Dear Lord, they didn't even bother with proper grammar. At least try to have some class if you want to try and spit into someone else's soup. Or just walk away if it's not to your taste?
story warnings: emotional neglect, internalised hate, very light implied self-harm (past), strained relationships, guilt, seung yells at reader a little, readers stage name is i.x/moros
wc: 1,197
You were Chan’s one and only hyung. The only one who stayed, anyway.
When everyone else drifted away. Older trainees dropping out one by one, mentors changing, promises breaking, you stayed. You were only a few years older than him, but you carried him like it was instinct. You learned how to read his moods before he knew how to name them himself. When he doubted, you anchored him. When he burned himself out, you made him eat. When he cried, you sat with him until he stopped apologizing for it.
And when Stray Kids became real, when it stopped being just Chan’s dream and turned into eight other lives, you took them in just as fiercely.
They became your boys.
You were there when Minho got eliminated, sprinting through the rain without thinking, shoes soaked through, lungs burning. You wrapped your arms around him and let him cry into your shoulder while the cameras kept rolling somewhere else. You were there for Felix too, sitting with him long after lights-out when the loneliness got too loud. You stood between them and staff more times than you could count, raising your voice when diets turned cruel, even when confrontation made your hands shake afterward.
You loved them loudly. Protectively. Completely.
Even when they didn’t notice.
At first, the hate felt manageable. Just noise. Something that came with the job.
Then it grew teeth.
With every year, every comeback, it sharpened, always aimed at you.
‘You didn’t fit the group.’ ‘You weren’t attractive enough.’ ‘Not talented enough.’ ‘Not charismatic enough.’
A filler member. A mistake. Someone who stole a place meant for someone better.
You told yourself you could ignore it. Most days, you did. But words don’t disappear just because you refuse to look at them. They sink in. They settle under your skin. They spread slowly, quietly, like mould in the walls, until one day you realise you’re breathing it in every time you inhale.
You laughed less. You slept worse. Your ambition dulled into something heavy and exhausting.
Then came the comment that cracked something open.
‘he doesn’t even care abt the boys lmao’
That one lodged itself in your chest.
You didn’t care?
About the boys you fought tooth and nail for? The boys you defended when no one else would? The boys you loved so fiercely it scared you sometimes?
You asked Chan about it that night, voice careful, like you were already bracing for the answer. He sighed, tired, distracted, and told you to let it go.
So you did. You always did.
You asked Changbin too, half-joking, half-hoping for reassurance. He frowned and said he hadn’t really noticed anything you did.
That one stayed with you.
After that, you started paying attention.
You noticed how you were never the first person texted. How your messages sat unread for hours. How no one asked how you were unless it was convenient. They came to you when they needed something advice, reassurance, help, but disappeared the moment you asked for the same.
It wasn’t cruelty. It was worse.
It was indifference.
The breaking point came quietly.
You asked Seungmin if he wanted to grab dinner. Just dinner. Just company.
He snapped.
“Jesus Christ, do you ever stop?” he yelled. “I’m busy. We’re all busy. Just because you’re not fucking doing anything doesn’t mean the rest of us aren’t. Maybe if you worked as hard as we do, you’d actually be on our level.”
The room went dead silent.
He stormed upstairs, anger still radiating off him. No one said anything. No one looked at you. A moment later, they followed him, to check on him.
You left the dorm without saying a word.
That night, sitting alone in a cheap ramen shop with fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, you called your manager. You asked for a separate dorm. You framed it carefully. Space. Mental health. Nine men under one roof was a lot.
They agreed without hesitation, not wanting any unnecessary drama.
That was when the crack split wide open.
You stopped seeing the members outside of schedules. Practice became transactional. Performances became routine. You faded into the background of a group you once held together.
No one noticed.
Not the boys. Not the fans. Not the company.
When you officially left, the narrative wrote itself.
It was inevitable. You just didn’t fit.
Chan felt lighter without you, even if he never said it out loud.
Minho found choreography easier with eight instead of nine.
Changbin was glad he didn’t have to share a room anymore.
Hyunjin was relieved no one kept asking about his art.
Jisung felt the same, just about his lyrics.
Felix missed having someone to help bleach his hair at ungodly hours—then got over it.
Seungmin was happy no one asked if he was okay.
Jeongin was glad there was no dead weight left to carry.
No one meant to be cruel.
They just didn’t miss you.
Not yet.
You debuted again under a new company. New name. Clean slate. No past affiliations dragging behind you
People liked you.
They praised the softness of your voice, the sincerity in your performances, the way you spoke honestly in interviews. You weren’t massive, but you were real.
Your spark came back slowly. Scars faded. Your chest loosened. Friends pulled you out of the wreckage, piece by piece, until breathing didn’t hurt so much anymore.
Then Stray Kids started struggling.
Choreography felt wrong. Blocking for eight instead of nine left empty spaces no one knew how to fill. Chan’s stress had nowhere to go now. One night, scrolling through old messages, something clicked.
You had always been there.
He texted you first.
The cringe hit immediately—then the guilt followed, sharp and unforgiving. He scrolled through your old messages. Simple ones.
‘How are you?’ ‘Can I talk to you?’ ‘I need help.’
His replies were always late. Or selfish. Or nonexistent.
Minho realized how often you’d helped him untangle choreography.
Hyunjin hadn’t picked up a pencil since Jisung called his work cliché, simple, something you’d never do. Seungmin felt the dorm quieter in a way that made his chest ache, no matter how much he ignored it.
They were hollow in a way they hadn’t noticed before. A you-shaped absence they never noticed forming.
Jeongin stared at the empty spot on the sofa. “Has anyone seen him since…you know?”
No one answered.
Chan called. Again. And again. And again. Hyunjin and Changbin flooded your phone with messages. Felix and Jisung Googled your name.
They wished they hadn’t.
[Y/N L/N — Ex. STRAY KIDS.]
Below it: compilations. Moments of you being ignored. Talked over. Laughed at.
And then—
[STRAY KIDS EX MEMBER JOINS NEW LABEL UNDER NEW NAME: MOROS.]
They listened to your music. Some songs were devastating, sorrow threaded through every beat, pain etched into every lyric. Others sounded free, like flight. They watched fancams of you smiling wide, confident, alive.
You smiled wider than any of them remembered.
Guilt settled like ash.
Then the calls stopped going through. Messages stopped delivering.
And for the first time, they understood what it meant to lose something you never thought you needed, until it was gone.
authors note: this was written like before 2 n 3 and once again achy joints and migraines will be the death of me so i just wanted to finish this before actually taking a little break ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ
summary: you and chan have breakfast together..ish
story warnings: mentions of knocking out (one time), unsettling chan/chris, relatively short chapter again (sorry ☹️)
wc: 950
When you eventually came to after Chan knocked you out in that prison-like ruin, the first thing you became aware of was your throbbing skull. A pulse of pain echoed through your temples, sharp and rhythmic, like someone was tapping a knife against bone.
You groaned, forcing yourself upright despite the exhaustion anchoring your limbs. Great. Perfect. Amazing. What were you supposed to do now?
Trapped in this twisted, abandoned hellscape of railway with a…whatever Chan was, obsessed with you and impossible to escape from.
You tore the covers off and stumbled toward the wooden door, pounding on it with more frustration than strength. “Chan! You motherfu—!”
The door swung open mid-swing. You lost your balance and crashed into a solid chest. Arms wrapped around your waist before you hit the floor.
Chan laughed softly, warm breath ghosting over your ear. “It was unlocked, baby. I was waiting downstairs for you. You don’t need to strain your pretty voice, hm?”
You glared up at him and hit his chest once, twice, before he finally let you go.
“Aren’t you hungry, dove? Come, I made breakfast.” He held out a hand, expectant.
You slapped it away.
He only giggled. “Ohhh, so feisty. Okay. That’s fine if you don’t want to hold hands yet.”
He turned and began walking. Your stomach growled traitorously, and you had no choice but to follow.
Before your failed escape, you’d been confined to that single bedroom the one you’d woken up in now, with Chan delivering meals like it was normal. Now, stepping beyond that threshold for the first time felt surreal.
The hallway greeted you like something out of a forgotten movie. Long, narrow, and dim. Shadows bled into the corners despite sunlight forcing its way through the tall windows. Dust drifted lazily in the beams of light, swirling like tiny ghosts.
The floors creaked beneath your feet, each step sending a dull groan through the old wood. A faded runner stretched the length of the corridor, deep purple with curling golden threads that caught the light like something alive. It looked antique, older than you, older than him, older than the building maybe. Like it remembered every footstep that had ever crossed it.
You paused without meaning to.
Paintings lined the walls, but none were…right. Landscapes that should’ve been peaceful felt subtly wrong. Snowy fields where the rivers glowed too dark, too glossy. Too red. A meadow where the colors were muted, almost sickly, and the sky was filled with floating shapes that might’ve been wasps, or something else entirely.
A chill prickled your skin.
Chan noticed your pause and exhaled dramatically. “Come on, darling.” His voice softened, almost coaxing. “I’ll show you everything when you eat. I don’t want you fading away to nothing.”
You rolled your eyes but forced your feet to move. The hallway stretched on, each creak from the floorboards feeling like a warning. The air smelled faintly of old books and something metallic beneath. You couldn’t tell if it was in your head or lingering in the walls.
The staircase waited at the end, banister polished but splintered, as though too many hands had dragged over it too roughly. Chan walked ahead of you, occasionally glancing back with that warm, unsettling smile, a smile that made your skin crawl even as some instinct inside begged you not to look away from him.
Every step downward groaned beneath you, complaining loudly. You gripped the railing tighter with each new jolt of dizziness, praying silently not to fall on your face.
When your foot hit the last step, a wave of cold air met you, colder than upstairs. The dining area opened up in front of you, mismatched in design like the rest of the place, a patchwork of antique furniture and things that looked handmade.
Breakfast was…fine. Normal looking. But Chan didn’t give you a single second alone to enjoy it.
He hovered over you like a shadow with a pulse. Watching. Studying. Breathing down your neck.
Eventually you pushed his face away, harder than you meant to, but Chris’ smile only grew broader, sharper.
After he attempted it again, you snapped, “Are you going to eat or are you just going to watch me like some creep?”
His grin shifted. Wolf-like. “Don’t you worry about me, baby. I’m not hungry yet.” His voice dropped, slow and deliberate. “And you look adorable when you eat. Or when you try to push me away.”
Chris leaned closer, hand sliding up to tilt your chin. His breath warmed your ear. “Makes everything more fun for me.”
Your heart stuttered before you could stop it, a warmth flooding your cheeks. You tried to slap him away again, but he caught your wrist with insulting ease, pressing your hand gently against his cheek.
His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, nose brushing the spot just above your pulse. “I’ll be gone most of today,” he murmured. “You can explore as much as you like. Lunch will be ready whenever you want it.”
Then, he opened his eyes and for a moment, you were sure they gleamed gold.
“Just make sure you don’t fly away this time, yeah? Unless you really want to see what happens in this place.”
His tone was soft. His words were not.
You stared at anything but him.
When you finished eating, he stood, leaned down, and pressed a kiss to your forehead. You shoved him away immediately, which only made him break into delighted giggles as he walked to the door.
Once it closed behind him, the house seemed to exhale. Long, low, and hollow.
Guess all that’s left today is trying to get acquainted with this cursed mansion.
Can you maybe write something where the reader accidently lets it slip that she likes Chan & he finds out & confronts her? Feel free to make it happy or sad😊
When the Music Fades
Bangchan x gn!reader
Genre: fluff/comfort
Wc: 1,5k
Warnings: none
Autor's note: SO SORRY THIS TOOK ME SO LONG IM DROWNING IN EXAMS BUT I HAVE A PRETTY CHILL WEEK COMING UP SO GONNA POST MORE, ALSO PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU PREFER WHEN I COLOR THE TEXT FOR CONVOS OR LEAVE THEM BLACK ~Kitty
The studio was quiet, the kind of quiet that only happens at 2:43 AM. The monitors glowed a soft blue, lighting up the mess of energy drinks, empty chip bags, and crumpled lyric sheets scattered across the desk.
Chan sat slouched in his chair, hoodie pulled up, fingers lazily tapping against the keyboard as another soft melody looped through the speakers. You were curled up on the couch behind him, half-wrapped in his spare blanket. You had promised you wouldn’t fall asleep. You always did.
He’d been working for hours. Building harmonies, layering drums, and humming little fragments of a melody under his breath. It was kind of mesmerizing. Watching him in his element always made something in your chest ache in a way you didn’t like to name. At some point, your eyelids started to feel heavy.
“Hey,” you mumbled drowsily. “You should take a break.” He glanced over his shoulder, smiling softly. “Soon. Just wanna fix this part first.” You hummed, already half-asleep. “You said that twenty minutes ago.” “Yeah,” he said with a small laugh. “And I’ll probably say it again in twenty more.” The warmth in his voice was the last thing you heard before drifting off completely.
You woke up to silence. The song had stopped, the monitors were dim, and the room had that sleepy stillness that only comes after music fades. You turned your head. Chan was still there, sitting in his chair, head tilted back, hoodie half-slipped off. His eyes were closed, mouth slightly parted.
He looked… peaceful. You smiled to yourself. You’d seen him tired before, sure, you've seen him exhausted, stressed, but not like this. Not soft. Not quiet. You sat up slowly, trying not to wake him, and whispered, “Hey, producer-nim. You should really sleep properly, you know?” No response. Just slow, steady breathing.
You bit your lip. The kind of fondness you’d been burying for months started bubbling up before you could stop it. “Okay,” you whispered. “You’re definitely asleep.” And maybe it was the late hour. Or the dim lights. Or the fact that you were surrounded by his music, a.k.a the sound that always felt like him: warm, comforting, safe. But you leaned forward, elbows on your knees, and said softly,
“You know… You make it really hard not to fall for you.” The words hung in the air. You laughed quietly at yourself, shaking your head. “God, that sounds so cheesy. I just...” you sighed, “you work so hard, and you care so much, and you make everyone around you feel like they matter. It’s kind of impossible not to like you.” You watched him for a moment, smiling at your own ridiculousness.
“Don’t worry,” you added under your breath. “You’ll never hear this anyway. Then you leaned back down on the couch, pulling the blanket over your shoulders, and let your eyes close again. A few minutes of silence passed.
“You’re wrong,” came a sleepy, raspy voice. Your eyes snapped open. Chan hadn’t moved much; he was still slouched in his chair, but now he was turned slightly toward you. Eyes open. A tiny grin tugged at his lips. “…What?” you squeaked. He rubbed his eyes. “I heard every word.”
You sat up so fast you nearly fell off the couch. “No, you didn’t.” He laughed, voice still soft and groggy. “Yeah, I did. Especially the part about it being ‘impossible not to like me.” “Oh my god.” You covered your face with your hands. “I take it back. I was sleep-talking.”
He chuckled, low and quiet. “You were definitely not sleep-talking.” You peeked between your fingers. He was smiling now, wide awake, eyes shining in that familiar way that made your stomach twist. “Why didn’t you say anything...” you asked weakly. “I didn’t want to interrupt,” he said simply. “It was nice hearing it.”
You groaned. “This is so embarrassing.” “Don’t be.” He stood up, stretching, then walked over to you. The blanket slipped off your shoulders as he crouched down in front of the couch, close enough that you could see the little tired crinkles at the corners of his eyes. “For what it’s worth,” he said softly, “I’ve been kind of falling for you too.”
You blinked. “You what?!” He smiled, shy this time. “You make all this-” he gestured vaguely around the room, “ a lot easier. You make me better.” The room was quiet again, but not the heavy kind. The good kind. You smiled back, heart pounding. “You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re tired.” He laughed, resting his forehead against your knees. “You’re lucky I like you enough not to run away after that confession.” You grinned, running your fingers gently through his messy hair. “Guess we’re both lucky, huh?”
He looked up at you, eyes warm, and said softly, “Yeah. I think we are.”
“So…” you said, voice a little unsteady. “What now?” Chan chuckled, like he’d been expecting that. “Now,” he said, “you get some actual sleep. Preferably not on that couch.” You frowned. “And where exactly am I supposed to sleep? You live in this studio now.” He grinned, standing up. “You take the couch. I’ll take the floor.”
You blinked. “You think I’m gonna let you sleep on the floor?” He shrugged. “I’ve fallen asleep here before. The floor and I are basically friends.” You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.” “Yeah, but you like me,” he said with a smirk. You tossed a pillow at him. “Regretting it already.” He caught the pillow easily, grinning. Then, to your surprise, he sat down on the floor beside the couch, close enough that his shoulder brushed against your knee.
For a while, you just sat there like that. No music. No words. Just the hum of the computer and the faint city noise outside the window. Chan tilted his head back against the couch, eyes half-lidded. “You know,” he murmured, “this is kind of nice.” “What, you being a menace?” He smiled without opening his eyes. “No. You being here. Always feels better when you’re around.” Your chest did that fluttering thing again. You stared at him the way the dim light hit his face, softening all his sharp edges, and for the first time, you let yourself really look.
He must’ve felt your gaze, because his lips curved up again. “Staring’s rude, you know.” You rolled your eyes. “You’re literally impossible.” “Yeah,” he said, voice low and teasing. “And yet you still like me.” You were about to shoot back some sarcastic reply when he reached up and gently took your hand, just a quick, hesitant brush of his fingers against yours, like he was testing the waters.
“Can I?” he started, then stopped. You didn’t even let him finish. You squeezed his hand lightly. “Yeah.” His smile softened into something you hadn’t seen before, not the bright, leader-Chan grin, not the playful smirk, but something quieter. Real. He leaned his head back against the couch again, your hand still in his, and you sat like that until your eyelids grew heavy. His thumb traced slow circles against your skin, grounding, gentle.
“Hey, Y/N?” he murmured. “Mm?” “Next time you accidentally confess,” he said, voice lazy with sleep, “do it before I’ve been awake for twenty hours.” You laughed softly. “Noted.” When you woke up again, the sunlight was slanting through the blinds. The monitors were off, the floor was scattered with empty bottles, and Chan was gone. You sat up, groggy, wondering for one terrifying second if you’d dreamed the whole thing, the confession, the hand-holding, all of it.
Then you saw it a sticky note on your laptop. His handwriting.
“Had a meeting. Didn’t wanna wake you.
Coffee’s in the thermos.
P.S. I still like you. No take-backs. ~Channie ☕️💛”
You grinned so hard your cheeks hurt. Later that afternoon, you stopped by the studio again. The guys were there this time: Felix, Han, and Changbin, all crowded around Chan’s computer, half-working, half-chaos as usual.
Felix spotted you first. “Morning sleepyhead!” he said brightly. “Afternoon.” Han corrected. “It’s literally four p.m.” You waved awkwardly, pretending not to notice how Chan immediately turned pink when he saw you. “Uh-hey,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Hey,” you replied, trying not to smile too much. Han narrowed his eyes, glancing between the two of you. “Okay, wait. Why does it feel weird in here?” Changbin nodded. “Yeah, what happened? You guys are acting like you shared a secret or something.”
You and Chan both froze. “Nothing,” you blurted. “We just-uh-worked late.” “Very late,” Chan added quickly. Felix tilted his head. “Right. And by worked, you mean…?” “Music!” Chan said a little too fast. “Definitely music.” The room fell silent for half a beat, and then Hyunjin gasped dramatically. “OH MY GOD,” he said. “You two finally confessed, didn’t you?”
Chan’s ears went red. “No! What- how did you-” Changbin groaned. “Took you long enough.” Felix grinned, clearly delighted. “I knew the way you look at them wasn’t just friendly.” You covered your face with your hands. “I hate all of you.” Chan laughed that bright, crinkly-eyed laugh you loved so much and pulled you gently toward him. “You love me,” he said under his breath. You peeked up at him. “Yeah,” you admitted quietly. “Guess I do.”
Summary: After a Dispatch article leaks, your betrayed boyfriend kicks you out of your shared apartment and you're silenced in the worst way possible.
Genre: Angst with a happy ending
Word Count: 5.1K
Trigger warning: Misunderstood trope, physical assault, anger, yelling, a car accident, plus graphic descriptions of physical injuries, and doctors/hospitals.
A/N: I had three hours of sad One Direction music, one request, and a dream. Requestee, you asked for angst and I have given it my all. I hope this meets every expectation and more <3
_ _ _
You were the light of Bang Chan’s life. At least, that’s what he thought. For months, his love grew for you. Over time, he opened up more and more. You crawled into his heart and made yourself at home.
And then you tore it open.
He thought he finally had the love of his life, but it turns out, you were just like the others. Not really loving him, but dragging along, clinging onto clout, and when the next man came, you jumped with both feet. You didn’t even say goodbye, but neither did he.
There was no warning for either of you. One day, the two of you were head over heels for each other. The next, everything fell apart. Hearts cracked like stained glass. Tears fell, but the words from both of you didn’t provide the comfort the other so desperately craved.
In the end, two hearts ripped apart. The world tipped in the wrong direction. You both lost your footing and for weeks, nothing would be the same for either of you, ever again.
~ ~ ~
When you came home from buying groceries, the apartment was quiet, like usual. Chan’s warm presence had been gone since this morning. Up at the crack of dawn, he disappeared to continue making his dreams come true.
You missed him when he was gone, just as he missed you, but dreams were important. No matter what happened between the two of you, it was the one thing you both agreed that it was important. No matter where your life took you, the most important thing was keeping focused on your dreams.
Yes, the two of you were in love, but that wasn’t stopping either of you from pursuing your passions. Not yet engaged, the two of you vowed to be supportive of each other. Through thick and thin, in the risky moments, and everything in between; you swore to be there for one another.
Your bare feet glided across the tile floor with ease. Without Chan, the apartment felt empty, but that didn’t stop you from trying to make it feel warm and fuzzy. Over on the side counter, you turned on the candle warmer. Maybe by the time Chan got home, the apartment would be full of a welcoming vanilla buttercream.
You swore his cologne had hints of vanilla. He disagreed with you and insisted you didn’t know your scents. Just to prove a point, you bought the vanilla candle, and yet, he refused to see it.
He could be stubborn like that sometimes. Certain things he couldn’t see. No matter how hard and how obvious you attempted to make these things, he refused to see them. Sometimes, it was more frustrating than anything, but you learned to deal with every part of him; the good and the bad.
You had your own set of flaws, too. Out of everyone existing in the world, there was nobody that you wanted to be with more than Chan. The two of you were still so young. There was a lifetime of adventures and fun to have. You were hoping the relationship between the two of you would last forever.
It ended when Chan stormed through your front door. The bang of the front door slamming against the sidewall sent your heart racing. You grabbed a can of peas for defense and held your breath.
Footsteps stormed through your living room. Your fingers turned pale around the can. A sigh of relief fell from you when you saw the furrow on Chan’s face. “Holy shit, you scared the crap out of me. What’s wrong, baby? What happened?”
You put down the can and walked towards him. Your hands stretched out to grab his face. To your surprise, he swatted them away. Your eyes widen at the faint sting. “What are you-”
“You don’t get to baby me after what you did!”
“I-I did something? What did I-”
“Shut up! You don’t get to pretend like you don’t know! You know I’ve felt like a piece of shit because I can’t be here twenty-four-seven! You know I travel for work and yet you still choose to hurt me in the worst way possible!”
Confusion filled your face and it just pissed him off more. He jerked his Samsung phone from his pocket. You watched as he typed in the password. Your actions from the past few days rolled through your head like stop-motion. Each silent click, more scenes filled your head.
None of them stood out. You couldn’t recall what you did wrong, but Chan was furious. Your mouth opened, but words didn’t come out. He flipped the screen to find the bold words of a Dispatch article. Your heart hit the ground with a sickening splat.
Trouble in paradise: A Rocky Road Ahead For Stray Kids’ Bang Chan’s Romantic Relationship.
Attached, two photos of you grinning at another JYP idol from another group. In one, you were waving at them. In another, you were leaning over and hugging them.
“It’s not what it looks like!”
“Really? Because you know what it looks like to me? It looks like you were attempting to hide a close relationship with someone in a younger group.”
“That’s not true! Chan, it’s Dispatch! You can’t possibly believe that I-”
“I want you out of my apartment.”
Your face fell at his words. “You…you wouldn’t. Please, just let me explain and I-”
“When have you ever talked about him? Never! You’ve never been close to another idol! Yet now, you’re hugging him?”
“Chan, please!”
“Get out!”
“But-”
“Out!” His voice raised. “Get your stuff and get the fuck out of my apartment! Don’t bother coming back!”
The words were loud enough to frighten you. You left the grocery bags scattered on the kitchen island and took off. Tears filled your eyes. You wanted to explain, but he kept cutting you off.
Too heated to think about the situation, his insecurities got the best of him. In the kitchen, he slumped against the counter with his head in his hands. Warm tears filled his eyes at the sound of your sniffles.
He wanted to comfort you, but the hurt was too much. He grew to love you with everything he had and within one Dispatch article, his swollen heart popped. How could you do this to him? After everything the two of you had been through, why did you have to ruin it?
Tears blurred your vision and you didn’t look back. You jerked items from the closet and tossed them in your suitcase. Grabbing handfuls from each of your dresser drawers, you tossed them in with everything. Even the toiletries, you didn’t have time to organize them.
Chan wanted you to go, so you’d leave. At the end of the day, this was his apartment. You paid rent, but his name was the first on the contract. He paid the down payment, not you.
You gave him one last desperate look as you passed by, but he didn’t see it. His name fell from your mouth in a weak croak, but he didn’t pull his hands from his eyes. “Please, just go away.”
You spun around, gripped your suitcase tighter, and then you did.
~ ~ ~
All night, you drove around without a destination in mind. You refused to call one of Chan’s members and plead for help. It’d only stir up drama in the group. That was the last thing you wanted.
Numbness hung over your head. You still couldn’t believe everything that happened a few hours ago. If he would have listened, he would have understood. The tears dried up a while ago, but the empty feeling in your chest didn’t go away.
Seoul’s late afternoon crept into another dark night. Gray blotted skies drifted into a pitch black. Neon lights reflected off the paint on your car, but the warm colors didn’t warm your heart.
The car felt lonely without Chan. You’d give anything to hear his laughter from beside you. The playful banter while he reminded you to turn on the correct turn signal. It’d been a constant inside joke between the two of you. Ever since you accidentally flicked on the wrong signal and turned the wrong way, he’d never let it go.
The way he tipped his head forward. Messy tendrils of dark hair fell over his forehead. His squeaky laugh warmed your heart. Such a far comparison from the anger that rattled the apartment walls earlier.
You poked his dimples between the stoplights. On nights when the two of you wanted to get away from everyday life, you found peace in this car. You’d drive and be in control for once. He’d sit beside you with a hand on your thigh.
Simple conversations filled the car. Love pooled between the two of you. Shared laughter, quiet conversations, and the secret getaway that your car provided you’d do anything to turn back time.
You loved him for a reason. You always had and you always would. Just because photos told one story, it didn’t mean they told the entire story. Snippets didn’t capture the truth. The context was important, but Chan was too distraught tonight.
Too stressed out. Too angry. Too frustrated. Things built up and that article was the breaking point. Those photographs became thorns in your relationship. In one day, the roses wilted. Withered petals gathered at your feet.
Tomorrow would be better, you reassured yourself as you drove. Tomorrow, Chan would realize he was wrong. He jumped the gun in this situation. In the morning, he’d call you and apologize.
Tomorrow, you’d be welcomed home with a heartfelt apology and a bouquet of fresh flowers. A glass full of red wine, sweets, and a home cooked dinner. Tomorrow, things will be okay again. These tears were temporary. This hurt wouldn’t last forever.
At a stoplight, you grabbed your phone and dialed Changbin’s number. On speaker phone, you waited and waited, but he didn’t pick up. If anyone would know the truth and be able to rationalize Chan’s brain, it was him.
The red light from the stoplights highlighted faint tear streaks. You sniffled, wiping your long sleeve across your dripping nose. Your eyes shut and your voice cut out and quivered as you spoke.
“Please know that I didn’t mean to cause him or you guys any harm. I ran into him the other day and asked if he could help teach me a dance. He’s one of JYP’s best dancers and I know Stray Kids are busy. His group is on break and I just thought I could surprise Chan with a dance.”
“Saying it out loud, I get that it’s stupid now. I was just hoping it’d cheer him up. He’s been so stressed lately. I thought the least I could do was make him laugh.”
“If you get a chance and if he’s willing to hear it, please let him know I love him. I love him and I’m sorry. Dispatch is stupid and I hate them. You can even ask that idol and he’ll tell you the same thing. I’m so sorry, Changbin. I’ll talk to you later. I have to find a place to stay tonight.”
You swallowed the lump in your throat and shut your eyes. After clicking the end call button on your phone, you threw the device into your passenger’s seat. Maybe if you were lucky, Chan would hear out Changbin. Level-headed and rational, you knew Chan appreciated the advice he gave out.
A car horn honked behind you. Your eyes quickly reopened and the green light stared back at you. Unblinking, you grumbled beneath your breath. “I’m going, I’m going, geez.” You inched out into the intersection, expecting to continue going straight.
You weren’t expecting your car to jerk left. Your screams blended with the sound of crushing metal. Orange sparks flew. The sickening scent of burnt rubber and diesel hit your nose. Your seatbelt cut into your neck and briefly cut off your air flow.
The last thing you remembered was the horn of the semi-truck vibrating your entire car.
~ ~ ~
It wasn’t Dispatch that was the first one to find out about the devastating car accident; instead, it was Jeongin. He sucked in a deep breath as he walked into the hospital. Last night, after struggling with the flu, someone admitted his friend to the hospital.
He mumbled beneath his breath, trying to figure out what to say. A blue medical mask sat over his nose and mouth. He knew to keep his distance, but he still felt awful that they were here.
Hospitals were lonely. In the brief moments when families and friends disappeared. When the nurses were following their routine rounds and doctors were checking in on other patients, people were left alone. The isolating white walls. The uncomfortable piercing beeps from the heart rate monitor. The cold IV drips, distributing medicine directly into the bloodstream.
Surgical stitches ached. Disease weighed heavily upon the lungs. Intubation and the mechanical push and pull of oxygen and carbon dioxide. Hospitals were the opposite of warm and welcoming. Cold and sterile, he rather wished his friend was at home.
The colorful bouquet of multicolored flowers was the brightest thing in the hallway. Closed doors with numbers passed by as he walked. The nurse’s announcement of his friend’s room number echoed in his head.
It dissipated when he heard your name from a nurse in a cracked room. Before he knew it, he was pushing the door open and stepping inside. On the hospital bed, you were unrecognizable. Scrapes and cuts laced your face. Both plum purple eyes swelled shut.
The right side of your face puffed up unnaturally. Black stitches poked out from the bottom of your lip. That was just your face. That wasn’t beginning to touch the cast on your arm and the rest of your body hidden beneath the blue covers.
He knew it was you. He recognized the promise ring on your ring finger. He had helped Chan pick it out. He glanced around, searching for Chan, but he wasn’t there.
“Are you lost?”
He glanced up to find the nurse. Her blonde hair tied back in a high ponytail. She observed him through black, circular-rimmed glasses.
He shook his head and repeated your name. The nurse frowned and he pointed to you. “Is this-”
“Are you family?”
“Brother.”
You weren’t biologically related, but it felt true deep down.
~ ~ ~
Changbin tried to bring the situation up to Chan, but every time he spoke your name, Chan would shut down. From what Changbin knew, Chan didn’t know what happened to you. The rest of the guys did, but they all received the same results. Every time they spoke your name, Chan grew irritated and short-tempered.
“I don’t want to talk about them! Stop bringing them up! Enough!”
The charming and charismatic leader unraveled at the seams. His heart was full of love for you and you ruined it. That wasn’t something he took lightly. The hurt oozed out in other ways.
His songs weren’t coming together as easily anymore. He used to get your feedback when he went home, but now the apartment was empty. The bed was colder without you. He was lonely, but he wouldn’t admit it.
He snapped during dance practice. After he snapped at a manager, a manager lectured him about authority and respecting his elders. Nobody understood the hurt that he was going through. It didn’t help that Dispatch began showing up and bothering him.
They could take all the pictures they wanted. He’d never give them the satisfaction of breaking his heart. Instead of listening, he put on his airpods and cranked up the music. He shoved through the camera flashes with his baseball hat low and a face mask covering the rest of his face. They didn’t deserve to turn his heartbreak into entertainment.
He’d never let them break him. They already did it once. You were gone and the longer you went without a call or a text, he assumed they were right. They caught you cheating and you accepted it. You didn’t fight for your relationship.
You didn’t call and beg for him to take you back. You didn’t call and try to explain. He sent you one text, but you never opened it. He was at a complete loss without you.
Some would call him stubborn for it, but he’d say that he was just trying to protect himself from more hurt.
~ ~ ~
The lonely days for you didn’t stay lonely for long. Jeongin discovered you hours after your accident. The days slipped by, but you weren’t alone anymore. Unconscious and pumped full of medicine, sure. They were far from lonely.
Every evening, the guys took turns hanging out beside your bed. Seungmin would sing the songs you liked. Jeongin told you funny stories of Chan, trying to bring you back to consciousness. Minho brought you warm comments from the fans who found out about your accident. The rest of the guys had their own things, but Chan’s voice never filled the room.
Stuck in a coma, things were dark. Occasionally, you could hear the beeping of your machines. You could feel your lungs expand and compress unnaturally. Your body felt like a shell more than anything. Voices came and went, but never Chan’s.
In the darkness, you couldn’t see. You weren’t sure if you were dead or not. Stranger’s voices appeared in soft whispers and then they faded. You weren’t sure what was going on, but you knew you were exhausted.
Those audible voices and sounds never lasted for long. You couldn’t feel pain. Every sensation within you felt numbed. A heavy fog filled your head and something clouded your vision.
You attempted to open your eyes every so often, but they didn’t budge. Someone glued them shut. Every limb tingled with tiny pins and needles. You didn’t know if this was death, but it didn’t feel comforting. Somewhere between the realm of the living and dead, doctors kept you in a medically induced coma.
How else could they heal the swelling of your brain?
~ ~ ~
“I can’t take this anymore!” Felix cried out. He shoved himself from the chair and pulled out his phone. “This is such bullshit! I’m tired of keeping this from him.”
“Well, we’ve tried. What do you propose we do? Tell him to get to the hospital without mentioning his significant other’s name?” Seungmin crossed his arms over his chest. “Good luck. We’ve tried everything and it’s been twenty-something days.”
“Actually, that’s exactly what we should do. How much longer can this go on for? This is pathetic, even for him! I get that he’s hurt, but look at them!” He reached over and gestured towards your bed.
You remained intubated and unmoving. The swelling in your puffy eyes faded a little more each day, but they still looked awful. The stitches in your lips disappeared, but a fresh pink scar remained.
Swirls of purple and blue smeared along your face. Broken bones reset and were on the mend. You were a living miracle. The first responders were afraid you wouldn’t make it, but when they pulled you from the wreckage, you continued breathing.
So he unlocked his phone and hit Chan’s contact name.
“Hello?”
“Chan?”
“Yeah?”
“You need to get to the hospital right now. Call me when you get here.”
“WHAT?”
“I can’t talk. Just call me when you get here.”
“Felix!”
He grimaced and hung up the phone. Seungmin shook his head and rolled his eyes. “You probably gave him a heart attack. He’s going to kill you when he gets here, you know?”
“That’s a problem for later.”
~ ~ ~
Chan flew from his apartment. His heart pounded in his chest and he couldn’t breathe. Losing you was hard enough. If anything happened to a member of his group, he’d never forgive himself.
“Come on, come on!” He fumbled with his seat belt in one hand. With the other, he swung his car door shut. In seconds, he jerked the car in reverse and slammed the pedal.
He lurched down the driveway, spun the wheel with a rubbered squeal, and shifted the car into drive. The engine roared and he sped down the road.
What-ifs grew stronger on the way to the hospital. His breath caught in his throat and he struggled to stay calm. Last he knew, everyone was fine so what happened? Who? How bad was it?
The moment he parked, he whipped out his phone and dialed Felix’s number. When Felix responded, his voice came out frantic. “I’m here! Where are you?”
“Room one-twelve. I’ll meet you half-way. I’ll see you soon.”
“Wait, who is-”
Click.
“Fucking hell!” He cried out. He grabbed the keys, sped from the car, and rushed towards the automatic door.
Everything was a blur inside. Voices appeared from the waiting room. The receptionist glanced over the front desk and eyed him, but she didn’t stop him. He glanced left and right and opted to go left.
The carpet disappeared beneath his feet and turned into squeaky clean white vinyl. An easy material to clean and disinfect daily. He rushed forward when he saw Felix appear down the edge of the hall.
The squeak of his shoes didn’t matter. He ignored the doctor he passed that told him to stop running. By the time he reached Felix, he grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him closer. “Who is it? What happened? Tell me!”
“Just, come on.”
“Felix!”
Felix didn’t budge. He grabbed Chan’s wrist and pulled him along. His chest filled with anxiety and his lungs compressed. When the pair appeared at the right door, Felix dropped his wrist and slowly pushed the door open.
He expected to find Han or Jeongin. A broken and battered Hyunjin or Changbin hooked to oxygen. This was the intensive care unit. This was for the severe cases. The patients that required a close eye and keen detailing.
Upon seeing you, his face fell. The bruising upon your face. The tube down your throat. Your lifeless skin and unmoving limbs. There was no sign of the life the two of you created.
No reassuring smiles, or laughter. Seungmin sat solemnly beside your bed in a chair. “I’m shocked that you finally made it.”
“What the hell happened?” He hurried to the opposite side of your bed. His hand reached out, but he didn’t touch you. Too frightened by your state, he didn’t know where he could touch without causing you pain.
“Try their hand,” an unfamiliar voice spoke up. He whirled around to find a nurse in blue scrubs. “Their hands survived the crash. You can touch their hands if you wish.”
“Sorry, I came in to get some vitals. It’ll only be a few moments and then I can leave you alone. Visiting hours are open until eleven o’clock tonight. I’ve never seen you here before, so I thought you should know.”
“How long have they been like this?” He whispered. Tears filled his eyes and his heart ached.
“Since the night you told them to leave your apartment.”
“What?”
“Felix!” Seungmin’s voice shot out sternly. “It’s not like that, Chan. Yes, the accident happened that night, but don’t beat yourself up over it. A driver of a semi-truck was speeding and couldn’t stop in time.”
“That was nearly a-”
“I’m sorry, hyung.” Felix’s hand appeared on his shoulder. “We tried to tell you, but every time we tried to utter their name, you were angry. We should have found a better way to tell you, but…” He trailed off, unsure of what else to say.
The nurse grabbed your vitals and disappeared to give the guys time with you. Chan collapsed to his knees and grabbed your hand with both of his. For nearly a month, you’d been stuck in this bed. He thought you’d given up on the relationship with him.
This entire time you haven't texted him back. Not because you were angry. Not because you were sad. Not because Dispatch’s rumors were true. But it was because you physically couldn’t. Intubated and trapped in a medically induced coma, you couldn’t reach out, even if you wanted to.
“I’m so sorry,” he croaked. “I’m so sorry, I-I thought that they-”
“Easy, hyung.”
“What did I do? What the fuck did I do? If I wouldn’t have kicked them out of the apartment, this wouldn’t have happened. I shouldn’t have been so angry. I should have let them explain.”
Seungmin shot Felix a look. He shrugged and gently rubbed Chan’s shoulders. “It’s not your fault, Channie. You were hurting and you didn’t mean for this to happen.”
He was supposed to be the leader. A strong pillar and an even stronger influence on his younger members. As the eldest member, he was supposed to be reliable. At that moment, he crumbled. Tears appeared in his eyes as a sob broke from his chest.
No wonder you had been so quiet. He called you once and hit your voicemail. He longed to hit the call button, just so he could hear your voice again. He squeezed your hand tighter and pressed it against his cheek.
“Wake up. Wake up, baby, please! Come back to me. I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I'm so sorry!”
Tears blurred his vision. He struggled to comprehend your mangled face. Your other hand sat wrapped in a cast. You must have been so broken when you arrived here. He wasn’t here to comfort you. He wasn’t here to try and console and cheer you up.
A wheeze fell from his throat. The betrayal slicing through his heart disappeared. This time, he felt like he was the one that had betrayed you. He hurt you in the most unimaginable way possible.
You laid here broken and half-dead. You spent hours fighting for your life alone. And where was he? Walking around your shared apartment drowning in his own self-pity. He’d never forgive himself for this.
“What is this?” He finally whispered after his sobs faded away. His throat was raw. His voice came out scratchy. “How bad is it?”
“The doctor said they should wake up at any time. They weren’t breathing on their own. A medically induced coma ensured to make sure their brain’s swelling could stop.”
“It was that bad? They’ve been suffering through all that alone?” His bottom lip quivered. He grew afraid of the response he’d receive.
“No,” Seungmin spoke up. “Jeongin found out first. He was the one that notified us. He said he tried to tell you, but when he showed up at your apartment, you told him to leave.”
Horror filled Chan at the memory. Later that same night, back when you left, Jeongin appeared on his front porch pale. Instead of hearing out the younger member, he told him to get lost and slammed the door in his face. Deep down, he was afraid to be viewed as weak in front of the younger member.
The memory stung his heart. Poor Jeongin just wanted him to know the truth and he slammed the door in his face. No wonder Jeongin seemed so nervous around him. He was probably worried that Chan would find out the truth and yell at him for not telling him.
He rubbed his face and pawed at his eyes. “So does everyone know?”
“Everyone besides you.”
“Sorry you’re late. None of us knew how to get you here. You’d never listen when we tried to talk about them.”
“I was such a stupid, selfish asshole.”
“You were hurting,” Felix corrected him.
“And a stupid, selfish asshole.”
“You were.”
“Seungmin!” Felix cried.
“No, I want him to know that he was. I’m not going to sit here and pity him. You were a jerk, Chan. I hope you remember this moment whenever you try to act like an asshole again.”
The words were a slap in the face, and yet he wanted to laugh. As harsh as Seungmin’s words were, they rang true. He was a jerk and maybe, in the cruelest way possible, this was his karma.
He opened his mouth to respond, but paused when your fingernails scratched at his hand. The tube in your throat caused you to choke. You couldn’t fully see as your eyes half-opened. Still swollen, your vision remained limited. Silhouettes appeared and voices became more distinct.
“Get a nurse!”
Footsteps hit the ground. You gargled and reached your opened mouth. “No, no, no! You can’t touch that yet.”
“Easy, love. Try to relax and don’t fight the tube. It’s breathing for you right now.”
The distress and quickened-pace of the heart rate monitor hit a hiccup. Chan’s familiar voice grounded you, but you still struggled with the tube. Your lungs wanted to expand, but the machine compressed them. You choked again, still fighting the pesky thing.
More footsteps. Another silhouette. Glasses on an unfamiliar face and latex rubbing against your skin. “It’s okay, you’re safe. I’m going to take this out now, okay? On the count of three. One, two, three!”
You gasped and coughed at the removal. Your lungs filled with air of your own accord. More coughing. You attempted to swallow, but your mouth was so dry. The lingering phantom of a headache filled the side of your head.
“Try a sip of this, sweetheart.”
The nurse’s tone was honey to your ears. You swallowed the water the moment it hit your lips. One swallow and then another. Two more and suddenly, you were gulping like crazy.
“Easy, or you’ll choke,” Chan gently reminded you.
The nurse pulled the glass away when you finished. “Do you know where you are?”
“Hospital?”
“Do you remember your name?”
“Chan?”
“I’m right here, honey. I’m here now and I’m not going anywhere. Do you remember your name? This nice nurse wants to help you get better. Your doctor is on his way.”
Every question asked, you answered it perfectly. A buzz of excitement swirled around the room from your consciousness. Seungmin and Felix left the room to give everyone the good news.
When the doctor concluded you were stable, he disappeared with the nurse. A silence fell between you and Chan. You still couldn’t see perfectly, but you could feel the weight of his hand in yours.
“Baby, I’m so sorry for that night.”
“I don’t want to talk about that night.”
“I was an idiot.”
“Dumbass,” you weakly corrected him.
“I see getting hit by a semi-truck hasn’t taken away your sass.”
“If I can survive this, I can survive anything.”
“I love you and I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, I love you and I don’t want to hear anything else about that. I’m so tired. Can you sing me to sleep or something?”
“If I do, promise you won’t die?”
“I promise.”
Even if you couldn’t make out his face, you knew his voice, and that was good enough for you.
synopsis: In a world where everyone has a soulmate and the markings vary based on each pair, you were stuck with one of the most annoying markings: the unknown. When you find out that your identifying mark is body switching, and your soulmate happens to be the idol Bang Chan, your life gets a little bit more difficult.
Ever the independent (stubborn) person you are, you want to keep your array of problems to yourself. Chan seems determined to change that.
tags: hurt/comfort, eating disorder, anxiety/insecurity, soulmates au
wc: 13,866
–
In a world where everyone has a soulmate and the markings vary based on each pair, you were stuck with one of the most annoying markings: the unknown.
Some people had their soulmate’s first words to them, some had a countdown. Red string, lost items, colorblindness, shared pain. You had none of the above. You didn’t even have a mental marking, like feeling their emotions or tasting what they ate. No, you had absolutely nothing.
You knew, logically, that many people were the same. It didn’t mean you didn’t have a soulmate, it just meant that your marking was likely something physical. You’d know it when you touched them or when you saw them.
It was frustrating. Sometimes you thought you’d never find your soulmate, since there was nothing actually leading you to them. It was just luck—or, you supposed, fate—if you would meet them.
It turned out that you were wrong. So, so wrong.
When you felt a sudden wave of dizziness and opened your eyes to see that you were definitely not on the couch of your apartment anymore, you thought you were hallucinating. You were exhausted, had been up all night studying; you must’ve passed out on the couch and were having a lucid dream.
You slowly looked around, noting your new surroundings. You were in a living room you’d never seen before, standing behind a large brown couch that faced a flat screen TV. There were a few paintings on the walls, blankets scattered around, and various knick-knacks and trinkets littering the TV stand and tables. It was homey.
You didn’t know why you were dreaming of a room you’d never been in. As you walked around, touching blankets and observing pictures, you thought that this seemed a little too real. You were in grad school for law, not neuro or psych or whatever studied the human brain, but even you knew that lucid dreams weren’t normally this… lucid.
You also felt off. You didn’t know how to describe it. Your body felt different. Taller, maybe. Stronger. As you walked, you felt like you were controlling a body that didn’t belong to you, feeling weirdly uncomfortable in your skin.
(You would soon find out that your description was extremely accurate.)
“Chan?”
You startled, stumbling as you whipped your body around to face the speaker. You hadn’t realized that anyone else was in the room with you or had entered, too caught up in your dream-not-dream.
You now faced a brown-haired man you had no recollection of, but for some reason felt the slightest bit familiar to you. Like you’d seen him before. You briefly remembered something you’d read online—your brain couldn’t come up with new faces—so this must be some random stranger you’d seen on the street or something, here to play a starring role in your incredibly realistic dream.
“Hi?” You asked after a very long pause.
The man—who for some reason reminded you of a squirrel—just stared at you, eyes wide and expressive. He seemed concerned, confused, looking at you like you’d gone crazy. He’d probably seen you earlier, looking at blankets and pictures way too intensely to be normal. Yeah, that made sense.
“Are you– are you okay?”
“I think so.”
“You seem really out of it, Chan. Are you, like, tired or something?”
There was that name again. Why was he calling you that?
“Who’s Chan?”
The man’s face, already concerned, seemed to grow even more worried at that.
“Are you joking? Is this a prank? You’re scaring me, hyung.”
You were starting to get scared, too. Was this actually a dream? It felt way too real. You slowly brought your hand to your arm and pinched yourself as hard as you could. Nothing happened, except for the shock of pain that quickly ran through your arm.
“Wait. This is real? I’m not dreaming?” Your expression mirrored the stranger’s. He stayed silent, apparently too confused or in shock to talk. “What is going on?” You asked again, voice growing louder.
Your conversation drew attention, and soon two more men you didn’t recognize but felt the same familiarity of entered the room.
“Is everything okay?” Asked the one with huge muscles. “We heard you yelling.”
“I think Chan’s gone crazy,” replied the squirrel guy. “That, or he’s playing a really weird prank on me.”
“Who are you? Where am I?” You asked, ignoring their words. You were scared now, very much so, because you were not dreaming which meant somehow you had left your room and ended up in this house being called ‘Chan’ instead of your name.
“You’re at home. In our living room. What the hell is wrong with you, Chan?” Asked the third man, who had the most insane face card you’d ever seen.
“I don’t know,” you said, voice quiet and shaky. “I- I need to use the bathroom.” You quickly rushed past the confused men, down the hallway and through a door, somehow getting to the bathroom on the first try. How did you know this room was the bathroom? It was like your body knew, even though your mind didn’t.
You turned to the mirror, hoping to regain your bearings, but instead let out a yelp of surprise at what greeted you. Looking back at you in the mirror wasn’t you, but a man.
Well, not just a man. The most gorgeous man you’d ever seen. Pink lips, wavy black hair, dark brown eyes, all combining to form a man who, if you saw on the street, would make you stop walking for a minute just to reconnect with reality, because men should not be allowed to look this good.
But that was besides the point. You were in someone else’s body. In someone else’s house. Talking to their roommates. How the fuck did this happen? What was going on?
A quiet knock sounded on the door, and you opened it after hesitating for a second. All three men were standing, worried, in the doorway.
“I’m not Chan,” you blurted, needing to express the situation to someone, no matter how insane you might sound. When they looked at you with blank faces, you continued. “This isn’t my body. I don’t know what’s happening. I was in my room, in my house, and then I looked up and I was here and I’m so confused and I don’t know what’s going on and–” Your rambling was cut off by hands resting on your shoulders, pulling you out of your panic.
It was the buff man, now looking you in the eyes, trying to calm you down. “It’s okay. You’re okay. I think I know what’s happening.”
“You do?” You asked at the same time as the squirrel man and face card man.
“Body switching. It’s a soulmate mark, though it’s really rare. You don’t have some other mark, do you?”
“No.”
“Chan doesn’t either,” face card man chimed in, putting the pieces together. “Oh, that’s crazy! Body, switching, holy shit.”
Well. It seemed your soulmark wasn’t a mystery anymore. And it definitely wasn’t boring, or based on luck—this was all fate.
The boys led you back to the living room, sitting down on the couch. They introduced themselves, and you found out that the squirrel man was Jisung, the face card man was Hyunjin, and the buff man was Changbin. You didn’t know why those names sounded so familiar.
You and the boys talked for a while, growing more comfortable with each other as time went on. Your soulmate’s roommates were really nice, and hilarious. Also, gorgeous. You didn’t understand how all four of these men could be so beautiful. It was unusual.
Not long after, you felt another wave of dizziness wash over you, and you were back on your couch.
–
When Chan suddenly found himself in a stranger's room, alone, he didn’t know what to think. He pulled his phone from his pocket, hoping to check his location or call a friend or do anything to help him get his bearings, but immediately realized that what he held was not his phone.
A quick check in the phone camera revealed a pretty girl he’d never seen before, but then the information registered and he blanched because why was the camera showing him a random girl and not his own face?
After a bit of thinking and a lot of stressing, he finally came to the conclusion that this was his soulmark. It calmed him down, having an answer, but his mind was still reeling. Body switching was an incredibly rare mark, and it was so sparsely documented that he had little idea what it actually entailed. All he knew was that the two of you would keep switching bodies at random until he met you in person.
He didn’t want to invade your privacy, but Chan was also bored and extremely curious, so after a short internal debate, he began looking around your house. It was small, one bedroom, a bathroom, a living room and a kitchen. Not very big, but enough for one person to live comfortably.
It was warmly decorated, with soft rugs, plants on every shelf, ceramic bowls holding random items and various posters brightening the walls. It was very homey. He liked it.
A bit more observation revealed that you were a student—a fact which almost sent Chan into a spiral before he realized, with a wild amount of relief, that you were a grad student—textbooks and notebook paper littered all over your desk and kitchen counter, all heavily annotated.
It was too bad you lived alone. He wished he could talk to someone, a roommate or friend or sibling. He wanted to learn more about you. He sat back down on the couch. Before he could consider doing anything more, the same dizzy feeling came over him and he was back in his own house.
Hyunjin, Changbin, and Jisung were all on the couch with him, looking at him expectantly.
“Are you… back?” asked Jisung.
“Yeah, I’m back.”
His friends broke into exclamations immediately.
“Oh my god-!”
“Can you believe-!”
“-seemed really sweet-!”
“-your soulmate!”
Chan laughed at his friend’s shock. “Yeah,” was all he said. He was happy.
–
“Did you get his number?”
You looked at your friend blankly. It had been a day since your body switching experience, and you were finally able to tell your friend about it. You didn’t feel like it was something to share through text, so you’d forced her out to get coffee with you this morning before class.
She’d freaked out, asked a million questions that you tried your best to answer, and froze. Then, she’d asked this. You stopped. Thought for a second. Then another second.
“Shit.”
“Are you kidding me, [Y/N]? You didn’t get his number? This is your soulmate, for god’s sake, you need his number!” She took a furious sip of her iced latte.
“I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about it. I was so caught up in the moment, at first, and then I was too busy talking with his roommates.”
Yuna looked at you, thinking. “So, just how gorgeous were they?”
You let out a small laugh. You’d only briefly mentioned that part during your retelling, but it seemed she’d come back around to the topic.
“Insanely. Like, they could all be male models. And my soulmate, god, he was just perfect. I can’t believe it.”
“Girl, you’ve got your work cut out for you. If your man really is that gorgeous.”
You didn’t miss the subtle jab at your appearance, but you didn’t take offense. Yuna was right, you really could stand to look a little better. You could be skinnier, put on makeup more often, wear cuter outfits. Your appearance has always been a pretty big insecurity of yours, and this new soulmate thing definitely wasn’t going to help.
You hadn’t told Yuna Chan’s name, some part of you feeling like it was better to keep it secret. You couldn’t ignore the nagging inside you that you recognized it, somehow, so when you got home you looked him up on your computer.
You only had his first name, so it didn’t give you much, but the real shock came when you looked up his and his roommate’s names all at once.
Stray Kids.
Your soulmate was the leader of Stray Kids. The incredibly famous, incredibly talented K-pop group. You didn’t really listen to their music, but you’d heard of them before and seen pictures, which was why all the boys looked so familiar to you.
You spent a lot of time after that researching, finding pictures and reading articles, unable to stop yourself.
Yeah, this was definitely not good for your self-esteem.
–
The second time you switched, it was right before class started. You were sitting near the back of the lecture hall, pulling out your notebook and pens—this teacher didn’t like students using their computers in class—when you felt that same dizziness.
You were in a big, open room, mirrors taking up an entire wall and smooth floors underneath you. It was entirely void of furniture, the only items being various bags and water bottles stuffed against the wall and a single table with a computer and speaker on it.
Also, there were seven boys standing around, staring at you.
You recognized Jisung, Hyunjin, and Changbin from last time, and the rest of them from the looking online you’d done. You still weren’t sure of their names, though.
“Hey,” you said, drawing out the word. “I’m back.”
Jisung’s face lit up into a smile. “[Y/N]?”
“Yeah.”
The four boys you hadn’t met were in shock, all speaking over each other.
“Wait, [Y/N]??”
“Chan’s soulmate?”
“You switched again?”
“Oh my god!”
You let out an awkward laugh. You weren’t used to having so much attention on you. “Yeah, that’s right. It’s nice to meet you all.”
The rest of the boys introduced themselves to you—Felix, Seungmin, Jeongin, Minho.
After you’d gotten over the initial shock of switching again and meeting new people, you realized where you were. The lack of furniture, mirrors, and speaker? This was a dance studio.
You turned to the three roommates with a bone to pick. “Hey, you guys didn’t tell me you were idols! I would’ve appreciated the information, y’know.”
“Sorry, it slipped my mind!” said Jisung.
“Yeah, I didn’t even think to mention it,” added Hyunjin.
Changbin just shrugged.
You huffed, not actually upset.
“I hate to say this, but we do kind of have to practice our dance while we’re here. We don’t have much time in the studio today,” Minho said.
“[Y/N], you should watch,” Felix exclaimed.
“Well, she’s in Chan’s body. Do you think she knows the choreo?”
“Oh, that would be cool!”
“I kind of doubt it.”
You just listened as the group argued over whether or not you would know the dance if they put the music on. It was cute. They seemed like a really nice group of friends. You wished your friends were like this. You didn’t have many, but even the friends you did have weren’t as lively or as fun.
“Well, let’s just see, shall we?” You joined the conversation, feeling bad that you were stopping them from practicing.
After a series of agreements, everyone got into their positions. Minho showed you where to stand, then moved to start the music.
As soon as it started playing, you felt something take over your body. Muscle memory, but on another level. You immediately started moving, not at all knowing what you were doing or how you were doing it but somehow managing to stay in time with the members and hit the right moves.
It was an amazing feeling. You weren’t a particularly active person, spending much of your time studying or going to class, so dancing like this felt… freeing.
You messed up a few times but fixed yourself and kept going until the song ended. When you finally stopped dancing, the muscle memory no longer overtaking you, you looked around and saw everyone looking at you. They seemed to do that a lot. You didn’t like it.
“What?”
“That was amazing!”
“You knew the whole dance!”
You flushed, embarrassed at the praise. “Well, I did mess up a few times.”
“In the exact spots that Chan always messes up,” Seungmin added quietly, more to himself than the group.
“Wait, really?”
“Body switching is so cool.”
You laughed at the boys’ antics. This was fun.
–
Chan was in a class. In school. God, he did not miss this. The professor had been talking for almost an hour about the most boring and incomprehensible thing he’d ever heard. He wanted badly to zone out, or to just leave, but he knew he couldn’t. For your sake, he couldn’t.
When the class finally ended, Chan almost jumped for joy, packing up your bag, very ready to leave. As he exited the lecture hall, he heard a girl yelling your name. He turned, seeing two girls walking up to him.
“[Y/N], hey! How have you been?” One girl asked.
“Yeah, it feels like it’s been forever since we hung out!” The other added.
“Oh, I–” Chan paused. He wanted to talk to your friends, that was true, but he wasn’t sure how close you were to these girls. He didn’t know if you’d told them about the soulmark, or if you even wanted them to know. He figured he wouldn’t risk it. “I’m good. Yeah it’s – it’s been a while. We should make plans soon.” If he couldn’t tell them they’d switched, then he’d just talk to them as you. Easy enough, right?
“Are you free right now? Let’s go to lunch!”
At the question, Chan somehow immediately knew that yes, he was free, and that he didn’t have another class until the next morning. He didn’t know how he knew that. He agreed to lunch, walking with the girls to the dining hall. He felt something else, this time a sense of dread. Weird. He ignored it.
Listening to the girls talk to each other as they walked, he learned that their names were Jiyeon and Nari. They talked mostly to each other, only sometimes asking him questions to let him join in the conversation. Kind of odd, considering they had asked him to lunch.
The three of them bought lunch at the dining hall and found a seat by the windows. Jiyeon and Nari immediately began gossipping about various other people and events that Chan pretended to understand. He couldn’t help but notice how mean they were, though. He really hoped that the girls they were talking about weren’t their friends, because Jiyeon and Nari ripped into them with no remorse, criticizing outfits and new haircuts and talking about situations that they weren’t even a part of.
Chan hoped that you weren’t like this. He didn’t want his soulmate to be as mean as her friends were—if these even were your friends. From how little they included him in the conversation, he was starting to think that maybe you weren’t very close with them. It was an odd dynamic.
When they did say something to Chan, it was usually a poorly-hidden jab or passive aggressive comment that he was beginning to realize wasn’t in good spirit. They made fun of a bad outfit they’d seen, then described it as being similar to a specific piece of clothing you owned. They talked about a difficult class they were taking, then said, “even you wouldn’t be able to get an A.” On the surface it seemed harmless, but the way they said it made Chan feel like they were making fun of you.
Chan was starting to think of these girls as bullies more than friends. He understood now why he felt that sense of dread when he agreed to hang out. That must’ve been a gut feeling from you, who knew how these girls really were.
As much as he hated the way they treated you, it did bring him some relief to know that you weren’t like them. Which he pretty much knew already, from the raving reviews he’d received from his roommates after the first switch.
When he finished his lunch and watched as the girls shared a look with each other about it, he knew it was time to leave.
“Wow, the dining hall food must have been really good today,” Jiyeon said. It would have seemed like an innocent comment if Nari hadn’t snorted quietly in response, clearly at your expense.
Chan put the fakest smile he could on his face. “I actually have to go now. I just remembered I have plans. See you guys later,” he excused himself, quickly throwing out his trash and leaving the premises. He wished he could have defended you more or been a little more direct, but he knew it wasn’t fair of him to do anything in your body that might come back to bite you later. So, he left peacefully. For now.
Chan didn’t like your friends.
–
When you returned to your body, you were in a good mood. You’d had a lot of fun hanging out with the boys. You thought about what Chan might have done in your life today, and immediately your smile dropped. Your class. Shit.
It was an important one—well, they were all important to you, but that was beside the point—so not being actually present in class today to remember anything wasn’t good. This teacher was awful, never posting any notes or reviews online, explaining that it was your fault if you missed class or didn’t pay attention. You could ask someone else for notes, but the only friends you had in that class were Jiyeon and Nari, and there was no way in hell you were asking them for anything. You were not going to open that can of worms.
In the middle of your internal panic, you felt a sudden urge to check your notebook. You didn’t know why, but you listened to it, pulling it from your bag and flipping to the most recent page.
What greeted you was notes, meticulously written, documenting the entire class you’d missed. Well, you hadn’t actually missed it. Chan was there. Chan was there, and he’d taken notes so that you wouldn’t fall behind. Tears welled up in your eyes that you quickly blinked away.
He was so nice. He was gorgeous, and kind, and thoughtful. You didn’t deserve him. Why would the universe pair you with someone so perfect? He was too good for you.
Once you’d gotten over your slight internal breakdown, you noticed something in the top corner of your notes. It was a message from Chan. All it said was ‘text me :)’ with his number written underneath. You broke into a smile. You’d forgotten, yet again, to leave your number for him, but thankfully he hadn’t forgotten.
You added it into your phone, but paused, finger hovering over the keyboard. What were you supposed to say to him? ‘Hi, I’m your soulmate’? Maybe. Simple was probably better. You tried not to overthink it. He was the one who told you to text him, after all.
You typed out a simple ‘hi,’ hitting send before you could regret it. Then, you added, ‘this is [Y/N]!’ Good enough.
You set your phone down, but felt a buzz and immediately picked it back up. Chan sure was a fast texter.
When you looked at the notification, you saw that it wasn’t Chan replying, no, it was someone much worse. It was Jiyeon.
‘Hey girl, you seemed a little off at lunch today. I don’t know what’s wrong, but I hope you feel better! We should definitely do it again soon!’
You stared blankly at your phone. You had lunch today. With Jiyeon. Chan had lunch with Jiyeon. Yeah, that wasn’t good.
The text seemed nice. If anyone else was looking at it, they would think it was sweet, a friend checking in on you. But you knew better. When Jiyeon called you ‘off,’ that meant that you hadn’t done a good enough job at hiding your reactions to her insults. When you were too quiet, your face showed a hint of the hurt you felt, or, god forbid, you actually said something back to her and defended yourself. That was you being ‘off.’
You didn’t know what they’d said to Chan, or how he’d reacted, and honestly you didn’t want to know. You’d rather just forget it happened. You hoped Chan forgot it, too.
So, when he replied to your text a few minutes later with a ‘hey!!’ you didn’t say anything about it.
–
It had been a few weeks since you and Chan had last switched bodies. You’d been texting ever since he left his number, and he had to say, he really enjoyed it.
After the initial period of awkwardness, you’d warmed up to each other, and now texted each other every day. You would text just to talk about random things that happened throughout the day. Chan talked a lot about the kids’ antics, which you enjoyed since you’d met them all. You only really talked about your classes and what you were doing, which was usually just studying or reading.
It made Chan a little sad, that you didn’t seem to do much else. He knew that law school was serious, but that shouldn’t mean that you never got to do anything fun. He hoped that you were doing more fun things than you let on, but you never let a conversation get very far. You seemed like an open book, but the more Chan thought about it, he realized that he actually didn’t know very much about you.
He hoped that you were just shy and still getting to know him; maybe you’d tell him more later. After all, though it had seemed like you’d known each other for a while, you’d only had that first switching experience a little under a month ago.
He would learn more about you soon, anyway. It was hard not to when he was in your body, in your life.
–
You weren’t doing very well. Finals were approaching, and you stayed up late every night to study. You were exhausted, not getting anywhere near enough sleep, and were often so caught up in your tasks that you forgot to eat.
You were also lonely. You didn’t have very many friends, and the ones you did have were just as busy as you. You lived alone, so you didn’t have many interactions throughout the day. The only person you had was Chan. His texts were the only things keeping you going, encouraging you and giving you someone to talk to.
It didn’t help that after finals, you had to visit home for a week. You hated being home. Your eomeoni never got off your back about anything, always finding something to criticize. If you didn’t do well on finals, it would be about your grades. About not being able to make it as a lawyer. Plus, she never let a single visit go by without mentioning that you had gained weight and needed to ‘take care of yourself,’ even if you’d actually lost weight since you’d last seen her. It didn’t matter that you were a full adult in grad school. She was always the same.
So, with all that in mind, you studied even harder, forgot to eat even more, and isolated yourself in your apartment. You wanted to give your eomeoni as little as she could to insult, even though you knew she’d manage to find something anyway.
Still, you made sure to keep your texts to Chan upbeat and happy. He didn’t need to know about this. It was your problem, not his. He probably already didn’t like having you as his soulmate, and this would just solidify that in his mind.
–
Chan was worried about you. You were texting him less often, and although nothing in them implied something was wrong, he just felt… off. Something felt wrong within him, and he thought it had to be traced back to the soulmate bond. Something was wrong with you. He just wished he knew how to fix it.
He was lounging on a couch backstage, waiting for his turn for hair and makeup before an interview, when he felt that familiar dizziness that had eluded him for weeks.
All he could think about before his vision blacked out was that this was not good timing.
He regained his sight to find himself in an entirely unfamiliar location. He was in a bedroom, sitting at a desk with various makeup products in front of him. He assumed you’d been doing your makeup when you’d switched—funny coincidence.
Still, he had no idea where he was. He’d been in every room of your apartment, and this was not it. He noticed some of your items strewn about the room. Were you at a parent’s house, maybe? A friend’s?
As he stood up to get a better look around, a sudden wave of exhaustion and dizziness washed over him, though not the comforting dizziness that accompanied a body switch. No, a terrifying one that had him gripping the desk to stay upright. Why was he so tired, and why did he feel so awful? Were you sick?
A few seconds later, your phone began ringing, violently vibrating against the wooden desk. He picked it up, noticing that it was his number that was calling. Ah, so it was you. He smiled.
“Hey.”
“Chan,” your—his—shaky voice greeted him, quickly dropping his smile.
“[Y/N]? What’s wrong?” He asked.
“Chan, you need to listen to me. Please, this is important,” your stressed tone had him stressed, too, though he still couldn’t help but think how weird it was to hear his own voice over the phone. You two had never called before, only texted, so this was new.
“Okay, I’m listening.”
“Chan, you’re at my parents’ house right now. I’m home for a week over break.” So he’d guessed right. You continued, “my parents don’t know about the body switching. I didn’t tell them anything. So you can’t say anything, okay? Please, I need you to pretend you’re me.”
Chan froze. It had been a month, and you still hadn’t told your parents? “Why haven’t you told them?” He asked. “Is something else wrong? [Y/N], please, talk to me.”
After a moment’s hesitation and quiet, shaky breath, you responded. “Chan, my eomeoni and my abeoji aren’t– they aren’t nice people. They’re not nice to me, so they won’t be nice to you today. I don’t talk to them very often, so I haven't had a chance yet. I was– I was going to tell them this week.” Your voice grew quieter. “But I don’t want that to fall on you. So you need to pretend, please.”
Chan’s heart ached for you. “Of course, I can pretend.”
You let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you. And, please try not to let them get to you. They’re talking about me, not you. And don’t try to defend me, either. It just makes things worse. Okay?”
Chan was getting nervous. What could they possibly be like to preempt this kind of conversation? “Okay. Oh, by the way, you have your work cut out for you today, too.”
“What do you mean?”
“We have an interview today. In, like, an hour. I don’t know where you’re calling me from, but you need to go get your hair and makeup done,” Chan explained. When he received no response, he kept going. “And I’m the leader, so they’re going to expect me to talk the most—you to talk the most.”
“What??” You blanched.
“Yeah. I’m sorry, sweetheart,” the term of endearment slipped from his mouth easily. “The boys will help you. Tell them what’s going on, and they’ll cover for you if you need it. It’ll be okay.” He tried his best to sound reassuring, not wanting to add any more stress onto what he knew you were already feeling.
“Oh – okay. Um, I should go, then. Bye,” you said.
“Bye,” Chan replied, hanging up the call.
He tried not to show it on the call, but your words set him on edge. He had no idea what he was about to encounter when he went downstairs. He needed to prepare himself.
He looked in the mirror, making sure he looked okay. You had been in the middle of doing makeup, so he didn’t want to go downstairs with only half his face done or something. When he was sure that the makeup looked fine and he was dressed in a normal outfit, he left the room. Your phone told him it was ten in the morning.
He entered the kitchen, noticing who he assumed was your mother sitting at the table, reading a newspaper. She looked up at his arrival.
“Oh, look who’s finally up. Really, [Y/N], you need to wake up earlier. You won’t get anything done when you sleep in half the day.”
Wow. What a lovely first thing to hear in the morning.
“Uh– sorry, eomeoni,” Chan replied, using the same word you’d used to refer to your mother earlier.
She barely acknowledged the apology, turning back to her newspaper. After a long minute of silence, she started talking again, not looking up from the paper. “Your abeoji and I are going out with friends today for lunch. You’ll have to fend for yourself. We’re having dinner together tonight, though, so be sure you’re home for that.”
“Yes, eomeoni.”
It seemed that that was the end of the conversation. Chan opened the fridge, looking for something to eat. He was starving. There wasn’t much in there, so he settled for cereal and some fruit.
He felt wildly uncomfortable. This was your parents’ home, and he had no idea how to act. What did you normally do when you were here? Where did you sit, what did you talk about, did you even talk at all? He didn’t want to give himself away, but also had no clue what to do. He should’ve asked, but he knew he couldn’t now. You were busy in an interview.
A bit later, your parents left for their lunch plans. Chan let out a sigh of relief, glad that he didn’t have to be under scrutiny anymore. Not that your parents had even glanced his way or said a word to him since breakfast.
He wasn’t used to this. His parents were kind, he loved his siblings, and their home was always a lively one. It was nothing like this.
He decided to go for a walk. He didn’t know where he was, so he figured a little tour of the neighborhood could be a fun way to pass the time.
He quickly learned that you’d grown up in a small, adorable town. The center wasn’t a far walk from your house, so he’d found it soon into his walk. He went in and out of stores, browsing and talking to the workers and townspeople. They all seemed to know you. Almost everyone he walked by waved or said hi, and some even stopped to chat and ask about law school. He tried his best to come up with vague but satisfying answers.
He got lunch in town, finally returning home hours later. He really liked it here. It was quaint, and very homey. Though he couldn’t ignore how an uncomfortable feeling settled over him as soon as he walked back through the threshold of your house.
He was surprised that he was still in your body. The switches had never lasted longer than a few hours, but it seemed that today was different. Your parents hadn’t returned yet, so he went back to your room and opened the computer that was sitting on your desk. He’d been meaning to do some more research on his soulmark, but hadn’t had a chance. Now was as good a time as any.
Though information was scarce due to the rarity of the soulmark, he still found a few good articles and webpages. Soulmates with this mark would switch bodies at random, starting on a random date and not stopping until they met in person. The longer they went without meeting, the more often the switches would occur and the longer they’d last.
Chan thought about this. Things had been okay so far, but with his job, switches were bound to happen at inopportune times if they became a more common occurrence. Today was just the start of that, with you being forced to do an interview for him. He didn’t even want to think about what would happen if you switched during an exam. He would definitely fail it, and he would never forgive himself. He hoped it didn’t come to that.
He needed to meet you, and soon. He knew you went to a university in Seoul, so you really couldn’t be very far from each other. He just needed to find a time to meet you. He hoped you would be okay with that—you seemed like the type to want to take things slow.
Some time later, Chan heard your eomeoni calling you down for dinner. Time had flown by, it seemed. He’d hoped that you would’ve switched back by now, because he really wasn’t prepared for a whole dinner with your parents. He didn’t know what to say. He took a second to hope that everything would go well, and then walked downstairs.
Your parents were already sitting at the table, so Chan sat in the only available seat left, across from them. Dinner started silently, no one saying a thing as they served dinner onto their plates. Finally, your eomeoni spoke.
“So, [Y/N]. How did you do on finals?”
The information came to Chan’s brain immediately, words coming out of his mouth before he could even think them. “Good, eomeoni. I passed them all. I emailed you all my scores, remember?” Chan was surprised by his own words, but tried not to show it. This must be muscle memory, or something. He liked it. It would definitely help him get through dinner.
“Yes, I did see them,” she replied, tone dismissive. Chan wondered why she would ask if she already knew what they were. “You passed, but that’s it. Really, [Y/N], an eighty-five on Administrative Law? A ninety on Civil Procedure? You can do better.”
Chan had to stop himself from showing the absolute shock he felt on his face. Those scores were amazing, if you asked him. You were in law school in one of the most prestigious universities in the country, and the lowest scores you received on finals were an eighty-five and a ninety? To him, that made you a genius. He didn’t understand why your eomeoni thought they were so bad.
He tried to take your advice to not defend you, but he couldn’t just let it go. “Those are good scores, eomeoni. Much better than most other people in my classes.”
“I don’t care about the other people in your classes, I care about you. And I know you can do better,” she rebutted immediately. Chan had no idea what to say to that. “Work harder next time.”
After a long moment of inner struggle, Chan replied, “yes, eomeoni.” The words came to him so easily, like he’d said them a million times before in a million conversations just like this. That was probably exactly right, he realized, for you.
The conversation continued after that, your mother reminding him very much of your friends, Jiyeon and Nari—she insulted so many people that Chan assumed were her friends or neighbors, speaking scathing comments about things that didn’t seem very serious to Chan. She soon turned her insults onto you, talking about how a friend’s daughter “really needs to lose some weight, and speaking of that, you seem like you’ve changed since last break too, [Y/N].”
She mentioned it casually, but it was clear by the emphasis she put on ‘changed’ and the tone of her voice that she had been looking for a way to bring the topic up.
“Really, honey, what do I tell you every time? That just because you need to spend so much time studying, that doesn’t give you an excuse to stop eating healthy.”
Chan wasn’t sure what to say. He’d heard many conversations like this before, most of them back as a trainee when he’d overheard managers talking to the female trainees. They were harsh conversations, but it was always direct, to the point, and not as passively cruel as your eomeoni was currently being. Also, you weren’t even an idol! Chan disagreed with the dieting culture as a whole for idols, but your mother didn’t even have that excuse. You were just a regular girl, who, by the way, was absolutely just fine the way you were. Chan didn’t think you needed to change anything about yourself.
Still, Chan didn’t know quite what to say to that, and felt something in his head urging him not to reply. Before he could decide what to do, your eomeoni changed the topic. “But really, honey, if you want to be unhealthy and are fine with the way you look, that’s your choice. Anyway, did you see Mrs. Choi’s daughter in town today? She really needs to fix–” Chan stopped listening, your mother’s words becoming a blur in his head as he fumed in anger. His fists were clenched under the table so hard it almost hurt, and he was sure that if anyone looked at him, his feelings would be made perfectly clear by his expression.
He was going to say something. He was. You didn’t deserve to be spoken about like this. He didn’t care that you said not to defend you, not anymore. He opened his mouth to speak—
—and felt a sudden, familiar wave of dizziness. No. Not right now, not now. He tried to fight it, but Chan was powerless to the will of the universe. He opened his eyes and was back in his own body.
–
You had prayed to not switch bodies with Chan while visiting your parents. You begged, pleaded with the universe, not ready for Chan to see that part of your life. You were not listened to.
When you switched, you almost fell into a full-blown panic attack, painfully aware of what Chan was going to encounter in your life today. You couldn’t, though. Not here. Actually, where were you?
Distracting yourself from your inner panic, you looked around. You were in some sort of dressing room, sitting on a couch with Felix and Jeongin, who were both busy on their phones. Lining the walls were small desks covered in makeup products and mirrors with bright lights hanging on the walls in front of them. The room was bustling, staff members running around, yelling things, calling times that had no meaning to you.
You didn’t care. Wherever you were, whatever was happening, it could wait. You needed to call Chan.
You grabbed your phone, jumping up from the couch and slipping out the door, finding a bathroom to hide yourself in. On your way out, you missed Felix and Jeongin’s surprised glances and confused “where are you going”s.
You sunk down on the bathroom floor and unlocked Chan’s phone, extremely grateful for facial recognition. He picked up immediately.
Voice shaky and holding back tears, you were sure you sounded awful, but you didn’t care as you quickly explained the situation. You were thankful for Chan’s hesitant agreement, hoping that he wouldn’t change his mind when he actually met your parents.
You stalled at his mention of the interview. “What??” you said into the phone, already falling back into the panic you’d barely managed to wrench yourself out of. Chan’s assurance that the boys would help you calmed you down a bit, but you ended the call quickly after, not wanting to stress him out too much with your worries.
An interview. That’s why everyone was getting their makeup done and staff was running around like someone was chasing them. You needed to get back.
You returned, relief dawning on Felix and Jeongin’s faces as soon as they saw you.
“Chan! Oh, thank god you’re back. Where did you go? Are you okay?” Felix asked.
“It’s your turn for makeup,” Jeongin said, gesturing to a waiting makeup artist, antsy with impatience.
You felt disconnected from your body, unsure what to do. “Oh, okay,” you said, coming out much calmer than you felt, body on autopilot as you sat down in the empty chair.
As the artist began applying product to your face, you saw realization dawn on Jeongin’s face. “Wait, Chan, did you–”
“Yes,” you cut him off, voice quiet and laced with anxiety.
Felix gasped. “Oh, shit, you swi–”
Minho cut Felix off this time with a harsh glare, apparently having overheard the conversation. “Not here, Felix,” he said, eyes flitting to the various staff members within earshot.
“Right, sorry,” Felix replied. Before he could say anything else, he was ushered away to another chair to get his own makeup done. Minho, seemingly all made-up with nowhere else to be, stayed by your side as you got your own make up done. When your artist left for a minute to find an eyeliner she’d let someone else borrow, Minho immediately began talking to you in a low tone.
“This is an interview about our new album. Have you listened to it?” You nodded, and he continued, “okay, good. Then if someone asks about a song or something, just answer as truthfully as possible. If any of that dance muscle memory works with talking, too, use that. If you look like you need help, we’ll jump in. I’ll tell everyone else. Okay?”
You stared at him for a second, still taking in the barrage of information he’d just relayed to you. Your brain, overwhelmed from everything that had happened in the last ten minutes, was a bit slow on the uptake.
“Okay,” you replied eventually. The make-up artist came back, then, effectively ending your conversation. Minho gave you a reassuring pat on the shoulder before walking off to inform the others.
The next half hour passed in a blur. You were ushered from room to room, finishing your makeup, changing into your interview outfit, getting your hair done. Before you knew it, you were sitting in a comfy chair with the seven other boys, cameras pointed towards you and lights shining bright in your eyes.
A brief countdown sounded, and the interview began.
As soon as the cameras turned on, you felt something take over your body. An unknown force pushed you out of the driver’s seat and you were left to observe, your body acting on its own, just like in dance practice. You answered questions with words you didn’t even think of before you spoke them, yet as you talked you knew it to be true.
You didn’t want to push the limits of whatever this was that was helping you, so you stayed relatively quiet, letting the other members do most of the talking. Still, when a question was directed toward you, you somehow knew exactly what to say, playing the perfect ‘Bang Chan’ role.
The interview finished, and with the sound of the cameras being turned off, you felt yourself come back to your body. Internally, you mused how Chan must have his idol persona drilled into him for it to be able to overtake you so fully when the cameras were on.
The minute you and the other boys were left alone to get changed back, you were tackled into a hug by multiple members.
“[Y/N], that was amazing!”
“You’re a natural!”
“I would’ve never been able to tell it wasn’t Chan!”
You blushed at the praise, unused to so much attention. “Thanks, guys,” you said softly.
The eight of you got unready and then were taken back to the company for the rest of the day’s schedule, which consisted solely of dance and voice practices—no more public appearances for you today, thank god.
When you finally got a minute to yourself on the car ride back to the dorms, you remembered Chan, and where you’d left him today. Your stomach sank. You’d been so busy that you forgot all about it, but now, you were terrified. You hoped your parents hadn’t done anything crazy or said anything particularly mean to him, though you knew that was highly unlikely.
He hadn’t texted you, but that was probably just because he knew you’d be busy. Now that you thought about it, you’d been switched for quite a long time today—much longer than usual. The universe seemed like it was out to get you, switching you today of all days and having it last for the entire day.
The boys noticed you lost in your thoughts and tried to ask what was wrong, but you just gave a vague answer and changed the subject. There was no reason to involve them in your own issues. It wasn’t fair to them.
Seeing that you weren’t going to give them a real answer, they instead decided to just be very rowdy and energetic, all coming back to Chan’s shared dorm at the end of the day. You played video games and had dinner, and you had to admit, it was fun. Chan was lucky to have such good friends.
Still, when the dizziness took over your vision, you almost felt thankful. You didn’t think you could handle all the happiness anymore. You didn’t deserve it. Chan deserved to be having fun with his friends right now, not stuck in your miserable childhood home with your parents.
Your vision cleared, and you found yourself at your parents’ kitchen table, untouched food in front of you. Your mom was in the middle of one of her usual rants, talking about the latest neighborhood gossip—which girl had found a bad influence of a boyfriend, which old high school acquaintance was currently doing better than you in life, the usual. You weren’t even a little bit surprised that your parents hadn’t noticed the switch. You never talked much at dinner anyways.
–
Chan’s concern for you grew by the day.
It had been a week since the last switch. You were back in your apartment now, and Chan felt a surprising amount of relief at knowing you weren’t at your parents’ place anymore. He’d texted you the day after the switch, but you’d brushed him off. You said it was fine, your eomeoni was always like that, it wasn’t that serious, and so on. Chan didn’t believe you.
Chan was worried about a lot of things. He was worried about your friends, your parents, your over-studying, your eating habits, your sleep schedule (if that exhaustion he felt when he first entered your body was anything to go off). He was worried. But he didn’t want to ask you about it, he didn’t want to seem like an overbearing boyfriend. You weren’t even technically dating, since you hadn’t had that conversation yet, hadn’t even met in person, but Chan wondered if being soulmates allowed him to breach those topics.
Still, even being soulmates, Chan never found a time he felt comfortable bringing any of it up. It didn’t help that you primarily talked through text, with calls being few and far between, and text didn’t seem like the right method of communication for this conversation. So he waited.
Chan did the next best thing: he talked to his friends about it. He hated to share your personal issues with them, but they were basically your friends too, he reasoned, and it was important. He was trying to help you.
“Wow, they sound awful,” Jisung said after Chan told them all about his experience with your parents.
“God, no wonder she ran off so fast to call you. She looked really scared,” Felix added, remembering your panicked eyes as you’d jumped off the couch that day.
“I don’t know what to do. Her parents are awful, and so are her friends. Or, at least, the ones I’ve met. I don’t know if she has anyone to lean on, and she won’t talk to me,” Chan explained, defeated. “I don’t know how to help her.”
“You need to see her. In person. Maybe you’d get through to her then,” Hyunjin suggested.
“I really want to, but you know how busy we are right now. I’d need to plan a whole outing, which wouldn’t be able to happen for weeks, and I don’t even know what I’d tell the company,” Chan replied.
“Ah, right. They don’t know,” Changbin said. Chan had decided not to tell anyone but the boys about the soulmark, worrying about what the company might do. Force you two to see each other so the switching would stop and then ban you from seeing each other again? That seemed most likely. JYPE wasn’t exactly the biggest supporter of idol relationships, even if it was soulmates.
The conversation had continued with more suggestions, but it was fruitless. There was nothing Chan could do for you right now. He felt better that the boys knew, though. Maybe next time you switched, they could talk to you for him.
–
You were spiraling. After the week of the cruel and unusual punishment that is your parents’ house, you were finally back at your apartment. You were supposed to be better now that you were back—that’s what you told yourself every day of last week until it was time to come home—but you were failing even at that.
Being back home meant being back at school, so you were immediately back on your grind, staying late at the library to study, or in your kitchen with the lights on late into the night.
You were eating less, too. Much less. You hated to say it, but your eomeoni had gotten to you. The combination of her comments all throughout the week, your friends’ regular digs, and your stress at having Chan as your soulmate broke you. It wasn’t even very difficult, either. You were always in class or studying, so you’d often forget to eat or not notice your hunger anyway.
You were eating less than you ever had before, skipping most meals but always making sure to have just enough in your system to get you through the day. The last thing you wanted was to collapse in front of someone—it was mortifying even to think about.
What spurred you on even more was the encouragement you were receiving. Jiyeon and Nari had stopped you after class again this week, wanting to walk with you and chat, and they both complimented you, saying “girl, you look good!” It was a genuine comment, which threw you for a loop, because you’d never heard an actual compliment from them the entire time you’d known them. Yuna, your closest friend, had also noticed, telling you quite directly that you looked “so skinny, oh my god.”
You were glad. For the compliments, for one, but also for the fact that they didn’t seem to notice the heavy eye bags you tried so hard to cover or the effort it took for you to walk long distances. You were just so tired lately. It was okay, though. Nothing you couldn’t handle.
Chan texted you a lot, which only increased the guilt you felt for putting this on him. You tried your best to brush it off, change the topic, tell him you were doing fine, but he just wouldn’t let it go. You could tell that he was trying to seem unbothered, but the did you eat yet texts every day and the good night, get some rest texts every night gave him away, especially because you knew Chan wasn’t going to bed when he texted you good night. His workaholic tendencies and insomnia kept him up just as late as you, if not later, you were sure.
Chan was so sweet, so caring, and it was getting harder to ignore the voice in your head that told you you didn’t deserve him. It got louder every day, every time he texted you a reminder to eat and you lied that you’d eaten already, every time he asked how your day was and you told him it was great. You were a burden, an exhausted, ugly burden with too many problems and you couldn’t bear the thought of Chan taking them on for you. It wasn’t his job—his job was to be an idol, and he already had plenty on his plate that came with that. You just needed him to stop worrying about you. You could take care of yourself.
–
Last time you and Chan had switched, Chan complained about the timing. Well, the universe must have heard him and decided to one-up itself, because this had to be the worst timing in the world.
He and the rest of the Stray Kids were backstage at an awards show, waiting to perform. They watched in the wings as another group performed. After that, there would be an award and a speech, and then they would go on to perform.
As he stood, half watching and half listening to his members’ whispered conversations with each other, he felt the all too familiar and in this moment, incredibly awful feeling of dizziness that accompanied a body switch.
As soon as he opened his eyes to his new surroundings—the kitchen table of your apartment—a huge wave of exhaustion and hunger and a different, worse kind of dizziness crashed over him, and he was sure he would’ve collapsed to the ground if he weren’t already sitting down.
He didn’t know how long he sat there, hands gripping the table, desperate for something to ground himself while he recovered from and adjusted to the drastic change in feeling. He felt something like this last time you’d switched, but it wasn’t anywhere close to this level. When he’d finally recovered enough for thoughts to get through his head again, he swore. Loud and harsh and unlike him, but he couldn’t help it. He’d messed up.
He tried to get through to you, to talk to you, but you kept brushing him off, saying you were fine. And after a while, he started to believe it. At least a little. He could’ve done more, damn it, he should’ve done more. All he’d done for the past two weeks was ask if you were eating and imply for you to go to bed. And for the past two weeks, you’d clearly been lying to him, sending responses only to placate him, to make him believe that you were okay.
But you weren’t okay. And Chan couldn’t help but think that it was all his fault for not noticing.
He needed to do something. He was in your body, right? So what could he do to help? He got his answer from the loud rumble that sounded through your stomach.
Chan slowly stood up, careful not to fall back down onto the chair, and made his way over to your fridge. He internally wondered how you’d gotten anywhere recently, considering how tiring it was just for him to stand up and walk to the fridge.
The fridge was worryingly empty, only holding some fruit and few, scarce leftovers that he assumed were from meals you didn’t finish. He pulled everything out, heating up some old pasta and washing and cutting the fruit into a bowl. If you wouldn’t eat, then he would have to do it for you.
He ate the pasta quickly, the fruit following soon after. His stomach felt better for a second, glad to finally have some real food in it. Then, it flipped. A sudden but strong wave of nausea shot through him, and he barely made it to the bathroom in time before he was puking out everything he’d just eaten. Fuck.
Of course, he was so fucking stupid. You hadn’t eaten anything substantial in who knows how long, so of course your body wouldn’t react well to a sudden influx of food. He wanted to hit himself for being so dumb.
Once he’d finished emptying his stomach and cleaned himself up, the only thing he had enough energy left to do was stumble to the couch and collapse on it. He didn’t know how long he laid there for until a rush of energy woke his body.
He jerked up, suddenly finding himself standing, back at the awards show (dressing room? he registered sluggishly), surrounded by his friends. He must have been so out of it in your body that he didn’t even feel the dizziness. That wasn’t good.
The complete change in feeling jarred him, again, even though it was a change for the better. His legs wobbled and he pitched forward, managing to catch himself on Changbin’s shoulder. His friend, concerned, quickly moved to help support his weight, letting Chan lean on him until he was able to regain his balance.
“Chan? Are you back? What’s wrong?” Changbin asked.
Chan righted himself, taking a step back to look at everyone. They were all sweaty, out of breath, but glowing—aside from their current worry for him. Chan took stock of his own feelings, finding himself to be a bit tired (though compared to what he’d just felt in your body, he actually felt so energetic he could run a marathon) and adrenaline coursed through him, like it always did after a performance. His eyes widened, remembering.
“Did we perform? Did she perform? How did it go?” He asked instead, in a panic now that he had enough energy to feel anything other than exhaustion.
“Wha- Chan, forget about the performance! What happened to you?”
It was apparently clear that Chan was in a state, but he had no care of how he looked right now. All he cared about was you.
“I’m fine, but [Y/N]’s not. She’s not okay, guys. It’s so much worse than I thought, fuck, it’s bad,” he rambled, unable to stop thinking about how awful he felt for the short time he was in your body, how awful you must have felt for weeks without anyone knowing. “I need to find her, I need to help her. Please, we need to go–”
Seungmin gripped his shoulders. “Chan, calm down. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. Take a breath.”
“No, you don’t understand!”
Another hand came to rest on his back, rubbing slow circles. His friends talked to him, but the words didn’t make it through to his head. His breaths came out fast and shallow, and he slightly registered someone trying to get him to follow their breathing. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, and what he’d just felt.
Eventually, he came back to himself. Everyone looked extremely worried. For him, his brain supplied, because he’d just had a panic attack.
“I’m okay,” he said, ever the leader, because he absolutely was not okay, but he didn’t want his members worrying for him any more. He heard a chorus of relieved sighs, his friends glad he was finally back and lucid. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, Chan,” said Jeongin.
“Yeah, we’re here for you.” Felix.
“Can we do anything to help?” asked Minho. “Tell us what to do and we’ll do it.”
–
You were sitting at your kitchen table trying to study, books and papers spread out in front you, to no avail. You just couldn’t seem to focus, and you knew why. You were tired, dizzy, hungry, and your body protested so much that you couldn’t get anything done. Usually you were okay, you could push through no problem, but today was worse.
You’d had a test this morning, an important one, so last night you’d stayed up studying. You only got an hour of sleep, maybe two, and it was coming back to bite you today. Thankfully, you’d made it through the test and actually thought you did pretty good, but the exhaustion hit you as soon as you stepped out of the classroom. It was probably the relief that did it, the sudden release of tension that allowed all the other feelings you’d pushed away to come back full force.
You pushed the books away from you, giving up. Maybe you should just call it a day and take a nap or something. You could give yourself that, right?
As you decided on what to do, a different kind of dizziness came over you, and your sluggish brain only remembered what that meant just as your vision changed.
You were in a big, dark room, surrounded by people trying to be as quiet as possible. Following the only source of light you could find, you turned to see curtains, and beyond them, a stage.
You weren’t thinking about the connotations of that realization, though, because as soon as the body switch had been completed, a sudden and violent rush of energy crashed into you, feeling more like a bad thing than good with the force of it.
You stumbled but quickly caught yourself, standing still to feel the new energy coursing through your body. It felt amazing. You’d been feeling so bad for the past few weeks that you forgot how it felt to be fully energized, and god, did you miss it. It felt so good that you almost considered stopping your recent habits, but you quickly brushed that thought off. It was working. What you were doing was working, if the compliments you’d received recently had anything to say about it, so you could handle a little tiredness. It was worth it.
You were drawn out of your thoughts as a whispered conversation near you grew louder. You looked back to the stage, finally realizing what that actually meant for you, and paled. You looked down at yourself and found you were wearing very fancy and high-quality clothes. Your hair felt hard, like it had been sprayed in place, and you could feel the makeup on your face.
Oh. Oh, shit.
Your head whipped to look at the people closest to you, which happened to be the ones having the whispered conversation. Seungmin and Jeongin. They saw you looking, and mistook your expression for you being mad at them for being loud. “Sorry, Chan,” Jeongin said, quieting down.
You shook your head. “I’m not Chan,” you whispered, voice barely audible. The boys must have heard you, though, because their eyes immediately widened, surprise and worry clear in their gaze.
“Oh, fuck,” Seungmin said, full volume. That drew the attention of the rest of the members, who came over to see what was going on. “It’s [Y/N],” Seungmin explained quietly once everyone had gathered.
A series of gasps sounded from the group.
“What do I do? What are you even performing?” You asked.
“It’s okay. You have that weird muscle memory thing, right? Won’t you know the dance?” Jisung said, hopeful.
“Oh, yeah! Like in dance practice,” Felix said.
“And the interview,” Hyunjin added.
“Um, yeah, I guess so. I just– I’m not super confident in it.”
The boys tried their best to reassure you, but it was clear they were worried as well.
“Well, there’s nothing else we can do. You have to go on, so just do your best,” Minho told you, ever the voice of reason.
“Yeah. You’re right,” you agreed, taking a deep breath. You could do this. You could do this.
In the background, you heard the voice of someone announcing Stray Kids’ performance. The lights dimmed. You walked on stage with the boys, finding your place, whole body shaking. Fuck, this was scary.
Last time, in dance practice, you’d known the moves but messed up where Chan usually messed up—at least, that’s what the boys said. You only hoped that Chan knew this dance well enough for you to not mess up at all right now.
The lights came up, the music started, and your body moved. You didn’t know what you were doing, but you were moving, dancing, singing, an ‘oh thank god’ ringing in your head as you hit every count. You let yourself get carried away in the dance, ignoring the huge audience that, if you paid full attention to, would probably scare you out of your muscle memory.
When the song finally ended, feeling like it had lasted for years, you quickly excited the stage with the rest of the group, out of breath but glowing. You felt incredible. It probably felt even better than it otherwise might have, given that you felt like exactly the opposite of this constantly in your own body. Maybe… maybe it wasn’t worth it. What you were doing to yourself. You didn’t know.
You followed the group to an empty dressing room, being told that you could change and get ready again before heading back out to sit in the audience. Instead of changing, the boys immediately turned to you, cheering and patting your back at a job well done.
You smiled at their praise, but it faded in your ears, replaced by overwhelming dizziness, and then nothing.
It was quiet. Silent. No one was talking anymore. You lifted your head up, seeing your kitchen table, and winced as your exhaustion slammed back into you. Well, great. You were back now. Yay.
Really though, you were happy to be back, if at least it meant that Chan wasn’t suffering anymore. You didn’t deserve to feel happy and energetic if it meant that he felt like this. You chose to do this to yourself, so you would be the one to deal with it. Not Chan.
You stood up slowly, carefully, and walked to your bedroom. You had done enough today. You’d allow yourself a break, an early bedtime. It was Friday, too, so no classes tomorrow. You collapsed on your covers, falling asleep before you could even crawl under the blankets.
When you woke up, it was to three missed calls and ten messages, all from Chan. Whoops. You scrolled through them, reading them with eyes still bleary from sleep.
Are you okay?
Please call me back
[Y/N], I’m worried about you
Please just answer the phone
Are you sleeping?
Just text me if you’re reading these
I’m here for you
You can tell me if something is wrong
[Y/N]
Please answer
Oh, shit. You checked the time. It was eleven in the morning. Shit, you never slept this late. Thank god it was the weekend.
Chan had called you three times last night and sent half the texts. Then he’d texted the last few at eight in the morning. Fuck, he’d been worried about you all night? You hated that you slept through it all.
You quickly typed out a response, not trusting yourself to be able to keep up the act if you talked to him directly.
I’m fine
I’m sorry, I was asleep. I just saw all of these
I didn’t mean to worry you. I’m okay though
Chan’s response came immediately, like he’d been staring at his phone, waiting for a reply. Honestly, he probably was.
Are you sure?
When we switched yesterday, it just seemed like
Well, I don’t know. You just didn’t seem okay
You almost started crying at how nice he was being. He didn’t need to care this much about you. No one else did. You needed him to stop caring.
I swear I’m fine
You don’t need to worry about me, I can take care of myself
Chan took longer to reply this time. His speech bubble popped up and disappeared multiple times before he finally replied with a simple, okay.
You sighed and set down your phone, feeling relieved but also strangely guilty. You got what you wanted—Chan to stop worrying, stop asking if you were okay, at least for now. But you really didn’t like lying to him. Hopefully if he stopped asking, you’d stop needing to lie.
You crawled out of bed, feeling much better than yesterday after all the sleep you’d gotten. You still felt the ever-present rumble in your stomach, but that wasn’t anything new.
Yesterday was one of your worst days, which was mainly just because of the stress and lack of sleep due to the test you had. You usually were much more functional. You felt bad that Chan had experienced that particular day in your life—it wasn’t a good example to go off of.
You walked to the bathroom, beginning your morning routine. You washed your face, did your skincare, and ate a granola bar for breakfast. You got dressed in comfy clothes, not having the need nor the energy to look cute today. Then, you set off to the library. You needed to find a specific book to help with an essay you were working on.
You brought your laptop to the library with you, thinking that the quiet and calming ambience of the building would help you get some essay writing done after you’d located the book. You were right, and you ended up staying in the library for much longer than you’d planned.
By the time you returned home, bag heavy with your laptop and books—okay, so maybe you’d gotten carried away while looking for that one book—your stomach was growling much louder now, upset at being ignored for so long. You paid no attention to it.
You set your bag down and promptly dropped yourself down on the couch, not quite tired enough to call it a ‘collapse’ but still pretty close. You sunk into the comfort of the fluffy pillows, but your relaxation time was soon ended with a knock at your door.
Your eyebrows furrowed. Who would be knocking on your door right now? Your friends weren’t really the type for spontaneous hang-outs, at least not without texting first. You stood up on shaky legs and padded over to the door, opening it.
You were greeted with a very familiar face.
“Chan?” you asked, eyes raking over his gorgeous frame. Everything you’d seen online and in the mirror when you were him—perfect skin, dreamy eyes, and literally everything else about him because he was perfect, despite the mask and hood he currently wore—was now directly in front of you, and my god was he even more incredible to see in person.
Once you’d finished admiring Chan’s beauty, you started to wonder why he was actually here. He seemed incredibly nervous, his eyes were wide and concerned, and he was here standing in your doorway oh my god what was Chan doing at your apartment? He’d said okay, you thought that meant he’d drop the subject, not find where you live and meet you on a random Saturday!
Chan said nothing, instead stepping forward and engulfing you in the most comforting hug you’d ever felt. You froze for a second, surprised, but quickly melted into it, wrapping your arms around him. He held you tighter, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. You felt the unmistakable feeling of your soulmate bond running through you, especially strong now that you were physically meeting and touching each other. Now that you had met, you two would never switch bodies again.
As you stood in your doorway, wrapping in Chan’s embrace, you allowed yourself a moment of happiness. You felt good in his arms. Safe.
He finally let you go, seemingly less nervous than before. You let him into your apartment, not wanting anyone to walk by and recognize him, or even just wonder why you were hugging a random man outside your door.
When you’d closed the door behind him and stood to face him directly, mask and hood off, he finally spoke.
“[Y/N].” Your name sounded like a prayer on his lips. You stood still, waiting to see what he was going to say. Was something wrong? Did he come find you just to stop switching bodies, because it was such a hassle? Was he going to break up with you, if there was even anything to break? The suspense was killing you. Then, he smiled. “You’re even more gorgeous in person.”
Oh. You were not expecting that.
You let out a startled laugh, a self-deprecating smile forming on your face. “What?” You asked, looking down at the sweatpants and ratty crewneck you’d thrown on this morning. You didn’t have any makeup on, your hair was down but definitely frizzy and tangled, and you were wearing your glasses instead of your regular contacts because, like you’d thought this morning, there was no need to look cute today. You were an insane contrast to the effortlessly beautiful man that stood across from you, so much so that his compliment was literally laughable. You couldn’t keep the disbelief from your voice when you spoke.
Chan’s smile dropped at that, eyebrows furrowing as he stepped closer to you, raising a hand to cup your face. He tilted your head up, making you look at him.
“You’re gorgeous,” he said. “You are.” The look in his eyes as he said it was hard to argue with.
“Oh – Okay,” you stuttered. “You’re also, um. Well. You’re the most handsome person I’ve ever seen in my life, I think,” you rambled out, your nerves making you spew out every thought in your head, no matter how embarrassing or badly worded. Chan just chuckled, murmuring out a ‘thanks,’ but you could tell by the slight flush of his cheeks that he felt similar to you.
“What are you—I mean, not that I’m not happy to see you, because I absolutely am, but—what are you doing here?” You asked.
“I needed to see you,” he replied. “I just – I was worried. About you.” The way he said it made you think there was more to the explanation that he wasn’t saying.
“Chan, that’s so sweet, but I told you. I’m fine, there’s no need to worry,” you told him. “Besides, aren’t you, like, a famous idol? Isn’t there some event or practice you need to be in right now?” You didn’t mean to sound like you were trying to push him out, but you didn’t like him being so worried over you. It was embarrassing, really, that he was so worried about something that was so not serious.
“No,” Chan replied, a tad aggressively. He looked hurt, or like he was hurting for you. “No, [Y/N], I’m supposed to be here right now. I got them to let me come because I’m worried about you. Rightfully. Because you’re not fine,” he said, gaining steam as he talked. You were too shocked at how serious he seemed to be on the matter to interrupt. “[Y/N], what I felt when we switched yesterday—that’s not fine. That’s not normal! I – I’d never felt so bad before, and you – you feel like that all the time? That’s not fine, you’re not fine.”
You stood, frozen, as Chan argued. He was worried, stressed. About you. You felt your heart constrict, some unknown feeling flooding through you. No one had ever cared this much. No one had ever even sent a text to check in when you were sick, much less track you down to find you and help you even after being told you were fine and could handle yourself.
Chan cared about you. The realization hit you like a train. He didn’t think you were ugly, he didn’t loathe the fact that he had a soulmate or that you were his soulmate. He didn’t think you were a burden, he didn’t come find you just so you would stop switching bodies. You’d never even met before, only texted for like a month, and he still cared about you so much that he dropped everything after finding out something was wrong to find and help you.
Tears welled in your eyes, and you didn’t have the energy to try to stop them or blink them away. You didn’t have the energy to do anything. You were so tired, so hungry. You’d been doing such a good job at ignoring all the pain and exhaustion you felt for weeks, but now the floodgates were open and everything was rushing out. All it took was a few sentences from Chan, and everything was coming out.
Chan had been waiting for a response from you, it seemed, because he’d just been staring and looking deep into your expression the entire time you’d stood still, thoughts running rampant in your head. Because of his focus, he noticed the second that tears began rolling down your face. He lurched forward, hands coming up to cup your face and thumbs moving under your glasses to wipe away the tears.
As soon as you felt his skin against yours, you went limp. You couldn’t hold yourself up anymore. You fell into him, and he caught you, hands shooting down to hold your waist, steadying you. When it was clear that you would not be regaining your balance any time soon, Chan carefully picked you up and carried you to the couch.
“It’s okay, baby,” he reassured softly. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’ve got you, you can let it out. It’s okay.” He rubbed circles on your back with one hand, the other brushing your hair from your face as you cried into his shoulder. You were curled into his side on the couch, leaning fully against him with your head buried in between his neck and shoulder.
He held you until your cries stopped and your breath evened out, not saying anything until you lifted your head to look at him with red-rimmed eyes. You didn’t know what to say. You looked at his shirt, which was now damp with your tears. “I’m sorry,” you let out, voice hoarse from crying. You weren’t sure if the sorry was for the shirt or for forcing him to comfort you as you sobbed.
“No, baby, don’t apologize,” Chan replied, and you didn’t know when or why he started calling you ‘baby’ but you’d definitely be lying if you said you didn’t like it. “Are you feeling better?”
“Yeah."
“Good,” he smiled, arm still slung around your back, his hand now rubbing soothingly up and down your arm. You weren’t sure if he even knew he was doing it.
“So you–” you hesitated, unsure. You took a deep breath. “You don’t have anywhere else to be? You can – you can stay?” You weren’t used to being so open, so vulnerable with anyone. But with Chan, you felt like you could be.
Chan hummed in agreement. “Nowhere to be,” he said, “I’m staying right here.”
You gently laid your head back on Chan's shoulder, and he used his arm around you to pull you closer. You closed your eyes, content. You could get used to this.
/blushes/ youre........ asking about my ocs? 🥺🥺🥺🥺 we will have a summer wedding
under the cut because posting my own art still gives me psychic damage
ok so i kinda lied. i made two ocs because nothing on this earth affects me more powerfully than Devoted Big Guy with a Small Friend. This is Purl and Spine
Purl loves to knit. Her 'weapons' are two big knitting needles, and her backpack is a ball of yarn that she stores supplies in. Spine wields a typical large needle.
Purl is friendly and likes to talk. Spine, uh... likes to let Purl do the talking. Spine is the more skilled warrior (Purl's big knitting needles make for unwieldy weapons) but Purl is an excellent navigator and helps them get around. They keep each other company, and keep each other sane.
When Purl first met Spine, she made him a very big scarf for his very big neck. He never takes it off. He's followed her ever since.
Minho stands still as the cameras are finally turned off and shivers heavily at the wind blowing strongly. He can't move, not on his own and he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment to try and calm down. A gentle hand finds his back and Felix's soothing voice rings in his ears. “Minho hyung?”
Minho can only hum in response, his hands curling up to fists at his sides, nails digging deep into his skin.
“We can leave now,” Jisung tells him gently. “We're done.”
“O-Okay,” Minho stammers and nods quickly, barely daring to open his eyes. He whimpers as he does, seeing nothing but the gray sky in front of him. Fuck, they're up high. Just for this stupid video. He can hear Chan arguing more or less politely with their video coordinator not that far away and gulps softly. None of them liked shooting up here, during the rain and in the cold. But it is him who's freaking out because of the height.
Hyunjin steps in front of him and flashes him an encouraging smile. “You did well, hyung.”
“Thank you,” he whispers and focuses on his friend instead of the view behind him.
“Let's get you back down,” Seungmin says gently and offers him his hand to hold onto. He more less softly drags Minho toward the elevator with Changbin’s help and pushes the button.
“Where's Chan?” Minho asks, barely audible.
“He said he'll join us in a bit,” Changbin tells him and watches with worry how his friend's face darkens with fear.
Jeongin glances at him suspiciously. “You want me to get him?” he asks.
“Yeah, go get him,” Jisung answers for Minho. They all know it's Chan he allows himself to show his true emotions around.
Minho takes a few shuddery controlled breaths and tries to stop himself from slipping into a panic attack. The elevator dings and the doors open, his friends step inside with him. Minho turns around panicked as Chan still isn't there and feels his breathing picking up. The view of the rooftop and cloudy sky is too much and he sinks down onto the floor with a tiny whimper. He curls up in the corner of the elevator, hot tears falling down his face and his body shakes heavily.
Felix gets down on his knees in front of him and gently takes his hand. “Minho hyung, it's okay,” he says soothingly.
Jisung’s chest tightens at the sight of Minho panicking and Seungmin quickly wraps him into a hug, making sure he's okay. The elevator starts its way down and Minho sucks in a sharp breath.
Hyunjin joins Felix on the floor and soothingly rubs Minho's back. “Deep breaths, hyung, we're almost back down, okay?”
Minho can keep it together more or less and lets Changbin help him up and out of the elevator as he's too shaky and dizzy to do so on his own.
He stumbles to the closest bathroom and throws the door close behind himself. He hugs himself with a soft whimper and bends over, squeezing his eyes shut. His heart is racing, his palms are sweaty and his hands are shaking. Hot tears pool in his eyes and make their way down his cheeks. He can't breathe anymore and feels dizzy, starting to see stars. The door opens a few minutes later but Minho has no idea who it is.
“Min, baby, I'm so sorry,” Chan's soft voice grabs his attention. Minho's knees give out and he sinks onto the floor with a sob. Chan's heart breaks at the sight as he rushes over and anger boils in his chest. He told them it would be dangerous. He told them it would be difficult for Minho. Chan gets onto his knees as well and his hands find Minho's, squeezing them. “Hey, Min,” he says softly. “It's okay, it's over now.” Minho whimpers his name in response and Chan pulls him into his lap. He wraps his arms around him and rocks him gently as he fondles his hair and back. “Deep breaths, Minnie, it's okay. You did so well.”
“I'm sorry,” he chokes on his words and Chan's grip around him tightens.
“Don't be, it's alright,” he assures him and kisses his cheek. “I got you, baby. I'm so proud of you for pulling this through.” Minho buries himself deeper in his boyfriend's chest and tries to remind himself he's safe now. Chan notices him growing more calm in his arms with every passing second. “You did good, baby,” he tells him and Minho squeezes him softly.
A few minutes later the door opens and the others join them on the floor for a group hug. Minho giggles and exhales softly, knowing his boyfriend and these kids would always have his back.
MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES
Taglist: (Please let me know if you want to be added to/removed from the taglist!)
stray kids ot8 x reader | one stolen hoodie, eight emotional collapses, zero survivors
💙 synopsis: You haven’t seen them in months. Your summer internship kept you grounded in the city while they were halfway across the world, living on stages and under spotlights. But tonight? Tonight, they’re 35 minutes away. So you show up. Front row, wearing the hoodie that mysteriously vanished the last time you saw them. And when they spot you during “I am YOU” everything stops.
💌 a/n: this unholy mess of front-row sobbing and hoodie theft was requested by 🍒 anon who really said: “what if you showed up to their concert unannounced wearing their hoodie and ruined their emotional stability in 4K.” and i, being a weak, crumbling creature of love and violence, said: yes. yes i will ruin them one by one like a symphony of heartbreak. none of these boys survived. neither did i. enjoy your hoodie-induced devastation.
p.s. reblog for clear skin, front row tickets, hoodie theft immunity, backstage passes, and seven uninterrupted hours of REM sleep
p.p.s. this fic cures vitamin D deficiency, glows your aura, and unlocks the memory of him mouthing “you’re mine” from the stage
p.p.p.s. if you cry reading this just know i wrote half of it giggling and kicking my feet like a menace. i know what i’ve done
📍credits: @cafekitsune , @dollywons for the dividers
🎧 » I am YOU — Stray Kids «
0:58 ─〇───── 3:24
⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻
BANG CHAN — "I KNEW IT WAS YOU"
The hardest part wasn’t the distance. Not really. Not the time zones or the silences or even the way his studio chair stayed cold on the left side. The hardest part was not knowing when he’d get to see you next.
You’d tried to reassure him before summer started. Told him you’d be busy with your internship, that hospital rotations were brutal and your preceptor was strict, but you’d try your best to come if the San Francisco stop aligned.
That was the promise: “I’ll try.”
And Chan never wanted to make you feel guilty for chasing your own goals. Still. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t stare at the crowd every city since then, hoping. Silly, maybe. But hope had always been his favourite delusion when it came to you.
What he didn’t know—what he couldn’t know—was that you’d called in every favour you had to leave early. That you sat on a commuter train for over thirty minutes, hoodie zipped to your chin, heartbeat tucked in your throat. That you’d bought the front-row ticket the second they announced the tour, just in case.
And now here you are. Middle of the pit. Dead center. Wearing the black hoodie that went “missing” the last time you stayed with him in Seoul.
He doesn’t see you right away. There’s too much light, too much movement. But then—
"I am YOU~"
The opening notes ring out and the crowd screams.
He turns instinctively toward stage left. And freezes. You. Eyes wide. Smile even wider. Hair windblown, cheeks flushed, that ridiculous hoodie drowning your frame.
It knocks the air right out of him.
He stumbles the tiniest bit—nothing obvious, just a half-step off-beat that only his members would catch. His eyes don’t leave yours. Not when the chorus starts, not when the stage begins shifting behind him. Chan walks forward during his verse, like he’s on autopilot, mic close to his mouth but barely hearing himself sing. He’s so focused on you that the roar of STAYs around you blurs into static.
You’re mouthing the words. Every line. The ones he wrote when he was lonely and uncertain and missing you so badly he couldn’t breathe straight. The ones he sang to remind himself who he was—because you helped him find that again.
He stops in front of you. Too long. Longer than he should. And he smiles. Not the rehearsed one. Not the idol one. It’s the one he gives you when it’s 2AM and you’re both half-asleep on a video call. The one you haven’t seen in person since April.
Then, so quietly you almost miss it, he mouths just for you:
“I knew it was you.”
And god, if the cameras catch the way he wipes his eye as he turns back, well.
Let them.
LEE KNOW — "YOU DIDN’T EVEN WARN ME"
Minho didn’t mind being apart. Not in theory, anyway.
He liked his own space. He liked that you had your own dreams. You were busy with your internship—working long hours at the lab, managing back-to-back shifts, and still finding time to call him when you could. It was what you both signed up for. And he respected that.
But that didn’t mean he didn’t miss you.
He’d never say it first. Never in so many words. But you could tell from the way his texts got shorter after a show. The way he paused on calls a little longer before hanging up. How he kept asking if the San Francisco stop was too far from your apartment—casual, like he didn’t care that much, just... wondering.
You told him you didn’t think you could make it. That work was unpredictable. That you didn’t want to say yes and then disappoint him.
Minho had shrugged.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“You sure?”
“I’ll survive.”
So when you did get approval for a half-day off and found yourself riding the train into the city with a pit ticket burning a hole in your bag—and his old black hoodie zipped over your body—you knew exactly what you were doing.
You just didn’t know how he’d react. After all, you hadn't told him you were coming. Not a single hint. No cryptic text. No missed calls. No breadcrumb to chase. You knew exactly what kind of risk that was with Minho.
He hated surprises. Hated not knowing. But more than that—he hated missing you. And if he’d known you might be in the crowd tonight, he would’ve lost sleep thinking about it. Would’ve paced backstage for hours, checking the front pit with every light test, paranoid he’d see someone who wasn’t you in your place.
So you kept it quiet. You played it safe. And maybe, just maybe, you wanted to see what would happen when he saw you without warning.
He finds you during the second verse of “I am YOU.”
Not by accident. Not by fate. Minho always scans the crowd with surgical precision. It’s not for show. It’s instinct—something in him always alert, always aware. But tonight, as they reach “I am YOU”, he doesn’t expect anything unusual. He’s already chalked this night up to another blur of lights, sweat, and routine.
And then—
You.
Right in front of him. Front row. Slightly off-center. Grinning like you’ve just gotten away with murder.
His brain short-circuits. His mouth twitches—not quite a smile, not yet. He tilts his head, blinking once, then again. Like you might be a trick of the light. Like he’s waiting for you to vanish.
But you’re still there. Still smiling. Still wearing his hoodie. His eyes drop to it, then snap back up. His expression stays neutral, too neutral—like he’s forcing his face to stay composed because if he doesn’t, it’ll give everything away.
And then, with no warning, he walks straight to your section. No fan service. No dramatic gestures. Just that unreadable Lee Know gaze—burning a hole through your skin.
He stands right in front of you during his verse. Too long. Long enough that you see the flicker behind his eyes. The betrayal of emotion. The tension in his jaw.
And then—finally—he lets the mask crack. A smirk. Small. Dangerous. And when he turns away, it’s with the quietest shake of his head.
Backstage, you barely get two words out before he corners you with folded arms.
“You really showed up like that?”
“Like what?”
“Wearing my hoodie, front row, smiling like you didn’t just rearrange my whole brain mid-choreo.”
He steps closer. “You couldn’t have warned me?”
“Would’ve ruined the effect.”
“...Yeah. It worked.”
He tugs the zipper of the hoodie slightly downward, fingers ghosting your collarbone. “Don’t take it off tonight. That’s mine.”
SEO CHANGBIN — “I THINK I’M GONNA CRY”
Seo Changbin is not the type to let distance make him bitter. He’s the type to send you videos of every weird hotel breakfast he gets. To write you midnight voice memos when the homesickness hits. To squeeze you in between rehearsals, even if it’s just ten minutes of shaky FaceTime with his head halfway under a blanket to block out the light.
But still.
This tour’s been longer than the last one. And your internship’s been brutal—double shifts, unpredictable hours, no days off. You’d warned him you probably couldn’t make it to the U.S. stops, and he’d nodded like he understood. Told you he was proud of you. That he could wait.
But secretly… He circled San Francisco on the setlist anyway. Wrote a little “maybe” next to it in pencil. Just in case.
The stage is on fire by the time they reach “I am YOU.”
Sweat clings to his jawline. His heart’s racing from the last dance break. The lights dim to that familiar blue, and his body falls into muscle memory. He scans the crowd like he always does—out of habit, out of hope. And then—
His world tilts. There you are.
You.
In the middle of the front row, pressed up against the barricade, beaming like he just lit up your whole sky. It takes him a full four counts to believe it. He squints. Blinks. Your grin gets even wider.
Then he sees it: the hoodie.
The grey one he’d “lost” months ago—the one you’d tucked into your carry-on when he wasn’t looking. It’s huge on you. The sleeves are pushed up to your elbows. And the hem brushes mid-thigh.
You look like his.
He forgets the lyrics. His mouth moves on autopilot. His chest feels like it’s caving in and expanding all at once. He drifts toward your side of the stage like a magnet. The lights shift, but he’s locked in. And when he reaches the edge, during the last chorus, he plants his feet in front of you like you’re the only one that matters.
“You make me live~ I am YOU~”
He sings it directly to you. Pointing at you. Eyes glassy.
You’re mouthing the words back, and that’s what breaks him.
His voice wavers on the final note. He spins around quickly, hand over his face like it’s sweat—like he didn’t just almost start sobbing in front of fuck knows how many people.
Backstage, he nearly tackles you the second he sees you.
“I knew you’d come!”
“You looked like you saw a ghost.”
“I saw you, baby—what was I supposed to do? I think I’m gonna cry again.”
And when you tug at the hoodie playfully—
“Missed this?”
“Missed you in it.” Then he kisses your forehead like it’s the only grounding he’s got left.
HWANG HYUNJIN — “IT’S REALLY YOU?”
Hyunjin romanticizes everything—especially when it comes to you.
Even the distance. Even the ache.
To him, love is in the details: the way your laugh lingers in his headphones, the scent of your perfume still trapped in his airport hoodie, the bookmarks you left in his poetry collection, pages folded like tiny secrets.
You’ve been apart for three months.
Your internship in the city’s arts foundation started just as tour rehearsals kicked into high gear. You were both swept up—him in choreography and interviews, you in galleries and grant proposals. He never told you just how much he missed you. Not really.
He just started painting again. Your profile from memory. The curve of your shoulders in his hoodie. The way your mouth always softens when you say his name.
He’d asked if there was any chance you’d be at the San Francisco stop. You’d said you’d try. But he heard the exhaustion in your voice. He didn’t want to hope too hard.
Still—every night before bed, he imagined it anyway. You in the crowd. Front row. His girl.
He doesn’t see you right away. Not during the first few songs. Not even during “SLUMP”, when he usually scans the pit.
But then “I am YOU” starts. It’s his favorite moment of the night—one of the only ones that still makes him breathe differently. That reminds him why he started all this in the first place.
And then he sees you.
Dead center. Front row. Wearing his hoodie. His hoodie. The one you’d stolen that rainy night back in February when you missed the bus and stayed over at the dorm. The same one you swore you’d return and never did.
Now it’s zipped halfway down, your hair a little windblown, your eyes glassy.
He stops dancing. It’s not obvious to the fans—he covers well, spins out of it with a quick recovery—but he knows. His body stutters in place. His heart slams against his ribs.
He blinks hard. Like maybe he’s imagining you.
You smile—wide and radiant—and point to the sleeve of the hoodie like a total brat.
He nearly chokes on his own breath.
During the chorus, he walks to the edge of the stage and stops right in front of you. Everything fades. The screams. The lights. The movement. It’s just you.
And when he sings “You make me live~ I am YOU~”, it’s not performance anymore. It’s prayer.
Your hand rises, reaching for him. Just barely.
He doesn't touch—but he lingers. Longer than he should. Longer than the cue allows. And then he mouths it, barely audible, voice cracking in his throat:
“It’s really you?”
You nod. Just once.
He presses a hand to his heart. And smiles. And turns away—just in time for the next beat to drop.
Backstage, he doesn’t run. He floats. Finds you just past the wings, grabs your wrist, and stares like he’s afraid you’ll disappear again.
“I thought I made you up.”
“I didn’t even think you saw me.”
“I always see you.”
Then, quieter: “And you wore that hoodie just to end me, didn’t you?”
“Maybe.”
“...You win.”
He wraps his arms around you and refuses to let go until the staff tells him he’s needed for encore.
HAN JISUNG — “YOU’RE KIDDING ME.”
Long distance was never easy for Jisung. Not because he didn’t trust you—he did. More than anyone. But his head was loud even on the best days, and when you were far away, the noise got worse.
You grounded him. In a world of cameras, pressure, deadlines—you were the one person who reminded him he was human before he was an idol.
So when you left for your summer internship, he said all the right things.
“You’ve got this.”
“Go crush it, baby.”
“We’ll be fine.”
And you had been. You texted when you could, FaceTimed in the middle of the night, sent him photos of your desk and your favorite corner coffee shop.
But lately… The ache had started creeping in.
He missed you in ways he didn’t know how to put into words. The kind of missing that left him staring at hotel ceilings, hoping your name would light up his screen. The kind that made him write whole verses he never showed anyone—ones that started and ended with you.
You’d said you probably couldn’t make it to the San Francisco stop.
He’d said he understood.
But the truth was, it broke his heart a little.
He's mid-second verse of “I am YOU” when it happens. The light cues are shifting, the crowd is screaming, and everything is locked into place—until his eyes fall on the front row.
And his entire brain shuts off.
That’s not—
It can’t be—
What the f—
You.
Laughing. Glowing. Wearing his damn hoodie like you own the place.
His mouth drops open mid-line. He hits the lyric but forgets the next dance cue. His feet freeze. His mind goes blank. The world blurs out like someone hit the slow-mo filter. All he can see is you, tucked in the hoodie he’s been whining about for months.
You catch his stare and smile like the little demon you are. Then you give a tiny wave.
He lets out an audible “oh my god” into the mic. The members definitely hear it. The camera definitely catches it.
During the chorus, he abandons choreo completely and walks right to your side.
STAYs are screaming. The energy is unreal. But he’s not even blinking. You mouth the words with him. Your hand is over your heart. He sees the way you’re trying not to cry. And suddenly his throat tightens.
He stands in front of you—right in front of you—for the final line.
“I am… you.”
And god help him, he smiles so wide it cracks something open inside.
Backstage, he finds you tucked in the corner behind a staff tent. He pulls you into a hug so hard it knocks the breath from your lungs.
“You’re kidding me.”
“Hi.”
“No. Nope. You can’t just appear like that, what the hell—”
“Surprise?”
“You’re wearing the hoodie. The hoodie. I literally wrote two full songs about this hoodie.”
He pulls back just to cup your face, eyes shining. “You wrecked me. You know that, right?”
“That was the plan.”
“...You’re evil. Stay here forever.”
LEE FELIX — “I THOUGHT I WAS DREAMING.”
Felix never minded being the one who loved a little too loudly.
He was used to pouring himself into the people he cared about — voice notes, care packages, random photos of sunsets that reminded him of you. He didn’t need grand gestures in return. Just knowing you were out there doing your best was enough.
But this summer tested even his sunshine heart.
You were buried in your internship at the children’s hospital, pulling long shifts, juggling research hours, and barely managing sleep. Your last visit had been months ago, and though you’d promised to call whenever you could, Felix could tell how much you were carrying. So he didn’t ask for more. Didn’t guilt you for not being there.
He just whispered your name to the stars some nights. And hoped you were eating well. When you’d said, “I don’t think I can make it to San Francisco”, he nodded. Smiled softly.
“It’s okay. You’re doing important things. I’m proud of you.”
And he meant it. But that didn’t stop him from imagining you in the crowd anyway.
He’s mid-spin when it happens. The stage is lit a dusky blue, the crowd roaring, and the opening verse of “I am YOU” wraps around his shoulders like muscle memory.
Then his gaze falls to the barricade.
He falters. Staggers, barely a half-step. Because there you are. Wearing his black hoodie. The one with the worn-out cuffs and faint lavender scent. The one you used to sleep in, curled up on his couch with your legs in his lap and your cheek against his thigh.
You’re standing there, eyes wide and sparkling, smile stretched across your entire face. And Felix? Felix forgets everything.
Every step. Every cue. Every lyric that comes next. He has to press a palm to his chest to make sure his heart’s still beating.
You wave — tiny, nervous — and his whole expression cracks open.
He lights up like the sun. Like no one else in the world is watching. The camera catches it. The fans catch it. His members catch it. He can’t stop grinning. Even when he tries, it just keeps coming back.
During the second chorus, he crosses the stage and stops in front of your section. He sings directly to you, voice soft even in the swell of the music.
“I am YOU~”
You mouth it back.
He swears he could float.
Backstage, he finds you first. You barely get out a hello before he’s got his arms around you, hoodie sleeve crushed against your cheek.
“I thought I was dreaming,” he whispers.
“You weren’t.”
“You wore it.”
“Still smells like you.”
“...It smells better now.”
He pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes.
“You made everything feel real again.”
KIM SEUNGMIN — “YOU’RE HERE. YOU’RE REALLY HERE.”
Seungmin prided himself on being levelheaded.
He was the one who kept everyone grounded on tour. The one who made sure the setlist was tight, the in-ears were checked, the water bottles were full. He made jokes when the tension rose. Kept his emotions neat, folded, manageable.
That’s how he handled missing you, too. Neatly. Quietly.
You were in the middle of your journalism internship with a local paper—chasing deadlines, editing late, covering last-minute assignments. You always answered when he called, always listened when he needed to vent. But he could hear the tired in your voice lately. You’d apologized for not making the West Coast stops. He told you it was fine.
“It’s not like you can teleport,” he’d said with a half-smile. “You’ll be at the next one.”
He didn’t tell you that he’d set aside a hoodie weeks ago—his hoodie—for you to wear backstage. Just in case. Even if he knew you probably wouldn’t be there.
The first verse of “I am YOU” slips into motion. His body knows the rhythm, down to the second. It’s automatic. Seamless. Comfortable.
Until he turns toward the barricade. Until his gaze lands on you. Dead center. Front row. Hair tucked behind your ears, wearing the gray hoodie you stole from his dorm in February—the one with the frayed sleeves you refused to give back.
You’re beaming. You’re mouthing the lyrics. You’re here.
Seungmin doesn’t blink. He goes completely still for a full measure. His mic is at his lips, but nothing comes out for a split second. His brain short-circuits and reboots all at once.
Then the emotion punches him low in the chest.
He plays it off—barely. Keeps his face composed. But his voice catches on the next line. Just a little. Just enough that Chan turns to glance at him mid-beat.
During the bridge, Seungmin drifts closer to your side of the stage. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t point. Doesn’t break the fourth wall. But he locks eyes with you the entire time. His brows slightly furrowed, mouth set like he’s trying not to let anything show—except he’s already showing everything.
You lift your hand. Just a small wave. And that’s what undoes him.
He exhales sharply, glances away like he needs to recover, then looks back with something impossibly soft behind his eyes.
Not a smile. Not yet. But something like peace.
Backstage, you’re standing just behind the tech booth when he finds you. He walks up slow, arms crossed over his chest, expression unreadable.
“You’re here,” he says, like he’s testing the words.
“I’m here.”
“You’re really here.”
“Took a train, sprinted from the station. Almost missed soundcheck.”
“You wore that hoodie.”
“I never took it off.”
He huffs a laugh under his breath, finally letting the grin break through. Then he steps in, tugs the hem of the hoodie like he’s checking it’s real.
“Don’t disappear after this,” he murmurs.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
YANG JEONGIN — “IT’S REALLY YOU.”
Jeongin had been trying not to get his hopes up.
Not because he didn’t believe in you—but because he did. You had your dream internship this summer with a film production company in the city, shadowing directors, organizing shoots, even helping scout locations. You were working so hard, and he was so, so proud.
But he also missed you. More than he let on.
You still talked most nights—short calls between tour stops, blurry selfies, the occasional voice memo when he couldn’t sleep. You’d told him you’d try to come to the San Francisco show if the schedule allowed. But you’d sounded uncertain.
“Don’t wait for me,” you’d said.
“I always wait for you,” he’d replied.
He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. But it was true.
By the time “I am YOU” starts, he’s accepted that you’re probably not in the crowd. The song means something special to him—he’s always said it’s the one that makes him feel the most seen on stage. So he closes his eyes during the first chorus, breathes through the melody, lets the moment carry him.
And then he opens his eyes. And sees you. Right there. Front row. Grinning so wide your eyes crinkle. Wearing the black hoodie he left at your place in spring—the one that still smells faintly like his detergent and mint shampoo.
You’re watching only him.
And Jeongin freezes. He stares like the air’s been knocked out of him. Like you’ve appeared from a dream and he’s afraid to blink. His body keeps moving—barely. He hits his mark, sings the line. But his voice wobbles, just for a second. He forgets the camera. Forgets the crowd.
Just you.
He drifts to your side without realizing it. Heart hammering. Hands shaking slightly. There’s a flush creeping up his neck even under the lights.
And then he sings “You make me live…” with a look so full of awe, you swear he’s never seen anything more beautiful than you in his hoodie, mouthing the words right back at him.
You lift your hand. You tap your chest—three times. Your silent way of saying “I’m here. I’m yours.”
Jeongin nearly forgets the rest of the song.
Backstage, you’re tucked behind a barricade, waiting. He sees you and breaks into the softest sprint, half-laughing, half-breathless.
“It’s really you,” he says, stopping just inches away.
“It’s me.”
“You came. You really came.”
“Wouldn’t miss this for anything.”
He looks down at the hoodie, touches the cuff where it swallows your hand. “I was gonna ask if you still had it.”
“I never stopped wearing it.”
“...You wrecked me up there, you know that?”
You shrug, smiling. He leans forward, bumping his forehead gently against yours.
Warnings: pain, cramps, medicine/painkillers and a mention of taking more than the label on the bottle says, doctors, anxiety, health anxiety, hurt/comfort, angst, medical discussion, nausea, mentions of vomit, very severe period symptoms (seriously if you relate to this pls see a doctor if you can! This much pain is not normal!!), friends to lovers (not explicitly discussed tbh but they all love each other already), reader is older than Jeongin but age is not otherwise mentioned, polyamory (mxm and fxm), mentions of burning oneself, cursing, implied!vampire/hybrid!skz (it’s barely touched on honestly, but maybe one day I’ll build on it xD), soulmate!skz (I’m incapable of writing non soulmate stories ig), (this is more of a ramble than a coherent piece of literature, so be warned)
Word count: 9.9k
Summary: plagued by terrible, ER-trip-worthy period symptoms, you schedule a nerve-wracking doctor’s appointment that takes months to arrive, and Chan, your best friend of many years, promises to take you because he knows you’re feeling anxious about it all. Morning of said appointment, however, he bails, leaving you wrecked with pain and nausea, and anxious beyond belief. Who will you call to help you now?
a/n: hello! welcome to raspberry leaves pt. 2! Long time no see I guess? Sorry for disappearing, life got a little crazy :O I’ll update you all soon on me and LTM book progress I promise! I just had this sitting in my drafts for a year or two and finally decided to post it even though it’s had no edits for a while xD sorry if it’s incoherent lol it's mostly just a very long ramble :DD
“Hey, baby, I’m really sorry but I’m not going to be able to make it to your appointment today,” Chan starts the voicemail with a somber voice. “Something came up this morning and I have to take care of it before the kids get back.” The kids, as in, the other boys. “I know you were worried about it, so I’m really sorry I won’t be there for you, angel. I hope everything goes well and you get some answers, okay? Call me when you get back home. I love you, bye.”
The dial sound that cuts off his voicemail makes your stomach sick. Fuck. Chan was right, you have been very anxious about the doctor’s appointment today. It’s probably the seventh time you’ve been into the office in the past two months, yet you still have no answers to your long list of problems. Chan knows this. You told him so. But you’re not so certain he knows to what degree this problem has been making you worry.
The week of your period was always a struggle. When you were young, it was just the cramps. You could handle cramps, especially with the convenience of painkillers, a hot water bottle, and the lovely invention of raspberry leaf tea. But then it started to get worse. And worse. And now you dread the three-week long endeavor entirely. With the symptoms you get before your cycle to the week after? It was hell. Hours upon hours of cramps that throb so deeply that no painkiller could save you, nausea that sends you weeping into the toilet seat, hot sweats, chills, mood swings, bloating… You truly could not win, could you?
And no doctor was yet to give you any answers.
At first, you were furious. You went in and out of the office, calling specialists and waiting weeks for appointments. Indignation burned beneath your skin and frustration swelled in your stomach. Why was no one willing to help you? It was always ‘call us back if it gets worse,’ or ‘have you tried ibuprofen?’ As if you didn’t spend twenty minutes telling them that ‘yes, it has gotten worse, that’s why I’m here,’ and ‘yes, I take too much and it worries me.’
But now? Now, you were just tired.
Tired and in so much pain, you can do nothing but lay there on the tile bathroom floor, clutch the rim of the porcelain toilet seat, and hope you don’t vomit last night’s dinner. At least, by any standards, you’re grateful the cramps haven’t started yet. There’s just the pressure in your pelvis, the bloating, the headache, the fatigue, and the rest of it.
At least you could still make your appointment. Hopefully.
But now Chan isn’t going to be with you.
To pile on top of your uncertain ability to drive in this state, you’re more anxious than you have been in days. The notion of Chan being there with you was a balm on your nerves, and you could at least soothe the ache in your stomach with the thought of him being there with you. His presence was one of the very few who could sate your endless anxiety with a comforting squeeze and a few murmured words to rock you to sleep. He’s your best friend. Well, technically, you have eight best friends, but something about Bang Chan has always been a blanket to your endlessly cold thoughts. Something about him made your heartbeat slow and your stomach settle and your chest stop aching and—
And he’s not going to be there this time.
It makes another wave of bile swell in your tummy. You hate being nauseous. It spikes your anxiety like no other. A bead of sweat drips down your forehead from the flash of heat striking through your chest, and you finally choke on a silent sob as the weight of it all crashes over you. You feel weak and pathetic and tired and you’re tired of being tired and—
You cut that thought off. Complaining is doing you no good.
Wiping your tears and the disgusting drip of snot from your nose, you fumble for your phone in your pocket. You don’t want to be alone. Not for this. Thumbing the screen, you open the keypad and dial the first number you can think of.
It barely has the chance to ring before he picks up.
“Bunny? What’s up? I thought you had a doctor’s appointment soon?”
Changbin: the only man who could ever get away with calling you ‘bunny.’
You sniffle weakly at the sound of his voice and sigh. “Binnie.”
Somehow, whether it’s the sound of your snuffle or the tremble of your voice, he knows something is wrong.
“Baby? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
His voice drops to that low murmur he only does when he’s serious, and you hear the dull sound of something being dropped to the floor as keys jingle in the background. A voice calls out, and guilt rolls through you. Another heavy sigh trembles through your chest as you try to hold back tears.
“‘M okay, Binnie—” An obvious lie. “I just—Are you busy right now?”
The keys jingle again. “Never too busy for you.”
You almost smile.
“Can you drive me to my appointment?” The words come out choked and breathy like they cannot resist being said. Yes, Chan may be a balm on your nerves, but Changbin is the wind beneath your wings—the current keeping you afloat. “Please. I was going to take myself, but I’m just so nauseous and sick and I’m worried about driving like this and I won’t be able to get another appointment for months if I cancel—”
“Woah, slow down, bunny, it’s alright.” You exhale through another wave of sickness. “I thought Chan was going to take you?”
You hum a vague sound of disagreement. “Busy. He left me a voicemail.”
Someone curses in the background, but you can’t tell who it is.
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes. I’ve gotta drop Lino off at the house and I’ll be right there, okay? Take a deep breath, baby. It’s gonna be alright.”
You shake your head before realizing you have to open your mouth if you want Changbin to understand you. “I’m sorry I interrupted you, Binnie. Are you and Minho at the gym?”
“Hey, don’t worry about it, sweetheart.” Minho’s there. His soft voice makes the ache in your chest dampen. Pressing your sweaty forehead into your hands, you sigh and groan through another wave of sickness and pant weakly. Minho murmurs something you can’t hear—perhaps meant only for Changbin—then his dulcet voice meets your ears again. “Here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re going to find the strength to get into the bath—not the shower. Please don’t try that without one of us around. If you fall we won’t be there to help.”
“Min—”
“Sweetheart.” He matches your tone firmly. “Please, the warm water will help, I promise. By the time you’re done, Bin and I will be there and we’ll take you to your appointment, okay? Eleven o’clock, right? We’ll get it all sorted out for you.”
He sounds so sure of himself that you almost feel better. Maybe you needed that—someone to take the reins for a minute. You’re so stubborn, you know? Always taking care of others but never stopping to let yourself be taken care of.
With a gentle sigh and a nod of determination, you exhale a confirmation, “Okay, Min. Thank you.”
“Always. We’ll be there in twenty, okay? Don’t worry.”
Minho jumps out of the car before Changbin even has a chance to put it in park.
“Sweetheart,” he murmurs as he takes long strides to meet you at the door. The tote bag slung over your shoulder with all your necessities is taken from you before you can open your mouth. Wrapping a casual arm around your waist, he drops a tender peck to your forehead. “How are you feeling? Any better?”
“Yeah. The bath helped a little. I’m not so nauseous now,” you hum quietly, thoroughly exhausted, and nod your head. It’s not unusual for them to be so casually intimate with you; you’ve been friends for years, and lord knows they don’t spare physical affection amongst each other. The kissing, on the other hand, is a little new for Minho.
“Hmm, I’m glad. You smell good too. You use that vanilla cinnamon lotion Lixie bought you?”
A vague, tired nod is all Minho gets in answer, but it makes him smile. Rubbing your hip gently with a firm palm, he hums and pecks your forehead again.
“Alright, c’mon, sweetheart. Let’s get going, we’ve got a bit of a drive, right?”
You bite your lip to stop the flush from taking over your face. Minho opens the passenger side door for you just as you reach for the backseat. Shaking his head while you protest, he ushers you into what was once his seat, and then he slides into the back.
“Hey, bunny,” Changbin greets as you drop into the seat. He’s already reaching over you for your seatbelt, clicking it into place as you open your mouth to respond.
“You don’t have to do that, Bin.”
Dark, messy curls fall into Changbin’s eyes when he shakes his head and smiles. You love his natural, curly hair. “Of course I do. We love you, you know?”
You ignore the tumble in your stomach in favor of squeezing his arm. He offers you another sweet, dimpled smile, before he turns back to the road, ready to drive. You try not to stare when his bicep flexes as he tosses it behind your head to reverse out of your driveway.
“Meds are in the bag by your feet if you haven’t taken them yet. There’s some of those ginger crackers in there too if you’re able to eat anything. Put the heat pack on your stomach, drink some water, and relax, okay? We’ll take care of everything else.”
Low and behold, in the bag at the foot of the passenger seat, there’s a pill case with each of the emergency medicines you use, a set of heat packs, one of Binnie’s hoodies, and a bottle of your favorite electrolytes. When you dig around in the bag, you even find the weighted chick plush Felix bought you last year. They keep it at their dorms, and you often find yourself using it when you spend the night at their place for dinner or movies. You brush your fingertips over it with a soft, heart-squeezing sigh.
“Changbin—”
Without looking at you, Changbin drops his right hand into your lap and squeezes your thigh. You stare at his fingers as they grip the meat of your inner thigh, trying desperately not to let the heat beneath your skin show on your face. Now, that is a tumble in your stomach you cannot ignore.
“You don’t have to say anything, bun. Just rest. Try not to think about your appointment in the meantime, alright? Your kindle is somewhere in that bag too if you need a distraction. You left it at our place last week.”
“I think Jinnie stole it,” Minho confides from the backseat. “I caught him reading it this morning.”
You make a disgruntled sound in the back of your throat and smile. “Really? I’ve been looking for this all week. That bastard.”
A chuckle from the backseat makes the buzzing beneath your skin finally settle. Despite all their rambunctiousness and their chaos, Minho and Changbin are arguably two of the most dependable members of your friend group. You’re more than grateful they’re with you now. If Chan couldn’t be with you…
You push that thought away. It doesn’t matter what Chan would have done. He’s not there.
You can’t stop picking at your cuticles. It’s a nasty habit that Seungmin has been trying to make you break for years. On your left hand, your thumb is already sore and the other nails have not been spared. When you pull into the lot of your doctor’s office, there are no empty spots open out front. Changbin comes to a stop by the entrance and glances into the backseat, making silent eye contact with Minho. They exchange looks quickly, then Minho is unclicking his seatbelt to get out.
“Oh, Minho, you don’t have to—”
“C’mon, sweetheart, let’s get you checked in.” Opening the door for you, he holds out his hand and offers you a gentle smile. You gnaw on your bottom lip to stop the grin from spreading across your face.
“Okay.”
Minho leads you into the office, your bag on his shoulder, and his thumb rubbing gentle circles on the back of your hand. You speak to the man at the front desk and find a seat in the waiting room in the meantime. In the sterile, wallpapered office, the anxiety returns tenfold, and Minho is quick to set his opposite hand on your bouncing knee.
“Hey,” he whispers, leaning close and rubbing another circle over your leg. “Don’t pick. Here.”
He offers his palm, face up, and allows you to twist the rings on his fingers back and forth in place of your nervous scratching. In the quiet of the waiting room, he murmurs quiet conversation to you, not expecting you to answer. He’s so patient, you have half a mind to thank him just for sitting with you.
Then a nurse opens the door, calling your full name.
You perk up, hand unconsciously seizing around Minho’s as you stand. “That’s me.”
“We’re all ready for you to head on back! Oh, I see you came with someone today. Would you like your boyfriend to sit in with you?”
The fire beneath your skin ignites, and you bashfully begin to correct the nurse when Minho coughs. Turning back to him with nervous eyes, you watch the corner of his mouth quirk up gently into a soft smile. He meets your gaze with his sweet, dark eyes that shine too much like boba pearls. Your heart stutters.
“Do you want me there with you, sweetheart?”
He doesn't correct the nurse. Maybe that’s just because they probably wouldn’t allow him in the room if he wasn’t your partner, but a tiny part of you hopes it’s for another reason. Maybe that’s selfish considering the feelings you harbor for his friends. But that’s a problem for another time.
“Are you comfortable with that?” you find the courage to tease. “There’s going to be a lot of talk about periods and cramps and—”
“My masculinity isn’t going to take a hit if I hear you talk a little bit about blood, love.” The corners of his mouth stretch into a smirk as he rests one hand onto your hip. “I’ll be damned if my best friend can’t talk about her debilitating medical symptoms in front of me without me whining like a teenage boy hearing the word cu—”
“Okay!” you cut him off. “I’m gonna stop you right there. You definitely learned that one from Felix.”
Minho chuckles in that low, smooth voice that makes your pulse sigh his name. Squeezing your hand sweetly, he looks up at you like a curious kitten. “It’s up to you, bub. Do you want me there?”
The mood dampens with the weight of your nerves returning tenfold with the prospect of being in that sterile, white-walled room alone. You glance once at the nurse who gives you an encouraging smile, then you lick your lips, squeeze his hand tightly, and nod. “Yes please. If you’re comfortable with that, I’d really like it if you were there with me.”
Minho smiles. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”
You’re overwhelmed and anxious and disappointed and frankly, just so damn tired. You are walking out of that doctor’s office with the same amount of answers as when you walked in.
Minho says nothing to Changbin when he holds the door open for you as you leave. They both exchange a look as Minho escorts you back to the car, and Changbin is too emotionally intelligent to bother you when you don’t want to talk. Instead of stepping into the passenger seat, Minho opens the door to the backseat and helps you settle in. Then he steps around the car to slide into the other side, buckling himself in beside you and leaving the passenger seat empty. Changbin says nothing. He just passes your bag to Minho and starts the car after offering a gentle rub of your leg and a comforting smile.
The cramps start on the ride home.
You can feel the twinge in your lower belly, beginning to radiate down your legs. Before you can dig around in your bag, Minho is uncapping the bottle of your painkillers and fishing out three. Without looking up, he deposits them in your hand, uncaps your water bottle, and drops a packet of ginger cookies in your lap.
“Eat,” he murmurs beneath his breath sternly, and you know he means business. Lee Minho does not play when it comes to your health. “You can’t take these without food.”
You nod, saying nothing, and begin to idly chew on the cookies while Minho messes around in your bag. As he gets things organized, you finish your food and take a full swig of water as you swallow the painkillers. How he knew you needed three rather than the usual two is beyond you, but you’re not going to ask. Putting a name to that intrinsic feeling between the nine of you will never be able to encompass all that is your bond to each other. Minho watches you with an arched brow, making sure you drink more than just a sip of your water.
He takes too good care of you; it’s almost annoying.
“Min—”
“You don’t have to say anything, sweetheart.”
“I know.” You drop your head, staring at the chipped paint on your nails and exhaling deeply. Fidgeting your thumbs, you finally look back up at him and swallow. “Thank you, though. For coming in with me. And picking me up. And everything else. You too, Binnie.”
Changbin casts a glance in the rearview mirror, offering a gentle smile before he turns back to the road.
“Of course, baby. You don’t have to thank us.”
You shake your head, frowning as another cramp takes hold, and lean into Minho’s side to quell your heartache. “I do. You’re too kind to me. Both of you.”
The expression on Minho’s face falters. For a second, he looks pained, then he reaches for you and tucks you into his side. The seat belt digs into your side but he slides it out of the way so you can comfortably fit beside him. Your heartbeat kicks up a notch as he brushes his hand over your waist, but you can’t find the energy to be flustered. You’re just too tired. Eyes beginning to sag, you lay your head onto his shoulder and allow him to tuck your blanket around you.
“No, sweetheart.” Minho shakes his head. His voice drops, as if he doesn't intend for you to hear the next part. “It’s not that. You just deserve so much more than you’re given.”
You fall asleep with Changbin and Minho quietly watching over you, as they always will.
You wake with thankfully duller cramps. The roar of the car engine still hums in your ears, so you assume you’re still a ways from home. Beneath your cheek, Minho smells of bergamot and cedar. Too tired to pry open your fatigued eyelids, you sag further into Minho’s side and continue to fitfully fall back asleep. If it’s any comfort for the pain, you’d prefer to rest. You feel Minho’s arm tighten around you, as though trying to gently coax you back to sleep as you fidget. You almost succumb to the gentle rubbing of his thumb on your hip.
Then the quiet voices bring you back to the waking world.
“Did they say anything? Did she get any answers?”
A sigh of frustration echoes from beside you. “No. They gave her a long list of things it could be and a referral for an ultrasound, but didn’t give her anything to help today.”
Hyunjin makes a muffled sound into the receiver. “You sound pissed, hyung.”
“I am. They were so dismissive of her concerns, even when I was sitting right there to back her up. I mean, she called us in tears this morning, Hyunjin. Tears. She could barely find the strength to get into the bath and they just brushed her off like it was any other day.”
You remember that. It was obvious that Minho had grown increasingly frustrated through your appointment. At one point, his jaw clenched so tightly, you worried he would crack teeth. You appreciated having him there though. Truly. He advocated for you even when he didn’t have to.
“Seriously? The doctor did that?” That’s Felix. You would know the lull of his deep voice anywhere.
“I mean, I think the exact words she used were ‘It could be any number of things, but we’ll need more time to diagnose those than we have today. Take some ibuprofen, use a hot compress, and call us back to schedule another appointment.’ I could have strangled her, Felix. You should have seen our girl’s face.”
Our girl. Their girl.
“What do you mean?”
Minho makes another sound, something that sounds dejected and mournful. “I mean, the way she looked. She was just… She was so tired and it looked like she was trying so hard not to cry.”
It’s quiet for a long time, as if neither Felix nor Hyunjin know what to say. Then it’s Jisung, quiet and solemn, who whispers, “Is she okay? Right now, I mean?”
Minho exhales and you hear rustling and feel the blanket being tugged higher up your lap. Unbeknownst to you, Changbin glances in the rearview mirror, watching as Minho’s eyes soften sweetly as he retucks the blanket around you and brushes a strand of hair from your face. A barely-there smile tugs at his lips.
“I don’t think so, Ji.” There’s a resounding echo of silence. “She was really overwhelmed when we got in the car, and then her cramps started a few minutes later. I tried to get her to sleep a little, but I don’t know if it’s helping.”
Changbin tightens his grip on the steering wheel. “We’re bringing her back to the dorms.”
“Are you sure? She doesn’t usually like company on the first few days of her period,” Hyunjin murmurs into the phone. His voice comes out a little different through the device, but it’s undeniably Hyunjin.
“I know.” Minho swallows and glances back down at you, but you cannot see him. “Maybe I’m being too selfish, but I can’t bear knowing that she’s in this much pain alone.”
Your heart swells.
Inhaling another fragrant wave of Minho’s cologne, you bury your nose in his shirt and find the courage to cling to him. Your efforts are reciprocated quickly, as Minho shifts in his seat to allow you the space to nearly crawl halfway into his lap. You wonder if he knows you’re awake now. Perhaps he does, because his hand drops lower to rub sweet circles across your abdomen, right where the worst of the throbbing is.
“Is Chan back?”
The younger members hesitate. A crackle is heard over the phone. Jisung’s voice drops. “No. He left really early this morning. We haven’t seen him since.”
You don’t see the way Minho’s jaw grinds.
“Can someone please call and try to get him home?”
“What? Why?”
Minho’s hand rubs another soft circle across your stomach. He blinks down at you, curled up too small in his lap. On any other occasion, this would be cute; you look awfully cat-like sprawled across him like this. But the way your features are curled up in pain and the way you squirm as another wave of cramps rolls all the way down your thighs… He just wants you better. And only Chan knows how to do that.
“She needs him. Tell him it’s an emergency or something. Tell him you set the dorms on fire, for all I care. Just get him home.”
Hyunjin scoffs, as if personally insulted. Maybe he is. He’s always been acutely attuned to you. When you’re mad, he’s mad. When you’re happy, he’s happy. And right now, he must feel every bit of indignation you have for the eldest. “Really? He ditched her this morning, Minho. Do you really think she wants to see him right now?”
Minho is quiet when he answers, “He’s the best at comforting her the way she needs.”
“We can—”
“Hyunjin, please. It’s going to get worse and you know she’s going to want him.”
He falters.
“For her, Jinnie.”
You think you might hear his heart crack.
“Yeah, okay,” Hyunjin relents. “I’ll call him. For her.”
You didn’t realize they cared about you this much. You didn’t know they knew all these things about you.
You love them so much.
Changbin must have carried you in from the car because you wake up in one of the beds in their dorms. You can tell it’s Seungmin’s from the rich scent of his sheets. You bury your nose into his pillowcase and sink into the familiarity of him. He must have let you sleep here knowing no one would bother you in his room. A dull wave of agony squeezes the bottom of your stomach tight. You exhale sharply and roll over to face the fading sunlight coming in from the half-closed curtains.
“Hey, sweet girl,” comes the soft mumble from the doorway. “Feeling any better?”
“Hi, Minnie.”
You don’t look up at him when you say it. Buried in his dark blue sheets and voice muffled into the pillowcase, you grumble without turning to him. He lets out a soft chuckle and covers his mouth with his palm. “You still sound sleepy, pretty baby. How are your cramps?”
Finally pulling your face from the bed, you turn over your shoulder to look at Seungmin with hot cheeks. He calls you that a lot: pretty baby. It never fails to make your stomach flip, even with the full, agonizing cramping sensation. The tall boy is leaning against the doorframe, a plate in his hands and a steaming mug in the other. When he steps into the room, he sets the mug down onto a coaster on his bedside table and lifts one leg to sit on his bed. The plate sits in his lap as Seungmin reaches forward to brush a messy strand of hair behind your ear. You look a little ruffled, having just woken up, but Seungmin thinks it’s cute. Messy hair, sleepy eyes, a pout on your lips… What he would give to kiss that look off your face.
“‘S okay,” you grumble tiredly. “Six out of ten right now, I think.”
He tries not to wince. How a six out of ten on the pain scale is okay, will never make sense to him. Someone—perferably a medical professional—truly needs to start taking your pain seriously. Seungmin hums, still focused on the sleepy look on your face. With a sweet smile, he licks his lips and glances down at the food in his lap. “I brought you some snacks before dinner. Tea is on the table and you can take some more meds now too. They’re in the bedside drawer. Can I refill your hot water bottle for you?”
You take a glance at your stomach, noting your favorite hot pad resting over your belly. Oh, you hadn’t noticed that. It’s probably Felix’s doing. He keeps it in his room for you.
“Yes please.”
“Okay, baby.” He leans down, rubbing a sweet hand over your cheek before dropping a tender kiss to your brow. “Eat something, please? Just enough to take your painkillers. I’ll be back in a minute.”
He takes the hot water bottle, fixes you with a knowing look, and disappears back down the hallway. In the time it takes for you to finally lift the toast to your mouth, Jeongin and Hyunjin are in the doorway. You don’t get the chance to say anything before Hyunjin is crawling into the bed beside you, wiggling beneath the sheets and laying his head in your lap. He’s careful not to rest too much of his weight there, but he does rub his fingers soothingly across the faint burn marks of your abdomen where the hot pad was just resting.
“These are getting worse, baby love.” Hyunjin can tell. His forefinger hooks in the bottom of your shirt, lifting just enough so he can see your belly button. You ignore the flutter of your heart with a sigh. This kind of casual intimacy is normal for Hyunjin. The pad of his finger brushes over a particularly angry one, flushed with the heat that once rested against it. He’d known you before you had those scars, and he’s tracked their growth—worried that doctors weren’t taking you seriously when you went in with literal burn scars on your stomach from how boiling your hot water bottle was. You always said it felt better than the cramps themselves, but the notion that you preferred burning yourself against the sensation of your cramps was not lost on him. “Can I massage you a little? Or are you sensitive today?”
Chewing slowly, you hum and nod. Swallowing the bite of your toast, you whisper, “Just a little. Everything is swollen and achy today.”
“I’m sorry, lovely.” Hyunjin drops his chin to kiss beneath your belly button and rubs his thumb over the puffy, bloated bump of your stomach. If it were anyone else, perhaps you would have been insecure about that. Truly, in the past, it was an insecurity of yours—the pudge of your stomach. But you’ve known the eight of them so long that you’ve fallen in love with those parts of yourself—the ones you thought you hated. They made you love those pieces of yourself. Because you weren’t a thing to be loved in fragments. You’re a blessing to be worshipped and adored as a whole or not at all.
“I’ll be careful,” Hyunjin murmurs as he kisses your belly once more. Then his palm is resting against your hip and his other hand is gently swirling careful circles across your abdomen, feeling the swollen pieces inside of you as they cry for relief. When his thumb skates along the bottom of your belly, he makes a sad sound, almost like your pain is his own. “Oh, baby love, this feels so swollen. I’m so sorry, honey. Is there anything we can do?”
You sigh through your nose as your eyes flutter shut, trying to savor the softness of his hands and the pads of his long fingers. The hormones rushing through you in waves force a wave of salt to swell behind your eyes, forming tears quicker than you can blink.
“No.”
It comes quiet and broken, the confession. There’s nothing they can do.
And though they already knew the answer, it still sends a blow to the heart.
Jeongin drops onto the bed at your other side, silent but watching over you like he doesn’t know what to do. And he probably doesn’t. The others have taken care of everything already, so there isn’t much for Jeongin to do in terms of finding ways to take care of you.
But that somehow makes him feel worse.
Because that means there’s nothing for him to do but sit there and watch you suffer.
“Noona.” His voice cracks, and Jeongin winces. He tries to say something else but nothing comes out, and when you blink your eyes open tiredly, the look on his face is heart-wrenching.
“Innie…”
Jeongin’s mouth is curled into a frown that wrinkles his pretty features and his eyes are swimming with tears. The dark, near-black color of his irises swell with the weight of his empathy, and you swear you can feel his aching heart within your own chest.
“Are you sure there’s nothing else we can do?”
Long fingers pull worriedly at the blanket tucked beneath your hips, and you blink sleepily as Jeongin rocks closer to you. He’s not as physically affectionate as the others, but during a select few moments, you can catch him craving touch just like any of the boys. Like right now, when he’s practically pawing at your side for a sliver of your attention.
With a tiny smile, you open one arm out to the side and beckon him into your opposite side. “You can stay. That will help more than anything, Innie.”
“Okay,” he sighs swiftly, “I can do that. We can stay.”
“Thank you.”
Jeongin tucks in your soft blankets around you and dismisses your outstretched arm in favor of curling onto his side so he can pull you against him. Hyunjin makes himself comfortable in the space between your open legs, still peppering kisses and smooth, tender rubs across your abdomen like he can massage the ache away. Between them your heart swells like a balloon, and you swear any more affection from them will make it pop.
“Always, baby. We’ll be here as long as you need.”
And that’s just the thing, isn’t it? Because you’ll always need them.
But that’s okay.
Because they’ll always need you too.
“Any chance you didn’t heat that up as much as she likes?”
“No shot,” comes Seungmin’s muffled answer. “You know she likes it like this, and I’m not going to take away her only comfort right now.”
A heavy sigh.
“I know.” Someone brushes their hand along the curve of your jaw and you sigh as you lean into it exhaustedly. “It’s just… it’s burning her, you know?”
“I know, Lixie.”
Another weight sigh and a tired hum.
“I wish there was something else I could do. I hate that this is the only thing that helps.”
“Yeah, baby, me too.” A quiet smack sounds, and you can only assume that Seungmin has kissed Felix on the head. “Keep your hand there in between her and the hot pad while she’s sleeping if you want. Or the blanket if it gets too warm for you. She hopefully shouldn’t need it as much when she’s asleep.”
“Hmm.”
A weight is dropped onto your lower belly, pleasantly warm and steady. Just after, a hand is cupping the bottom of your stomach between you and the hot water bottle, and despite the pain and swelling riddling you, the warmth of Felix’s hand is somehow even better than any heating pad.
“Any word on Chan?”
“On his way back.” Seungmin grunts the words beneath his breath like they’ve personally offended him.
“Don’t give him too much shit, Minnie. He wanted to be here, you know that.”
A scoff.
“But he wasn’t.”
Felix exhales through his nose and funnels his attention into steadily rubbing the skin of your stomach to soothe you when you stir.
“Yeah. He wasn’t. But you and I both know he couldn’t get out of that. The council needed him.”
A gruff growl builds in Seungmin’s throat—a sound you’ve never heard him make. “Yeah, well, so did she.”
Yeah. You did.
The next time you wake, you’re alone in Seungmin’s bed—a strange occurrence, if you’re entirely honest. You’re not often left entirely on your own when you’re over at their dorms, especially when you’re in pain.
And, fuck, are you in pain.
The cramps have returned. Tenfold. The ache has transformed into a striking, burning, and sizzling sensation that tightens like a knot in your lower abdomen. It’s like the cord is being tugged at both ends, cinching the knot ever tighter and tighter until it feels like something within you is going to pop from all the pressure. The sheer agony spreads from your belly to your thighs and into the small of your back, and tears immediately spring to your eyes without another second to think. Your legs clench tight like springs ready to snap, and you keen off the bed as another wave of crippling agony sends you off the bed and stumbling into the bathroom like a mad woman. Muscles weak and head woozy, you nearly crumple twice on your mission to the toilet, and by the time you drop beside the toilet, still clutching your hot pad like a lifeline, you’ve already dissolved into sobs.
You don’t know how long it’s been since you’ve had any pain killers, but if you’re entirely honest, you know they won’t help. These kinds of cramps—these sharp, crippling ones that rank a nine out of ten on your pain skill (maybe even a ten if you weren’t so stubborn to admit it)—cannot be soothed by any amount of medicine. You’ve tried that. You’ve tried everything. You’ve done everything the doctors suggested. You’ve done everything the internet suggested. You tried the vitamins and the supplements and exercise and managing stress and all the other bullshit pain mitigation strategies the people on the internet tell you.
But there is no comfort to you right now, sitting on the bathroom floor, weeping, and clutching your hot water bottle to the agony in your belly like it will save you.
It won’t.
You know it won’t.
But there’s nothing else to do.
Nothing to do but weep.
So you do.
You don’t know how long you sit there.
You didn’t bring your phone, and there’s no telling any kind of semblance of time when you’re this delirious. You’ve dry heaved into the toilet thrice now, and the pain has only escalated—a feat you didn’t think possible. You’ve gone from weeping to muffling the spine-trembling sobs into your palm in an effort not to wake the boys. You don’t want comfort right now. Wait no—maybe that’s a lie. Maybe you do.
You don’t know. It’s so hard to think right now.
The pain is making you woozy.
Choking on a wave of nausea and another crippling bolt of agony in the deepest pit of your abdomen, you cough on a violent sob and sag against the wall of the bathroom. The pain is getting worse. How could it possibly get any worse? It was already a nine out of ten. How was there any room left on the scale to climb?
Then, just at the pinnacle of the worst of it, you hear him.
“Baby?”
The door to Seungmin’s room cracks open. A shuffle of feet sounds, but you’re barely listening.
“Babygirl, are you in here?”
Chan.
Chan is home.
He calls your name with that voice you love so much—the steady timber that ripples with the weight of his adoration. You love his voice. You love his laugh. Fuck, you wish the sound of his laugh could soothe your agony right now. But you can’t answer him. Maybe you don’t want to. Maybe you’re still mad at him for this morning. Or maybe you just can’t. The pain is just too much. The words won’t build on your tongue. They’re right there, waiting in the back of your throat, but there is no strength left in your body to push them forward.
So you do nothing.
You sit there, weeping through another wave of agony and praying to anyone that will listen, that the pain will stop soon. Stop, you beg silently. Stop, just please stop. I’ll do anything.
“Baby?”
Chan’s voice changes. The lull of his almost guilt-ridden tone warps to something quieter. Something worried. The thumping of feet enter the carpeted bedroom, and the door swings open against the wall softly.
“Baby?”
He almost exclaims it, despite his voice not raising above a frantic whisper. Chan never shouts. Not at you. Not at his members. He doesn’t need to raise his voice to get his point across. A silent, frantic realization must reach Chan then, because there’s muffled footsteps headed for the bathroom door, and you have the semblance to thank yourself for remembering to lock it. A dull knock sounds in the ensuite bathroom, but you don’t answer. You just sit back against the wall, sweat building at your brow and staining the fabric of your shirt. Trembling sickly, you clench your fists and try with all your might to loosen the muscles you’ve locked lest you pass out. You feel disgusting. And pathetic. Fuck, you wish you would stop crying. Snot is dripping from your nose from the weight of your sobs and your hair is mussed in ten different directions from running your fingers through it and seizing the strands in your fists. You must look like a mess.
“Love, if you’re in there, please answer me.”
Nothing.
“Please, baby, I’m worried about you. The boys told me what happened and I need to know you’re okay.”
You exhale through your nose and try to unlock the permanent wince that has screwed your face into an expression of agony. You want to answer him. Truly you do. There’s nothing you want more. You don’t care about him missing your appointment anymore. Well, maybe you do. Fuck, you can’t think right now.
You just want him.
But you can’t reach up to unlock the door. That would mean having to move, and it hurts so badly you think your jaw might crack from how tightly you’ve locked it.
A muffled thump on the other side of the wooden door sounds and feet shuffle. Chan is resting his head against it. A heavy sigh follows.
“My love,” he sighs softly, ignoring the rolling in his stomach. “Can you at least let me know you’re in there?”
Chan rocks on his feet again, trying to abate the anxiety eating at the pit of his gut. He swallows once in an attempt to quell the lump in his throat, but it does nothing. He just got home a few minutes ago: ten to midnight. Yeah, he knows it’s late. He knows he should have been home sooner. Especially when you needed him. But what could he do? When the council calls, he’s expected to answer. The lives of his clan are at stake. So Bang Chan, leader of his abnormal coven, left you alone that morning. Like an absolute asshole. And now he’s come home to an empty room and a pit of worry in his stomach so deep he thinks it’s making a home in his gut.
And he can smell your pain.
It’s coming in waves. Seungmin told him they left you to rest after they managed to feed you most of your dinner, give you a few more painkillers, and tucked you in his fresh sheets with Felix clinging to your side. Said abnormal vampire left the bed an hour ago when the smell of your agony finally overwhelmed his empathic powers. The innate sense of your pain made him hurt so terribly he had to leave.
Now Chan is here: in an empty room, hovering outside the bathroom door, and praying to whatever god cursed him with immortality to unlock the knob.
“Baby, please. You can be mad at me if you want. You can yell at me and scold me and shout, but I need to know you’re alright. Please tell me you’re alright.”
You wouldn’t do that. Sure, you can hold a grudge, but you try your best to communicate your issues before it comes to shouting. You’re a work in progress, but isn’t everyone?
As another wave of pain sears through you like a strike of lightning, and you choke on a loud sob. It escapes you this time in the form of a pained moan—not the right answer.
“Fuck, angel? Baby, is that you?”
“Chr—” Your voice cracks, fading to nothing.
A thump against the door, frantic now.
“Honey?”
You sag against the wall, feeling both cold and all too hot at once.
“Answer me, honey, please. I won’t come in unless you let me, but I’m getting really concerned here, baby.”
“Chris…”
And that’s when Chan knows everything is all wrong. You never call him Chris. Not unless something’s wrong.
“Babygirl? Sweetheart? Are you okay?”
“No,” you weep, sobbing into your clenched fist. “Hurts so bad, Chris.”
“Oh, my girl, I’m so sorry, honey. I’m sorry it hurts,” Chan’s forehead thumps against the door again, and he clenches his fist around the door knob, wondering what you would do if he used a tiny semblance of his supernatural strength to break it open. It’s an invasion of your privacy, he knows, but fuck, he needs to see you. He needs to know you’re going to be okay. “Can you open the door f’me, baby? I can’t help you from here.”
“Can’t help anyway,” comes your sighed admission.
“I can try.”
You sigh and feel your eyelids flutter shut against your will. Head sagging back against the wall, you try to unlock your clenched legs, but it’s no use. Muttering echoes beyond the bathroom door, but you can’t make it out. Thumping your head back, the room spins in and out of focus and your heart pulses an angry rhythm in your eardrums. You taste spit building on your tongue and your breath comes quicker.
“Please let me try…”
Smacking your dry lips together, you ignore the taste of bile on your tongue and shake your head tiredly. You don’t want him to see you. Not like this. Not gross and sweaty and weeping and pathetic.
You don’t want him to pity you.
The room spins. You don’t realize how long it’s been since you answered Chan.
“Baby, baby!”
You barely hear him. Everything is kind of muted now. It’s hard to tell if Chan is outside the door or if he’s three rooms over.
“Minho! Min, get in here! Now!”
Heavy footsteps thump throughout the house. A door hits the wall of the hallway and then another slams open.
“Baby, do not pass out.”
The order is redundant. You already know. You’ve been trying not to for hours now.
“Minho!”
The shouting comes again, frantic and bellowing. It echoes through the house like a crack of thunder. Chan is panicking.
And you take it back. Maybe Chan can shout. All it takes is the right circumstances.
“Do not pass out, baby.”
You try not to. You try so hard not to. You just want the agony to end. You want it to stop so you can sleep. You just want to sleep.
“Baby, what can I do?”
You shake your head, willing the tears dripping down your cheeks to stop. You hate this. You despise it. You want it to stop. The cramps, the hot-flashes, the sweat, the tears, the nausea—all of it. You just want it to stop.
Chan strokes his hand across the frame of the door, feeling his heart clench horribly beneath his ribs. It’s crying—his heart is. It’s weeping for you, desperately wishing it could do something to stop this pain. In the next second, the door to Seungmin’s bedroom slams against the wall, no concern for the drywall behind it, then Minho is standing there with Changbin at his back and Hyunjin to his side. They stand in the doorway, dark eyes almost glowing and hands splintering the wood from how tight he’s clutching it. He doesn’t know what to do. His un-beating heart is cracking within its bony cage, yet Minho can do nothing.
“Sweetheart?”
That’s Minho’s voice. Minho, the steady ground beneath your feet. Minho, the gravity binding you to the earth.
“Min?”
You don’t know why you say it. You know it’s him.
“Yeah, ‘S me, pretty girl. Binnie’s here too. And Hyunjin.”
“Hmm.”
Minho exchanges a look with Chan, and a knowing bolt of worry strikes through their chests.
“Why did you lock the door, baby love?”
Hyunjin this time. No one else calls you that.
You shudder through a terrible cramp, but you think they’re coming slower now. They don’t paralyze you like the ones before. Exhaling through your nose and trying to relax, you hum, “‘M gross, Jinnie. Don’t want you to see me.”
“Now that’s just bullshit.”
“Bin—!”
“You’ve never been gross in all the years we’ve known you, bun,” Changbin continues, ignoring the interruption. “We’ve seen you sweaty and crying and when you had food poisoning last year and couldn’t leave the bathroom floor for more then ten minutes. And you’ve never been gross. You’ve always just been you.”
Another wave of tears swells behind your eyes with a steady pressure. You’re forced to cover your mouth to muffle the sound of your sobs. Heart aching in tandem with your abdomen, you shiver and crawl closer to the doorway to stare weakly up at the handle like it’s personally offended you.
“What can we do, my heart?” Hyunjin begs. “Please don’t suffer alone in there. We want to help, even if it’s just to hold your hand while you cry.”
Please don’t make us listen to you cry, he doesn’t finish. The sound of your muffled sobs is killing him. His enhanced hearing can’t tune them out. He hears every single one, no matter how desperately you try to cover them with your palms. Please don’t make us listen to you suffer.
What can they do?
How can they fix this?
“I was so scared, Channie.” The words come out muffled into your fist as they begin spilling off your tongue like water burst from a dam. “I needed you there with me. But I think I was too selfish. I shouldn’t expect you to drop everything f’me, ‘m sorry.”
If his heart hurt before, Chan cannot describe the crack that just cleaved through it.
“No, baby, no.” His voice comes out quick and desperate and raw with the weight of his own tears. “You can—you can depend on me, okay? I don’t care if I have to drop everything important to be there for you, I want to always be there.”
“Chan—”
But he’s rambling now, and he cannot be stopped.
“I want to take you to your doctor’s appointments and scold them for not taking your concerns seriously. I want to remind you to take your meds on time, and I want to watch you fall asleep in my car on the way home while the boys whisper in the backseat. I want to be there for you when you’re crying and in pain because it hurts—it physically hurts to hear you like this, babygirl.”
You let out a weak sound that makes Chan sick.
“I want to hold your hand when you’re scared, and I want you to squeeze it as tight as you can when your cramps are too much. I want to wipe away your tears and let you stain my shirt when you cry. I want to clean the sweat from your brow even when you try to stop me because you think it’s gross. I want those things. I want to take care of you. I want you.”
“Then why weren’t you there?”
It comes out muffled and quiet, as if you didn’t mean to say it at all.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Chan swallows back the lump in his throat. He tries to say something, but all that comes out is a mournful sound.
“I know, I’m sorry, baby girl. I’m so sorry. I should have been there. I should have been.”
Another sob rolls through you, heavy and gut-wrenching. Chan feels another crack of his heart splinter, and suddenly he cannot take it anymore.
“Please open the door, my girl. Please.” His forehead thumps against the wood again like it will connect him to you. He feels someone lay a warm palm across his spine—probably Changbin—he’s always there when Chan needs him. “Please let me help, baby. Let me see you.”
You swallow back a swell of nausea and cling to the toilet seat, terrified that the second you move, you’ll vomit. Thighs throbbing with the tremendous wave of agony in your belly, you let out a choked sound. You just want it to stop: the cramps, the nausea, the hot flashes, the agony—you want everything to stop. Why won’t it just stop?
He knocks his head against the door again and tightens his grip on the doorknob.
“Baby…”
“Channie…”
“Open the door, my love. Shout at me, scold me, hate me, just let me in.” He swallows, trying to soothe the clenching of his heart. “I’ll explain everything, just let me be there for you now.”
You exhale, blinking away the salt in your eyes and clutching the hot pad to your stomach. Another cramp takes you hostage, seizing in your gut and radiating down your legs and into your back. Clenching your eyes shut, you muffle the weak sound that almost leaves you. It’s all too much. You’re in so much pain and you’re so tired and you can’t even be mad at Chan anymore.
You just want him to hug you and tell you everything’s going to be alright. Even if it isn’t.
You just need him.
The lock clicks.
“So you’re a vampire?”
A muffled snort echoes above your head.
“Not quite.”
Burying your head deeper into Chan’s chest, you palm the thick muscle above his heart and feel it beat under your hand. Still flesh and bone and all Chan. He smells just like he always has—like expensive cologne and something you can never quite replicate. And he feels like he always has too. Blood still pumps beneath his skin and his cheeks still flush when he’s shy. That couldn’t be a vampiric quality, could it?
“Then what are you?” you breathe into his collarbone, smiling when he shivers. The cramps have slowed to a quiet null thanks to the pain killers from Jinnie and the tea from Felix. Seungmin reheated your bottle and placed it on your belly, but made you promise to let him sit there and make sure it isn’t too warm against your skin. You don’t care; you’re just happy he wants to cuddle.
“A hybrid, actually.”
“Half vampire, half…?”
“Werewolf.”
You grin and Chan feels it against the skin of his throat.
“Don’t say it.”
You giggle quietly, feeling loopy from the lack of sleep now that the pain has tempered. “I wasn’t going to.”
Chan pinches your hip. “You were thinking about it.”
“Oh, so you can read my mind now? Is that one of your freaky supernatural powers too?”
“No, that’s mine,” comes Seungmin’s rebuttal, murmured into the space above your hip. You drop your hand into his dark hair and begin idly scratching at his scalp, listening to him purr. The sound vibrates into your lungs and you can feel it soothing the ache from within. You wonder if you’re just imagining that.
“Okay, so reading minds is a thing. That’s cool,” you feign, terribly nonchalant about the whole thing. “And the purring?”
“Anyone part vamp can do that.”
You knock your head back to blink up at Jisung, who deposits another fresh cup of raspberry leaf tea on the coaster on the side table. Before he leaves, he rubs his forefingers across your jaw and pulls your cheek towards him so he can kiss your temple.
“Thanks, Sungie.”
“Of course, baby.”
“So you were smelling that I was in pain this whole time?” You whisper tiredly. “That’s how you always know what I need?”
Minho snorts as he shakes his head. “No, sweetheart, we just know you that well.”
“But yes,” Hyunjin interrupts, “we can sense that you’re in pain. But it’s not always a ‘smell’ thing. It’s just…”
“A you thing.”
You tilt your head back up to look at Chan. “What do you mean?”
“It’s just a you thing,” he reiterates. “We know what you’re feeling and what you need because we innately react to you. There’s an intrinsic connection binding us together.”
“Oh. That’s cool.”
Someone snorts.
Minho rolls his eyes, but the smile on his face is undeniable. “You are something else, sweetheart.”
“You know you’re awfully nonchalant about this…” Felix raises one eyebrow across the room as he snuggles Jeongin on the couch. “Should we be concerned, or…?”
Shaking your head and burying your nose into Chan’s collarbone, you sigh with a smile. “No, I think I’m a little loopy, honestly. We might have to have this conversation again in the morning.”
Chan chuckles, and you feel it reverberate through his chest where it’s pressed against yours. He drags his palm over your hip, petting softly as he kisses your brow again. He’s been doing that since he managed to get you into his arms. They all have, really. The kisses have been shared quick and easily between the nine of you without any ceremonious discussion. It all sort of just… happened. Minho kisses Jisung on the corner of his mouth and no one says a word. Felix drops a peck to Jeongin’s temple and Hyunjin kisses Changbin directly on the mouth, but it’s not strange. It feels like it was always meant to be this way. Maybe it always was and you just hadn’t noticed.
“Okay, baby,” Chan chuckles, stroking a hand down your spine. “We can talk about this again in the morning.”
“Okay,” you acquiesce, already halfway into dreamland. “Love you, Channie.”
“I love you too, baby.” He kisses your nose and the bow of your mouth with a tenderness you cannot fathom deserving. “Let’s talk in the morning.”
“Mhm.”
You fumble for Seungmin’s wrist with your eyes closed and tug his hand into your heart so you can keep him there. He puffs a breath of air through his nose silently and strokes his hand over your breastbone. Kissing the nape of your neck quickly, he murmurs his goodnight and listens to your thoughts as they trail into comfortable silence.
“What a soulmate we ended up with, hm?”
Felix grins as your serenity casts a divine warmth into the marrow of his bones. “You can say that twice.”
“I’m just glad it’s her.”
“Me too, Chan,” Minho whispers. “Me too.”
bonus:
the council: make a choice, bang chan. us or the read—
chan: reader.
the council: ...
the council: sorry, we didn't finish. us or the re—
chan: reader.
a/n: hi! I'm alive!! I hope you guys enjoyed this ramble that isn't really my usual coherent fic, but it's kind of just a rant at this point about my own experience with periods and the health care industry :") it might be a little too much for some ppl or weird, but it was honestly kind of just a comfort thing for me so I wrote it anyway :D
also! had quite a few ppl calling the reader in raspberry leaves "dramatic" and saying I was making a "big deal" out of periods cause they aren't that bad, and I wanted to clarify that 1. not all cycles are the same! It's great that your symptoms don't bother you much! that's how it's supposed to be! but unfortunately, not all women's (or uterus having persons') bodies are the same, and to some of our great misfortunes, some of us have symptoms on our periods that are debilitating (like cannot move from the bed debilitating). this is not normal, and if you are experiencing this (or even just experiencing a life where you have to plan your time around your cycle bc of extreme symptoms), you should try to see a doctor. and take it from me, it will probably be super frustrating to get answers or even be heard out by some doctors, but it is not normal to be in this much pain, and you should speak to someone about it. Do not let people downplay your pain. also 2. this is fan fiction and I like to be dramatic, so sue me xD
anyway sorry for the rant. I hope you enjoyed! I'll be answering my messages soon so thank you guys for all the love <33
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