfully in his chest. Defeat.
Tomorrow, decisions would be made. Words would be spoken that couldn’t be taken back.
But right now, all he could do was sit there and watch the woman he was starting to fall for disappear back into the life she’d always had.
And pretend it didn’t hurt as much as it did.
—
It was late when you finally slipped from Hyunjin’s arms. The warmth of him still lingered on your skin, ghosting in places he had kissed, your cheek, your temple, your shoulder. You loved him.
You kept reminding yourself of that. But it was getting harder to distinguish what that love meant now, in a house where cameras watched your every move and guilt curled like a ribbon around your throat every time you thought of someone else's eyes instead of his.
Hyunjin was in the bathroom now, brushing his teeth, getting ready for bed.
You stood at the edge of the room, unsure, rubbing at the indent his arm had left on your forearm. You needed air. Space. Just… something.
“I think I want to walk around a bit,” you said, voice soft.
He glanced at you through the mirror and wiped his mouth with a towel. “Alone?”
You nodded. “I haven’t really seen the house. I didn’t get a chance earlier.”
He eyed you for a moment. Then reluctantly he nodded.
“Okay. Just don’t be too long,” he said with a small smile, walking toward you to press a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll try to join you in a bit.”
You smiled back, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. Then you stepped into the hall, closing the door softly behind you.
The house was quiet now. Dimly lit.
You padded barefoot over polished floors, fingertips trailing along the cool walls, noting the difference in design. This house was bigger, more luxurious, clearly designed to feel like home. Or at least, an idealized version of it. Warm wooden tones, soft lighting, art on the walls that probably cost more than your monthly rent. The other house had charm, sure. But this one? This was a fantasy. You passed a couple of closed doors until you noticed one left slightly ajar at the end of the hall. The outdoor lights from the attached balcony spilled inside in a wash of silver.
You approached to gently close it. But you stopped. Jisung was there leaning against the railing, arms folded, back half lit in moonlight, lost in thought. He turned immediately at the sound of your footsteps.
And when he saw you, a faint smile tugged at his lips, barely there but genuine.
“Hey,” he said quietly.
“Hey,” you replied, just as soft.
You stepped onto the balcony with him. The breeze was light tonight, and the view from this side of the house was stunning. You could see the ocean in the distance, dark and endless, lit only by the moon’s silver reflection. The air smelled like salt and pine, a strange but comforting mix.
You leaned on the railing beside him, your arms brushing once before you shifted slightly, creating just enough space to breathe.
Silence wrapped around you both, neither of you rushing to fill it. It was comfortable. Natural.
He was the first to break it.
“Mae’s upset,” he said, staring out at the night. “So I’m out here.”
You turned to him gently. “Why?”
He let out a tired sigh, lips pulling into a bitter smile. “Not sure. Doesn’t take much these days.”
The way he said it made your chest ache. You heard the edge of defeat in his voice, the tiredness buried in the way he kept his gaze on the horizon.
“I’m sorry,” you murmured.
He shrugged, but it wasn’t dismissive. “I’m used to it.”
He turned his head, finally looking at you. His eyes weren’t tired but sad.
“Can I ask you something?”
You nodded.
“Is it wrong that I feel jealous?”
You blinked. He clarified quickly, like he didn’t want you to misunderstand. “Not… not of you two, necessarily. Okay, maybe a little. But it’s more of the idea. You and Hyunjin. you have this thing. You walk into a room, and he lights up like Christmas. And you laugh like you don’t even know anyone else is watching. I used to have that with Mae.”
His voice was hoarse now, like he’d been holding this in for too long.
“Now?” He laughed bitterly. “She barely looked at me. Said, ‘Huh, you’re back.’ Then walked off. Like I’m not even a person anymore.”
You felt your stomach twist, an ache forming in your throat.
“She used to be different,” he said. “Back when I was broke, playing underground gigs, eating cup noodles for weeks. She loved me then, sort of. At least she pretended to. But now…”
He shook his head slowly.
“I think she just wants to marry me because I finally started making money. I’m stable now. Marketable. She gets to tell her parents she’s marrying someone who’s made it.”
You said nothing. Because what could you say to that? His next words were quieter. “If I lost everything tomorrow, she’d be gone by the next day.”
The wind picked up slightly, brushing your hair against your cheek. You tucked it behind your ear, your heart pounding harder now for reasons you didn’t want to admit. He turned to look at you again, eyes searching.
“You know what’s crazy?” he asked, a soft, broken chuckle escaping. “I didn’t even tell her I didn’t see a future with her. Not directly. I told my family. That I was having doubts. That I didn’t think we could make it long-term. And her family. I was honest with them, hoping they’d help me figure it out. You know what they did?”
You stayed silent, waiting.
“They all signed us up for this show. Said I was just ‘confused.’ That I’d change my mind once I saw other couples struggling too.”
You pressed a hand to your chest, guilt pooling in your stomach.
“I didn’t even want to come,” he admitted, voice softening now. “But then I met you.”
The world slowed. Your throat dried instantly.
“I didn’t expect you,” he continued. “I didn’t expect someone who… made me laugh so hard I forgot where I was. Who listened without making me feel like a burden. Who made me feel… like maybe love doesn’t have to be performative.”
You couldn’t breathe. And your silence didn’t go unnoticed. Jisung stepped back a little, sensing your hesitation. But your heart was hammering in your chest now. Because you realized something dangerous, something real, you felt it too.
This thing between you two, whatever it was, however quiet, it wasn’t just in your head.
You looked at him, his messy hair, the way his eyes shimmered with a mix of hope and fear, the way his heart had cracked wide open in front of you. And you felt the realization. You couldn’t hide it anymore. Whatever was growing between you and Jisung, it was no longer ignorable.
Not when your heart beat differently around him.
Not when your body leaned just slightly in his direction without you even realizing.
Not when the guilt you felt wasn’t for leading him on, but for knowing you weren’t.
Jisung stared at you like he was trying to memorize the exact way you looked standing there, moonlight catching in your eyes, the ocean wind lifting strands of your hair, your hands gripping the balcony railing a little too tightly. The air between you felt thick, electric, like it had weight.
For one suspended moment, the world narrowed to just the two of you. You felt it before it happened, the subtle shift in him. The way his shoulders loosened. The way his breath slowed. The way his gaze dropped, briefly, to your lips.
Your heart slammed against your ribs.
And for a terrifying, intoxicating second, you didn’t move. You didn’t pull away. You didn’t tell yourself this is wrong fast enough. He leaned in.
Not rushed. Like he was giving you time to stop him. And you didn’t. Your breath caught, your body betraying you as you tilted forward just a fraction, close enough to feel the warmth of him, close enough to feel how badly this moment wanted to exist.
“Y/N?” Hyunjin’s familiar soft voice.
Calling you from down the hallway like an anchor thrown into rough water. Reality slammed back into place. You inhaled sharply and stepped back, the movement abrupt enough that it startled even you. Your throat tightened as you cleared it, your heart still racing, guilt flooding in so fast it made you dizzy.
“I—I’m sorry,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out too fast. “I should go. I’ll… I’ll see you later.”
Jisung didn’t say anything. He didn’t reach for you or argue.
He watched as you straightened your posture, smoothed your hair like you were resetting yourself. Watched as you turned away from him without looking back. Watched as you followed the sound of Hyunjin’s voice down the hallway like it was second nature. The balcony felt suddenly empty.
Jisung exhaled shakily and dragged his hands over his face, fingers pressing hard into his eyes like he could rub the image of you out of his head.
Idiot, he thought. He had no right. No right to almost cross that line. No right to imagine what it would feel like to kiss you. No right to want someone who so clearly belonged to someone else. You loved Hyunjin. That much was obvious.
Anyone could see it in the way you smiled when you heard his voice. In the way you moved toward him without hesitation. In the way your entire body softened around him.
You were happy. And Jisung had no business wanting to be the reason you weren’t.
He leaned back against the railing, staring out at the dark water, jaw clenched, heart aching in a way he hadn’t prepared for. He stayed there long after you were gone, letting the night swallow the moment whole.
—
You heard Hyunjin’s footsteps before you saw him. The second he came into view, you forced the blush from your cheeks, shoved the lingering warmth of what almost happened into a locked corner of your chest. You gave him a practiced smile.
“There you are,” Hyunjin said, relief flooding his features. “I was looking for you.”
You stepped into his space immediately, as if proximity alone could quiet the chaos inside you. “Yeah, sorry. I was just walking around.”
He glanced past you, instinctively checking the hallway, the open balcony door at the end. “Who was out there with you?”
Your heart skipped.
“No one,” you said quickly, too quickly. Then you softened it, tugging gently on his arm. “Just me being weird and wandering.”
He accepted it easily, letting you pull him toward your room. “You scared me for a second,” he admitted lightly. “I thought I lost you again.”
The words sliced through you. You tightened your grip on his arm, grounding yourself in the familiar solidity of him. “I’m right here.”
He smiled, launching into a story about something Changbin had said earlier. You nodded along, murmuring at the right moments, but you barely heard a word. Because as you crossed the threshold into your room, you glanced back just once. Toward the window at the end of the hall. Toward the balcony now shrouded in darkness.
And you wondered, terrified and aching all at once if Jisung had felt it too. That brief, dangerous spark. That moment where the world tilted. That second where something almost happened. Hyunjin closed the door behind you, oblivious, still talking, still smiling.
You turned back to him, pushing the thought down where it couldn’t hurt anyone. But your heart didn’t forget. And as you crawled into bed beside the man you loved, staring up at the ceiling in the dark, one truth settled quietly but firmly into your chest.
This show hadn’t just tested your relationship.
It had cracked you open.
And whatever was waiting on the other side of that crack, whatever you were becoming, you weren’t sure you could put it back the way it was before.
//
masterlist.
a/n: i’ve been working on this one for a long time. 🥲 can’t believe i got it out on time for christmas lol. happy holidays!! my gift to you all <3 also wanted to say, this fic will be based off of what you guys vote on, at the end of every part there will be some kind of poll so choose wisely, yeah! if you’re not sure what to choose, i’ll just say that all of them are pretty angsty. Lol
summary: you've never been the jealous type, but when you notice a makeup artist's strange behaviour around chan, you just can't let it go.
word count: 3.9k
tags/warnings: angst, arguments, miscommunication, reader is a producer at jype, jealousy, implied infidelity, happy ending (in part 2)
a/n: sorry it has been months since my last post 😅 this fic has been a wip since aug 2023 and i've finally gotten around to finishing part 1! hope it was worth the wait
read it on ao3 | part 2 | masterlist
When Chan first talked to you about keeping your relationship a secret, you had agreed right away. You were a pretty private person anyway and the fact that it wasn’t a complete secret - the members, your families, close friends, and management all knew - helped a lot too.
You know that Chan is mainly worried about crazy fans who might start targeting you, while you’re less concerned about your safety and more focused on how the news would negatively impact his reputation and career as an idol. Both of you know that it would make all the work that you’ve done as a producer for JYPE that has helped with Stray Kids songs seem less professional and more like favouritism.
Although you wish that you didn’t have to hide, pretending to be single has been something that the two of you have struggled with multiple times in the past, you know it's for the best. At least working for the same company has its own perks, such as being able to work together on songs without it being suspicious and the knowledge that most of the time, you're only a few floors away.
So on nights like tonight, when you've ended up working late and most of the other staff have gone home for the day, you can just text Chan to ask if he wants to meet up.
[Sent 8:02pm]
Hey are you still at the company?
[Received 8:04pm]
Yup
You too? It’s so late…
[Sent 8:04pm]
Says you
but yeah, I’m about to leave
[Received 8:06pm]
Come say hi?
I’m getting ready for a schedule
But there’s still a bit of time
Chan sends you the number of the room that he’s in and you quickly finish packing your things so that you can make your way over. The door is closed when you arrive, but since Chan invited you, you knock and open it yourself.
What you find inside makes you raise an eyebrow.
Chan is sitting in a chair with headphones in and eyes closed, he likely didn’t hear you knock. But what surprises you is his makeup artist.
You’re no stranger to the way that the stylists and makeup artists have to be physically close with the idols and you’re pretty comfortable with it since you know it’s strictly professional. But the way that this makeup artist has positioned herself is a little suspicious.
She’s pressed herself as close to Chan as possible and has both hands touching his face as she applies eyeshadow. Her own face is unnecessarily close to Chan’s.
She must realise how questionable it must look because when you clear your throat to try and get their attention, she jumps away immediately, almost poking Chan in the eye with the eyeshadow brush in the process. It causes Chan to notice, and he pulls off his headphones, face brightening once he sees you.
“Hi,” you say awkwardly. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“Nope, all good,” Chan reassures you. “Have you two met before? Y/nnie, this is Harang-ssi, one of our makeup artists, she’s here to make me look presentable before my schedule. Harang-ssi, this is Y/n-ah.”
“Nice to meet you, Harang-ssi,” you say, bowing slightly.
“Nice to meet you, too,” Harang echoes politely. As she looks at you, she spots something that makes her eyes widen and her smile a bit more genuine. “Oh, are you also staff?”
“Yeah,” you say slowly, looking down at your lanyard that must have given you away. “I'm a producer with the company.”
For some reason that relaxes Harang even further. Instead of commenting, she steps closer to Chan again, reaching towards him to continue applying makeup. You stare, surprised by her boldness and how oblivious she seems to the way that Chan has started to angle his body away from her, trying to create distance between the two.
“Well?” Harang asks impatiently after you don't say anything else. “Go ahead with whatever you’re here for. Chan-ssi has a schedule soon.”
You stare at Chan, not sure how much he wants to share. To someone observant, he’s already given you away by using a nickname and speaking to you far more casually than he would if you were only a producer. The two of you dating isn’t exactly a secret, but the more people who know, the more likely it might get leaked to the public.
“Uhm,” Chan says, looking at you as if to gauge your expression as he speaks. At the sound of his voice, Harang pulls away from him slightly, clearly surprised that he’s speaking first. “Actually, I wasn’t sure if I should say anything, but Y/nnie isn’t just a producer at JYPE. I asked her to come by because she’s my girlfriend.”
“What?” Harang’s face drops. She looks devastated, although by the time Chan looks away from you, she’s managed to school her face into one of polite surprise and let out a fake giggle. “Oh I didn’t- I didn’t know you were seeing anyone, Chan-ssi.”
“Yeah, that’s good actually! We’re trying to keep it quiet,” Chan explains. “You understand, right? You can’t be too careful these days.”
“Of course,” she agrees immediately. “I won’t tell anyone.”
“Great, thanks.” Chan smiles and Harang’s whole face lights up in response. Before she can say anything else though, Chan turns to where you’re still hovering by the door and reaches a hand out. “Y/nnie, why are you still so far away? Come over here.”
It’s hard to stop the blush that erupts on your face. You think that Chan is so cute when he’s clingy, but you haven’t had any opportunities to get used to PDA so it’s still a little embarrassing. From the corner of your eye, you can see that Harang’s face is puckered like she’s swallowed something really sour. When you get close enough to grab Chan’s hand, he pulls you into his arms. Since he still hasn’t gotten up from his chair, he’s practically buried his face into your stomach.
“Yah!” you laugh. “You’re going to get makeup all over my shirt!”
“Oh sorry.” Chan pops his head back up, blinking at you owlishly. “You’ll forgive me, won’t you?”
“Yes, yes, of course,” you reply, using your free hand to comb through his hair, smiling as Chan leans into your touch. “But I’m not sure if I can say the same for Harang-ssi, you’re ruining her hard work!”
Chan turns away from you, looking surprised when he sees Harang hovering awkwardly at the table where all the makeup is spread out.
“Ah, you’re still here?” he asks innocently. You wince inwardly, knowing that even though Chan didn’t mean anything by asking, but even to you it sounds passive aggressive.
"Oh sorry, I wouldn’t want to get in the way, I'll just take a quick break and come back in a second!" she says, smiling sickly sweet when Chan thanks her even though it’s obvious that she doesn’t really want to leave.
"That was kind of… awkward," you comment as soon as the door closes behind her, not quite sure what to make of her conflicting behaviour.
"What do you mean?"
"Were you not there? She basically glared at me when you told her that we were together, she clearly did not like me."
"It could be that she was just caught off guard, I mean, I haven't exactly been broadcasting to all of JYPE that I have a girlfriend."
“Yeah and she probably imagined herself as being able to fill that role. She was so touchy!” You don’t want to be a whiny girlfriend, but that doesn’t mean you can’t complain when somebody is showing obvious interests in your boyfriend and he’s doing nothing to stop them.
“Oh, that’s just how she always is.” Chan shrugs. “With the rest of the guys too, we’ve all gotten used to it. Really, she doesn’t mean anything by it.”
“So since she does that to everyone, it’s okay?”
“Y/n-ah, just leave it!” Chan groans. “I didn’t ask you to come by so that we could argue about something stupid.”
“Fine,” you say, a little hurt and uneasy that Chan’s just brushing you off. “If you say so. I guess I just don’t know her that well.”
“I promise she’s a good person. I don't want you wasting your time worrying about her. Now, how was your day?”
“It was good, busy. I didn't mean to stay so long, but I got caught up with something and didn't realise how much time had passed. Actually, I should probably go now,” you say.
“What? But you just got here,” Chan whines.
“You have a schedule soon,” you remind him gently. “And as you said, it's late. I'm going to head home and eat something.”
“You didn’t eat yet? Y/nnie, you shouldn’t skip meals! Here, I can order you something, what do you want?”
“It’s fine, I’ll just grab something on my way home,” you say. “And you’re one to talk, did you eat dinner yet?”
“As a matter of fact, I did. I tried a new place and it was good!” Chan pauses for a second to take out his phone. “Actually, I think you’d like it, I’ll just get you what I got and you can tell me what you think.”
“Oppa, it’s fine-”
“Too late!” Chan proudly shows you his screen which shows that in just a few seconds, he’s finished placing an order. “It’ll arrive around the time that you get home.”
“Thanks oppa,” you say fondly, kissing the top of his head, then the dimple that forms on his cheek as he smiles. “I hope your schedule goes well and that you don’t have to stay for too long.”
“Text me when you get home, okay?”
“Okay. I'll let you know how the food is.”
You don't stay long after that, quickly saying goodbye before leaving the room. You find Harang waiting in the hallway, typing on her phone. When you let her know that she can go back and apologise for interrupting, she barely acknowledges you, just rolls her eyes and walks past.
You try to not let it bother you, but her two-faced attitude rubs you the wrong way. At least you likely won't have to deal with her again, you only met now after working at the same company for a few years and you're in no hurry to change that.
—
A few days later, you get an instagram notification that someone has requested to follow you. It's unusual because you’re not the type to post much and your account is private, even though you're still careful to avoid any pictures or mentions of Chan or the rest of Stray Kids.
It’s Harang.
Odd, since she definitely gave off the impression that she didn’t like you.
Curious, you click on her profile. It's fairly generic at first glance, a majority of the photos feature her which isn’t much of a surprise. However, one of the most recent pictures catches your eye.
It's a mirror selfie taken in one of the company rooms that the stylists and makeup artists typically use. There's someone in the background and although their face isn't showing, you can tell it's Chan. The picture itself is harmless, Harang could have been a bit more vigilant before posting it, but it could easily be explained away as a mistake. It’s when you see the number of likes and comments compared to her normal posts that has you concerned.
Opening up the comments just proves that your wariness of Harang wasn’t entirely unfounded. One of the top posts is a comment that says ‘Is that your boyfriend?? you look so cute togetherrr’ to which Harang just replied ‘🤭’. There's another reply that makes your stomach drop ‘isn't that Chan?? he's dating someone????’
A number of comments argue about whether or not it’s Chan, if the photo has been edited, and questioning who Harang is. They talk about the clothes the man in the picture is wearing, his posture, height, hair, and compare it to other pictures of Chan.
Scrolling through some older posts, you start to find a pattern of pictures that are similarly suspicious. None of them are completely obvious, the man’s face is always turned away or cropped out, but there’s enough showing for you to recognize it to be Chan and you know that his fans are observant enough to do the same.
"Hey," you say, pulling Chan’s attention away from where he’s playing a game on his phone. "You know that makeup artist I interrupted the other day?"
"Yeah, Harang? What about her?"
"She requested to follow me on Instagram," you say slowly, still trying to figure out how best to word everything. "Did you know?"
"Did I know she sent you a follow request? How would I know that?" he asks incredulously.
"No, more like, did you know about her account."
"Well I'm certainly not surprised that she has one, but no, I haven't looked at it before. Why? What's with the sudden interrogation?"
“I think that she’s been posting photos with you in them,” you say, putting it bluntly.
“With me? Are you sure?”
“Not directly you, but just. It’s like, the side of you or your back or something. But I can tell.”
“All the staff have contracts that prohibit taking pictures with or of us. Y/n, I get that she made you feel a bit uncomfortable that time you met her and I’m sorry, but do you really think she would risk her job like that?”
“Well when you put it like that-” you start to say.
"I know you two maybe got off on the wrong foot, but Harang is really sweet," Chan interrupts. “We’ve worked with her for years and she’s been nothing but nice. Maybe she’s a bit more touchy than others, but she’s never crossed any boundaries.”
"Something about her feels weird, like there’s something more going on. These posts-”
“Just drop it, there’s nothing to be concerned about. She’s harmless.”
“You keep saying that but I’m telling you-”
"Why, are you jealous?" he asks, adopting a teasing voice. He pulls you into his arms. "You know that you're my girl, right?"
“Chan, I’m not jealous!” you snap, pushing him away. Chan looks at you, startled by your seriousness. “I really don’t like her. And you keep defending her and I don’t know how to feel when you’re taking her side and not mine.”
“Okay fine,” Chan says, finally backing off although he seems a bit annoyed. “I can’t avoid her at schedules, but I’ll be careful when she’s around, okay?”
“Okay.”
There’s a moment of silence and you think the conversation is over, but Chan speaks again.
“I just wish that you’d trust me a little more. You know that I wouldn’t do anything like that.”
“Of course I trust you,” you say. “I just don’t trust her, she’s- I can tell she’s up to something.”
“Well she can be up to whatever she wants, it’s not going to change the fact that you’re the one I love. She can have feelings for me, but I’m never going to reciprocate them.”
“Fine, I won’t bring it up again,” you say, feeling exhausted.
Dropping the issue without getting Chan to fully understand your concerns feels like defeat, but you can tell that pushing more won’t get you anywhere. You haven’t even broached the part that bothered you most about the posts - the fact that Harang has been seemingly pretending that Chan was her partner - but if Chan already doesn’t care, this detail isn’t going to change his mind.
You don't want to make too much of a fuss about it, maybe it really is a non-issue and you're overreacting, but something about this whole situation just doesn't sit right with you.
—
You're a bit surprised when a few weeks later, Chan asks you to go on a date, even more so when he mentions that he was able to book a private room at a fancy restaurant the two of you had talked about trying before. It wasn't that he never treated you or made time for you, it was just that his busy schedule and caution around fans finding out about you meant that the two of you stayed in more often than not.
The last time you had done something like this was on your anniversary a few months ago and while you enjoy the comfortable and quiet dates at home that you usually have, you're touched by Chan's initiative to do something more special.
The night of the date, you're still in the process of getting ready when Chan texts.
[5:47 pm - received]
Sorry baby, I'm going to be staying late tonight
Have some things that I need to finish up
You know how much Chan tries to prioritise spending time with you, so you figure that it must be something really important that came up. You understand that he doesn't have much of a choice when the higher ups ask something of him, but it's hard to stop the disappointment that crashes over you. Still, you want to support him and cheer him up, guessing that he already feels bad about having to bail.
[5:52 pm - sent]
It's fine! Don’t work too hard ^.^
[5:55 pm - received]
Thanks
Miss you
[5:56 pm - sent]
Miss you toooo
It had been so long since you had been on a proper date with Chan that you had started getting more and more excited as the day had approached. You had even bought a new dress that you'd been eyeing for a while and had left work a little bit earlier than usual to get ready. Now it feels like it was all for nothing. At least he told you before you left the house, but you've already finished your makeup.
Not wanting to waste the evening, you message a couple friends and make plans to grab dinner. It’s been a couple months since the three of you have been able to get together and you have fun catching up at a pocha eating street food.
When you finish your meal, the three of you discuss going to a noraebang next and you take out your phone to help search for the nearest one.
You get a notification that one of your friends has posted a story of you and your dinner, so you open up Instagram to like it. You’re about to switch to Naver Map when the screen changes to a story that Harang has posted. The second that you see it, there's this horrible, heavy feeling that starts to grow in your chest, making it harder to breathe.
The picture is focused on the food that’s on the table, but even a short glance is enough for you to recognize that the hands of the person sitting across from Harang belong to Chan. If you weren’t sure from just the hands, his signature bracelets and the bunched up sleeves of his hoodie confirm your suspicions. Even the food that has been ordered matches Chan’s preferences.
Oh.
So Chan wasn't working late.
He was out.
Having dinner.
With Harang.
The girl that you had warned him about.
The one that he had promised to stay away from.
Instagram moves to another story, but you navigate back to Harang’s page to look at the picture again. This time, you notice that there’s a caption at the bottom of the screen that says ‘late night meals with him <3’.
You want to throw up.
Instead, you lock your phone with shaky hands and take a deep breath, trying to stop the tears that have begun to sting your eyes. You don’t want to be the crazy, jealous, and possessive girlfriend that overreacts or jumps to conclusions every time they see their partner spending time with others.
But this isn’t you randomly accusing him without any cause. It’s reasonable for you, his girlfriend, to be upset when he’s spending time one-on-one with another woman, even more so because that other woman is pretending online that she's dating him.
No matter what you think, there is no good reason that would explain why Chan would have dinner with Harang tonight. If it was just the picture, you could have accepted it as Harang being her usual, delusional self, but the fact that Chan would cancel plans and deliberately lie to you about it…
“-okay, Y/n?”
You just manage to catch the end of your friend's question and you look up to find both your friends staring at you with identical concerned expressions.
“What?” you ask, trying to play it off by laughing but even you can tell it doesn't sound convincing. “Sorry, I think I zoned out.”
“Are you okay?” one of them repeats gently. “Did you get some bad news?”
“No, not that, it's just I’m not feeling well all of a sudden. I think I should go home,” you say to your friends. You must look just as horrible as you feel because as soon as they see your face, they immediately stop what they’re doing to fuss over you.
“What do you think it was?” one of them asks.
“I think something just didn’t agree with me,” you say weakly.
“But we shared all our food, were you feeling sick earlier?”
“No, it's fine, I think I just need to rest a bit.”
As much as you want to spill everything to them, to yell and scream and cry. To shake them and ask what you've done to deserve this. To make them check and see if you're actually going crazy. You can't.
They don't know Chan, they wouldn't understand how complicated your secret relationship is. But mostly, you don't want them to know. You want to keep the shame and embarrassment that's clawing in your chest to yourself.
You don't think you could handle it, watching their expressions turn to one of pity. You know there's nothing they could say to make you feel better anyway.
Your friends order you a taxi to take you home, making you promise to message them when you make it back safely. You manage to do that, sending a couple words to your group chat the second you stumble out of the vehicle.
Somehow you make it back to your apartment. You didn't drink tonight, but the way that the ground seems to be moving from under you, the unsteadiness of your hands as you try to unlock your door, and the roiling nausea that you've barely kept at bay, it feels like you've finished a couple bottles of soju by yourself.
You had suspected something was going on and this was just confirmation that you were right. Maybe it had been dumb of you to just believe Chan when he said there was nothing to worry about - of course he would say that. You had chosen to trust Chan and he had let you fall.
The worst part is, you don't even feel mad.
In fact, you don't feel anything at all. The gross and sick feeling that had taken over your body has been replaced with a heavy numbness. It fills your limbs and dulls the pain that you know is simmering just underneath your skin so that all that's left is this deep ache.
At 26, Y/N felt caged in her own home—every dream crushed under her parents’ criticism, every smile stolen before it could bloom. But when she received her acceptance letter for a PhD program in Argentina, she knew this was her escape. With savings hidden away and a heart full of quiet determination, she packed her bags and left behind the weight of her past.
What she didn’t expect was to collide with Oikawa Tōru—sharp-tongued, arrogant, and annoyingly unforgettable—or to find comfort in Miya Atsumu, a fellow scholarship student with a grin that could melt away the chaos.
In a foreign land filled with rivalry, misunderstandings, and unexpected connections, Y/N’s new life was just beginning.
Y/N sat quietly on her bed, her textbooks open but unread. The walls of her room felt more like a cage than a home. Every word, every action, every dream of hers seemed to be under trial in her parents’ eyes.
That evening, she picked up the phone, trying to sound cheerful.
“Mom, you won’t believe it—the exam got postponed!” she said, almost laughing with relief.
On the other end, her father chuckled—not at her happiness, but in a way that stung. “Oh really? Well, the comments on this article I’m reading are hilarious too.”
Her mother’s voice cut in sharp, “So you waste your time reading nonsense like him? That’s why you’ll never achieve anything. Good for nothing!”
Later, when her mother came home, the scolding didn’t stop. She grabbed Y/N’s phone, waved it in the air like evidence, and yelled. Y/N just sat silently, swallowing her anger, her chest heavy with the memory of her mother mocking her first paycheck. ‘Peanuts compared to what I earn.’
But then came the notification. A single line glowing on her phone screen:
“Congratulations! You’ve been selected for the PhD program in Argentina.”
Her heart leapt. She squealed before she could stop herself. Running to her parents, she said breathlessly, “I—I got in! Argentina! This is everything I wanted!”
Her parents’ reactions were flat, almost cold.
“Who’s going to pay for this?” her father asked.
“Don’t you dare put us as guarantors for a loan,” her mother snapped.
Y/N only smiled faintly and nodded. They didn’t need to know she’d been saving every rupee of her salary as a visiting professor at the university for the past year. For the first time in a long time, she felt free.
Fast forward: Argentina.
The Buenos Aires airport buzzed with energy as Y/N dragged her suitcase out into the new world. She was nervous but determined. This was her second chance.
And then, she met him.
A tall man with sharp eyes, stylish hair, and an unmistakable smirk—Oikawa Tōru. He almost bumped into her, glanced at her suitcase blocking the way, and scoffed.
“Could you not park your entire life in the middle of the path? Some of us are in a hurry.”
Y/N blinked, stunned. “Excuse me? You nearly ran into me.”
“Details, details.” He smirked, brushing past.
She muttered under her breath, “Jerk.”
And that was how it started.
Days later, while adjusting to her classes, Y/N found another familiar face: Miya Atsumu, another scholarship student. His Kansai-accented Japanese and easy grin made him stand out.
“You’re the new PhD kid, right?” Atsumu said, plopping down beside her in the campus café.
“Yeah. Y/N.”
“Miya Atsumu. Volleyball’s my thing. Guess we’re both here chasing somethin’.” He grinned, warm and unbothered.
Atsumu leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching Y/N struggle with her suitcase.
“So, where ya stayin’?” he asked casually.
Y/N puffed her cheeks, tugging at the handle. “For now, a hotel. But I’ll be moving in with another PhD student from Japan. Mass media… uh, his name’s Suna or something?”
Atsumu froze, then burst out laughing. “Omo, omo, maybe we’re fated!”
Y/N blinked. “…What?”
He only gave her that mischievous grin and waved it off. “Ya’ll see.”
Later that evening, Y/N finally dragged her bags into the apartment building. She opened the door and her eyes widened—it wasn’t some cramped dorm, but a suite-style setup.
Three rooms.
One big common kitchen.
Two single rooms with private bathrooms.
And then her fate—one shared room with two beds and a shared washroom.
Y/N groaned. “Oh, no way…”
“Welcome,” a dry voice said from inside. A tall, sleepy-eyed boy leaned on the doorframe of her new room. “Suna Rintarō. Guess we’re stuck together.”
Before she could answer, Atsumu popped his head out of the solo room, grinning like he’d been waiting for this.
“See? Fated! Told ya!”
Y/N’s jaw dropped. “You knew?”
“Course I knew.” Atsumu winked. “Would’ve told ya earlier, but I wanted to see your face.”
From the other side, another door banged open, and a tall redhead with wild hair appeared holding… a bar of chocolate.
“HELLO NEW ROOMIE!” he yelled. “I’m Tendō Satori! Master’s student. In chocolate making.” He wiggled the chocolate bar like a magic wand.
Y/N blinked. “Wait… that’s actually a degree?”
“Yes!” Tendō declared proudly. “And one day, I’ll be the Willy Wonka of Japan!”
Suna sighed. “He’s loud. You’ll get used to it.”
Y/N rubbed her forehead. “…What have I signed up for?”
Atsumu, still leaning smugly against the wall, grinned. “A new life, darlin’. And trust me—it’s gonna be fun.”
Things that altered my brain chemistry in the Infinity Castle movie - "Akaza returns"
- Gyomei carrying the responsibility for the Master's plan alone because no other Hashira would have accepted it.
- Muichiro remembering Kagaya staying next to him when he was hurt and calling him his father with tears in his eyes (he s only a child)
- How clearly we could hear Shinobu's bones break and her lungs filling up with blood.
- Kanae's voice when she ordered her to get up.
- Zenitsu waiting just a bit before using his 7th form, hoping that Kaigaku would at least regret what he did. Hoping to catch a glimpse of the brother he respected in him before killing him.
- Zenitsu calling him "Aniki" (older brother) and apologizing before taking his head.
- "Zenitsu, you are my pride and joy"
- Kanao's bloodcurdling scream when she saw Shinobu dead, limp in Douma's arms.
- Akaza's entrance and Tanjiro sensing his presence before actually seeing him.
- Giyuu managing to catch Tanjiro just before he hit the floor and died.
- "you'll have to get through me first before you kill Tanjiro !"
- Shinobu showing how angry she actually was after so much time wearing the same smile on her face
- Muichiro and Gyomei cutting through entire buildings of the Infinity Castle together.
- the lower ranked demon slayers grouping around the Hashira to clear their path to Uppermoon demons and Muzan himself.
- Kiriya taking charge of the Corps, and Kagaya guiding him gently with his spirit
- Kiriya not allowing his sister not even one second of grieving when her eyes filled with tears. There was no time for it then.
- everyone having a role to play together - even the crows, the retired Hashira and the Kakushi.
- Giyuu dragging Akaza through multiple buildings of the Infinity Castle even before awakening his mark
- Giyuu immediately forcing himself up to his feet again, after being dragged to hell and back, when Akaza tried to turn to Tanjiro and kill him.
- Even while Tanjiro was passed out, Giyuu using the last of his strength to attack and take full on hits from Akaza so he didn't have the chance to step closer to him.
- "Don't die, Giyuu..." (his crow pleading with him at the end messed me up the worst)
- Tanjiro tearing up when he heard the news of Shinobu's death.
- Muichiro asking Gyomei about the Master first thing after falling into the castle.
- Obanai immediately telling Mitsuri to calm down and to hold hands so they don't separate when they fall.
- Hakuji's scream when he saw Keizo and Koyuki dead.
- His promise to protect Koyuki and then the next frame being him hugging her dead body to his chest while crying.
- Akaza saying "i have to kill that useless person" , then killing himself and refusing to let his body regenerate. He was begging for death by that point.
- Koyuki choosing to go to hell with him. Calling him "my dear" the way a wife calls her husband.
- Giyuu immediately trying to reach Tanjiro after the battle, but finally collapsing next to him perched on his sword.
- Tanjiro's father using the Hinokami Kagura (his version of it) to kill the bear before it got to their family.
- Tanjiro's eyes lighting up like Yoriichi's when he finally unlocked the See-through world.
- Obanai telling Mitsuri they were going to do the same after hearing Giyuu and Tanjiro defeated Uppermoon 3, both of them not knowing what was actually next.
- even if he hated him, Obanai thinking "congratulations, Tomioka," after hearing he survived and won the battle.
- Murata actually insisting that Yushiro take good care of Zenitsu, even while being spooked by him being a demon.
- seeing the difference between the rudimentary Water Breathing tehnique used by Murata and the actual mastered tehnique used by Giyuu (and Tanjiro).
- Giyuu taking the full hits for Tanjiro when not even "Dead Calm" could fully work anymore.
- Tanjiro saving Giyuu just as he almost died the same way Rengoku did - with Akaza's fist through his torso.
- Giyuu, who didn't think he was worthy before, being called the strongest Water Hashira he has ever encountered by Akaza. (He was fully locked in)
- even if Tanjiro was as strong as a Hashira by that point, the way they depicted how Giyuu was still more experienced and syncronized to Tanjiro's attacks perfectly, like guiding him.
- the way they also depicted the difference between lower ranked slayers, who needed groups of 4-5 to defeat regular demons, and Hashira-level slayers, who could oneshot higher ranked ones.
- Shinobu's sobs when Kanae finally died in her arms.
- "Why couldn't I be taller ?"
- Douma toying with Shinobu before her final attack (that took even him by surprise.)
- Giyuu refusing to talk to Akaza and refusing to give him his name - contrast from Rengoku who presented himself from the beginning and stated his position and name. Giyuu ain't playing with those demons (he's so shady)
- Genya searching for his brother the moment he fell into the castle.
- how small Muichiro looked next to Gyomei.
- how horrifying and dire the situation looks throughout the castle, and how all the Hashira put their life on the line to try and keep the other slayers from dying as much as they could.
The next two movies are gonna be 10x worse and i m not ready.
This was the best movie i have ever seen, the best animation i have ever encountered and the hardest cry i ve ever had in a cinema before. Thank you, Ufotable, thank you to the author.
📝 Morning Cuddles 💘 (a/n: I know in previous fics I mentioned Changbin having a daughter first, but I’ve decided to switch things up—let’s just pretend his son was chilling in the other room back then!)
⌯ your life seemingly changes overnight when you get caught up in a dating scandal with a popular streamer that you’ve never met !
── ✧ ˚. ꒰ 𝓹airing ꒱ ˒˓ streamer!felix x youtuber!f!reader ˒˓ strangers to friends to lovers 𝓰enre/𝓽ags. smau, fluff, some angst (not much tho ?), cursing, joonie from ichillin as faceclaim, slightly suggestive language, kys/kms jokes
part 1 𓂅
[ 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆. ] — new chp out ayyyy 😛 i just wanna say thank you guys sm for all the love and support on the first part like omggg i’m so happy so many of you like how it’s going so far !! lmk your thoughts on this one and the next part should be out within the next few days <33
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