[kkyeoji]

Welcome to kkyeoji's blog ⋆ ✴︎ ˚ ｡ ⋆

aeri || she/her 💌

⤷ m.list ⚘ reqs open ! ⋆ ｡ 𖦹 ° ⭒ ˚ ｡ ⋆

always open to making moots ! ꉂ(˵˃ ᗜ ˂˵)

[kkyeoji]

stay with me

pairing: lee haechan x reader

summary: after a fatal head injury, haechan wakes up from a coma with amnesia; and all he wants right now is you

genre: ANGST, slight fluff? mentions of head injury, hospital equipment etc.

w/c: 3.7k

the first thing he notices is the change in the air.

he wakes up and suddenly its all too quiet, too calm. 

the next second he sees a nurse rushing into the room

"good morning," she says. "how are you feeling?"

he tries to answer, but his mouth hesitates like it's searching for the correct version of the world. his throat feels dry. his head feels heavy, as if someone wrapped his thoughts in cloth while he slept.

"where..." he starts, and the word turns into nothing. the nurse adjusts the blanket at his chest. "you're safe. you're in the hospital. you had a-" she checks her clipboard. "a head injury. you're awake now, so that's a good sign."

good sign.

haechan swallows. he blinks and looks around again, he doesn't remember much, but he knows that there's only one person that he wants to see right now.

"where's y/n?"

the lobby smells like disinfectant and tired coffee. you scan the signs at the end of the hall, your eyes moving faster than your brain wants to.

you find him because your body remembers where he should be.

in the time between you walking in and you seeing him, you realize something terrible, you’ve been assuming he’s waiting for you the way you used to wait for each other. you’ve been assuming he’s still in your routine, still in your life.

but when you reach his room, you find him at the bedside, too upright, too restless, like he’s trying to solve an emergency with panic alone.

he sees you and stands too quickly.

“y/n,” he says, like the word is oxygen.

you step closer carefully. “haechan. hey. i’m here.”

relief flashes across his face for half a second, then confusion slides in again like a tide. his brows pinch, his gaze flickers to your hands, your face, your clothes, searching for proof.

“you were here,” he says. not a question. like he’s arguing with his own mind. “i-i knew you. but i don’t know-”

“amnesia,” you hear behind you.

the nurse.

she’s standing in the doorway with her clipboard, not harsh, not dramatic. just tired. just competent. her voice is gentle in the way that means she’s said the same sentence a lot and still hates it.

“he woke up asking for you,” the nurse says. “right after the morning check. he keeps trying to remember, but his memories aren’t accessible right now.”

haechan’s head turns toward her. “amnesia?”

the word lands in his face like something cold.

“yes,” the nurse says. “and he’s at risk. further brain injury if he overexerts himself trying to force memory. headaches, confusion, complications. we want him calm. stable.”

haechan looks at you like you can translate the sentence into something that makes sense.

“what do i do,” he asks.

you already know what the nurse means. you can feel it in the way your throat tightens and your chest tries to close around the word ‘memory’ like it’s protecting you from it.

the nurse continues, “for now, it’s best if you play along with whatever he currently believes. don’t correct him harshly. don’t push him into trying to recall things that aren’t there. reassure him that it’s okay.”

you swallow.

there’s a moment where you want to argue. where you want to say he deserves the truth. where you want to demand clarity, because you’ve always hated the way your life turns into unanswered questions.

but then you see his face.

not just confused.

afraid.

you think of hospital lights, of scanners and protocols, of how quickly good intentions can become harm. you think of the note he’d asked for last year, the one you still keep folded in a drawer even though you told yourself you’d throw it away. you think of how he used to say he’d choose you even if his schedule got messy.

and then you think of how this is now.

you nod once, slowly, like agreeing to something heavier than comfort. “okay,” you say to the nurse. “i understand.”

the nurse meets your eyes like she appreciates you choosing patience. “thank you. he’s already very attached to you ”

attached.

like it’s a fact you can measure on a chart.

haechan doesn’t ask what the nurse told you. he just looks at you harder, trying to find you in the fog.

“are you mad at me,” he asks quietly.

your heart stutters.

“no,” you say, because you can’t break him with the truth too early. “i’m not mad.”

he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for hours.

“then… stay,” he says. “please.”

so you do.

you stay.

the first day is mostly practical.

you help him drink water, because his hands shake slightly when he remembers you’re supposed to be someone he loves. you help him sit up slowly. you help him answer questions from nurses with a calm voice he clings to like it’s a railing.

when he asks where he is, you tell him it’s a hospital and you are here. when he asks if you’ve been waiting, you tell him you came as soon as you could. when he asks what happened, you don’t tell him everything, because the nurse was clear, and because you can see how quickly he starts to spiral when he tries to push past what he’s currently able to hold.

but he doesn’t just stay in the present.

he keeps making small connections, even with the amnesia.

later that first night, he points at your phone when it buzzes. “is that… work?”

you glance at the screen without thinking. you shouldn’t have checked it, but habit is hard to kill. you turn it face down. “it’s okay. it can wait.”

“you always did that,” he says, then pauses like the sentence surprised him. “didn’t you?”

you freeze. “always?”

he rubs his face with the heel of his palm. “i don’t know. i just- something feels familiar.”

his eyes lift to yours again. “i think i was the one who was busy.”

you give him a small smile. “you were.”

it’s not a lie, but it’s not the full story either.

he nods, like your answer fits inside the empty spaces he can’t yet see.

and when you lie back against the chair beside his bed, you realize you’re doing it too: shaping the truth so it won’t hurt him.

for now, you’re not the you in the present

you’re the you of the past

the one he remembers.

week one passes in a slow, careful rhythm.

you come in every day after whatever you can salvage from your life outside the hospital. you bring him simple food he can tolerate. you talk to him when he gets restless. you watch his eyes when he hears your voice, because he looks at you differently when he’s calm. like he trusts you more.

he thanks you constantly.

“you’re so good to me,” he’ll say, like he’s stunned you’re not angry. like he can’t understand why you keep showing up.

“i’m just taking care of you,” you answer.

but there are moments where the mask cracks.

not in a dramatic way. not in the way movies do it. in tiny things.

one afternoon, he’s staring at the IV pole like it’s a prop on a stage. “why do i have so many appointments,” he asks.

“doctor visits,” you say.

he frowns. “no. i mean… earlier. before i ended up here.” he presses his fingers to his temple. “i had- i have…memories that don’t load.”

you sit up straighter, careful not to flinch. “what do you remember?”

he tries to say it like a puzzle. “you and i had a routine. it felt—like… like i was always behind.”

you hold your breath.

because that sounds like it could be heartbreak or it could be guilt.

and right now, either one could hurt him if it’s the wrong one.

“maybe you were stressed,” you say softly.

his eyes narrow, and he shakes his head like he hates the answer. “not stressed. i was prioritizing something.”

you keep your voice steady. “work?”

he looks at you as if the word should already mean something. “yes.”

then he exhales, long and shaky. “and you didn’t like it.”

your stomach twists.

you don’t want to lie, but you also don’t want to correct him too hard. you choose truth that won’t break him in one sentence.

“i didn’t like it when you stopped showing up the way you promised.”

he goes quiet after that. the quiet isn’t peaceful. it’s tense, like his brain is trying to file the information under something safe.

“then why are you here,” he asks, and it’s not accusing. it’s terrified.

“because i care,” you say.

his face softens like he needed that to be real.

“okay…” he whispers. “okay.”

but you notice his hands fidget. you notice how he keeps glancing at your face, waiting for the moment he realizes something doesn’t add up.

and you realize, too, that you can’t keep it covered forever.

amnesia doesn’t last like a curtain. it flickers. it thins. it returns in fragments.

week two starts with small signs.

he wakes up one morning, blinking at the ceiling with less confusion than before. his voice is still careful, but his thoughts move more smoothly.

“y/n,” he says, and then, like he’s surprised by his own certainty, he adds, “we’ve done this already.”

you sit up. “what do you mean?”

he pauses. “like… the last time i woke up. you were there. you were tired.”

you let the silence stretch just enough for him to feel safe in it.

“you always looked like that when you were trying to be strong for me,” he says quietly.

your mouth goes dry.

he isn’t supposed to be reaching for the past yet. not fully. not this clearly.

you reach for his hand. “haechan…”

he squeezes your fingers. “i’m sorry,” he says suddenly.

you almost laugh from the pain of it. “for what?”

he stares at the space between you like he’s reading his own thoughts on invisible paper. “for not remembering everything sooner,” he says, voice breaking at the edges. “for not… being there.”

you swallow hard. “you’re here now.”

he shakes his head. “no. i mean before.” his brow furrows. “i chose-” he stops. “i chose something that wasn’t you.”

your eyes burn. you refuse to let tears fall in front of him, because he still looks like the world could fall apart if he senses your grief.

“it wasn’t because you didn’t care,” you say.

he looks at you quickly, hopeful. “then what was it.”

you can’t answer fast enough to keep from hurting him.

so you answer honestly in the only way you’re allowed to right now: gently, without details that would detonate his confusion.

“you were scared,” you say. “about failing. about disappointing everyone. about losing control. and i understood, but i still needed you.”

his eyes flicker.

he might not remember the breakup yet, but his body remembers the feeling of wanting something and not getting it.

he sits back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling. “i told you it would get better,” he says.

you look away because your throat can’t handle the sound of it. “you did.”

“and i didn’t make it better,” he whispers.

this time, his voice doesn’t sound like a stranger reciting lines. it sounds like a person standing on the edge of accountability.

“haechan,” you say, barely audible.

he turns his head toward you slowly. “do you hate me.”

you can’t pretend anymore, not when he’s getting pieces back.

but you also can’t rip him open with the full history of you two in one go.

you take a breath that feels like swallowing glass. “i don’t hate you.”

he nods. “okay.”

then he frowns, like the word ‘okay’ doesn’t fit what he’s feeling. “i think you left me.”

your pulse spikes.

“i-” you begin.

he holds up a hand, not to stop you, but like he needs you to wait while his mind catches up.

“i remember the feeling,” he says. “it was… quiet. not angry. not dramatic. just… you being done.”

your eyes sting.

he looks at you with a kind of hurt that doesn’t have anywhere to go yet. “you didn’t want to keep waiting.”

“i didn’t want to keep hoping alone,” you say, and it comes out more honest than you intended.

his face crumples like the truth finally found a home inside him.

“i’m sorry,” he says again, and this time it’s not just comfort seeking. it’s real regret.

“i’m trying to remember,” he whispers. “i can feel it. like my head is full of locked doors and i just-” he closes his eyes hard. “i just want to know what happened so i can fix it.”

you flinch.

because the nurse’s advice echoes in your mind: don’t push him into remembering too fast.

and you also remember your own heavy heart from before, when you were the one walking away because you were tired of being the understanding one.

you want to protect him.

you also want to protect you.

“haechan,” you say carefully, “take it slow. it’s okay if it comes back gradually.”

he opens his eyes. they’re glassy. “is it coming back because you’re here,” he asks, “or because something broke in me.”

you don’t answer right away.

the silence feels like confession.

“i think it’s both,” you admit.

he nods, like he understands too well now.

then it starts.

not all at once. never all at once.

it comes as images, sensations, tiny humiliations and tender moments that your mind tries to tuck away when you’re protecting your pride.

he remembers how you used to check your phone after rehearsals, not because you were expecting messages, because you needed to reassure yourself he hadn’t forgotten you existed.

he remembers the last time you fought. not screaming, not throwing things, just the kind of fight where you keep talking calmly while your heart gets smaller.

he remembers him saying he’d make time.

and then he remembers not making time.

he remembers you standing in a doorway, your voice steady even though your eyes weren’t.

he remembers the exact moment you decided not to beg for attention anymore.

your heart stops when he says the next sentence.

“i chose work over you,” he says, like he’s shocked his own mouth could say something so cruel. “and you left.”

you reach for him, but he flinches away, startled by your touch like your closeness is too loaded now.

“haechan,” you whisper.

“no,” he says, breath shaky. “don’t.”

it’s not that he doesn’t want you. it’s that he does.

too much.

the amnesia was a mercy. it let him love you without weighing the cost. it let him believe you still belonged to him.

now the past returns, and the past is a wall.

he looks at you with eyes that are trying to be gentle but are failing.

“i don’t know how to fix it,” he says.

you swallow hard. “you can’t fix what’s already been decided.”

he looks away. “did you decide because i didn’t love you.”

your throat aches. “i don’t think you didn’t love me.”

he turns back, desperate. “then why.”

because the truth is complicated and ugly and human.

because you both loved each other, but love doesn’t prevent schedules from swallowing promises.

because he kept choosing what was urgent, and you kept learning how to live with being delayed.

because your patience has limits even when your feelings don’t.

you say it anyway, the way you always wanted him to understand the first time.

“because i felt like i was becoming your afterthought,” you say. “and i couldn’t keep living like that.”

his face goes pale.

“i didn’t mean-” he starts.

“i know,” you cut in softly. “i believe you didn’t mean it.”

he closes his eyes like he’s holding back something too loud to survive in a hospital room.

when he opens them, there’s anger there—but not at you. at himself. at the timeline. at the version of him that existed before he woke up.

“what did you do after you left,” he asks, voice cracking.

you laugh once, bitter and quiet. “i lived.”

he shakes his head like he can’t stand the simplicity of it. “did you- did you move on.”

you press your lips together.

the nurse told you to play along to protect his brain. she didn’t tell you how to protect your heart from the questions he now remembers how to ask.

you answer with the truth you can bear.

“i tried,” you say.

“did you love me less,” he asks.

you look at his hands. the way they still shake. the way they still look like they could hold you through anything. the way they also look like they’ve been empty of you for too long.

“no,” you whisper. “i just… had to stop loving a future that kept getting postponed.”

his eyes flood.

he doesn’t wipe them away fast enough. tears slip down his face in quiet lines, like even crying is careful around pain.

“i’m sorry,” he says, and it sounds smaller than earlier apologies.

you feel something sharp twist in your chest: not anger. not even resentment.

just grief for how late he remembered.

if you’d met him at the start of this, you could have fought for him again.

but you’ve already gone through the leaving.

you’ve already built your life around the absence.

and now he’s coming back to you with a timeline that doesn’t know how to unbreak what it already broke.

he reaches for you again.

this time, you let him take your hand.

but the weight of it is different. heavier. like holding a ghost with a pulse.

“if i’d remembered sooner,” he murmurs, “would you still be here.”

you stare at the space between you, at the reality you’ve been trying to survive.

you could lie.

you could make it easier for him.

but you can’t.

“i don’t know,” you say honestly. “i think i would’ve tried to. but i think i would’ve still eventually run out of hope.”

he swallows hard.

“so what now,” he asks.

you squeeze his fingers once, gentle. “now you rest. you recover. you learn to live with what you can’t undo.”

his eyes lift to yours.

and the angst is not in shouting or threats. it’s in the quiet understanding that you two broke up for a reason, and the reason didn’t disappear just because he woke up and remembered you.

“but i want you,” he says.

your throat tightens. “i know.”

and there it is. the cruelest part.

you still want him too.

you still love him in the way that doesn’t turn off like a switch.

but love isn’t enough to reverse time. love isn’t a cure for schedules and distance and the slow erosion of trust.

he leans forward slightly, as if he can chase the past back into place.

“tell me you didn’t stop loving me,” he whispers.

you press your forehead to his for a second, just long enough to share warmth without giving promises your heart can’t keep.

“i didn’t,” you say.

then you pull back before your emotions take control.

before the nurse’s instructions become irrelevant to the real damage you can already feel forming.

“but you can’t ask me to go back to being the one who waits,” you add, voice trembling. “not after you finally remember why you hurt me.”

his shoulders sag. “so i lose you.”

you stare at him, trying not to hate the word ‘lose’ because it makes it sound like you’re being taken from him.

you’re not being taken.

you already left.

“you don’t get to lose me,” you say quietly. “you have to accept that i already chose myself.”

he looks like he might collapse.

instead, he just holds your hand like he’s trying to memorize you all over again—this time without the protection of amnesia.

“okay,” he whispers, defeated and honest. “okay.”

the week after that isn’t dramatic either.

it’s just harder.

you keep showing up sometimes because you’re kind, and because the habit of caring is a muscle you didn’t train out of your body. you talk to him as he regains more pieces. you sit beside him while he stares at the ceiling and remembers the sound of his own promises.

but every time he remembers something that made you leave, you feel the distance widen inside the space between your words.

and one morning, late in recovery, he asks you one last question while the sunlight hits the window like it always does in hospitals—bright, indifferent, pretending the world is simple.

“if i apologize enough,” he says, “will you forgive me.”

you look at him. at the person you loved. at the person who, even now, is still learning how to be present.

you think about the scheduling conflicts, about the way time kept slipping and you kept paying for it with your patience.

you think about your heavy heart and how it already knows the ending.

“forgiveness isn’t the point,” you say.

his eyes search yours. “then what is.”

you breathe out slowly, like letting go hurts even when you’re doing it gently.

“the point,” you whisper, “is that i needed more than love. i needed effort that showed up consistently. and i didn’t get that.”

he nods, because he understands now. not in a way that fixes anything. just in a way that finally hurts enough to be real.

you stand to leave after that, because if you stay too long, you’ll start bargaining again.

at the doorway, haechan calls your name.

“y/n.”

you turn back.

he looks at you like he wants to keep you in his hands. like he wants to drag you into the version of the future where his amnesia never happened.

but all he has is the truth.

“i’m going to do better,” he says, voice breaking. “i swear.”

your chest aches at the familiar shape of that promise.

you almost say yes.

almost.

then you remember you already lived through almost.

you shake your head, slow and painful.

“i hope you do,” you say. “but i can’t be the proof this time.”

you leave the room with your heart in your throat, and behind you he sits alone, gripping the edge of the blanket like he can hold onto what he lost.

outside the hospital, the sky is bright.

and you walk anyway.

because even though he finally remembers you, the timing of your love has already changed.

[kkyeoji]

thank you for all the support on this little account. I started this for fun, i never expected to get any recognition but im glad i found my little community here! with mark's departure i wanted to come back here to write more and express my thoughts, under no pressure to fit in a certain format or way im gonna start posting little blurbs cz i always get too lazy to finish a full fic😭but its never that serious truly. ill continue writing for mark as part of nct, though i fully support his decision and hope the best for him. i know the markfs will continue wanting more content so ill crank out what i have whilst im in my mark feels hehe

cheer up everybody !🤍

[kkyeoji]

kinda wanna write for cortis, then again i havent even finished my 20 wips

[kkyeoji]

URHHHHHHGHHH someone motivate me to get that damn jisung fic out alr.

[kkyeoji]

look at my babie :c

[kkyeoji]

current wips include...

anton angst

jisung fic based on ask

possible bnd fic but idk

[nanamisdayoff]

haechan fic recs 🧸

hi guys im going fucking ballistic insane balls with haechans new album coming out. so in honor of that, its time to make my haechan fic rec post. haechan writers u have my entire heart xx

i have soo many fics built up in my tumblr likes so this may take a while to fully update

dream navi | kpop navi | main navi

distraction - @lyvhie - Haechan was paying attention to everything but what was coming out of your mouth now.

choose me - @orangesaek - 0.8k - a short story about how Haechan got roasted, fell deeply in love, and tried to convince you

⤷ choose me, PLEASE - 2.8k - Haechan’s entire brain rewired after that single sentence sweet, shy, innocent Jisung oh-so nonchalantly said while eating a burger, and now? He’s on a mission.

better? better. - @midasriku - 1.5k - academic rival! haechan, reader has panic attack, fluffy

HOW TO LOSE YOUR MIND (AND GAIN A PAIR OF FUZZY EARS) IN 3 MONTHS - @ayukas - 1.7k - he’s been your best friend for ten years, your boyfriend for three months, and apparently, your personal teddy bear since forever. haechan doesn’t know whether to run, cry, or cuddle—so naturally, he does what any sane man would do—become the bear of your dreams.

more than a tease - @jwikyo - 2.5k - he’s all teasing smiles, dumb pickup lines, and way too much confidence, but you’ve made a habit of staying unbothered. that is, until the day his jokes start sounding a little too real… and your heart starts listening a little too closely.

juno (m) - @sincerelyneo - 2.7k - Kids were never really something you thought about. But then you saw your sexy as fuck boyfriend playing uncle and now you can't stop thinking about giving him a baby of his own. What can you say...your hormones are high.

i love you so matcha - @jirsungs - 3.8k - you're a regular customer at the Love Again Café, ordering your usual strawberry matcha with white chocolate cold foam, which is why it starts to confuse you that every time you enter the shop, it's always the same sheepish barista taking your order. and fortunately for you and donghyuck, he just happens to be exactly your type.

poison (m) - @shuafiles - 3.9k - you and haechan have a love for drama, so when things start feeling too predictable, you both devise a plan to keep the spark alive. but as real emotions creep in, you start wondering if you’ve taken it too far.

across the hall (m) - @yvesette - 5.1k - when your hot, infuriating next-door neighbor haechan steals your parking spot, teasing quickly turns into messy, undeniable yearning.

fresco (m) - @smileysuh - 6.8k - When you first met Hyuck in the elevator, you’d thought he was nothing more than some fuckboy line chef. But now, you see a deeper side of him. He’s thoughtful and caring, a little chaotic in the best way, but willing to calm down and match your pace. And to top it all off, he’s hot as fuck.

red velvet hearts. - @choerrypuffs - 7.7k - you patch up a boy with a bloody nose and bruised knuckles, only to find out that he has quite the sweet tooth.

mistletoke (m) - @hazyhae - 9k - you, your best friend, and two years of the same silly christmas prank—last year’s ended as a stoned accident that convinced you friendship was all you were meant for and left you with your heart in pieces, but this year’s might just put it all back together.

indica dreams (m) - @hazyhae- 11.7k - when you finally decide to do something about your sleeping problem, your best friend suggests weed as a solution. he introduces you to donghyuck — a plug who makes it his personal mission to teach you everything there is to know about it. 

[kkyeoji]

aww tysm for the rec 🥹🫶

[kkyeoji]

mpreg.

[kkyeoji]

hes so cutiepie :c

[kkyeoji]

when the quiet breaks

pairing: jaemin x reader

in which...the softness between you and jaemin slowly turns to silence. genre: angst, falling out of love, est relationship w/c: 3.5k ish

there were nights when you couldn’t remember what the beginning felt like. not the first kiss, or the first fight, or the first time he held your hand in that tiny cafe with his stupidly warm fingers. not even the first “i love you.” no, what you couldn’t remember—what hurt the most—was the first time it started to fall apart.

jaemin had always been a little too beautiful for his own good. not just in how he looked, but in the way he existed. like he was always halfway in another world. kind, but distracted. warm, but far away. you used to love that about him—how he made you feel like the only real thing in his orbit. how he looked at you like he’d found something worth staying on earth for.

but lately, his eyes didn’t hold that wonder anymore. lately, you felt like one more thing he was trying not to drop.

it started with the little things. unread texts. plans rescheduled. conversations cut short with, “sorry, practice ran late,” or “i’m just tired today.” and you understood. god, you always understood. he had a dream. a life. responsibilities you couldn’t begin to carry for him. but part of you still waited. still hoped for the version of him that used to show up on your doorstep at midnight with your favorite snacks just because he missed your face.

but he hadn’t missed your face in weeks.

you sat on the edge of your bed one night, phone in hand, screen lit up with a single-word reply from him: “sleeping.”

you stared at it like it might turn into something else. an apology. an explanation. anything. instead, the screen dimmed, and the silence wrapped itself around your chest like a fist.

“do you even want this anymore?” you typed, then deleted it. typed again. deleted.

you didn’t send it. not yet.

when you saw him next, it was different. colder, somehow. his arms still wrapped around you when you opened the door, his cheek still pressed against your hair, but it felt rehearsed. careful. like he was trying to remember the steps of a routine he didn’t want to dance anymore.

you didn’t say anything. not when he sat on your bed and scrolled through his phone. not when he barely touched the dinner you made. not even when he left without kissing you goodnight.

you curled up under the covers that night and told yourself you were just tired too.

but it got harder.

the more he slipped away, the harder you held on. you became someone you didn’t recognize—someone who watched his every move, who counted the seconds he took to reply, who smiled less and questioned more. it made you feel small. pathetic. but love will do that to you—make you chase after pieces of someone who stopped giving themselves freely.

one night, you finally asked.

“are we okay?” your voice broke halfway through the question.

he looked up from his phone, startled, like he didn’t expect you to speak. “what?”

“us,” you said, softer. “are we still… okay?”

jaemin blinked. and for the first time, he didn’t answer right away.

that silence told you more than any words ever could.

“i don’t know,” he said finally. and it was worse than if he had just said no.

you nodded slowly, trying to breathe through the sharp ache in your chest. “right.”

he reached out then, like he wanted to take your hand, but you pulled away before he could. because if he touched you, you knew you’d fall apart.

“do you still love me?” you whispered.

he opened his mouth. paused. looked away. “i think so.”

you laughed, bitter and quiet. “you think so.”

“i didn’t mean it like that—”

“no, jaemin. you don’t think when you love someone. you just do.”

his face crumpled a little, like the guilt finally landed somewhere in his chest. but it was too late. too many cracks. too many silences. too many almosts and not-enoughs.

he stayed the night. you laid beside each other in the dark, backs turned, both pretending to sleep. and when he finally got up in the morning and kissed your forehead, you didn’t open your eyes.

you didn’t want to see him leave.

you stopped texting first after that. stopped asking if he’d eaten. stopped waiting for his good mornings and goodnights. part of you hoped he’d notice the difference, that he’d come running back with a thousand apologies and the boy you fell in love with in his eyes.

he didn’t.

the next time he reached out, it was two weeks later.

“can we talk?”

you met him at the park you used to go to on lazy afternoons, where he once pushed you on a swing and said you looked happiest in the air.

this time, the air was heavy. grey clouds overhead. no wind. no laughter.

jaemin was already sitting on the bench when you got there, head bowed, hands fidgeting.

he looked up when he heard your steps. and the sadness in his eyes nearly undid you.

“hey,” he said softly.

you nodded. “hey.”

you walked in silence for a bit, your shoes kicking up the fallen leaves, the weight of everything unsaid settling like fog between you.

“i haven’t been fair to you,” he started. “i know that.”

you didn’t reply.

“i let things get bad. i thought if i ignored it, maybe it’d get better. maybe we’d fix ourselves without having to talk about it. but… that was stupid.”

you glanced at him. “yeah. it was.”

he nodded, like he expected that. “i’ve been scared.”

“of what?” your voice was quiet.

“of losing you.”

that made you stop walking. you turned to face him, eyes wide. “you lost me the moment you stopped trying, jaemin.”

his jaw tightened. “i know.”

“you let me feel alone in a relationship. do you know how fucked up that is?”

his voice cracked. “i didn’t mean to. i didn’t know how to balance everything.”

“you could’ve just told me that.”

“i didn’t want to disappoint you.”

you shook your head, blinking fast. “you did anyway.”

a pause. then—“do you still love me?”

you looked at him, really looked. at the boy you once thought you’d marry. at the boy who held your trembling hands during your panic attacks. who danced with you in the kitchen, barefoot and grinning. who kissed you like he was afraid you’d disappear.

and yet here you were—right in front of him. already gone.

“i don’t know,” you whispered. and this time, it was his turn to break.

he reached for you then, hands shaking, eyes wet. “please. i’ll do better. i swear, i’ll do better.”

“why now?” you asked, stepping back. “why only when it’s too late?”

he had no answer.

you stood there in the cold, hearts laid bare, and for the first time, there was nothing left to salvage. just two people who loved each other once. and tried. and failed.

“i’ll always wish we made it,” you said.

jaemin’s voice cracked. “me too.”

and that was it.

no dramatic goodbye. no final kiss. just the sound of leaves crunching under your feet as you walked away.

he didn’t follow.

and you didn’t look back.

[fff777]

chenle feeding the chenji shippers and jisung in the back like 🤮

[kkyeoji]

IM CTFUUU

[kkyeoji]

I DONT KNOW WHY MY FUCKING POST BUTTON HASNT WORKED FOR DAYS AND IT FINALLY WORKS NOW omg. i missed ranting here💔💔

anyways jaemin fic soon :p

[kkyeoji]

can you write abt basketball player jisung?? i had the idea of chenle dragging jisung onto the campus basketball team loll

i loveee the basketballplayer!jisung agenda. basketball player jisung shall prevail.

[kkyeoji]

in which...you started going to the campus basketball games for chenle, but end up staying for jisung

genre: basketballplayer!jisung x reader, fluff, mutual pining, strangers to?... w/c: 672

you started going to the campus basketball games just to support your friend chenle.

chenle — loud, energetic, impossible to miss — had joined the team this semester and begged you to come to the games. at first, you only showed up for him, sitting somewhere in the middle rows, pretending you knew what was going on. but over time, your attention kept drifting somewhere else.

number 5. point guard. jisung.

he wasn’t flashy like some of the others — no showy dunks or over-the-top celebrations. but he was fast, steady, always a few moves ahead. you couldn’t help but notice the way he controlled the pace, how his passes always found the right person, how calm he looked even when the game was down to the wire.

you told yourself it was just because he was close with chenle. that it made sense to notice him. but deep down, you knew that wasn’t really true.

you’d sit in the same spot each week, hoodie up, phone out, occasionally glancing down at the court. but every time jisung had the ball, your eyes were locked on him. you’d learned his style by now — how he faked left when he meant right, how he checked the scoreboard with this tiny, thoughtful frown, how he ran a hand through his hair when frustrated.

what you didn’t expect was that he’d noticed you, too.

it happened after a game — a close one they barely won. the crowd was still buzzing, fans streaming out of the gym. you stayed behind, waiting for chenle to come out like usual, sitting near the edge of the bleachers.

that’s when you saw him.

jisung, standing a little ways off, sweat towel slung around his shoulders, joking with one of the guys. except… he wasn’t really paying attention.

his eyes were on you.

you stared back, caught off guard. for a second, you weren’t even sure he was looking at you — but then he smiled. just a small one. a barely-there twitch of the lips. but it was real. and it was yours.

you panicked and looked away.

the next week, you came again. same seat. same routine. chenle waved at you before warm-ups, and you gave him a thumbs-up. the game came and went. they won. and as you were getting ready to leave, someone called out.

“hey.”

you turned — and there he was. jisung. still in his jersey, hair damp, holding a water bottle and somehow looking completely composed despite the chaos around him.

“you always sit there,” he said, like it was just a normal observation.

you blinked. “what?”

he nodded toward your usual spot. “that’s where you always sit. every game. i’ve seen you.”

your pulse jumped. “right. i mean, chenle’s my friend. i’m here for him.”

his lips quirked. “sure. for chenle.”

you narrowed your eyes. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“nothing,” he said, but he was clearly trying not to laugh. “just wondering if maybe you were also watching someone else.”

you crossed your arms, lips twitching. “maybe. just a little.”

“only a little?” he teased, stepping a bit closer. not too close — just enough to make your heart flutter.

“you’re decent,” you said with a shrug, failing to sound casual.

“decent?” he echoed, mock-offended. “wow. i was trying to impress someone.”

he said it so casually, but your breath caught anyway.

“i’m jisung,” he added, offering his hand, like he wasn’t already a constant thought in your head.

“i know,” you said, taking it — and noticing he didn’t let go right away.

he hesitated, then smiled a little softer. “maybe next game… if you’re staying after, i could give you a tour. of the court. or like, wherever the players go.”

you raised a brow. “are you asking me out… on the court?”

“depends,” he said. “are you saying yes off the court?”

you laughed, cheeks warming as your heart thudded a little too loudly.

“maybe.”

and this time, he grinned — the kind of grin that made you think this might be the beginning of something.

[kkyeoji]

JISUNG WITH A PERMMMMMM🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤

[kkyeoji]

this is literally so fucking funny i cant do this😭😭