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@littlejoyss
deedee. she/her. infj. scorpio. hyunjin's lesbian wife
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Sweater Heard Around the World
Day 6 of @12daysofchristmas, Prompt: “Borrowing” a Hoodie (Sweater)
Stray Kids - Hyunjin x Soloist!Reader
Word Count: 1.5k
-12 days of Christmas masterlist-
If you had known stealing your boyfriend's sweater would cause an internet trend, you might’ve not done it.
This year for Christmas, Stray Kids were filming an interview episode where they made ugly Christmas sweaters. Hyunjin’s actually turned out…cute? It was ugly but in a fashionable way instead of tacky. As far as you were aware, this interview episode was scrapped. No one would see SKZ making these sweaters. Which is exactly why you didn’t hesitate to steal his.
It happened quietly, the way all your crimes did. Hyunjin had tossed the sweater over the back of a chair in your shared bedroom, muttering something about how it was “too warm” and “itchy anyway,” before disappearing into the bathroom. The sweater was… unmistakably his. Oversized, long sleeves, bright red with a lopsided reindeer stitched crookedly across the chest. The antlers leaned slightly to the left. One button blinked obnoxiously when you pressed it.
Hideous. You loved it instantly.
You slipped it on, sleeves swallowing your hands, the hem brushing mid-thigh. It smelled like his laundry soap and faintly like his cologne, and you admired yourself in the mirror with a grin. Ugly sweaters were meant to be worn ironically, right? And this one was perfect.
Hyunjin walked out of the bathroom in the middle of your admiration. He froze. Then blinked. Then smirked “…That’s mine.”
You shrugged innocently, tugging the sleeves over your hands. “Was. You abandoned it.”
Hyunjin chuckled, coming up behind you and putting his hands on your shoulders. He looked into the mirror with you. “It’s ugly.”
“I know.”
“It’s ugly as shit.”
“I know.”
“And yet,” you said, tilting your head slightly so you could catch his eyes in the mirror, “you’re smiling.”
Hyunjin huffed a laugh, fingers tightening just a little on your shoulders. “I’m smiling because you look ridiculous.”
“You mispronounced cute.”
He leaned closer, chin hovering near your shoulder, studying the sweater like it had personally offended him. “That reindeer is cross-eyed.”
“That reindeer has character.”
Hyunjin groaned. “You’re never taking that off, are you?”
“Nope. I’m wearing it during my holiday Instagram live today.”
He sighed dramatically, but his reflection betrayed him, soft eyes, fond smile, the kind he only ever wore when it was just the two of you. “You know that’s mine.”
You turned in his arms, the oversized sleeves flopping as you pointed at yourself. “And you know it looks better on me.”
“That’s debatable.”
You stepped closer, toes brushing his, the sweater bunching between you. “Take it back then.”
He hesitated. Because to take it back, he’d have to put his hands under the hem. And to do that, he’d have to compose himself. “…I’ll let you borrow it,” he said finally.
Your eyes lit up. “Borrow?”
“For now,” he added quickly. “I want it back.”
You gasped. “Wow. So generous.”
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
You went live ten minutes later with fairy lights glowing behind you. The comments started rolling in immediately, familiar usernames and holiday emojis stacking faster than you could read them. “Hi,” you said with a smile, lifting your mug toward the camera. “Happy holidays. I figured I’d do a cozy little live before things get crazy.”
You shifted on the couch, tucking one leg under you. The sweater slipped even further down your hands, the sleeves covering your fingers entirely. The chat noticed and comments flowed in about how cute it was.
You glanced down and laughed. “Oh, yeah. It blinks. Which I didn’t realize until I pressed the button and scared myself.” You pressed it again. The red light flashed cheerfully. “I know it’s ugly,” you added, grinning. “But that’s kind of the point, right?”
People agreed instantly. Hearts filled the screen.
You talked about normal things, your plans for the holidays, how you were finally getting a few days off, how you’d been baking too much and eating all of it anyway. At one point, you reached for a blanket, the sweater riding up your thighs before you tugged it back down without thinking. No one questioned it. Why would they? To them, it was just an oversized sweater. Cozy. Festive. Very you.
“Do I have any new music spoilers?” you echoed a comment, shaking your head. “Nope. Not today. I’m in rest mode. Brain off.”
You leaned back against the couch cushions, shoulders sinking into the softness. Somewhere off-camera, you heard a familiar laugh. You paused for half a second, eyes flicking toward the sound. “…Probably my TV,” you said smoothly, smiling at the camera. The chat accepted it immediately.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Unknown to you, a couple of SKZ members decided to post photo dumps to Instagram later that night. The first few pictures were normal, ones from airports or on sets of music videos. Then, some included pictures from the deleted interview video. And of course, Jisung had to post an image of him and Hyunjin decorating their sweaters.
Hyunjin was awake before you, as usual. He kept scrolling through his texts.
Hyunjin: Bro! What the heck! Delete your post right now!!
Jisung🐿️: Um…why?
Hyunjin: (Y/N) wore that sweater in her live yesterday!
Jisung🐿️: (image)
Jisung🐿️: On it!
Hyunjin sat bolt upright in bed the moment the typing bubble disappeared. He refreshed Instagram. Once. Twice. Then, the photo was gone. Relief washed over him, brief, fleeting, painfully short-lived. Because when he opened Twitter, it was already too late.
Screenshots. Zoom-ins. Side-by-sides with red circles and arrows like crime scene evidence.
Hyunjin dragged a hand down his face, groaning softly. “No, no, no…” He glanced sideways at you again. You were still asleep, curled toward him without even realizing it, nose tucked against his collarbone like you belonged there. Hyunjin locked his phone and set it facedown on the nightstand. He wasn’t ready to wake you yet.
You stirred a few minutes later anyway, breath hitching softly as you blinked awake. Your eyes found him almost immediately. “Mmm,” you murmured, voice rough with sleep. “Why are you up?”
He softened instantly, the tension in his shoulders easing as you scooted closer without hesitation. You tucked your face into his chest, arms sliding around his waist, sleeves bunching uselessly around your wrists. “Couldn’t sleep,” he said quietly.
You hummed, clearly unconcerned with the reason. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. Hyunjin let out a sigh and wrapped an arm around you, pulling you flush against him. His thumb traced slow, absent-minded circles against your side. Then, Hyunjin whispered, “...the sweater you wore last night is viral.”
“Why? It’s goofy.”
“...Jisung accidentally posted a picture from the scrapped interview of me making the sweater.”
You went still. Then, you tilted your head back to look at him properly, eyes finally awake now. “Making the sweater?”
Hyunjin nodded. “Glue gun. Felt antlers. The blinking button. The whole thing.”
“…Oh.”
He winced. “Yeah.”
You stared at the ceiling for a long moment, processing. The quiet of the room felt louder than any notification ever could. “So,” you said slowly, “people recognized you making it…and then connected it to me wearing it.”
“Immediately.”
You let out a soft, incredulous laugh and buried your face into his chest again. “I stole evidence.”
Hyunjin chuckled, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head. “You wore the crime scene.”
You groaned. “I can’t believe this.”
“Hm?”
“Stupidist relationship launch ever.”
Hyunjin laughed quietly at that, the sound rumbling in his chest beneath your ear. “I don’t think glue-gun reindeer counts as a launch.”
“It’s blinking,” you muttered. “That makes it worse.”
He tilted his head, pressing a kiss into your hair. “Could’ve been worse.”
You pulled back just enough to look at him, one brow lifting. “How.”
“It could’ve been an actually ugly sweater.”
“Okay, yeah. Fair.”
Silence settled again, comfortable but charged now. You could feel it, the way something had shifted, the way the outside world was pressing closer to the edges of your bubble whether you liked it or not. “…Is it bad?” you asked quietly.
Hyunjin didn’t answer right away. His thumb kept tracing slow circles against your side, grounding, familiar. “It’s mostly fans freaking out,” he said honestly. “They’re calling it the ‘boyfriend sweater.’”
You groaned. “Of course they are.”
“And,” he added, a smile creeping into his voice, “apparently people are making their own.”
You blinked. “What.”
He reached for his phone again, turning it so you could see. A compilation video was already circulating, fans in red sweaters with crooked reindeer, blinking buttons sewn on in different places, captions like DIY Hyunjin-core and if my future partner doesn’t let me steal their ugly sweater, I don’t want it.
You dropped back against the pillow, covering your face with your sleeves still half-swallowing your hands. “I literally just wanted to be warm.”
Hyunjin laughed, fully this time, and leaned over you, bracing himself on one arm. He tugged your sleeves down just enough to uncover your face. “You were,” he said softly. “You looked…happy.”
Your expression softened despite everything. “I was.”
His smile faded into something quieter, more sincere. “That’s all anyone really saw.”
You studied him for a second, then reached up and flicked the blinking button. The red light flashed between you. “Still ugly,” you said.
(A/N: I might start getting a little off schedule with these because of work and school. I'll for sure post them all by or on Christmas! :) )
General Taglist: @moonlitcelestial @akindaflora @beppybeesnuggets @rylea08 @yxna-bliss @felixsonlyrealwife @wolfs-howling @velvetmoonlght @rougegenshin @ilovvesleepp @qwonyoung23 @imagine-all-the-imagines @hhwangsmoon @hanniesbubuwife @brbwritingfanfic @insert-fangirl-screech-here @dlizzzy @theartisticlibrarian
Please Come Home for Christmas
Day 5 of @12daysofchristmas, Prompt: Long distance Christmas (alt prompt)
Stray Kids - Hyunjin x Reader
Word Count: 1.6k
-12 days of Christmas masterlist-
While you enjoyed watching concert videos, you wished they could’ve come at any other point in the year. Christmas used to mean late-night drives to see the lights, the two of you bundled in scarves and too many layers, Hyunjin stopping every few minutes to take photos of the sky, the snow, you. Now the glow of your laptop screen was the closest thing to holiday magic you had.
He had talked to you about trying to convince his company to come back, even for one day. But, like usual, they never let up. A schedule was a schedule, wrapped up in contracts and promotions and a hundred obligations that didn’t care about the warmth of your shared home.
You shut your laptop, the cheers of the concert crowd fading instantly. The silence that followed felt heavier than it should have, settling over the living room like a thick winter blanket. Outside, snow fell in soft spirals past the window, catching bits of streetlight, pretty in a way that made you ache even more.
You pulled your knees to your chest on the couch, fingers absently tracing the rim of the mug. He’d promised he’d try, that he’d push, ask again, see if there was any chance at all, but you knew how these things went. Idol life didn’t make space for two people who just wanted to spend one night watching Christmas movies. You just wished he hadn’t sounded so guilty when he told you. Like he was the one choosing work over you, instead of being swept along by a machine much bigger than either of you.
Your phone sat silent on the cushion beside you. No text. No call. He was probably still rehearsing, or reviewing choreography, or sitting in a meeting that ran an hour too long. Somewhere far away, with a different time zone, a different climate, a different kind of December.
You texted again,
You: I’m going to head to bed. Sweet dreams. I love you.
With a sigh, you gathered your blanket and stood, the wooden floors slightly chilled beneath your feet. You crossed the living room slowly, taking in the decorations you’d put up with so much hope, garland around the banister, the stockings, the Christmas cards from friends and family propped neatly on the shelf.
Then, your phone buzzed.
Hyunjin: Goodnight my love, happy dreams and good sleep.
If there was one thing you knew, it was that he never missed a goodnight text while he was away. No matter how chaotic his day had been, no matter the rehearsals, the interviews, the time difference, the exhaustion weighing on him, he always found a second to say goodnight.
You: I’ll sleep better now. I miss you.
You didn’t expect a reply. Not right away. Maybe not at all tonight. But sending the message still helped loosen something tight in your chest, like letting out a breath you’d been holding since he left. You set your phone on the nightstand and climbed into bed. For a moment, you just sat there in the dark, staring at the empty space beside you.
Then your phone buzzed again. At first, you didn’t move. You were convinced it was a notification for something else, an email, an app update, anything that wasn’t him. But when it buzzed a second time, you reached for it, heart thudding softly.
Hyunjin: Miss you too, baby. Hyunjin: More than I can say.
And right below it, a picture. It was a selfie taken in soft, low hotel lighting. His hair was damp, curling naturally at the ends like it always did after a late shower. He was wearing the black long-sleeve you loved on him, the collar slightly stretched. He had a tiny smile on his lips.
Hyunjin: This is me right now. See? I’m going to bed too. Almost like we’re together.
You: Isn’t it like noon over there? It’s okay, you look exhausted, Hyun.
Hyunjin: It is noon. But I didn’t sleep much last night.
You frowned slightly at the screen.
You: Why not?
Hyunjin: Everyone keeps talking about plans, what they miss from home. And all I could think was you sitting on the couch with that blanket you like.
You: You’re going to make me cry right before bed.
Hyunjin: I’m sorry.
You couldn’t help but worry.
You: Are you warm enough?
Hyunjin: Yup. All bundled.
There was a quiet moment where neither of you typed. Just the soft glow of the screen.
Hyunjin: Next Christmas, I won’t be away. I don’t care what I have to do.
You: You don’t have to promise that. I just need you to come back safe.
Hyunjin: I promise that too.
You: I love you, Hyunjin. Sleep. You need it.
Hyunjin: I love you too 😘
You lay there in the quiet, phone warm in your hand. The bed was still missing him. The house was still too quiet.
That’s when you rubbed your eyes and swinged your legs off the bed. Your warm winter socks touched the hardwood floor of your apartment as you stood. You stood there for a moment, phone still clutched loosely in your hand, staring at the dark doorway of the bedroom. “If you can’t come home,” you whispered into the stillness, “then I’ll come to you.”
The thought struck so suddenly it almost made you laugh. Almost. Your pulse picked up instead. It was reckless. Spontaneous. Probably complicated in a hundred ways. You padded across the room and pulled a small duffel from the closet. The zipper sounded far too loud in the quiet apartment, but you ignored it, moving quickly now before doubt could creep in. You tossed in essentials first, clothes, toiletries, and a coat. Then you hesitated, reaching for the scarf he always stole from you in winter. You smiled and packed that too.
By the time you zipped the bag closed, your hands were shaking. There was only one person who could help you pull this off. You glanced at the time, then at your phone. It was late for you, noon for them. Still, you tapped the contact without giving yourself another second to think.
The phone rang once. Twice. “(Y/N)?” Bang Chan’s voice came through, warm but concerned. “Is everything okay?”
You exhaled shakily, relief flooding through you at the sound of him. “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay,” you said quickly. “Sorry, I know it’s late. I just… I need your help.”
“Hey. Slow down. What’s going on?”
You sank onto the edge of the bed, fingers tightening around the phone. “Hyunjin’s really struggling. Christmas, the distance, he won’t say it outright, but I can tell. And the company won’t let him come home.”
Chan sighed quietly. “Yeah. I know. He’s been quiet.”
“So I was wondering… would it be possible for me to come there instead? Just for a day. Or even a few hours. I want to surprise him.”
Chan let out a soft laugh. “You’re serious.”
“I am,” you said immediately. “I’ll do whatever I need to. I was just wondering when you guys would be free.”
Chan didn’t answer right away, but you could hear him moving, probably pacing. “Hyunjin’s going to lose his mind,” he finally said. “In the best way.”
“So you’ll help me?”
“Of course I will,” Chan said without hesitation. “Let me check the schedule, see what I can do. If we’re careful, we can make this work.”
You pressed a hand to your mouth, emotion rushing up fast and sudden. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
“Okay,” Chan continued. “I’ll text you details.”
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Hours later, you stood in the lobby of the hotel. Their hotel. The warmth inside wrapped around you instantly, the scent of polished wood and faint citrus filling your senses. Holiday decorations lined the walls. A wreath behind the front desk. Soft instrumental Christmas music playing low enough to almost be missed. You lifted up your phone and texted Chan.
You: What’s your plan to make him come to the lobby?
Chan: He thinks we left something in the van and I “forgot” it in the lobby. He’s grumbling. ETA thirty seconds.
You peeked around the corner just as the elevator doors slid open. Hyunjin stepped out first. He looked tired in a way you recognized instantly, his shoulders slumped and hoodie pulled up. His hair was tucked under a beanie, blonde peeking out at the edges. He was mid-sentence, something clearly sarcastic, gesturing lazily behind him. “I’m telling you, if it’s not actually-”
He stopped. Completely. His eyes landed on you, wide and unblinking, confusion flickering across his face first.
“Hi.” You whispered. The bag slipped from your shoulder and hit the floor softly. He was crossing the lobby like he was afraid you might disappear if he didn’t reach you in time.
“You…” He swallowed hard. “Am I hallucinating?”
You shook your head. “No. I’m real.”
He pulled you into his arms so suddenly it knocked the air from your lungs, but you didn’t care. You clung to him just as tightly, burying your face into his chest, breathing in his scent. His arms wrapped around you like he’d been holding back this exact moment for weeks.
“You’re here,” he whispered over and over, voice thick. “You’re really here.” You felt his shoulders shake as he laughed. He pulled back just enough to look at you, hands cupping your face like he needed to reassure himself. “You flew all this way for me?”
“For you,” you nodded.
He leaned his forehead against yours, eyes closing briefly. “I didn’t think this kind of thing actually happened. I thought it was just something people wrote movies about.”
“Well consider this your cheesy Christmas miracle.”
He laughed again, softer this time, and kissed you.
Somewhere behind him, Chan cleared his throat dramatically. “Okay,” he said, already backing toward the elevator. “I’m gonna pretend I didn’t see anything. Merry Christmas.”
Hyunjin didn’t even look back. He squeezed you tighter, chin resting on your shoulder. “Best Christmas gift I’ve ever gotten,” he murmured.
General Taglist: @moonlitcelestial @akindaflora @beppybeesnuggets @rylea08 @yxna-bliss @felixsonlyrealwife @wolfs-howling @velvetmoonlght @rougegenshin @ilovvesleepp @qwonyoung23 @imagine-all-the-imagines @hhwangsmoon @hanniesbubuwife @brbwritingfanfic @insert-fangirl-screech-here @dlizzzy @theartisticlibrarian
Mrs. Claus?
Day 4 of @12daysofchristmas, Prompt: Santa Clause (2) AU
Stray Kids - Santa!Chan x Reader
Word Count: 6.5k
-12 days of Christmas masterlist-
(A/N: I kinda let myself run loose with this one. It's getting into crack-fic territory but not too much.)
After weeks of job hunting over the summer, you finally secured a spot as a teacher at Robertson High School. Technically, you work with all the juniors on the third floor, but your homeroom spends the most time with you. By month four, you’ve already memorized most of their faces, the way they walk in the door each morning, the clusters they form, who sits where, who whispers too much, who gives you the most trouble. Charlie Bahng.
A boy with a mop of brown curls that somehow always stick out in five directions, a mouth that runs faster than his brain, and the uncanny ability to find mischief even in a completely empty classroom. On your first day, he somehow managed to set off the fire alarm with nothing but a rubber band, a paperclip, and what he swore was “pure scientific curiosity.”
He had also broken your most prized possession. A porcelain Christmas doll gifted to you by your grandparents. You cried after school that day.
Today, he’s tapping a pencil against his desk in a rhythm so loud it could wake the dead. “Charlie,” you say, trying to be patient, “please stop.”
He freezes for half a second, as if weighing the pros and cons, but ultimately grins up at you. “Yes, Miss,” he says innocently.
He stops tapping. He starts drumming instead with both hands.
You inhale through your nose. “Charlie.”
“What?” His eyes grow wide. “I’m being festive. It’s December. I’m spreading cheer.”
The rest of the class snickers.
It’s only the second day of your twelve-day holiday unit, and you’re already convinced Charlie was put on this earth to test your emotional stamina. If you believe in fate, this kid is probably the reason your coffee’s always cold by the second period.
Still… He’s not a bad kid. Not really. He tries sometimes. He’s just loud, restless, and distractible in the way most bright kids are when they’re bored out of their minds. And even when he’s driving you to the brink, he always meets your irritation with those soft, apologetic eyes, like he knows exactly what he’s putting you through.
“Hands. Desk. Quiet,” you guide him gently.
He obeys for seven whole minutes, which, in Charlie Time, is practically a world record. But the moment the bell rings, he shoots out of the classroom, leaving only the faint echo of, “BYE MISS!” behind him.
You rub your temples. You’ve barely capped your marker when Ms. Henderson from the main office pops her head into your room.
“Evening conferences start at five,” she says kindly. “You’ve got the Bahng family on your schedule first.”
Of course you do.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Parent-teacher conferences at Robertson High fall somewhere between a marathon and a mild panic attack. You straighten the chairs, pull out the folder with Charlie’s work of half-completed worksheets and a science comic strip he spent way too long drawing.
You like your job. You really do. But meeting the parents of your most energetic student? That’s new-level stress. At 5:02, the door opens. Charlie walks in first, shoulders hunched like he’s on trial. And behind him are two adults.
A woman, beautifully put together in a sharp blazer, heels that click like judgment, and an expression that could cut glass. She’s striking in that intimidating, CEO-in-the-morning, courtroom-in-the-afternoon way.
And next to her was a man in a coat dusted with melting snow.
You blink.
He’s handsome in a gentle, approachable way, with warm eyes, curls tucked under a beanie, and a smile that looks like it was handcrafted to calm crying children. He looks like someone who apologizes when other people bump into him.
“Hi,” he says, offering a hand and a shy smile. “I’m Chan. Charlie’s dad.”
The woman clears her throat. “I’m Mia Kim. He insisted on coming.” If what Charlie has told you is true, you know the whole family drama behind their divorce.
Chan flashes a small, embarrassed smile as if he’s used to being corrected. “I didn’t want to miss it.”
Charlie groans under his breath, “Daaaaad.”
You gesture for them to sit.
They do, Mia rigid and assessing, Chan soft and attentive, Charlie trying to shrink into his hoodie.
You open your folder. “Well… thank you for coming. I wanted to go over how Charlie’s doing.”
“He’s in trouble, isn’t he?” Mia says instantly.
“What? No!” you say quickly. “Charlie’s very bright. Exceptionally so, actually. He just… sometimes redirects his energy into…um…creative outlets.”
“Creative,” she repeats flatly.
Chan tries not to laugh. “He means well.”
“He set off a fire alarm in September,” she reminds him.
“It was scientific curiosity!” Charlie protests.
Chan turns to him. “Buddy, you literally said, ‘I wonder what happens if I pull this.’”
Charlie glares at the table.
You hide a smile. This family dynamic… It’s unexpectedly endearing. “As I was saying, Charlie is smart. He just needs strategies to stay focused. We’re working on it.”
Chan’s eyes soften as he looks at you. “Thank you,” he says, sincere enough to warm your entire ribcage. “I know he’s… a lot sometimes. But he really likes your class.”
Charlie snaps his head up. “DAD.”
“What?” Chan laughs lightly. “She should know. You talk about her all the time.”
Mia sighs like she’s been dealing with this circus for years.
You clear your throat, cheeks warm. “Well, I appreciate him. Even on… enthusiastic days.”
Chan’s smile grows, slow and radiant. Before you can even think about how warm it makes you feel, a sharp knock against the window. All three of the, glance toward the noise at the same time.
Your brows lift. “That’s… odd. The forecast didn’t mention anything.”
Mia checks her watch like the weather personally inconvenienced her. “It’s December. This city panics over a few ice particles.”
Charlie swivels in his seat. “I bet it’s snow.” Chan stays silent.
You step to the window, peering out. It’s definitely starting to fall harder now, soft, wintry flakes swirling under the street lamp. “Wow,” you murmur. “That came out of nowhere.”
Charlie and Mia both turned pointedly toward Chan. Chan pointedly stares at the ceiling. You store that away for later. There are still twenty-five more conferences tonight, and the Bahng folder is open in your hands.
You clear your throat gently and sit again. “Anyway… as I was saying, Charlie’s assignments show real skill. His writing is strong, and he asks great questions. I’m not worried about his academics.”
Mia softens, just a fraction. “That’s good to hear.”
Charlie beams proudly and then pretends he’s not beaming. Chan beams because Charlie is beaming. You bite back a smile.
“The only area I’d like to work on,” you continue, “is his focus. Maybe helping him find strategies to redirect extra energy.”
“I can try,” Charlie says, kicking his feet lightly. “But my brain gets… buzzy.”
Chan nods sympathetically. “He gets that from me.”
Mia snorts. “Understatement of the century.”
You chuckle. “There are tools we can use. Movement breaks, tactile objects, structured choices. I think he’ll respond well.”
“Well,” Mia says, smoothing her pencil skirt as she stands, “I appreciate your time. Thank you for the thorough update.”
“Of course,” you reply warmly.
Charlie stands next, backpack half-zipped as always. “Bye, Miss!” He waves with both hands like you’re sending him off to summer camp instead of the hallway.
Chan rises last as he hesitates. His smile softens again, warm enough to thaw any snowstorm outside. “Really… thank you. For seeing the good in him.”
“Of course. He makes it easy.”
Chan’s ears turn a little pink. He clears his throat. “We…we won’t take up any more of your time. Have a good rest of your conferences.”
“You too,” you say, though you’re not sure why he’d need that, and suddenly realize you don’t know what Chan does for work.
He gives a small bow, adorably awkward, and steps toward the door.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
The conferences blur into a long trail of polite smiles, tired parents, and student folders. By the time the last one ends, it’s nearly nine, and the snow outside has turned the entire school parking lot into a glowing white canvas.
But you hardly have time to process it. Because tomorrow is the school’s annual Holiday Gift Drive, a fundraiser where students, families, and staff donate wrapped presents for the local shelter. It’s your first year attending. So the next afternoon finds you at the entrance hall, tying a red ribbon around the final cardboard donation box.
“Miss!” Charlie skids into the room. “We’re here!”
We?
You turn. And there he is.
Chan stands in the doorway, snowflakes caught in his curls, cheeks flushed from the cold. In his arms are two giant red bags full of gifts.
“Hi,” he says sheepishly. “Charlie told me about the fundraiser. Thought we’d drop some things off.”
Charlie bounces beside him. “We brought A LOT. Dad always overdoes stuff in December.”
“I do not overdo,” Chan says automatically… while struggling to hold up two overflowing bags of presents.
You try not to laugh. “Thank you both,” you say, stepping closer. “These will mean a lot to the kids at the shelter.”
Chan’s smile is small and soft. “We like giving back. Especially this time of year.”
“Do you want to help me sort the gifts?”
Charlie practically levitates. “YES.”
Chan blinks. “Me too?”
“If you want,” you say, trying to sound casual and not like your heartbeat is performing a holiday drum solo.
He smiles, and it’s unfairly warm. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
You guide the two toward the growing pile of donated items under the tree. You’re halfway through showing Chan where the smaller children’s gifts should go when Ms. Henderson pokes her head into the hallway. “Hey! Could I borrow you for ten minutes?” she calls. “We’re trying to hang the banner above the main stairwell, and none of us are tall enough or brave enough to climb the ladder.”
You laugh. “Sure. I’ll be right back.”
Charlie salutes you with a candy cane he wasn’t supposed to be eating. “We’ll keep sorting!”
Chan gives you a gentle smile. “Take your time.”
You don’t mean to take long, but the banner is crooked, then the tape won’t stick, then Mr. Roberts drops the entire box of ornaments, and you spend eight minutes rescuing fragile glass globes from rolling down the stairs like festive grenades.
By the time you return to the entrance hall, you expect maybe a slightly bigger donation pile. Maybe Charlie perched on top like a gremlin king.
You do not expect this.
The main tree, the twenty-foot-tall school Christmas tree the PTA spent three hours fluffing this morning, is buried. Absolutely buried. There are presents stuffed under it, around it, stacked knee-high in a ring, as if Santa himself took the phrase “gift drive” as a personal challenge.
You freeze.
Charlie is sitting cross-legged in front of the tree like a tiny foreman, proudly guarding a mountain of gifts. Chan stands beside him, cheeks pink, hands halfway stuffed in his pockets, looking… guilty. Or caught. Or both.
Your mouth falls open. “I was gone for fifteen minutes.”
Charlie beams. “We got inspired.”
You stare at the tree. And the gifts. And the bags. And the new bags leaning against the wall that definitely weren’t here before.
“Chan,” you say slowly, “please tell me you did not buy out an entire toy aisle.”
“Okay, so… funny story-”
“It’s not funny,” Charlie interrupts proudly. “Dad’s the Christmas Overlord.”
Chan sighs. “I told you not to call me that outside the house.”
You stare harder. “This is triple what was here before.”
He rubs the back of his neck, sheepishly. “Yeah, uh. I had a few things in the car. And then a little more. And then… some extras.”
“Extras?” you echo. “Chan, this looks like a mall exploded.”
“It’s for the kids,” he says quickly. “And December just… gets away from me.” He gestures helplessly at the pile like gravity itself betrayed him. “I promise I wasn’t trying to show off. I just… like giving. Especially to kids who need it.”
It should not make your chest feel warm. It really shouldn’t. But it does.
Charlie pops up. “Miss, look!” He picks up a wrapped box. “There are like ten scooters. TEN.”
A laugh escapes you. “Chan.”
He shrinks. “Yes?”
“You’re unbelievable.”
He opens his mouth to defend himself, probably, but then looks at you and seems to read something softer in your expression.
His shoulders relax. “In a good way?”
You sigh, the fond kind. “In the most ridiculous way possible.”
“Well, then you wouldn’t mind if I said I got all the staff presents too?”
Your eyebrows shoot up so fast you’re surprised they don’t launch clean off your forehead. “…What?”
Charlie spins toward him, delighted. “Dad, show her the bags! Show her the OTHER bags!” Charlie darts behind the tree and drags out an entire oversized gift bag patterned with cartoon reindeer, easily the size of a small refrigerator.
Chan covers his face with one hand. “Charlie, we talked about subtlety.”
“You said try subtlety. I tried and failed.” Charlie shrugs. “Anyway, TA-DA!”
The bag thumps onto the floor with a sound that should not come from anything meant for gifting. You stare at it. You stare at Chan. “…What did you do?”
He exhales, cheeks flushed and curls damp from his earlier trip in the snow. “Okay. So. In my defense-”
“That’s never how good stories start,” you mutter.
“In my defense,” he continues, “I just thought… teachers work hard. Really hard. And it’s the holidays. And maybe you all deserve something nice.”
You blink. “All… of us?”
He nods sheepishly. “The entire third-floor staff.”
“Chan.”
“All the grade-level teachers.”
“Chan.”
“…And the cafeteria workers,” he adds in a very small voice.
You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Chan.”
“I know,” he says quickly, hands lifted like he’s facing arrest. “I know it’s a lot. I know it looks insane. But I started with something small, and then I remembered how Mrs. Flynn mentioned she loves aromatherapy, and then Mr. Roberts said his coffee maker broke, and then Ms. Henderson talked about wanting new gloves…”
“And you bought… all of it?” You’re full of half-horror, half deeply moved.
Chan swallows, lifts the giant reindeer bag onto his shoulder like it’s nothing, and follows you toward the staff breakfast. The room is buzzing, coffee machines whirring, holiday music tinkling too softly from a Bluetooth speaker, teachers laughing into their pastries.
You clear your throat. “Um, everyone? We have… a few things to hand out.”
Chan instantly looks like he wants to flee. Charlie elbows him. “Do the thing.”
Chan glares at his son. Then, resignedly, he reaches into the enormous gift bag. “Okay,” he mutters under his breath. “Here goes nothing.” You bite back a smile.
He raises his voice. “Ms. Henderson?” The room falls silent. Ms. Henderson, the algebra teacher who terrifies freshmen, pushes her glasses up her nose. “Yes?”
Chan hands her a small box wrapped in blue paper.
She blinks behind her glasses. “What is this?”
“You, uh… mentioned wanting new gloves,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “So I… got you some? Touchscreen ones. For yard duty.”
A pause. Then she softens like a glacier melting. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Charlie pumps a fist. Chan clears his throat again. “Mr. Roberts?” The chemistry teacher steps forward suspiciously. Chan hands him a box shaped exactly like a coffee maker. Mr. Roberts’ jaw drops. “No way. No way. I only complained about this in passing.”
“Coach Ramirez, you mentioned losing your favorite whistle.”
“Ms. Brown, you deserved those fuzzy socks after surviving spirit week.”
“Mrs. Lee, tea sampler. You said your students were ‘killing you slowly.’”
Every gift fits its recipient exactly. Every person walks away stunned and touched.
Finally, after the last gift leaves his hands, Chan checks the clipboard, frowns, and pulls out one more package, which was neatly wrapped with silver paper and a bow tied with too much care. Your name is written across the tag.
“Oh…” you say softly, breath catching. “Chan… you didn’t have to include me.”
He shakes his head, curls brushing the edge of his beanie. “I did,” he murmurs, almost shy. “You’re important.” He places the gift in your hands. Lighter than you expect. But the wrapping is beautiful.
Your fingers tremble as you loosen it. Inside the box is a porcelain doll. Not just any doll. Your doll. Or, its twin. Perfectly identical. Down to the winter-blue dress, the lace-trimmed apron, the tiny hand-painted shoes. Her eyes are the same shade you remember brushing dust off on Christmas mornings as a child. It’s the doll you lost. The one Charlie broke. The one you cried over alone after school. Your throat tightens. You whisper, “How did you…?”
He rubs the back of his neck, cheeks pink. “It took a while.”
You let out a trembling laugh. “You replaced her.”
“You deserved to have her back.”
The emotion hits you so fast it stings. You swallow roughly, blinking against the warmth rising in your eyes. “This is… it’s perfect. Truly.” You look down at the doll again, hand gently brushing the curls painted onto her porcelain hair. But as you lift her from the box, something slides out. A small tag, tied to the handle of the gift bag. That wasn’t there before, was it? You pick it up and flip it over. A number.
His phone number.
Chan clears his throat. “I…uh…wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to ask in person. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. So I just… put it there. In case you ever wanted to talk. Or… something.”
You look down at the doll. At the number. At the man who has shown up with kindness again and again and again. You hold up the tag gently. “I’m really glad you gave me this.”
His smile blooms. “You are?” His voice cracks in the middle like he didn’t expect to get this far.
“I am.” You clutch the doll a little closer to your chest. “And… I’m going to use it.”
Chan blinks. “Use… the doll?”
“The number,” you say, smiling. “Though the doll is wonderful too.”
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
It feels a little weird to be getting ready for a date with a student’s parent. Not unethical. Not questionable, more like unexpected. The kind of thing that makes you try on three different sweaters even though they all look almost identical, and redo your mascara because your hands won’t stop shaking. You’re not sure what you expected when you texted him first, but the immediate warmth in his reply, the little smiley he added at the end, it’s enough to make your stomach flutter in ways you haven’t felt in years.
You smooth your hair, check your reflection again, and tug gently at the hem of your nicest coat. Not fancy. Not too casual. Just… cozy enough for a winter evening.
Okay. Okay. He said he’d pick you up, and this is normal. Normal people go on dates. You freeze. A sound drifts in through your apartment window. Bells. Not a phone notification. Not someone’s wind chimes. Actual bells. Soft at first, like a small jingle, then louder, steady, rhythmic, like something big moving through snow outside your house.
You frown, step toward the window, and push the curtain aside. “What the…?”
Outside, parked in the snow-covered street in front of your building, is a wooden sleigh. An actual wooden sleigh, not one of those decorative ones. A real, old-fashioned sleigh with curved runners, polished wood, giant red cushions, and string lights wrapped around the sides. Bells hang from the reins, catching the faint glow of the streetlamps. And standing beside it, cheeks flushed, curls peeking out from under a beanie, bundled in a thick coat, is Chan. He lifts a hand and waves.
You yank open your front door, step into the hallway, then the stairwell, then out into the cold, breath fogging instantly as you stare at him, arms crossed, coat half buttoned, disbelief radiating off you in waves. “Chan?!”
He smiles.. “I know.”
“What is that?”
“A sleigh.”
“I can see that it’s a sleigh,” you say, stepping closer. “Why do you have a sleigh?”
“A friend,” he says quickly. “He does holiday rides downtown for families and couples, and he owed me a favor, and he said I could borrow it for the night if I brought it back before ten.”
“Borrow it,” you repeat, deadpan. “Like a lawn mower.”
“Yeah. Kind of.”
He helps you up into the sleigh, tucks a blanket around your legs with gentle, careful hands, then climbs in beside you. A jingle of bells rings through the quiet street as the horse starts pulling forward, slow and steady. The sleigh glides smoothly down your street, runners whispering over packed snow. Chan keeps one hand lightly on the reins, the other resting close enough to yours that the space between you feels warm.
You pull the blanket a little higher on your lap. He notices, of course, and shifts closer just enough for your shoulders to brush. Your breath fogs in the cold air, and for a moment, everything feels impossibly quiet and perfect. Until suddenly, snow started to fall. Not a gentle flurry, not the leftover dusting from earlier, but a sudden bloom of snowflakes that spill from the sky as if someone just shook open a down comforter over the rooftops.
You tilt your head back. “Wait…was it supposed to snow again tonight?”
Chan glances up, startled. “Uh… no. Forecast said it was supposed to be clear.”
The flakes get heavier, swirling in slow spirals around the sleigh. The horse snorts happily, shaking its mane like it’s enjoying the surprise weather.
You blink as one lands on your nose. “It wasn’t snowing five minutes ago.”
Chan coughs, staring very intently ahead. “Weather changes fast?”
“Chan.”
“Yes?” he asks, too innocent.
You arch a brow at him. “This feels… sudden.”
“Does it?”
A gust of wind makes the bells jingle again, like they’re laughing. The lights strung across the sleigh flicker warmly against the deepening snowfall, and the world around you softens into something straight out of a postcard. You turn to him fully. “You didn’t… do something, did you?”
“Me? What could I possibly do to make it snow?”
You narrow your eyes. “I don’t know, Santa.”
His face goes bright pink. “Okay, the sleigh was a bad idea-”
“It was a great idea,” you correct. “Suspicious, but great.”
He looks down at his hands, sheepish. “It just… happens sometimes. Weather likes to be dramatic around me.”
“Dramatic,” you echo.
The sleigh slows as the Christmas market appears ahead, strings of warm white lights crisscrossing the street, vendor tents glowing like lanterns, hand-painted signs, garlands winding up lampposts. Snow settles on rooftops, dusts the walkway, sparkles under the bulbs like glitter. It’s breathtaking.
Chan clears his throat. “We’re here.”
You stare out at the market, awestruck. “Chan… it’s beautiful.”
His voice softens. “Yeah. It is.”
The horse slows to a stop near the entrance. Chan hops out first, boots crunching on the fresh snow. He turns, offering you his hand. “Ready?” he asks. You take it, letting him help you down from the sleigh.
“I’ve never seen it this pretty,” you murmur as your boots hit the ground.
Chan’s hand lingers around yours a moment longer than necessary before he lets go. The market is alive with warm light and soft snowfall, vendors selling ornaments, candles, gingerbread, wreaths, hand-knit scarves. Everything smells faintly of spice and pine.
You walk side by side through the narrow aisles, past stalls glittering with glass ornaments and rows of hand-poured candles. He keeps checking on you. Making sure you’re warm. That you’re not slipping. That you’re enjoying yourself.
At one stall, he insists you pick out a candle “for your classroom,” despite your protests.
At another, he buys Charlie a wooden puzzle “for his hands, so he drums less.”
And at a third stall, a snow globe catches your eye. A simple little thing. A tiny porcelain village inside, rooftops coated in glittering snow. Chan watches the way your fingers graze the glass, watches the softness on your face.
“You like it?” he asks quietly.
You nod. “It’s beautiful.”
He pays for it before you can even argue.
“Chan-”
“Don’t fight me on this one,” he says with a grin that scrunches the corners of his eyes. “Consider it… date tax.”
Your laugh comes out surprised and warm. “Date tax?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs. “Penalty for looking too pretty in the snow.”
Your face heats instantly.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
By the time you reach the far end of the market, the snowfall has turned gentle again, drifting lazily in the glow of the overhead string lights. People are thinning out. Vendors are starting to pack up for the night. Chan walks you toward a small clearing where a fountain sits quietly, half-frozen at the edges. The sleigh waits a short walk away, horse resting, bells lightly jingling whenever it shifts its weight.
You turn to him. “Thank you. This was honestly one of the nicest nights I’ve had in a long time.”
He breathes out, soft and relieved. “Yeah? I’m glad.”
You step closer without exactly meaning to. He notices, his breath catches just a little, visible in the cold air. Then there is a soft rustle above you. You glance up and see dangling from a wooden beam that definitely did not have anything on it before is a sprig of mistletoe. Fresh, bright, somehow glistening with tiny snow crystals despite the fact that it was clearly not there sixty seconds ago.
Your eyes widen. “Um?
Chan goes rigid. “I didn’t do that.”
“You didn’t?” you ask, voice full of fond disbelief.
Chan shuts his eyes, shoulders sinking in defeat. “I swear I’m not trying to be weird.”
Your heart does something soft and sweet. “Well,” you murmur, looking up at him through your lashes, “it would be rude not to honor tradition.”
Chan doesn’t need to hear it twice. He leans in, and his hand comes up, just barely brushing your cheek, and his lips meet yours under the magically-grown mistletoe, snow drifting around you like the night itself is holding its breath.
The mistletoe then blooms a little wider.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Weeks pass. Not many, just enough for things to feel familiar and warm in a way that sneaks up on you. Enough for your phone to fill with late-night texts from Chan about Charlie’s antics, or pictures of half-finished wooden toys he insists are “just practice,” or voice notes where he tries (and fails) to whisper because Charlie is asleep in the next room.
Which is why, when someone knocks on your door one Saturday evening, you expect it to be him dropping off a forgotten lunchbox or the book he borrowed from your classroom. You do not expect him to be standing in your doorway looking pale, breathless, snow-dusted, and terrified.
“Chan?” You step back automatically, letting him in. “What’s wrong? Is Charlie okay?”
“He’s fine. He’s with his Mom.” Chan wipes his boots on your mat, begins pacing before you can even close the door. He looks like he’s trying to work up the courage to jump off a cliff. “I…okay. I need to tell you something. It’s going to sound insane. And you’re probably going to think I’m joking, but I swear I’m not.”
Your stomach drops. “Are you sick? Is this… bad?”
“Kind of? Maybe? Depending on your definition of bad.” He stops pacing and scrubs a hand through his curls. “I should’ve told you sooner. I should’ve told you before the sleigh. Or the mistletoe. Or the snow. Or the staff gifts-”
“Chan,” you say quietly. “You’re scaring me.”
He freezes at that, guilt flickering through his expression. Then he takes a deep breath. “I’m Santa.”
You stare at him. He stares at you. “…Santa,” you repeat, just to make sure you heard correctly.
He nods. “Yeah.”
“Santa… Claus.”
“Yes.”
“Like the suit, and the sleigh, and the-”
“That’s the one.”
You blink once. Twice. “You know that’s not a thing people just… are, right?”
Chan gestures wildly. “I know. Believe me, I know. But it’s real. I’m…well…I inherited it. It’s a lineage thing. Someone retires, someone takes over, the magic adjusts. And I’ve been doing it for almost five years now.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “And every December I tell myself I won’t get close to anyone because the magic reacts. And I didn’t want to freak you out. Or lose control. Or ruin things.”
You stare at him, brain still buffering. “So… the snow?”
“Me.”
“The mistletoe?”
“Also me.”
“The… twenty-foot mountain of gifts that appeared in fifteen minutes?”
Chan sighs. “That one’s on me too, yeah.”
Your hand flies to your mouth as laughter bubbles up. You let out a little squeak. Oh my gosh, he’s gone insane.
He looks at you like it physically hurts. “I can’t keep being Santa unless I get married. Not someday. Soon. Before Christmas Eve. It’s part of the mantle. Stability, partnership, continuity, whatever the magical reasoning is. But it’s non-negotiable. I’ve put it off for as long as I can. This is my last year to choose my Mrs. Claus.”
You swallow. “And you’re telling me this because…?”
He meets your eyes with a vulnerability so raw it makes your heart twist. “Because I care about you. More than I meant to. More than I thought I’d be allowed to. And I know this is too fast. Way too fast. And I don’t expect you to say yes. I don’t expect anything. But I couldn’t tell you. I couldn’t keep seeing you, kissing you, while hiding something this big.”
Your chest tightens at the honesty in his voice.
He steps back a little, hands trembling. “If you tell me this is too much, if you walk away right now, I’ll understand. I’ll step down. Someone else will take the mantle. I’ll lose the magic. It’ll be fine. I can handle that. But I didn’t want to make that choice without telling you the truth. Without giving you the chance to decide if you want anything to do with this.” His voice breaks, quiet and desperate. “Personally, I feel like you’d be great for the job. You see the good in kids, even naughty ones like Charlie. You set up the fundraiser for the shelter, and you see Christmas spirit. I just…want to know if you’ll pick me.”
“Chan,” you say softly, “you should sit down.”
His eyes widen. “Is that a good sit down or a-”
“You’re panicking in my doorway. Come sit.”
Chan obeys like a startled puppy, moving stiffly toward your couch. He sinks into the cushions, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tight enough that his knuckles are white. You sit beside him, trying to assess whether you’re supposed to call an ambulance or a priest.
“Okay,” you start slowly, carefully, like you’re coaxing a scared animal out from under a porch. “So you’re… Santa.”
He nods once, solemn.
“And you have to get married. Immediately.”
Another nod.
“And you think the weather listens to your emotional state.”
He winces. “Not think. Know.”
You inhale. Long. Deep. Professional. You taught middle school. You can handle delusion. “I’m going to ask you something, and I need you to answer honestly.”
He lifts his head, desperate. “Anything.”
“Are you currently experiencing any head trauma?”
“What?”
“Head injury? Concussion? Have you fainted recently? Hit by falling ice? Bell dropped on you from the sleigh?”
“No,” he says, confused.
“Okay.” You swallow. “Any… medications? New prescriptions? Anything that might cause… vivid hallucinations?”
His jaw drops. “You think I’m hallucinating?!”
You hold up both hands. “You just told me you’re Santa Claus!”
He groans, dragging his hands down his face. “I knew you’d say that, but I swear I’m not, I’m not having an episode, I’m not sick, I’m not,” He gestures vaguely at his head. “I’m not unwell.”
You look at him for a long time. He looks… devastated. The genuinely terrified, heart-in-his-throat, please-believe-me kind.
You exhale and soften your voice. “Then help me understand. Because right now, Chan, what you’re saying sounds…” You hesitate, searching for the least hurtful word. “…impossible.”
“It is impossible,” he says, with a sudden, humorless laugh. “I know it is. Believe me, the first time I flew a sleigh, I threw up over half of downtown. I get how insane it sounds. But it’s the truth.”
You rub your temples. “Do you have proof?”
“Do you want me to transform into Santa right now?”
“Excuse me? Transform? Like a werewolf?”
He grimaces. “It’s not like a werewolf. It’s kind of like a magical identity shift. The Suit appears, the beard grows, and time slows down for everyone but me. The whole thing. But doing it indoors is a bad idea unless you want your ceiling obliterated.”
You stare at your ceiling. You stare at him. “Please do not explode my house, Chan.”
“I won’t!” He holds up both hands. “I won’t do it here. I just, yes. If you want proof, I can show you. Somewhere open. But I didn’t want to just drag you outside in the middle of a crisis. That feels rude.”
You stand up. Chan stiffens like you just pulled a sword on him. “Where are you going?”
“To get my coat. If you’re going to show me something impossible,” you continue, “we might as well do it outside, where my house is okay.”
His entire body sags in something like relief and terror intertwined. “You… you want to see?”
“I want to understand,” you correct gently. “I need proof.”
A tiny, startled huff of laughter escapes him. “Fair.”
You grab your coat and boots, hands shaking only a little. When you return, he’s standing by the door, wringing a knit beanie between his palms like it’s a lifeline.
“Last chance to back out,” he says softly. “I don’t want to overwhelm you.”
“I teach twelve-year-olds. I’ve been overwhelmed since September.” You pull on a glove. “Let’s go.”
The winter air hits like peppermint, sharp, cold, and clean. Snow shifts under your boots as you step out onto the quiet street. Chan follows, closing the door behind you, breath fogging in the dark. He turns to you, chest rising and falling too fast, curls dusted with melting snow. “Okay. Just…don’t freak out.”
“I make zero promises.”
Chan steps back onto the sidewalk. Then he closes his eyes.
The air changes. You feel it before you see it. The wind sharpens, swirling around him in a soft halo. Light, not bright, but warm, flares at the edges of your vision, like someone lifted a lantern.
Then the impossible happens. His clothes shimmer. The curls lengthen, silvering. His frame shifts broader, shoulders strong, posture straightening like something ancient is settling into his bones. The air hums with power and cinnamon and pine. A red coat appears where his jacket was, embroidered gold. A magic hat also appears above his black curls. And his eyes, Chan’s eyes, brown and soft and terrified, stare at you.
He looks like someone stepped out of a storybook. He looks impossible. He looks like Santa Claus. And for a full ten seconds, you forget how to breathe. “…holy crap,” you whisper.
Chan’s…Santa’s…voice comes out deeper, richer, but still him. “Yeah. That’s the usual reaction.”
Your knees wobble. “That’s…oh my God. Oh my God.”
He shrugs helplessly. “Magic.”
You stare, helpless, overwhelmed, heart pounding so hard you’re sure the whole block can hear it. “Chan?”
“Yes?”
“Change back. Please. Before I pass out.”
The transformation reverses like an exhale. The glow fades. The beard recedes. The coat dissolves into mist. And then he’s just Chan again, anxious, snow-dusted Chan, standing in front of you with wide, fearful eyes.
You sink onto the nearest patch of steps before your legs give out entirely. “You weren’t kidding.”
“I told you.”
You let out a shaky laugh. “You’re actually Santa Claus.”
He lets out a broken breath, half laugh, half sob of relief. “Yeah. And I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t apologize."
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
You’ve barely seen Chan. Not because he’s avoiding you, if anything, he texts more now than before, but because December is prime Santa season, and now that you know, you can see the strain in every message he sends. The late nights. The stress. The magic was tugging at him like a leash. And you’re thinking. Constantly. About him, about you, about the entire insane situation. About what it would mean to marry someone because the universe demands it.
But the thing is… every time your mind circles back to Chan, the fear settles. The panic dies down. And all you feel is warmth.
So when he knocks on your door again, this time not snow-dusted, not frantic, but holding a bouquet of winter roses with his hair combed back like he’s trying really hard, you open the door before he can even lower his hand.
“Hey,” he says softly.
“Hey,” you answer.
“Can we… talk?” You let him in. His hands shake a little as he sets the flowers on your kitchen counter. “I didn’t want to pressure you,” he says immediately. “About marriage. About any of it.”
“I know,” you say quietly.
“And I meant it. I don’t expect anything. I just… care about you. More than I should. And I wanted you to have the choice.”
You take a step toward him. “I’ve been thinking.”
His shoulders hitch. “Is that… good? Or very bad?”
You huff a tiny laugh. “Somewhere in the middle.”
“Okay,” he whispers.
You take another step until your hands are within reach of each other. “I don’t want to marry someone because magic is forcing them. And I don’t want you to marry someone because you’re desperate not to lose that magic.”
Chan nods. “I get that. I really do.”
“But,” you continue, “I also can’t ignore how I feel about you. And I’m not saying yes because you need Mrs. Claus. I’m saying yes because… I want you. The magic is just part of the package deal I didn’t know I ordered.”
Chan blinks. Once. Twice. Then his eyes go glossy in a way that makes your chest pull tight. “You’re saying yes?” His voice is so soft it’s barely there.
“I’m saying,” you correct gently, “that I will marry you. Not for the title. For you.”
Chan swallows hard, a tiny sound escaping him. “You’re sure? I don’t want-”
“Come here,” you murmur.
He steps into your arms like he’s been waiting his whole life for someone to tell him it’s okay. You hold each other so close you can feel the tremble in his chest. He hides his face in your shoulder, breathing you in like he’s trying to memorize the moment. And when he pulls back, cheeks flushed, eyes shining, he whispers. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
The snow outside starts falling harder.
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Glacius
Day 3 of @12daysofchristmas, Prompt: Christmas at Hogwarts AU (alt prompt)
Stray Kids - Slytherin!Hyunjin x Hogwarts Student!Reader
Word Count: 3k
-12 days of Christmas masterlist-
Snow blanketed the castle grounds, glistening like powdered sugar under the December sun. Hogwarts had never looked so breathtaking. Students rushed through the corridors, laughter echoing off the stone walls as they carried wreaths, enchanted mistletoe, and trays of sugar quills to the Great Hall.
You lingered at the window of the library, a steaming mug of cocoa hovering beside your book, held aloft by a lazy Wingardium Leviosa. Outside, a flurry of snowflakes danced past the glass. Inside, the warmth from the enchanted fireplace painted the world in soft amber hues.
You should have been revising for Potions. Instead, your eyes kept wandering toward the courtyard below, where Hyunjin stood.
He wasn’t supposed to look that good in the cold. His Slytherin scarf hung loosely around his neck, black hair dusted with snowflakes that refused to melt. His wand was raised, tracing sharp arcs through the air, sending jets of shimmering blue ice spiraling across the stone. Each movement was smooth and deliberate. Each flick of his wrist left crystalline frost crawling over the ground.
You wondered what the castle caretaker would think. But Hyunjin never seemed to care much about rules, or rather, he knew exactly how to bend them without breaking them.
That was one of the first things you noticed about him. He was mischievous, but never reckless. He had a way of turning trouble into elegance. Even when he charmed Peeves into singing the school anthem in reverse last term, he somehow managed to make Professor Snape blame the Ravenclaws instead. Hyunjin’s mischief was art. Controlled. Purposeful.
And behind that charm was something sharper. Ambition. It burned in him like wildfire, beautiful and dangerous in equal measure. He wanted everything. Mastery over spells, recognition for his talent, a legacy carved in the stones of Hogwarts. He worked for it with the same intensity he cast his magic. While others dreamed, Hyunjin worked. Practicing. Perfecting. Drawing.
His sketchbook was never far from reach. It was a battered, ink-stained thing that looked ready to fall apart at the seams. You’d caught glimpses of it before. He didn’t draw like it was a hobby; he drew like it was breathing. Portraits of dragons mid-flight, intricate spell diagrams, faces of classmates caught in fleeting emotion. Once, you’d caught him sketching the reflection of light off the Black Lake, each stroke tender and deliberate. He’d noticed you watching then, smiled that soft, knowing smile, and flipped the page before you could see the next drawing.
You never asked what it was.
And yet, even now, watching him command the ice below, you couldn’t help but wonder what he saw when he looked at the world. Hyunjin had always fascinated you. He was fierce but gentle, ambitious but patient, mischievous but careful.
Outside, his spell shimmered brighter, a flourish of blue that caught the afternoon light. The courtyard sparkled, transformed into something that looked less like frost and more like art. You smiled to yourself, the warmth of your cocoa seeping into your palms. You really did wonder what the caretaker would say.
“Still staring?”
The voice made you jump. You turned to see your best friend smirking knowingly.
“I’m not staring,” you protested, slamming your book shut a little too quickly.
“Right,” they said, dragging out the word. “Just studying the form of an advanced freezing charm for… academic purposes?”
You glared. “Exactly.”
They grinned. “If you’re going to drool over Hyunjin, at least go say hello before break starts. He’s not staying for Christmas, is he?”
That hit you harder than you expected. “No, I think he’s leaving tomorrow. Something about family traditions.”
Your friend’s expression softened. “Then go. It’s Christmas. Worst he can do is… hex you lightly.”
You rolled your eyes, but your pulse had already picked up speed. The snow outside had started falling harder, and it looked like it wasn’t going to lessen anytime soon. You hesitated only a moment longer, staring at the courtyard below. The snowflakes had grown thicker, swirling wildly around Hyunjin as if drawn to the energy of his magic. He looked completely at ease in the storm, wand still raised, lips moving silently as blue light flickered against his gloves.
You took a deep breath, downed the last of your cocoa, and grabbed your cloak.
The library doors creaked softly as you slipped out, your boots echoing faintly against the corridor floor. The closer you got to the courtyard, the colder it grew. When you finally stepped outside, the wind caught your breath.
Hyunjin stood in the center of it all, surrounded by frozen spirals of light. The air shimmered faintly, ice crystals forming in intricate webs across the ground. You pulled your cloak tighter around your shoulders and stepped closer, crunching through the snow beneath your boots. “That’s beautiful.”
Hyunjin turned at the sound of your voice, lowering his wand. The storm of snow seemed to pause with him. “(Y/N),” he said, smiling faintly. “I didn’t expect you.”
You returned his smile, trying not to let the way he said your name melt straight through your ribs. “You didn’t leave me much choice,” you said, nodding toward the frost curling across the courtyard stones. “Half the castle’s freezing because of you.”
Hyunjin’s grin deepened, a spark of mischief lighting his eyes. “You noticed.”
“I think everyone noticed,” you said, stepping closer, the cold biting pleasantly at your cheeks. “If the caretaker sees this, you’ll be cleaning it up.”
He tucked his wand into his sleeve, unconcerned. “He won’t know it was me.”
You raised an eyebrow. “You’re literally standing in the middle of it.”
“Details,” he murmured, that familiar confidence threading through his tone. He looked over the frozen courtyard, blue light glinting in his eyes.
You followed his gaze. The courtyard really was beautiful, every pillar and bench dusted in snow, the fountain glistening under the thin winter light. “You do this often?” you asked softly.
“When I need to think.”
You looked back at him, curious. “You? Think? I thought you just… act.”
That earned a low laugh. “You think I don’t plan?” He took a step closer, boots crunching lightly against the ice. “Every spell, every sketch. I don’t do anything without a reason.”
You smiled, meeting his eyes. “And what’s the reason for this, then?”
He hesitated for half a heartbeat, gaze flickering briefly to the frost between you before returning to your face. “Because it’s beautiful.”
You didn’t know what to say to that. So you didn’t. Instead, you reached for your wand, tracing it through the air. “Show me how you did it,” you said finally.
“Glacius?” he asked, raising a brow.
You nodded, holding your wand out. “You’ve been showing off long enough. It’s my turn.”
He chuckled, stepping beside you. “Alright, but don’t blame me when you freeze your fingers together.”
“Deal.”
He moved behind you then, his hand hovering just above yours as he guided your motion. “Steady,” he murmured, voice low. “Don’t force it. Just… breathe.”
You inhaled, heart pounding, the cold air burning sweet in your lungs. Hyunjin’s breath ghosted against your ear as he whispered, “Now… Glacius.” You cast the spell, and for a moment, nothing happened. Then, slowly, the air shimmered. A trail of ice blossomed across the stone, delicate and uneven but glistening like crystal.
Your eyes widened. “I did it.”
Hyunjin smiled, proud. “Told you. You just needed the right teacher.”
Snow began to fall harder now, dusting your cloaks and hair. You didn’t move. Neither did he. The courtyard around you sparkled, quiet and still except for the faint sound of your breathing and the snow whispering against stone.
When Hyunjin finally spoke, his voice was softer, barely a breath above the wind. “You’re staying for Christmas?”
You nodded. “Yeah.:
He hummed, gaze dropping to the frost between you. “Then I guess you’ll have the castle all to yourself.”
“Not all to myself,” you said, smiling. “The ghosts will keep me company.”
That made him laugh again. “You and the ghosts. Fitting.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because you haunt places too,” he said. “Quietly. Permanently.”
You froze, but not from the cold this time. “Hyunjin…”
He just smiled, already turning away, wand tucked neatly back into his sleeve. “Come on,” he said, his voice light again. “You’ll freeze if you stay out here any longer.”
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Christmas morning at Hogwarts always felt like a dream. The castle was almost silent for once. Snow piled high on the windowsills, soft light filtering through the frosted glass. Somewhere down the corridor, enchanted bells jingled faintly, keeping time with the slow rhythm of the falling snow.
You sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. The dormitory was warm, the fire in the hearth burning low but steady. Wrapping your blanket tighter around your shoulders, you glanced toward the foot of your bed, where something small and glimmering sat beneath the Christmas tree in the common room beyond the curtains.
A single, neatly wrapped box. Green ribbon. Silver wax seal. Slytherin colors.
Your heart gave a traitorous flutter.
You slid out of bed, feet sinking into the soft rug, and padded toward the tree. The box was light in your hands. A folded note rested on top, written in looping, unmistakable handwriting.
For (Y/N)
-From Hyunjin
You untied the ribbon carefully, expecting chocolate frogs or a sketch. Instead, a small scrap of parchment fell into your palm. A riddle, written in his tidy, slanted script:
“Where words whisper louder than voices can speak, Find the warmth where your cocoa once leaked. Beneath silver frost and candle’s flame, A secret waits where you first said my name.”
You smiled immediately. Of course. The library. It was just like Hyunjin to turn Christmas morning into a puzzle. You threw on your cloak over your pajamas, slipped into your boots, and tiptoed through the quiet corridors. The castle was hushed, the portraits still asleep in their frames, and the faint scent of cinnamon drifted from the Great Hall far below.
When you reached the library, the door creaked softly open under your touch. Inside, the air was cool and still, sun filtering through tall windows in pale golden stripes. You walked straight to your usual spot by the window, the one where your cocoa had hovered only days ago.
There, beside your chair, was a small snow globe resting atop a stack of books. Inside it, a tiny figure of yourself flicked your wand, sending spirals of glittering frost through the glass. Your heart warmed at once. Beneath the globe was another parchment.
“Clever girl. But let’s see how well you really know me. Follow where the chill runs deep, Where spells once sparked and shadows sleep. The next clue rests by frozen glass, Beneath reflections that will never pass.”
You frowned thoughtfully. Frozen glass… shadows… Then it clicked. The dungeons, near the Slytherin common room, where the windows looked out into the dark waters of the Black Lake.
The trek down from the upper floors was long and chilly, each step echoing in the quiet. When you reached the dungeons, the air was heavy and damp, the flickering green light from the lake illuminating the stone walls. You found it just where you thought you would, tucked on the ledge of a narrow window. A small glass vial sealed with silver wax, glowing faintly blue. Inside, tiny flakes of frost swirled endlessly. You uncorked it, and the faintest shimmer of light spelled words in midair:
“You’re colder now, aren’t you? Then find the warmth again. Go where the elves hum, Where ginger and sugar melt into song. Something sweet awaits you where kindness belongs.”
You couldn’t help laughing aloud. The kitchens.
You hurried through the castle, the scent of baking growing stronger with each step until you reached the portrait of the pear. A gentle tickle made it giggle and swing open, revealing the warmth of the kitchens. Inside, a few house-elves bustled cheerfully, wearing holly crowns and stirring enormous pots of cocoa.
One of them spotted you and waved you over with a smile. “Looking for this, miss?” he squeaked, holding out a small tin wrapped in silver paper.
You took it with wide eyes. “Hyunjin gave this to you?”
“Oh yes,” the elf said proudly. “Said it was for someone special.”
You opened the tin carefully. Inside were two perfectly baked ginger biscuits shaped like snowflakes, and another note nestled between them.
“Even mischief needs sugar. Now go where music sleeps, Where the old keys dream beneath velvet seats. Follow the echo of winter’s song, You’ve been here before, not too long.”
The music room.
By now, your breath puffed white in the cold corridors as you climbed toward the upper floors again. The music room was dim and still when you slipped inside, sunlight spilling across the grand piano in soft ribbons. A single candle flickered atop it. On the keys rested a folded sheet of parchment and a tiny sketch.
You lifted it gently. The sketch showed you standing by the library window, cocoa floating midair, hair tangled with sunlight. Beneath it, the words: “Inspiration strikes at the strangest moments.” You traced the charcoal lines softly before reading the new clue.
“Five clues down, one more to go. Find where the stars and ice both glow. Where breath fogs glass and time stands still, Come find me where the world is chill.”
You knew before you even finished reading. The Astronomy Tower.
Your heart quickened as you climbed, snowflakes drifting through the open stairwell. The air grew thinner, colder, but you barely noticed. At the top, the world opened before you, Hogwarts blanketed in white, the Black Lake gleaming, and snow falling gently from a pale, gold-tinted sky.
You stepped out onto the tower platform, the cold immediately biting at your cheeks, but you didn’t care. Because there, standing in the middle of it all, was Hyunjin. He turned at the sound of your boots on the stone, that familiar lopsided smile curving his lips.
For a heartbeat, you just stared. “You…” Your voice caught somewhere between a gasp and a laugh. “You’re here?”
He grinned, brushing a dusting of snow from his shoulder. “Surprised?”
“You said you were leaving. That your parents expected you home for Christmas.”
“I was supposed to.” His tone softened as he stepped closer, snowflakes melting in his hair. “But I convinced them to let me stay. Said I had... unfinished business.”
You raised an eyebrow, warmth rising to your cheeks despite the chill. “Unfinished business?”
“You said you’d be here alone. I didn’t want that.”
Your throat tightened, a soft laugh escaping before you could stop it. “You stayed because of me?”
“Because I didn’t want you to spend Christmas with just the ghosts,” he said, his voice low and gentle. “And because Hogwarts is quieter without you complaining about Potions homework.”
You laughed, but your chest ached in that dizzy, weightless way only Hyunjin could cause. “You’re impossible.”
“Maybe,” he said, taking another step toward you until you could see the faint reflection of the snow in his eyes. “But I’m here, aren’t I?”
The wind swept between you, carrying flakes that danced in the moonlight. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Then, Hyunjin reached into his cloak and pulled something small from the inner pocket.
“Almost forgot,” he said, holding it up between his fingers.
You blinked, and then…
Oh.
It was a sprig of mistletoe.
Your breath caught. “You didn’t.”
“I did,” Hyunjin said, eyes glinting with playful defiance. “Consider it the last gift in your scavenger hunt.”
You tried to glare, but your smile betrayed you. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Maybe.” He stepped close enough that you could see the snow caught in his lashes. “But you’re smiling, so I’ll take that as a win.”
You looked up at him, the world suddenly narrowing to the two of you. “Hyunjin…”
“Shh,” he murmured, still smiling. “You’ll ruin the moment.”
The mistletoe hung suspended between you, its red berries glimmering faintly in the starlight. You could feel your heartbeat in your fingertips, quick and traitorous.
“Tradition, isn’t it?” he said softly, his breath visible in the cold air. “A kiss under a mistletoe?”
“You really planned all of this for a kiss?”
Hyunjin’s lips curved, a slow, confident smirk that was all too familiar. “I prefer to think of it as… motivation.”
“You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” he murmured, leaning in just slightly, “you still followed every clue.”
Your cheeks flushed despite the cold. “Only because I wanted to see how far your arrogance would go.”
“Right,” he said, grinning wide. “And not because you wanted to see me.”
You opened your mouth to retort, but the words caught somewhere between your chest and throat. Because he was close now, so close you could see the faint pink at the tip of his nose from the cold, the way his breath trembled slightly as it hit the air between you. His usual confidence softened into something gentler.
Hyunjin lifted the mistletoe a little higher, and this time his voice dropped to a whisper. “So, what do you say? We don’t want to disrespect Christmas tradition, do we?”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Then believe this.”
Before you could respond, Hyunjin leaned in, closing the last breath of space between you. His lips brushed yours lightly, testing, and then deepened the kiss just enough to make your heart stumble. His hand, gloved and cold, brushed your cheek, and the contrast of warmth beneath it made you shiver.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested gently against yours. You could feel his smile before you saw it. “That,” he said softly, “was worth every riddle.”
You let out a shaky laugh. “You really stayed just for this?”
He shrugged, pretending to think. “Maybe for this. Maybe because I like seeing you wander the castle in your pajamas at dawn.”
You swatted his arm, half mortified, half glowing. “You saw that?”
“I see everything,” he said with a wink. “Especially when it involves you.”
You rolled your eyes, but the fondness crept into your voice anyway. “You know, for a Slytherin, you can be disgustingly sentimental.”
“Don’t tell anyone,” he whispered, brushing a stray flake of snow from your hair. “It’d ruin my reputation.”
You smiled up at him, the kind of smile that only came when your heart felt too full. “Merry Christmas, Hyunjin.”
His fingers brushed yours, twining them together. “Merry Christmas.”
The wind swept through the tower again, scattering snow across the stone and catching the mistletoe still hovering above you.
General Taglist: @moonlitcelestial @akindaflora @beppybeesnuggets @rylea08 @yxna-bliss @felixsonlyrealwife @wolfs-howling @velvetmoonlght @rougegenshin @ilovvesleepp @qwonyoung23 @imagine-all-the-imagines @hhwangsmoon @hanniesbubuwife @brbwritingfanfic @insert-fangirl-screech-here @dlizzzy @theartisticlibrarian
The Princess and the Lumberjack
Day 2 of @12daysofchristmas, Prompt: Evergreen
Stray Kids - Lumberjack!Changbin x Reader, Meet cute
Word Count: 2k
-12 days of Christmas masterlist -
This year, you finally convinced your roommate to ditch plastic trees and go for a real Christmas tree. It took a week of Pinterest boards, arguments about “the scent of pine,” and one very manipulative Hallmark movie marathon, but you finally got her to agree. The only problem? You had no clue how to actually get one. That’s how you ended up here, ankle-deep in snow, standing in the middle of a local tree farm, squinting at rows of evergreens that all looked suspiciously the same.
Your roommate had conveniently “caught a cold” that morning, leaving you alone with a paper cup of cocoa and zero idea how to tell a good Christmas tree from a bad one.
“Need some help?” The voice came from behind you. You turned, and there he was: broad-shouldered, wearing a red flannel under a heavy coat, with snow dusting the edges of his dark hair.
“I’m fine,” you said, your pride kicking in a little too fast. “Just, uh… looking for one that’s tall enough for my apartment but not too tall. Full, but not too full. You know. Balanced.”
“Can I interest you in our miniature tree section?”
Offended, you ducked your head, pretending to study a nearby spruce that leaned slightly to one side. “Do you work here or just wander around mocking paying customers?”
“Both,” he said easily, stepping beside you. “Name’s Changbin. My family owns the place.”
“So, Changbin,” you said, trying to sound unimpressed. “If you’re such a tree expert, what makes this one so special?” You gestured toward the crooked spruce.
He leaned close, inspecting the tree with a seriousness that didn’t match the smirk tugging at his mouth. “Well, this one’s got character. A little lopsided, sure, but sturdy. Reliable. The kind of tree that’d stick around even when you forget to water it.”
You laughed. “It looks like it’s going to fall in ten seconds.”
He grinned, brushing a dusting of snow off the tree’s lower branches. “Then let’s find you something that says ‘princess with taste,’ yeah?”
“Princess?” you echoed.
“Well, you’re dressed like one.” He nodded at your cream-colored coat, fur-lined gloves, and the faint shimmer on your earmuffs. “Most people come here in jeans and boots. You look like you’re about to step onto a magazine cover.”
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile creeping across your face. “Maybe I just like looking festive.”
“Then you came to the right place.” He straightened, his gaze softening. “C’mon, I’ll show you the tall and skinny first. They’re classic. Smells incredible.”
You followed as he led the way through the rows of trees, your breath clouding in the cold air. The snow crunched beneath your boots, and the scent of pine was stronger here, sharp and sweet. Changbin stopped in front of a perfectly shaped evergreen, brushing the snow off its branches. “This one’s a winner,” he said. “Sturdy trunk, soft needles, perfect symmetry.” He crouched near the base of the tree, gloved fingers brushing over the trunk. “See this?” Changbin said, tapping the bark. “No cracks, no dry patches. It’s fresh. Cut it, water it, and it’ll last all month.”
You crouched beside him, pretending you knew what you were looking at. “You talk about trees like they’re people.”
He looked up, his grin softening into something gentler. “Guess I just like taking care of things.”
The words hung between you, visible in the frost of your breath. You weren’t sure why that made your chest warm. “So…” you cleared your throat, breaking eye contact. “How do we, um, get it out?”
Changbin rose to his full height, pulling a small handsaw from a leather sheath at his hip. “I’ll do the hard part. You, princess, get to supervise.”
“Oh, lucky me,” you muttered, but you couldn’t hide your smile as he knelt by the trunk. The rhythmic sound of the saw bit through the crisp air, snowflakes drifting around you like confetti. He made it look easy with his strong arms. Within minutes, the tree tipped slightly, and he caught it before it could fall. “Got it,” he said, a satisfied grin spreading across his face.
You clapped lightly. “You make it look simple.”
He shrugged, standing and resting the saw over his shoulder. “Been doing it since I could walk. My mom says I used to drag the baby trees around pretending to be Santa.”
“That’s… actually adorable,” you said before you could stop yourself.
“Adorable, huh?”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Oh, I think you did,” he teased, wiping his gloved hands on his jeans. “But don’t worry, princess. I’ll take the compliment.”
You rolled your eyes and stood, brushing snow off your coat. “Do you flirt with all your customers, or am I just lucky?”
He smirked, leaning against the tree trunk he’d just cut. “Only the ones who show up looking like they belong on a Christmas card.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Changbin took a step closer, close enough that you could smell the faint trace of pine and woodsmoke clinging to him. “You want honesty?” His eyes sparkled mischievously. “Most people who come here just grab a tree and go. You actually stopped to pick one like it mattered.”
You blinked, surprised by the sincerity sneaking into his voice. “Well… it does. It’s my first real Christmas tree. It has to be perfect.”
He grinned again, softer this time. “Then I think you picked the right one.”
You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you nodded instead, your breath puffing out in little clouds between you. He nodded toward the main path. “Come on, I’ll help you load it. Wouldn’t want your first real tree adventure to end in disaster.”
“Are you implying I’m accident-prone?” you asked, following him through the snow.
“I’m implying you look like someone who’s never tied a tree to a car before,” he said over his shoulder.
You narrowed your eyes. “You’d be correct.”
By the time you reached the front lot, your fingers were frozen, but your cheeks burned with warmth. He set the tree down beside your car and grabbed a bundle of twine.
“Stand there,” he instructed. “And hold this steady.”
You did as told. When the tree was secure, your nose was pink, your cocoa was cold, and Changbin was grinning like he knew something you didn’t. “There,” he said, brushing his hands together. “All set. You’ll be the envy of your whole apartment building.”
You smiled. “Thanks, Changbin. Seriously.”
“Anytime.”
You drove away with the faint scent of pine filling your car and a new kind of warmth spreading through your chest.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Setting up the tree was easier than Changbin made it seem. Well…mostly.
You wrestled with the stand for twenty minutes, your living room slowly filling with the scent of fresh pine and the occasional muttered curse. The base was crooked, your hands were sticky with sap, and a few needles had somehow found their way into your hair. But when you finally stepped back, wiping your hands on your jeans, you couldn’t help but grin. It was perfect.
Soft fairy lights twinkled around the branches, the star you and your roommate found at a thrift store last year perched proudly on top. The room looked cozier already as if it had been waiting all this time for a real tree to bring it to life.
Your phone buzzed on the coffee table.
Unknown number: Hope your tree survived the trip home. -Changbin
You blinked.
You: How did you get my number?
Changbin: You had to write your number down to purchase the tree, remember? Don’t worry. I’m not a stalker.
You laughed, shaking your head as you collapsed onto the couch.
You: Concerned about what exactly?
Changbin: About whether you remembered to water it. You seem like the type to forget once it’s decorated.
You: I did! I followed your very official lumberjack instructions.
Changbin: Good. Wouldn’t want all my hard work to go to waste. How’s it look?
You glanced up at the glowing tree. The lights reflected softly against the ornaments, golden and gentle.
You: Kind of magical, actually.
Changbin: I told you. Real trees make a difference.
You hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard before typing again.
You: You were right. I should thank you properly sometime.
Changbin: You could. Or you could come by the farm again tomorrow. We’re setting up the wreath stand. Might need someone with “princess taste” to judge which ones look the best.
You bit your lip, smiling at the screen.
You: Are you asking me out, lumberjack?
Changbin: Only if you say yes.
You leaned back on the couch, the tree lights reflecting in your eyes, and typed slowly:
You: I’ll bring cocoa.
Changbin: I’ll bring the pie.
You laughed, heart light, the room aglow with evergreen and possibility.
Outside, snow began to fall again, just as the last Hallmark movie of the night started to play in the background. Only this time, you didn’t roll your eyes at the romance on the screen. You were starting to believe in it.
General Taglist: @moonlitcelestial @akindaflora @beppybeesnuggets @rylea08 @yxna-bliss @felixsonlyrealwife @wolfs-howling @velvetmoonlght @rougegenshin @ilovvesleepp @qwonyoung23 @imagine-all-the-imagines @hhwangsmoon @hanniesbubuwife @brbwritingfanfic @insert-fangirl-screech-here @dlizzzy @theartisticlibrarian
Festive Corporate
Day 1 of @12daysofchristmas, Prompt: Decorating the Office
Stray Kids - CEO!Hyunjin x Wife!Reader
Word Count: 2k
-12 days of Christmas masterlist -
Having Hwang Hyunjin as your husband wasn’t the easiest thing to do. Especially for someone like yourself, who was a festive person.
Hwang Enterprises was one of, if not the biggest, foreign trade companies in Korea. So, when you walked in to bring your husband coffee on December 12th, you expected some decorations. A wreath, a garland, maybe even a string of lights. However, all that you saw was the same old serious hallways.
You stopped in front of the reception desk, frowning. “Please tell me there’s at least a Christmas tree somewhere in this building,” you said to the receptionist, who smiled awkwardly and shook her head.
“Mr. Hwang doesn’t like distractions, Mrs. Hwang.”
Of course, he didn’t. With a sigh, you adjusted the coffee tray in your hands and made your way toward his office. You could practically hear the faint clicking of keyboards echoing down the corridor. No cheer. Hyunjin looked up the moment you opened his door. His dark hair was tucked neatly behind one ear, his tie perfectly knotted. He smiled softly, eyes instantly softening at the sight of you.
“Jagiya,” he greeted, standing to take the coffee from your hand. “You didn’t have to come all the way here.”
“I did,” you said, narrowing your eyes. “Because I needed to see something with my own eyes.”
He blinked. “What is it?”
You gestured broadly to the minimalist office, white marble, dark oak, not a single hint of red or green in sight. “This. This crime scene. Not even a sprig of mistletoe?”
Hyunjin chuckled, a deep, rich sound that echoed through the space. “You need a mistletoe to kiss me?”
“That’s not the point!” you replied firmly, crossing your arms. “You failed at decorating your office horribly.”
He leaned against his desk, clearly amused. “You know this is a corporate office, not a winter wonderland.”
You stepped closer, refusing to back down. “Corporate doesn’t have to mean cold, Hyunjin. It’s Christmas! Where’s the spirit? The joy? The magic?” You waved a hand dramatically.
He tilted his head, that infuriatingly charming smile tugging at his lips. “You’re the magic, jagiya. Why would I need tinsel when I already have you?”
You groaned, though your cheeks warmed despite yourself. “You’re not getting out of this with smooth talk, Hyunjin.”
“Was worth a try,” he murmured, taking a sip of the coffee you’d brought before setting it aside. “You really think I should decorate?”
“Yes,” you said without hesitation. “This place needs life. Your employees are probably scared to even hum a Christmas song. Maybe start with your office. A little garland around your door, a few fairy lights over your window. Oh! And one of those mini trees for your desk!”
He looked around his sleek workspace like you’d just suggested setting it on fire. “A tree? Here?”
“Yes. A tree. You can’t call yourself a CEO of anything if your office looks like the inside of a luxury coffin during December.”
He laughed then, the sound warm and unguarded. “You’re lucky I love you,” he said, sliding his hand up to cup your jaw. “Otherwise, I’d have you banned from the premises for crimes against minimalism.”
You smirked. “You wouldn’t dare. You’d miss your coffee deliveries too much.”
“You’re right.” He sighed. “Alright, tomorrow, you can bring whatever decorations you want. I’ll even help.”
Your eyes widened. “Really?”
Tomorrow, this office will shine.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
You showed up the next morning prepared. A few garlands? Sure.
Some lights? Absolutely. An entire cart filled with ornaments, snowflake decals, and ribbons? Also yes.
When you reached Hyunjin’s floor, several employees subtly peeked from their cubicles as you passed, curiosity written all over their faces. Apparently, no one had ever seen the CEO’s wife wheel in a holiday explosion before. You grinned at them. “Good morning!”
Their quiet chuckles followed you all the way to Hyunjin’s door. Inside, he was already there, sleeves rolled up, typing something furiously into his laptop. The moment he looked up and saw the decorations stacked behind you, his fingers froze mid-keystroke.
“...Jagiya,” he said slowly, standing up. “What is that?”
“Christmas spirit,” you answered sweetly. “And I brought enough to share.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying and failing to suppress a smile. “You weren’t joking.”
“Of course not,” you said, tossing him a garland. “Catch. You said you’d help.”
He caught it effortlessly, eyes narrowing in mock defeat. “I did say that, didn’t I?”
You grinned. “You did. And I have witnesses. Your receptionist heard you agree.”
Hyunjin huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he glanced at the pile of decorations that had invaded his space. “I should have known you’d take this seriously.”
“Christmas is always serious business,” you said, already moving toward his window to hang a string of fairy lights. “Now, be useful. Hang that garland around your bookshelf, and try not to make it look like a hostage situation.”
Hyunjin let out an exaggerated sigh, but there was amusement written all over his face. He’d never admit it, but you could see the corners of his mouth twitching every time you hummed a Christmas tune under your breath. After twenty minutes, the bland office was unrecognizable. Golden fairy lights draped softly across the window, catching the reflection of Seoul’s skyline. A miniature pine tree sat proudly on his desk, decorated with red and silver ornaments. Even his nameplate had acquired a tiny felt Santa hat.
You clapped your hands together, satisfied. “There,” you said, stepping back to admire your work.
Hyunjin straightened from where he’d been dutifully hanging the last bit of garland and turned to look around. His expression was unreadable for a moment. The CEO was assessing your handiwork like it was a business proposal. “It’s…” he started, pausing deliberately.
“Don’t you dare say not bad,” you warned, pointing a candy cane at him like a sword.
He chuckled, his voice low and fond. “It’s perfect. You made it feel warm.”
“Told you!" Before you could bask too long in your victory, you caught a few curious heads peeking through the glass wall of Hyunjin’s office. His employees quickly pretended to focus on their screens the moment you turned, but the flush of embarrassment was clear even from across the room. You laughed quietly, nudging Hyunjin’s arm. “See? They’re intrigued. I bet they’re dying to get in on the fun.”
He raised a skeptical brow. “My employees? The same people who flinch when I clear my throat?”
“Exactly. They need some Christmas spirit, too.” You crossed your arms, surveying the open floor with determination. “Which means… It’s time for phase two.”
“Phase two?”
“Phase two. Decorate. The. Entire. Floor.”
He groaned softly, leaning back against his desk. You were already rolling your cart back toward the door. “No take-backs! You said I could bring whatever I wanted.” When you burst out into the main office, a few employees froze like you’d caught them committing a crime. “Good morning, everyone!” you said cheerfully, clapping your hands once. “I have a very important assignment for you all.”
There was a moment of hesitation before one brave intern raised her hand. “Assignment… ma’am?”
“Decorations!” you announced, gesturing toward your cart of tinsel, bows, and glittering ornaments. “It’s December thirteenth, and this floor looks like a tax form. We’re fixing that.”
A few nervous glances darted toward Hyunjin, who was standing behind you with his arms crossed. He looked every bit the intimidating CEO, until you gave him a subtle nudge with your elbow. Hyunjin sighed, meeting his team’s wary eyes. “She’s right,” he said simply. “Let’s make the office… festive.”
The employees blinked, clearly shocked by their usually composed boss’s approval. Then, slowly, the atmosphere shifted. A few smiles appeared. Someone actually clapped. Within minutes, the entire floor was buzzing with activity. Someone brought out a box of spare lights from storage, another team cut snowflakes out of printer paper, and a few of the younger employees started playing a Christmas playlist softly over the office speakers. You supervised proudly, adding finishing touches where needed. By the end of the morning, the transformation was complete.
The workspace now glowed with golds and reds, fairy lights draped along the cubicles, and a tall Christmas tree stood triumphantly in the corner, one of the interns’ ideas, quickly approved (and paid for) by Hyunjin himself.
Hyunjin slipped an arm around your shoulders, his tone playfully stern. “Careful, or I’ll start charging you for creative consulting.” He was smiling as he said it, that rare, genuine curve of his lips that softened every sharp line of his usually composed expression.
“Oh, please,” you teased. “You should be thanking me.”
Hyunjin huffed out a quiet laugh, eyes scanning the now-vibrant floor. The golden light from the fairy strands reflected in his dark eyes, and for a fleeting second, you swore even he looked… softer. “You might not be wrong,” he admitted, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “I haven’t heard them laugh like this in months.”
“Told you. All they needed was a little Christmas magic.”
“Or you.”
Before you could reply, the soft hum of Last Christmas floated through the speakers, and a few of the braver employees began singing along. Someone near the break area even started a mini snowflake-cutting competition. At the center of it stood Hyunjin, your ever-composed husband, sleeves rolled up, helping one of the assistants tie a bow to the top of the office tree.
You couldn’t resist snapping a photo. When he caught you, Hyunjin raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “You’re posting that, aren’t you?”
“Obviously,” you said, grinning. “The world needs to know that even the great Hwang Hyunjin has a festive side.”
“If this ends up on the company’s social media, I’m blaming you.” He groaned.
“You can,” you said easily. “But I’ll remind you when your PR team tells you the engagement numbers are through the roof.”
When the final garland was hung and the last ornament placed, the office had transformed completely. You stood back to take it in, the twinkling lights reflecting off polished glass, the soft buzz of conversation and music, the faint smell of cinnamon from someone’s scented candle.
Hyunjin came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. “You’ve completely taken over my company, you know that?”
“Just improving it,” you said smugly.
“You’ve turned my workplace into a Christmas miracle.”
“Then consider it my early gift.”
“Hmm.”
Before you could answer, someone near the tree yelled, “Mistletoe!”
You glanced up, sure enough, a small sprig hung right above the two of you, one of your own decorations, probably courtesy of that mischievous intern from earlier. The office erupted into soft laughter and cheers.
Hyunjin chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. “You planned this, didn’t you?”
“For once…No, I actually didn’t.”
He didn’t hesitate. His lips met yours in a soft, warm kiss that was met with quiet applause. When he finally pulled back, his eyes lingered on yours, a hint of laughter there. “You win,” he murmured. “The office looks perfect.”
“I always do,” you whispered back.
And as you looked around, you thought, maybe having Hwang Hyunjin as your husband wasn’t the easiest thing… but moments like this made it absolutely perfect.
General Taglist: @moonlitcelestial @akindaflora @beppybeesnuggets @rylea08 @yxna-bliss @felixsonlyrealwife @wolfs-howling @velvetmoonlght @rougegenshin @ilovvesleepp @qwonyoung23 @imagine-all-the-imagines @hhwangsmoon @hanniesbubuwife @brbwritingfanfic @insert-fangirl-screech-here @dlizzzy
Join us in the 2025 12 Days of Christmas Challenge as we hope to spread a little ✨holiday joy and cheer✨ through the magic of writing fanfiction & creating art!
About & Rules
The challenge runs from December 13-24, 2025.
The challenge is open to any and all fandoms, including (but not limited to) RPF, x reader fics, OCs, original writing, etc.
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Submissions must include at least one of the prompts for that day, but can combine two or even all three.
Prompts for the day always include: a Movie AU, a scenario, and a word prompt. The prompted movie does not need to be used in its entirety - loosely inspired by or even just a selected scene is enough.
Tag your submissions with #12daysofchristmas2025 and/or mention this blog so we will be notified to reblog your submissions here. (Also, it would be super cool if you gave this blog a follow!)
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Title Day/Prompt(s) Fandom/Character(s)/Ship Warnings (if applicable): Word Count/Medium (in case it's art): Example: Santa, Baby Day 8 - “Prompt(s) for that day” AEW - Adam Page x OC Warnings: Alcohol, cursing, sexual situations (explicit) Word Count: 7,290 or: Medium: fan video
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If you're posting on AO3, here's our collection: 12 Days of Christmas Collection
2025 Prompts
Day 1 ❄️ It's a Wonderful Life AU ❄️ Decorating the House/Tree/Office ❄️ Blackout
Day 2 ❄️ Christmas Carol AU ❄️ Last-Minute Shopping ❄️ Evergreen
Day 3 ❄️ Frozen AU ❄️ Snowed In ❄️ Hot Chocolate
Day 4 ❄️ Santa Clause AU ❄️ Sharing a Scarf ❄️ Candles/Lanterns
Day 5 ❄️ Anastasia AU ❄️ Teaching Someone to Skate/Ski/other Winter Activities ❄️ Sleet
Day 6 ❄️ The Holiday AU ❄️ "Borrowing" a Hoodie ❄️ Hibernating
Day 7 ❄️ Love Actually AU ❄️ Baking Together ❄️ Celebration
Day 8❄️ Last Christmas AU ❄️ Kissing under the Christmas Lights ❄️ Travel/Trip
Day 9 ❄️ Christmas with the Kranks AU ❄️ Attending a Winter Ball/Party ❄️ Stocking/Present
Day 10 ❄️ Three Wishes for Cinderella AU ❄️ Going on a Sleigh Ride ❄️ Blizzard
Day 11 ❄️ Hallmark AU ❄️ Knitting Something Warm for Someone ❄️ Snowball fight
Day 12 ❄️ AU of a Winter movie that is dear to your heart ❄️ Participating in a Winter-Themed Competition ❄️ Frost
Please don’t hesitate to contact us with any questions! Also, feel free to share this post and help spread the joy and cheer!
Happy writing and arting, good luck 🍀
ITS TIMEEEEEEE!!
epilogue
“One single thread of gold tied me to you.”
Stray Kids - Lee Know x Reader
Red (golden) string of fate trope
Word count: 23k
previous part <- current part | masterlist
Years Later
The clinic felt the same as it always did, but today it felt different. Maybe it was because Minho was here without Soonie in a carrier, without that heaviness hanging over both of you. You glanced up from the reception desk at the sound of the doorbell chime, and there he was. His hands tucked in the pockets of his hoodie, hair mussed like he’d fought the wind all the way here. He gave you a small, almost sheepish smile.
“You’re early,” you said, sliding the sign-in clipboard toward him.
“Didn’t want you to think I was bailing,” Minho replied, scrawling his name across the sheet. “Besides… I wanted to start before I lost my nerve.”
You tilted your head, fighting the urge to smile too wide. “You’re really sure about this? It’s not just-”
“It’s not just about you,” he said gently, but with a look that made your heart flip anyway. “It’s about them. Other animals. I want to help.”
You led him toward the back, the hum of kennels and muffled barks filling the air. Hana raised an eyebrow from where she was weighing a german shepard, but for once she didn’t say a word. Just handed Minho a set of scrubs and a pair of gloves. “I’m trusting you,” she said flatly.
“And I’m grateful for that,” Minho smiled.
The rest of the morning was a blur of cleaning cages, refilling water bowls, and gently coaxing shy animals out from their corners. Minho moved quietly, careful not to startle anyone, but you caught the way his hand lingered on a tabby’s back just a second longer than necessary, or how he crouched low to let a senior beagle sniff his palm before touching her. At one point, you passed him in the hallway, both of you juggling stacks of freshly laundered blankets. Your shoulders brushed, and the golden thread at your pinkie gave a faint, content pulse. “How’s your first day?” you asked.
Minho glanced down at the towel-wrapped puppy in his arms, who was busy chewing the edge of the fabric. “Messier than I thought,” he admitted. Then, softer, “Better, too.”
You smiled at that. “It’s not all glamorous,” you teased lightly, nodding toward the puppy now gnawing on the ties of his blanket.
Minho laughed quietly, the sound warm in the sterile hallway. “Yeah, but…” He glanced down at the puppy again, who had stopped chewing just long enough to stare up at him with sleepy, trusting eyes. “It’s worth it.” Something in your chest melted at the sight. Not the romantic kind of melt, though that was undeniably there too, but the grounded kind. The kind that came from seeing someone choose to stay.
By lunchtime, Hana had begrudgingly admitted he was “not completely useless,” which, coming from her, was practically glowing praise. Minho wore it like a badge of honor, a faint grin tugging at his lips as he rinsed out food bowls by the sink. His sleeves were rolled up, his hands covered in soap suds, with hair falling into his eyes.
You leaned against the counter beside him, sipping from your water bottle. “You’re a natural,” you said, unable to help it.
He raised an eyebrow. “At scrubbing dog bowls?”
“At… being here,” you said softly.
“I like being here,” he admitted. “Feels… good. Like I’m actually doing something that matters.”
Before you could answer, Hana’s voice carried from the front, sharp but not unkind. “Lovebirds, lunch break’s over in five! If he’s staying, he’s stacking crates after.”
Minho groaned softly but didn’t protest, wiping his hands on a towel. “She’s terrifying.”
“She likes you,” you said, laughing.
He glanced at you sidelong, lips curving. “Yeah? How can you tell?”
“She only calls people ‘lovebirds’ when she’s invested,” you teased, bumping your shoulder against his as you passed. The golden thread curled against your pinkie again, a soft, warm tug that lingered even as you walked away to grab the next chart.
And somewhere behind you, you heard Minho mutter just loud enough for the thread to pulse in reply, “Guess I better stick around then.”
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶
When you and Minho got home, you immediately fell on the bed and sighed. Work is easier with him around, but it’s still just as stressful as ever. “I’m officially never moving again,” you mumbled into the comforter.
Behind you, Minho laughed quietly, the sound low and warm. You felt the bed dip as he sat beside you, fingers tugging gently at the heel of your sneaker. “C’mon,” he said. “You’re gonna get dirt all over the blankets.”
“Let me decompose in peace,” you protested weakly, but you didn’t stop him. He pulled off both shoes with practiced ease, setting them neatly by the door before crawling up to sit beside you.
The faint golden thread between your pinkies gave a lazy, content pulse, like even it was unwinding after the long day. “You did great today,” Minho said after a moment, leaning back against the headboard. “I don’t know how you do that every day. The cleaning, the meds, the scared animals…” He exhaled, shaking his head. “It’s a lot.”
You rolled onto your back so you could look at him. “You handled it pretty well yourself. Most people bail the second they get peed on.”
He smirked. “What can I say? I’m dedicated.”
“Or stubborn.”
“Same difference.”
The two of you shared a quiet laugh, the kind that settled into the room like a warm blanket. Soonie, ever the little shadow, padded in a moment later and hopped onto the bed, curling up between you both like he’d claimed that space ages ago. Minho reached out absentmindedly, scratching behind Soonie’s ear as the kitten purred like a tiny engine. Doongie jumped up next, a little less graceful than Soonie, his tail flicking as he circled a few times before plopping down right on your stomach like you were a very comfortable pillow. You let out a soft “oof” but didn’t move him. He immediately started kneading your sweatshirt with happy little paws. Dori was the last to arrive, peeking cautiously around the doorway before padding over. He hopped up onto the foot of the bed and stretched, then curled into a neat little loaf, his eyes blinking slowly as he surveyed the room like the king he was.
Minho chuckled, glancing at the trio sprawled between you. “I see how it is,” he said. “I’m not the favorite anymore.”
You grinned sleepily. “You never were. You’ve just been promoted to… head human.”
“Ah,” he said solemnly, nodding as if accepting an important title. “An honor I will not take lightly.”
You turned onto your side to face him fully, your arm brushing against Soonie’s warm fur. Minho mirrored the movement, propping his head up on one hand, the other idly tracing small circles against the blanket between you. The soft sounds of three contented cats filled the room. The rhythmic purrs, the occasional stretch, the quiet thump of a tail.
“This is nice,” Minho murmured after a moment, his voice softer than usual.
“Yeah,” you breathed, letting your eyes linger on his face. He looked different like this, without the guardedness he sometimes wore like armor. The golden thread between your pinkies gave a slow, steady pulse.
Minho’s gaze flicked down to the thread, then back to you. “You know,” he said quietly, almost shy, “I think this… us… might be my favorite part of the day.”
Your heart squeezed. “Mine too.”
He smiled, small and genuine, and leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. One of the cats let out a loud, disgruntled meow at being jostled, and the two of you broke into quiet laughter again.
“I think I like this feeling.”
(A/N: Another one in the books! Don't worry, this story has a similar word count to the others; I just made the parts longer in length.
Now...comes the sad news. This series will be put on hiatus for a little bit. I do plan on finishing it! However, the holidays are coming up, and I'll get super busy. But don't worry! I'll still do my 12 days of Christmas writing challenge and maybe post some oneshots in the meantime. If you are on my Soulmates Series Taglist and also want to be on my general, please let me know:)
Thank you so much as always!
-Deedee <3)
General Taglist: @moonlitcelestial @akindaflora @beppybeesnuggets @rylea08 @yxna-bliss @felixsonlyrealwife @wolfs-howling @velvetmoonlght @rougegenshin @ilovvesleepp @qwonyoung23 @imagine-all-the-imagines @hhwangsmoon @hanniesbubuwife @brbwritingfanfic @insert-fangirl-screech-here Soulmate Series Taglist: @eridanuswave @dlizzzy @allenajade-ite @crazy4books1 @i-am-fork @btch8008s @offl-ine @robinnotgood24 @hwangrfrnd @natvlad93 @beal-o @i-bitch-you-bitch @16lotonhermind @astrophia13 @desi2go @yngisstuff @brekkers-whore @torkorpse @kayleefriedchicken @changbinqueencard @skyearby @myselfsabotage @yasmincansstuff
feeling part 7
“One single thread of gold tied me to you.”
Stray Kids - Lee Know x Reader
Red (golden) string of fate trope
Word count: 23k
previous part <- current part -> next part | masterlist
“Time for you to go home, Soonie!” You cheered as you took the cat out of the oxygen chamber.
Minho let out a shaky laugh, his hands hovering like he wanted to help but was scared to mess anything up. “Home,” he echoed softly, the word carrying more weight than it should. “I can’t believe we get to take him home.”
You cradled Soonie gently, feeling the soft rise and fall of his tiny breaths against your chest. “You get to take him home,” you corrected with a small smile. “You’ve both been through enough. He deserves to curl up on his favorite blanket again.”
Minho’s throat worked as he swallowed hard. His hand rose, trembling just slightly, before settling against Soonie’s fur. The kitten gave a soft, raspy purr, and Minho’s face crumpled with quiet relief. “God, I missed that sound.”
You adjusted Soonie so Minho could hold him, and the way he gathered the small bundle to his chest made something ache and soften in you all at once. He bent his head, brushing his cheek lightly against Soonie’s fur like he needed the contact to convince himself this was real. “We made it, buddy,” he whispered. “You can rest now.”
Your throat tightened as you watched him sway slightly with the tiny kitten in his arms. For all his sharp edges and guarded walls, Minho holding Soonie looked like something sacred. “He’s going to be okay,” you murmured, reaching out instinctively to adjust the blanket around the kitten. Your fingers brushed Minho’s, and the golden thread pulsed softly between you.
Minho glanced at you, his lips parting like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. Instead, he just nodded once. When you finally walked him to the front of the clinic, Soonie tucked safely in his carrier, Minho smiled. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “Not just for him. For… everything.”
You swallowed hard, fighting the sudden lump in your throat. “Take care of him. Take care of yourself.” You lingered just a second longer at the door, watching as he adjusted the carrier strap on his shoulder and stepped toward the front desk. The golden thread pulsed faintly against your pinkie even as you turned away, heading back toward the treatment rooms to check on the other animals waiting for you.
The soft sounds of the clinic filled the air, the shuffle of paws in kennels, the low hum of equipment. You knelt beside a recovering terrier, letting your fingers card gently through its wiry fur, but your ears couldn’t help catching his voice drifting from the lobby.
“Um… Hana?” Minho’s tone was tentative, the careful kind he used when he wasn’t sure if he’d earned the right to speak.
There was the scrape of Hana’s chair and her trademark sigh. “What now, Lee Know? Did you forget to say goodbye to your soulmate?”
You buried your face briefly against the terrier’s neck to hide the way your cheeks heated at her words.
“No,” Minho said quickly, and then softer, “I… wanted to set up a primary care vet for my cats. I have a vet I can trust now.”
There was a beat of silence, and you could practically hear Hana blinking in surprise from the other room. “Wait. Are you saying you want regular checkups? For all of them?”
“All three,” Minho confirmed, his voice low but sure. Something in his tone made your chest ache in the best way. There was no hesitation, no running.
Hana let out a long, slow breath, her voice softening in a way that was rare for her. “You really mean that.”
“I do,” Minho said. You heard the faint scrape of his hand against the desk, like he was bracing himself. “They’re my family. And… I trust her. I trust this place.”
Your fingers stilled against the terrier’s fur, heart thudding unevenly. The golden thread pulsed warm and gentle, curling tight around your pinkie like it knew what those words meant.
“Fine,” Hana said at last, though you could hear the faintest smile in her voice. “I’ll put Ms. (Y/N) down as your primary care vet.”
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶
“So…what movie do you want to watch? Old Yeller?”
“Minho. You’re joking. The one where the dog dies! What the hell!”
Minho cracked the faintest grin over the rim of his mug. “What? It’s a classic.”
You narrowed your eyes and reached for the blanket bunched beside you on the couch, tossing it lightly at his face. “You are not making me cry over an animal tonight. I do that enough at work, thanks.”
He caught the blanket mid-air with one hand, the movement smooth in that annoyingly graceful way he had. “Fine. No dead dogs. But you’re picking then.”
You scrolled through the streaming options halfheartedly, the hum of your apartment feeling different now with him sitting there. The golden thread curled faintly at your pinkie as if it knew this was something fragile, something new being stitched between you.
Minho shifted closer, not touching, but near enough that the warmth of his knee brushed the edge of the blanket you’d tugged over your lap. “You know,” he said quietly, eyes on the screen but not really watching, “I don’t think I’ve ever done this.”
You glanced at him. “What? Movie night?”
“Yeah.” He smiled faintly, almost sheepishly. “At least, not like this. Not with a…partner.”
The words slipped under your skin before you could stop them. Your chest tightened, but you forced yourself to keep your voice light. “Careful, Lee Know.” You teased using his stage name. “You’re starting to sound like you actually like me.”
His head tilted, that small, soft smile still playing on his lips as his eyes met yours. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I think I do.” He didn’t push, didn’t move closer, just let the weight of his words hang there in the quiet. After a moment, you clicked on the first rom-com you could find, more to ground yourself than out of interest. The opening credits rolled, and Minho leaned back into the couch, his shoulder brushing yours for just a second before settling.
The movie’s dialogue washed over you in the background, but every tiny shift in Minho’s breathing felt amplified. The warmth radiating from where his arm rested along the back of the couch, the subtle scent of his laundry soap clinging to his hoodie, small things you hadn’t realized you’d missed until now. Halfway through the movie, Soonie, still a little wobbly but stubborn as ever, wandered in from the living room, hopping onto the couch with the practiced ease of someone who had claimed this spot long before either of you. Minho’s face softened instantly, his hand automatically going to scratch behind Soonie’s ear.
“You sure he’s okay to be back?” Minho murmured after a moment, his voice low so as not to disturb the kitten’s half-closed eyes.
You shook your head and laughed.. “He’s been home for a week already, Minho.”
Minho nodded, his thumb stroking slowly over Soonie’s fur, but his gaze drifted toward you again. “I guess... You’ve… always known what’s best for him.”
Something about the way he said it, like he wasn’t just talking about the cat, made your pulse trip over itself. You looked away, eyes finding the flicker of the TV instead. But the golden thread at your pinkie gave the faintest pulse. When you dared to look back, Minho wasn’t watching the movie at all. He was watching you, his expression unreadable but intent, like he was memorizing the lines of your face in the dim light.
“What?” you asked, though your voice came out softer than you meant, like part of you was afraid of the answer.
“Nothing.” The corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile, not quite a smirk, but his eyes stayed steady on yours.
The golden thread gave another small, steady pulse. You could hear Soonie’s faint purr, but it was faint now. Minho’s hand shifted from Soonie’s back to rest lightly against your own, where it sat on the blanket. His fingers hovered for a beat, almost asking, before they laced gently with yours. He leaned in slowly, giving you every second to change your mind. You didn’t.
And then his lips were on yours, like he wasn’t sure if you’d vanish if he pressed too hard. The kiss was unhurried, not asking for more than you were ready to give, and yet it left you breathless. When he finally drew back, his forehead rested against yours, his hand still holding yours firmly, like he wasn’t ready to let go. “Yeah,” he whispered, his breath brushing your lips. “I definitely like you.”
General Taglist: @moonlitcelestial @akindaflora @beppybeesnuggets @rylea08 @yxna-bliss @felixsonlyrealwife @wolfs-howling @velvetmoonlght @rougegenshin @ilovvesleepp @qwonyoung23 @imagine-all-the-imagines @hhwangsmoon @hanniesbubuwife @brbwritingfanfic @insert-fangirl-screech-here Soulmate Series Taglist: @eridanuswave @dlizzzy @allenajade-ite @crazy4books1 @i-am-fork @btch8008s @offl-ine @robinnotgood24 @hwangrfrnd @natvlad93 @beal-o @i-bitch-you-bitch @16lotonhermind @astrophia13 @desi2go @yngisstuff @brekkers-whore @torkorpse @kayleefriedchicken @changbinqueencard @skyearby @myselfsabotage @yasmincansstuff
feeling part 6
“One single thread of gold tied me to you.”
Stray Kids - Lee Know x Reader
Red (golden) string of fate trope
Word count: 23k
previous part <- current part -> next part(coming soon) | masterlist
Minho ❤️: Hey.
Ten minutes later.
Minho ❤️: (Y/N) I’m sorry.
Another ten minutes later.
Minho ❤️: I know I fucked up. Please. I’m sorry.
Minho ❤️: Plese respond.
That last one. The typo in please, Minho never made typos. He was too precise, too careful. But there it was. Like he’d been typing too fast, like his hands were shaking. Your phone buzzed again, and another message appeared.
Minho ❤️: I can’t stop thinking about you. About that night. About how I left.
You pressed the heel of your palm to your forehead, your chest tight. He shouldn’t be doing this. He was the one who walked away. He was the one who decided to draw the line. So why was he breaking it now?
Minho ❤️: I don’t care if you hate me. I don’t care if you never want to see me again. I just need to know you’re okay.
The golden thread pulsed faintly at your pinkie. A weak, stubborn little tug, like it refused to let go even when every rational part of you screamed to pull away. You hadn’t realized you were holding your breath until your lungs burned. Your thumb hovered over the keyboard. You could leave him on read. You could protect yourself and say nothing. But the truth was, his words hurt because you still cared. Because some part of you, no matter how small and fragile, still wanted to believe him.
The phone buzzed one more time.
Minho ❤️: Please don’t let this be the end. Not like this.
You: Why now?
Minho ❤️: Because I can’t do this anymore. Minho ❤️: Pretending I don’t see your face every time I close my eyes.
You stared at the text, your chest tightening. Another message came through before you could even begin to process the first.
Minho ❤️: I’m outside.
Your stomach dropped. Slowly, you turned toward your front door. A faint shadow moved across the glass of the peephole. And then, three soft knocks. Fuck. This is what you get for giving someone your address.
“(Y/N).” His voice. Muffled through the wood, but unmistakable. Low. Careful. Tired. “Please.”
Your chest tightened, the golden thread tugging faintly at your pinkie like it had been holding its breath too. You shouldn’t open the door. Not after everything. Not after the way he left you hollow in that clinic, clutching Soonie’s tiny paw like it was the only thing keeping you from falling apart.
But then you heard it, another sound. Paper crinkling. A soft shuffle. And his voice again, even quieter this time. “I… I brought you something. I didn’t know what else to do,” he continued. His words wavered, cracking on the edges like he was trying to keep himself together. “So I got flowers. Stupid, right? You’re probably allergic, or you hate them, or…” He stopped. A shaky breath. “I just… I wanted to give you something that wouldn’t hurt you. For once.”
Your legs moved before your brain could catch up. You crossed the room in silence, barefoot steps barely making a sound against the hardwood. As you reached the door, you paused, staring at the faint outline of his shadow on the other side. You turned the deadbolt. Slowly, carefully. The click felt deafening in the quiet apartment.
When you finally pulled the door open, Minho was standing there, looking more wrecked than you’d ever seen him. His hoodie was rumpled, his hair sticking up slightly like he’d been running his hands through it all night. And in his hands, a bouquet. Not perfect, not curated. Just a messy handful of flowers.
His eyes met yours, wide and glassy, and for a moment, he didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just stared like he wasn’t sure you were real. “Hi,” he said finally. His voice was soft. Fragile.
You swallowed hard, your fingers curling tighter around the edge of the door. “Hi.”
“I… don’t even know where to start.” He looked down at the flowers in his hands, then back up at you with a faint, helpless laugh. “I’m sorry. I don’t deserve for you to even open this door, but I couldn’t stay away. Even if you don’t forgive me, at least take these as a thanks for helping with Soonie.”
Your throat was tight, your chest aching as your eyes drifted from the flowers to his face. He looked wrecked. Not the polished Lee Know plastered across Instagram, not the controlled performer adored by millions. Just Minho. “Why are you really here?” you asked finally, your voice softer than you intended.
His lips parted, and for a second, you thought he might try to dodge the question. But then he shook his head faintly, like he didn’t have the strength to lie. “Because I realized something,” he murmured, gripping the flowers tighter like they were the only thing anchoring him. “I left to protect you… But all I did was hurt you. And me. And Soonie.” His voice cracked on the last word, his knuckles whitening against the stems. “I thought pushing you away would keep you safe. I thought I could live with that. But I can’t. I can’t live with not knowing if you’re okay. I can’t live without…” He stopped himself, biting down hard on his lip, his eyes squeezing shut.
“Without?” you whispered.
His eyes opened slowly, glassy but steady now as they locked on yours. “Without you,” he said hoarsely. “I mean…that’s kind of the whole point of soulmates, right? The second you meet them, your soul wants to stay with them forever.”
Your breath hitched, the words digging into the part of you that still ached, still throbbed with the memory of his absence. “You hurt me.”
“I know,” Minho whispered. “And I’m so sorry. I’ll spend every day proving I can be better. That I can fight for you the way you fought for Soonie. But if you tell me to leave right now, I’ll go. I won’t fight you on it because you deserve that choice. But I’m asking, please, don’t let this be the end.”
For a long moment, neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. The silence stretched taut between you like the thread itself, and you swore you could feel it, his fear, his hope, his heartbeat thrumming faintly in sync with your own. Finally, your fingers uncurled from the doorframe. Slowly, cautiously, you reached out and brushed your fingertips against the edge of the bouquet. The contact was feather-light, but it made the golden thread flare, a soft, warm glow that wrapped around your pinkie like a sigh of relief.
Minho’s breath caught audibly.
“I’m still angry,” you said quietly, your fingers lingering on the petals. “But I can understand the situation. If I were in your position, I probably would’ve done the same.”
You stepped aside. Just slightly. Just enough. Minho blinked, his lips parting in shock. “You’re letting me in?”
“Don’t make me regret it,” you said, your voice trembling as much as your hands. You set the flowers down on the counter.
He didn’t move at first, like he didn’t trust himself to. But then, slowly, he stepped over the threshold. The golden thread pulsed brighter now, warm and steady, as if it had been waiting for this moment all along. “I won’t.”
“...I missed you, too.”
Minho froze in the doorway like your words had physically struck him. For a second, all he could do was stare at you, his lips parting soundlessly. Then, in a voice so raw it sounded like it had been scraped straight from his ribs, he whispered, “Say it again.”
You swallowed hard, your chest tight. “I missed you.”
The next thing you knew, Minho was in front of you. His hands hovered in the air for a split second, hesitant, unsure if he was allowed, but when you didn’t pull away, they came to rest on your face. His touch was gentle. Like you were made of glass, and he was terrified of breaking you again. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured. His thumbs brushed over your cheeks as his forehead dropped to yours. “I’ve been such a coward.”
You closed your eyes, breathing in the familiar scent of him. “Yeah,” you said softly. “But we can move past it.”
A small, rueful laugh escaped him, wet and shaky. “I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you. I’m starting to think… maybe the thread didn’t pick me for you. Maybe it picked you for me.”
Your breath hitched again, his words settling deep in your chest like a weight and a balm all at once. Your fingers curled lightly into the fabric of his hoodie, clutching it as if to tether yourself to the moment, to him. “Don’t say that,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “Don’t make it sound like I’m some… some consolation prize.”
His thumbs stilled against your skin. “No,” he said firmly, shaking his head just enough that his forehead brushed yours. “That’s not what I meant. You’re not a consolation. You’re… everything. You’re the one thing I can’t seem to get right because I’m terrified of ruining you. You deserve someone braver. Someone who doesn’t run when things get hard.”
“And I’m not perfect either,” you cut in, your fingers tightening in his hoodie. “I’m scared, too, Minho. But if we’re going to do this, we do it together. No more shutting me out.”
The golden thread pulsed warm and steady between you, the faint glow wrapping your pinkies like a vow neither of you spoke aloud but both of you felt.
Minho let out a low, breathless laugh. “Together,” he repeated softly. His eyes searched yours, glassy and warm in a way that made your chest tighten all over again. “I can do that. I can try.”
“Then try,” you whispered.
And this time, when he leaned in, you didn’t hesitate. His lips met yours in a kiss that was soft at first, like testing the waters, but it quickly deepened as though something fragile inside him had finally cracked open. His hands slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer like he couldn’t bear another second of space between you.
When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathing hard, your foreheads pressed together as the golden thread glowed brighter than it had in weeks. Minho whispered. “I didn’t know it was possible to miss someone like this.”
You huffed out a wet laugh, tears pricking your eyes. “Then don’t make me miss you again.”
“I won’t,” he said without hesitation. “I’m not going anywhere this time.”
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶
Hana practically dropped her morning coffee. “What do you mean you KISSED him?!”
You blinked at her from across the clinic breakroom, clutching your own lukewarm cup like it might shield you from her voice, which had definitely hit an octave only Soonie could fully appreciate. “Hana-”
“No, no, no, don’t you ‘Hana’ me.” She smacked her hand against the table, narrowly missing her muffin. “You let him in. You kissed him. Are you trying to give me an ulcer?!”
You winced. “It wasn’t like that.”
“Not like that?” Hana’s eyes went wide, her hands flying up in mock surrender. “Oh, I’m sorry. Was it more of a ‘soul-crushing, golden-thread-glowing, universe-shaking reunion make-out’ kind of thing? Because if so, my bad for assuming!”
You buried your face in your hands, groaning into your palms. “Hana, please…”
“Oh my god,” she breathed, gripping her coffee like it was a lifeline. “I need details. All of them. Start to finish. Did he cry? Did you cry? Was it slow-burning angsty or more like…” She clasped her hands dramatically. “...‘I hate you but I love you and now I’m going to ruin you against your front door’ vibes?”
You choked. “Hana!”
“I’m serious! You’ve been moping over this man for weeks, and now he just shows up at your door like some sad K-drama lead? Don’t leave me hanging!”
“It was…” You trailed off, staring down at your coffee, remembering the way Minho’s hands had trembled against your cheeks. The way his breath had hitched like he couldn’t believe you were real. “It was soft.”
Hana blinked. “Soft?”
You nodded faintly. “Like he was scared I’d disappear if he touched me too hard. Like he was trying to apologize without words.”
Her face softened, only slightly, because this was still Hana. “Oh no. That’s worse.”
You frowned. “Worse? How?”
“Because now I can’t even be mad at him for being a dumbass,” she grumbled. “That’s romantic as hell. He’s making the rest of us look bad.” She leaned in, lowering her voice like the walls might be listening. “But be honest… did you forgive him? Or was it, like, a heat-of-the-moment thing?”
You hesitated, your fingers tightening on your cup. “Yeah. If I were in his situation, I probably would’ve done the same. But it’s more of a warning with a hint of forgiveness. If he does it again, I will not forgive as easily.”
Hana studied you for a moment before sighing, leaning back in her chair. “At least you’re being honest with yourself.” She took a long sip of her coffee, then pointed at you with a perfectly manicured finger. “But I swear, if he pulls his disappearing act again, I’m unleashing Soonie on him. Let’s see how he likes being woken up at 3 AM by a hungry cat clawing his face.”
You laughed despite yourself, the sound small and shaky. “I’ll keep that in mind.” But even as you said it, your thumb traced absentmindedly over the faint golden glow at your pinkie. It hadn’t stopped pulsing since last night.
Then, the bell over the front door rang. Hana’s head whipped toward the sound, her brows arching. “Oh no,” she whispered, setting her coffee down like she was about to arm herself with it. “Tell me that’s a delivery and not-”
But you already knew. You could feel it, the golden thread at your pinkie tugging softly, insistently, like it had sensed him before your ears caught the familiar rhythm of his steps.
“Hana?” Minho’s voice drifted faintly down the hall, tentative, careful. “Is it… Okay if I come back?”
Hana shot you a look so sharp you half expected it to draw blood. “Are you kidding me? He’s here?”
You tried not to smile. Really, you did. “He’s… here.”
Hana groaned, dragging a hand down her face like this was some kind of cosmic punishment. “Unbelievable. He has the audacity to waltz back in like some tragic romance hero, and you’re just-” She gestured wildly to your chair. “-sitting there glowing like a lovesick Disney princess!”
You bit your lip, but the tug of the thread made it hard to deny. “I’m not glowing.”
“Oh, you’re glowing.” Hana stood with a dramatic huff, brushing off her scrubs. “Fine. I’m staying. If he’s coming in, I’m supervising.”
The soft footsteps drew closer until Minho appeared in the doorway, hands shoved deep into his hoodie pocket like they might stop his fidgeting. He froze when his eyes landed on you, and for a second, the world seemed to hold its breath.
“Hey,” he said quietly.
“Hey,” you echoed, your voice softer than intended.
Hana folded her arms, stepping into his line of sight like a protective older sister. “So what’s the excuse this time, Lee Know? You forgot your dignity here?”
Minho’s eyes darted briefly to her, then back to you. He swallowed hard, visibly bracing himself. “I wanted to see Soonie. And… her.”
You felt your chest tighten, the golden thread pulsing warm and steady at your pinkie. Hana studied him for a long, tense moment before letting out a sharp breath. “You’ve got five minutes.” She jabbed a finger toward him. “One wrong move, and I’m shoving a thermometer where the sun doesn’t shine.”
Minho’s lips twitched like he wanted to smile but didn’t dare. “Understood.”
Hana huffed, brushing past him. “I’ll be in the office. Don’t make me come back out here.”
And then it was just you and Minho, the quiet hum of the clinic machines filling the space between your heartbeats. He shifted awkwardly, glancing toward Soonie’s enclosure. “Can I…?”
You nodded, and he crossed to the oxygen chamber in a few careful steps. The sight of Soonie curled up inside, his tiny body rising and falling with shallow breaths, seemed to unravel something in Minho. He crouched, resting a hand lightly on the glass. “Hey, buddy,” he murmured. “You’re still fighting, huh?” His fingers traced a small circle on the glass, his eyes soft in a way that made your throat tighten. “You’re stronger than I am.”
You stayed silent, watching him from where you stood. The golden thread glowed faintly between you, a quiet, stubborn reminder that no matter how far apart you’d been, something had always tied you back together.
Soonie’s tail gave a tiny twitch, and Minho smiled faintly. “That’s right. You tell me to stop being an idiot.”
You felt your lips curve before you could stop them. “He’s been trying to tell both of us that for weeks.”
General Taglist: @moonlitcelestial @akindaflora @beppybeesnuggets @rylea08 @yxna-bliss @felixsonlyrealwife @wolfs-howling @velvetmoonlght @rougegenshin @ilovvesleepp @qwonyoung23 @imagine-all-the-imagines @hhwangsmoon @hanniesbubuwife @brbwritingfanfic @insert-fangirl-screech-here Soulmate Series Taglist: @eridanuswave @dlizzzy @allenajade-ite @crazy4books1 @i-am-fork @btch8008s @offl-ine @robinnotgood24 @hwangrfrnd @natvlad93 @beal-o @i-bitch-you-bitch @16lotonhermind @astrophia13 @desi2go @yngisstuff @brekkers-whore @torkorpse @kayleefriedchicken @changbinqueencard @skyearby @myselfsabotage @yasmincansstuff
Hi hi! I have a request for you but I totally understand if you don't feel at all comfortable writing this situation.
I was thinking maybe a han or chan/reader where basically readers new relationship with whichever guy you pick is her first relationship in years. I'm not talking a couple, Im talking like.. five years. Basically reader used to be in an extremely abusive relationship in the past and still hasn't quite healed one hundred percent, but she finally opens up about said relationship one evening when she trusts him enough to stay over for the night and it's just super cathartic and fluffy and comforting 😌
Again, totally understand if you don't at ALL feel comfortable writing this since it's a heavier topic. Thanks for reading regardless of whether or not you write a fic for this 💙
Hey! I will totally get around to writing this once I'm done with Feeling! I'm actually glad you requested a one-shot because I feel like it'll be a good transition for me as we head into my yearly 12 Days of Christmas writing.
The only thing I will preface with saying is that when writing this, I will probably focus more on the comfort than on talking about the abusive past relationship. I'm comfortable mentioning it, but I would prefer not to write details.
I look forward to writing this in the near future :)
Hey Deedee!
Gosh, I blinked and there are 3 NEW PARTS?! WOAH! Sorry for my late reply, life has been busy lately haha. Hope you've been doing well.
Ooh you got albums gifted by friends that's so sweet of them! I love your pulls! The Felix with the ping pong paddle might be my fave out of your pulls. I got my Limited album and pulled the unit card with Chan, Changbin and Lee Know and the Felix solo pc! No POBS for this one but I will for my standard that I'm still waiting on haha.
Alrighty chapter time! So I love the development of Lee Know slowly being forced to accept that yes she is his soulmate and wether he likes it or not...she just is. She will be calmomg and grounding for both him and Soonie. Hana's soft concern in the chapters is also really lovely. I'm glad y/n has someone close she can reach out to..or vent too if that need arises. The threatening to pull him out of dance rehearsal to make him apologise if he chose to leave y/n made me giggle a LOT.
I'm waiting for Lee Know to let y/n show him that she does want to be there for him. Not in a confrontational way but like...idk sending food to the dancing studio since he might eat less due to stressing over Soonie. Something soft like that. Not a 'notice me!!' But just quiet reassurances of 'I'm here and I won't run the second it gets hard'
I agree, the idea of soulmates in general...would give me mild anxiety. Like 'congrats the universe has picked this person for you. No, none of you know the other exists yet or what type of person they are. Fun right?' Umm..no universe terrifying more like. I'd obsess if my soulmate would even like me tbh. Sorry, trailed off. Yeah, if my soulmate turned out to be an idol...i'd go into fix-it mode probably. Like okay okay idol..shit...do we keep it hidden? If yes, HOW with all the sasaengs and creepers? If no, how do we bring the news. Like do I need to sign a contract now too? I'd be way more focused on the 'buseniss' aspect first and then feelings second I think. Make sure no one gets any fall out...or lets be realistic, as little fallout as possible. Once those are arranged..yknow great we're soulmates..let's actually get to know each other😂 Am I too pragmatic about this? Maybe!
Waaait...next story will be emotionally devastatingly angsty?! Oh no, whatever will I do😉😂 No, but seriously, I've loved all your takes on the members so far so I'm sure I'll like the rest too!
Looking forward to see how the story continues. As always, I hope you have a lovely weekend and talk to you soon!
-🖌
I'm sorry for my late reply LOL
I feel like I mentioned this before, but I'm too lazy to go back and look. Lee Know's story is supposed to touch on the aspects of this whole series that I haven't touched yet. Felix's story was very surface-level since this was originally going to be a one-and-done (oops). Bang Chans was taking the story from a different perspective, and Hyunjin started getting into the idol reality, but not as much as I would like to talk about. With Feeling, I want to be able to set up the very real situation this is for the upcoming parts. Like you mentioned, I would also be so stressed out about the whole soulmate thing! Especially if they're famous because I feel like many other people would want them to be their soulmate *cough cough* HANA *cough cough*. Hana is nice about it, but I can imagine a lot of fans not being so nice...
As for the next story...yeah...sorry Jisung lovers... 😬
As always, thank you so much for all the support! <3
feeling part 5
“One single thread of gold tied me to you.”
Stray Kids - Lee Know x Reader
Red (golden) string of fate trope
Word count: 23k
previous part <- current part -> next part | masterlist
The clinic had never felt so heavy. The lights hummed low above you, shadows stretching long across the floor as the hours bled together. Soonie had finally settled, his breathing shallow but steady inside the oxygen chamber. You’d both sat in silence for what felt like forever. Minho sat cross-legged again, his hoodie sleeves tugged down over his hands. He hadn’t touched Soonie in a while, just stared. You didn’t speak either. You didn’t know how to after what almost happened. After what almost slipped between you.
Finally, he exhaled. It wasn’t steady. “I can’t do this.” The words were so soft you almost thought you imagined them. But when you glanced at him, his shoulders were curled in, his head bowed like he was bracing for impact.
“Minho…”
He shook his head faintly, fingers digging into the fabric of his sleeves. “I thought I could,” he said, louder this time. His voice cracked on the edges, raw like he’d been holding back for too long. “I thought maybe… if I kept it small, if I didn’t name it out loud, I could handle it. But I can’t.”
Your chest tightened. “You don’t have to handle it alone. Whatever you’re feeling…”
“That’s the problem.” He looked up then, and the sight of his eyes made your breath catch. “I’m feeling too much. I’m terrified,” he admitted, the words rushing out now like he couldn’t stop them if he tried. “Do you know what it means to love someone like me? To let yourself be loved by someone like me?” His laugh was hollow, bitter. “I’ve seen what this life does. To people I care about. To me. It takes and takes and takes until there’s nothing left but… ashes.”
“Minho, that’s not-”
“Don’t say it’s not true.” His voice was sharp but broke halfway through. He dragged a trembling hand down his face. “I’ve seen it in my members, even if they don’t admit it. Felix’s fiancée has had trouble being anything more than ‘just his fiancée’. Chan’s girlfriend suddenly started having stress-related fertility struggles after being in the spotlight, and Hyunjin’s girlfriend has PTSD from what they experienced together. I can’t…” His breath hitched, and for the first time, he looked small. Fragile. “I can’t let that happen to you.”
Your throat went tight, your fingers curling in your lap. “So what? You’re just going to push me away before we even begin?”
“Yes.” The word was a whisper, but it landed like a stone in your chest. “I’m not strong enough for this.” His jaw flexed, his gaze darting to the faint glow of the golden thread still humming between your pinkies. “Do you feel it? It doesn’t even want to break. It’s cruel.”
You looked down at your hand, the thread trembling faintly like it knew, like it ached with the same pain in your chest. “Cruel?” Your voice shook. “Or hopeful?”
His expression twisted. “Hope doesn’t survive in my world.”
For a long moment, the only sound was the faint hiss of the oxygen machine. Soonie stirred weakly, letting out a tiny sigh that felt deafening in the silence. “I understand,” you said finally, though it felt like each word was carved from your ribs. “If this is what you need to do… I won’t stop you.”
Minho’s eyes closed, his throat working. For a second, you thought he might take it back, might say something, anything, to soften the blow. But he didn’t. He stood slowly, hands shoved into his hoodie pocket as though they could hide how they trembled. He didn’t look at you as he whispered, “Take care of him for me while I’m at practice. After, I’ll transfer him to a different vet.”
You stayed seated even after the door clicked shut behind him, the sound echoing through the clinic like a gunshot. The golden thread between your pinkies didn’t snap, but it pulsed faintly, weakly, like it was holding on by the thinnest breath. You stared at it for a long moment, your chest hollow, your fingers trembling as they brushed over the faint glow. It didn’t feel hopeful anymore. It felt like grief.
Soonie let out a faint sound from the oxygen chamber, his tiny body shifting as if sensing the shift in the room’s weight. You blinked hard, willing the burn behind your eyes to subside. You couldn’t fall apart here. Not now. Not when he still needed you. You rose slowly and stepped to the chamber, your hand resting lightly on the glass. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” you murmured softly. “You’re not alone.”
But even as you said it, the words tasted bitter. Because for the first time since Minho had walked into your life, you felt completely and utterly alone.
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶
You didn’t even hear Hana come in. The faint click of her shoes on the tile barely registered until she spoke, her voice quieter than usual. “He left?”
You startled slightly, your hand still resting on the oxygen chamber where Soonie slept, his breathing shallow but steady. You hadn’t realized how tightly you were clutching the edge of the glass until Hana’s gaze flicked to your white-knuckled grip. “Yeah.” Your voice cracked faintly, and you cleared your throat. “Yeah, he… he left.”
Hana didn’t answer right away. She crossed the room slowly, her clipboard tucked under her arm. For once, there was no teasing in her expression. “What happened?”
You opened your mouth, but the words tangled somewhere between your chest and your throat. You let out a weak breath and sank onto the nearest stool, pressing your palms over your eyes. “I don’t even know where to start.”
Hana crouched in front of you, her hands resting lightly on your knees. “Try anyway.”
You lowered your hands, staring at the floor as the golden thread pulsed faintly between your pinkie, so weak now it felt like a fading heartbeat. “He’s… scared.”
“Scared?”
“Scared of the bond. Of me. Of… everything.” Your lips trembled as the next words tumbled out in a whisper. “He thinks he’ll destroy me if he stays.”
Hana’s brows knitted, but her voice stayed calm. “Did he say that?”
“Not in those exact words, but…” You trailed off, your throat tightening. “He’s seen what his world does to people he loves. The way it chews them up and spits them out. And he’s convinced he’s protecting me by walking away.”
Hana was quiet for a moment, her eyes soft as she watched you twist your fingers together. “And you let him?”
“What was I supposed to do?” you asked, your voice breaking around the edges. “Beg him to stay? Tell him I’m not afraid when I don’t even know if that’s true?”
Hana didn’t answer right away. She reached up, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face, her thumb lingering briefly at your temple. “I think,” she said carefully, “you’re forgetting that being afraid and wanting someone anyway aren’t mutually exclusive.”
You let out a shaky laugh, your chest tight. “It doesn’t matter now. He’s made up his mind. He even said he’d have Soonie transferred once he comes back.”
“Do you believe that?”
You blinked at her. “What?”
“Do you believe he actually wants to let you, or Soonie, go?”
You opened your mouth, then closed it again. Because the truth was, you didn’t. Not really. You could still feel the way his fingers had lingered on your cheek, trembling like he was holding on for dear life. But that didn’t stop the hollowness in your chest, the ache that settled deep and wouldn’t let go.
Hana let out a soft sigh and stood, squeezing your shoulder gently. “You’ve got that look.”
“What look?”
“The ‘I’m trying to be strong but I’m really about to cry into Soonie’s fur for two hours’ look.”
You huffed a faint, humorless laugh. “I don’t have the energy to cry.”
“That’s okay. I’ve got enough energy for both of us.” Her tone softened again. “You really care about him, huh?”
“I…” Your throat tightened, the words sticking like thorns. “I didn’t mean to.”
“I think it was always going to mean to. Soulmate bonds aren’t exactly subtle.”
“I don’t even know what to do now. How to-”
“You do exactly what you’ve been doing,” Hana interrupted gently. “You keep Soonie alive. You keep showing up. And if Lee Know’s as smart as I think he is, he’ll realize pretty damn quickly that pushing you away was the worst mistake of his life.”
You shook your head faintly. “You make it sound easy.”
“It’s not easy.” Hana’s hand squeezed your shoulder again. “But, he’ll come back. Soulmates always do.”
“I hope you’re right,” you whispered.
Hana didn’t answer this time. She didn’t need to. She just stayed there beside you, quiet and steady, while the faint hum of machines filled the space where Minho’s presence used to be. Then, “You know…I can convince him that he can’t transfer Soonie yet.”
“What?”
She straightened slightly, folding her arms as a faint, knowing smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I said, I can convince him. Or at least…buy you some time.”
You stared at her, unsure if you’d heard right. “Hana, you don’t have to…”
“I know I don’t.” She tilted her head, her eyes soft but sharp. “But let’s be real. That man isn’t going anywhere. Not really. He’s going to lie awake at night wondering if Soonie’s okay, if you’re okay, and he’s going to hate himself for even thinking about leaving.”
“I can spin it a dozen different ways,” Hana continued casually, but there was an edge of protectiveness in her tone now. “Tell him Soonie’s still too unstable for a transfer. That moving him could kill him. Or that there’s an experimental treatment we’re trying that only you know how to administer.”
You let out a shaky laugh, pressing your hands against your face. “You make it sound so simple.”
“It is simple.” Hana’s voice softened. “He loves that cat. And whether he admits it or not, he loves you too. He’s scared, but fear doesn’t erase love. It just clouds it.”
Your fingers traced the faint glow of the golden thread, weak but still stubbornly there. “What if he doesn’t come back?” you whispered.
Hana crouched down again, her eyes steady on yours. “Then I’ll personally drive to his practice room, drag his stubborn ass back here, and make him apologize.”
That startled a small, reluctant laugh out of you, and Hana’s grin widened. “There she is,” she said softly.
“You’re really something, you know that?” you murmured.
Hana smirked, rising to her feet and smoothing down her scrubs. “Damn right I am. Now drink some water before you faint, okay? Soonie doesn’t need two of you in critical condition.”
You huffed a weak laugh and nodded. Hana turned to leave but paused at the door, glancing over her shoulder. “Oh, and for what it’s worth? I don’t think the thread would still be glowing if he truly meant to let you go.”
Then she slipped out, leaving you alone in the dim light. The faint hum of the machines wrapped around you like a lullaby as you turned back to Soonie. Your fingers brushed lightly against the glass, tracing a circle. “She’s right, isn’t she?” you whispered. “You don’t want him to leave either.”
Soonie let out a tiny sigh in his sleep, his tail giving the faintest twitch.
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶
When Minho came back, you didn’t see him. But you heard him. The soft chime of the clinic door opening jolted you from your thoughts. You froze where you sat beside Soonie’s chamber, your hand still resting lightly against the glass. The faint glow of the golden thread pulsed weakly around your pinkie as though it, too, sensed his presence. You didn’t move, not when you heard his footsteps on the tile, not when his voice drifted low from the front desk. “Hey.”
Hana’s tone was neutral but not unkind. “Hey, yourself. You’re back.”
“I… had to check on him.” Minho’s voice was quieter than you’d ever heard it, rough, like he hadn’t spoken in hours.
“Right.” Hana’s voice carried no judgment, only quiet understanding. “It’s late.”
“I couldn’t sleep.” The admission came out raw, almost reluctant.
“You worried about Soonie?”
“Yeah,” Minho said after a beat.
You swallowed hard, pressing your hand flat against the glass as if Soonie’s tiny, steady breaths could anchor you. You knew you shouldn’t listen, that you should make a noise, announce your presence, something. But your body wouldn’t move.
“Look,” Hana said, her voice softer now. “Soonie’s stable, but I wouldn’t recommend a transfer. He’s too fragile. You’d be risking more than you’re willing to lose.”
“I don’t want to risk him,” Minho murmured. “I’ll just sit with him for a while.”
“Do that.” Hana’s voice was quiet now, and you imagined her giving him that same gentle look she’d given you earlier. “But don’t just sit. See her too. She’s still here, you know.”
Your stomach flipped violently as the sound of his approaching footsteps reached you. You scrambled backward, your chair screeching faintly against the floor before you could stop it. And then, silence. You held your breath, pressing your back to the cabinet just out of his line of sight. You couldn’t see him from here, but you could feel him. For a moment, all you heard was the sound of his uneven breathing. Then, softly, so softly you almost missed it, he spoke. “I’m sorry.”
Your throat tightened as you clamped a hand over your mouth, willing your heart to slow down before it gave you away.
“I’m so damn sorry,” Minho whispered, his voice breaking. “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be this. But I can’t… I can’t stop coming back.” Soonie let out a faint mewl, and you imagined Minho crouching by the oxygen chamber again, his fingers brushing lightly against the glass. “You’re stronger than I am, buddy,” he murmured. “You’re still fighting. I should, too.”
You pressed your forehead to your knees, biting back a sound that felt like a sob.
“You’d want me to,” Minho whispered. “Wouldn’t you?” The room was so quiet you swore he might hear the frantic beat of your heart. Then, after a long, heavy silence, you heard the faint squeak of his chair as he sat down across from Soonie. And you stayed there, hidden, trembling, because you couldn’t bring yourself to face him yet.
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶
You couldn’t help yourself. The second you got home from your shift, you collapsed onto the couch and pulled your phone out like it was muscle memory, like maybe scrolling would numb the hollow ache still lodged in your chest. But your fingers didn’t hesitate. They typed his name into the search bar without your brain even catching up. Lee Know.
You stared at the screen as the feed loaded, your breath catching when you saw it: thirst traps. Photos of Minho, posed perfectly in low-key, casual clothes that somehow made every muscle pop. One shot caught him leaning against a brick wall, hoodie halfway zipped, eyes smoldering at the camera like he knew exactly the effect he had. Another was a quick video clip from rehearsal, where he flexed his arm as he stretched, the faintest sheen of sweat making his skin glow under the studio lights. You blinked, heart twisting painfully. This was the face he showed the world, the polished, controlled, flawless mask. The one that hid all the fear, all the cracks you’d heard in his voice.
You swiped through more pictures, the captions sometimes light, sometimes encouraging fans to stay strong or keep pushing through. His smile was there too, rare and fleeting, but unmistakably his. And you thought about the way his voice had cracked, the trembling hand on your cheek, the apology he’d whispered when he thought no one was listening.
You knew better. You knew the sound of his voice when it broke. You knew the way his hands had trembled as he reached for Soonie. You knew the quiet desperation in his eyes.
The comments scrolling below the photos blurred together. “LEE KNOW IS KILLING ME 😭🔥” “That hoodie shouldn’t even be legal.” “King of leaving us breathless.”
You bit your lip, trying to ignore the twisting ache in your stomach. They didn’t see the man kneeling on the clinic floor, whispering apologies into the night. They didn’t hear him confess how scared he was of loving you, of being loved back.
Your thumb tapped the screen again, this time, a video. A behind-the-scenes clip from a recent shoot. Minho stood in profile, arms crossed as he leaned lazily against the wall, his hair falling perfectly across his forehead. Someone off-camera said something that made him laugh, a soft, unguarded sound that stabbed right through your ribs. You hadn’t heard him laugh like that in weeks. And you hated how badly you wanted to be the one to hear it again.
A notification popped up at the top of your screen, jarring you out of your thoughts. A new post. Another photo, this time Minho was in the dance studio, hoodie sleeves shoved up, sweat clinging to his temples as he adjusted his in-ears. His expression was soft. Unfocused. Almost tired.
You swallowed hard, the hollowness in your chest expanding. Of course, he was burying himself in work. That was Minho’s way. When he didn’t know how to deal with something, he danced until his body ached and his mind went numb. By now, you knew that about him.
But you couldn’t help wondering if, between the beats of music and the steps he drilled into muscle memory, he thought about you. Because no matter how much he wanted to believe the bond was cruel, the golden thread still pulsed faintly around your pinkie like a stubborn ember refusing to die out. And you whispered into the silence of your empty apartment, your voice barely a breath, “I miss you.”
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Are we getting a 2025 12 Days Of Christmas⁉️ I know I’m insanely early lol
🎄 It's never too early to think about Christmas 😉 and we are so happy to announce:
We will once again host a 12 Days of Christmas event!
... with the same mod team as last year 🥰 so see you all when we release the prompts ✨
Let's goooo!!
feeling part 4
“One single thread of gold tied me to you.”
Stray Kids - Lee Know x Reader
Red (golden) string of fate trope
Word count: 23k
previous part <- current part -> next part | masterlist
(A/N: You guys get two parts this weekend because I don't know if I'll be able to post next weekend. Enjoy! :) )
The clinic smelled faintly of antiseptic and fur as you pushed the door open the next morning. It was still early enough that the street outside hadn’t quite shaken off its sleepiness, but Hana was already at the front desk, flipping through the day’s charts.
“You’re early,” she said, a knowing note in her voice as she glanced up.
“I wanted to check on Soonie before things get busy,” you replied softly, shrugging out of your jacket.
Hana hummed, her gaze flicking briefly to your pinky before she set the chart down. “He’ll be happy to see you. He’s been… restless this morning.”
Your brow furrowed faintly as you headed down the hall. When you reached the recovery room, you paused just outside the door, listening. There it was, the faint, raspy sound of a meow, followed by the muffled thump of a tail hitting the side of the oxygen chamber. “Soonie?” you called softly as you stepped inside.
The little cat’s head lifted immediately at the sound of your voice. His ears pricked forward, and his tail thumped again, harder this time, against the padding. A wheezy, determined mewl escaped him as his bright eyes fixed on you.
Your chest warmed, a smile tugging at your lips as you crouched beside the chamber. “Hey, fighter. Miss me?”
Soonie let out another sound, higher, almost scolding, and shifted his tiny body as if trying to get closer. His paw batted weakly at the glass, his claws catching faintly with a soft scratch.
“Oh, you definitely missed me,” you murmured, slipping on gloves before reaching through the chamber’s access ports. Your fingers brushed under his chin, and Soonie immediately pushed his head against them, a soft, rumbling purr vibrating beneath your touch.
“You’re stronger today,” you said softly, stroking along the curve of his jaw. “Trying to act like you’re ready to go home already, huh?”
Soonie responded with a low, insistent meow, his little body shifting again as if to say yes.
You laughed under your breath, your thumb rubbing gently over the space between his ears. “Let’s not rush it, okay? Your dad would have my head if I sent you home too soon.”
Then, you suddenly heard Hana’s voice behind you. “When were you going to tell me my celebrity crush was your soulmate?” One of her eyebrows was raised, and she crossed her arms.
You froze, your hand still resting lightly on Soonie’s tiny head as the words sank in. Heat rushed up your neck, and you turned slowly to see Hana leaning casually against the doorframe, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips.
“I…what?” The word came out embarrassingly high-pitched, your fingers curling slightly in your gloves.
Hana’s smirk widened. “Don’t play dumb. You’ve been practically glowing since the night he came in. And now, suddenly, Lee Know is dropping by the clinic in the middle of the night, buying donations for rescues, and texting you instead of the front desk? Come on.”
You gaped for a second before managing to find your voice again. “It’s not…it’s not like that. I mean… okay, yes, technically he’s-”
“Oh my god.” Hana’s eyes went wide in exaggerated delight as she uncrossed her arms. “It is like that. You’re soulmates.”
You tugged your gloves off, your fingers fumbling slightly as you tried to focus on discarding them properly instead of Hana’s teasing.“It’s not… It’s complicated.”
“Complicated how?” She stepped further into the room, her tone softening slightly, though the amusement never left her eyes. “It’s a soulmate thread. Isn’t this supposed to be the easy part?”
You let out a quiet breath, your shoulders sagging as you turned back to Soonie, who blinked up at you with his soft, unbothered gaze. “We barely know each other. And he’s… he’s him. I don’t even think he knows what he wants to do about it yet.”
Hana’s expression softened fully now. She crouched beside you, her hand brushing briefly against your arm. “I don’t know, he bought a giant bag of cat food for the rescues. That doesn’t sound like a guy who’s trying to ignore his soulmate bond.”
You huffed a small laugh, shaking your head. “That’s… fair.”
Then Hana straightened, brushing off her knees. “Anyway, I’ll leave you two alone. Try not to give Soonie an existential crisis with all the soulmate angst.” You shot her a weak glare over your shoulder, but she only chuckled and waved as she stepped back into the hall. “You lucky bitch! I wish Lee Know were my soulmate!”
When the door clicked softly shut, the room fell quiet again, save for the rhythmic hiss of the oxygen chamber and Soonie’s faint purr.
“You heard all that, didn’t you?” you murmured to the little cat, your pinky brushing over the edge of the chamber glass. Soonie let out a soft, croaky meow, his tail giving a tired but definite flick. “Yeah.” You sighed, a wry smile tugging at your lips. “I guess I’m in trouble.” As you straightened to check his vitals, your phone buzzed in your pocket.
Minho: Heading out soon. Mind if I stop by?
You: Sure. Soonie’s been asking for you all morning.
Minho: Has he? Or is that you?
You froze, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as the words burned faintly on the screen. Was he flirting?
You: …Maybe both.
Minho: Then I’m definitely coming.
Minho: 20 minutes.
You slipped your phone back into your pocket and exhaled slowly, glancing down at the cat. “Well, Soonie,” you murmured, stroking his chin through the chamber port. “Guess we’re about to have company.”
Soonie blinked up at you lazily, his little tail giving a weak flick. Almost like approval. You weren’t sure whether to laugh or groan as you stood up, catching your reflection in the glass front of a cabinet. At least today you didn’t look like a zombie. Your hair was still neat, and your scrub top wasn’t wrinkled for once. Small victories.
Hana’s voice floated faintly down the hall. “Tell him I expect an autograph if he makes you late for lunch!”
You pressed the heel of your hand to your forehead, a soft groan escaping. You’re never living this down.
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶
Fifteen minutes later, you heard the front bell chime softly. Hana’s voice carried from the front desk, teasing and warm, and then the sound of footsteps grew closer. You glanced toward the door just as Minho appeared in the recovery room doorway, his hoodie pulled low over his cap, hands tucked in his pockets like he wasn’t sure what to do with them.
“Hey,” you whispered softly.
His eyes flicked to yours, warm and guarded all at once. “Hey.”
The golden thread between you tugged faintly as he stepped into the room. His gaze shifted to Soonie almost immediately, softening the moment he saw the little cat curled up in the oxygen chamber.
“He’s better today,” you offered, moving slightly to give him room. “Stronger. Eating on his own, which is a good sign.”
Minho let out a quiet breath as he approached the chamber. His hand hovered over the glass but didn’t touch it. “He looks… stronger.”
“He’s been asking for you all morning,” you said with a faint smile.
That drew a small huff of air from Minho, maybe amusement, maybe disbelief. “You’re not projecting, are you?”
Your lips curved before you could stop them. “Maybe a little.”
He finally looked at you then, and the edges of his mouth tugged upward. It wasn’t quite a smile, but it was close. Close enough to make your chest feel too warm.
You held up a pair of gloves. “Do you want to pet him again?”
Minho’s brows lifted slightly, surprise flickering in his eyes. “Are you sure? Breaking the rules twice?”
“Just be gentle. He’s been waiting.”
Minho’s fingers brushed yours as he took the gloves, and the golden thread pulsed softly between you like it was echoing your heartbeat. He knelt by the chamber, sliding his hands carefully into the access ports. Soonie’s head lifted weakly at the familiar scent, and his tiny paw batted softly at Minho’s fingers. “Hey, buddy,” Minho murmured, his voice low and rough-edged in a way that tugged at something deep in your chest. His thumb brushed lightly under Soonie’s chin, and the little cat responded with a faint, croaky purr.
You leaned against the counter, watching silently as Minho’s shoulders seemed to relax for the first time since he’d walked in. His expression softened in a way you weren’t sure you’d ever seen, not in any interview or photo. “You’re really good with him,” you said quietly.
Minho’s eyes didn’t leave Soonie, but there was the faintest upward curve to his lips. “He’s the only one I know how to be good with.”
You hesitated, then stepped closer, the thread pulling warmly as you moved. “That’s not true.”
Minho’s head tilted slightly, his dark eyes lifting to meet yours. The look in them made your breath catch. Before you could say anything more, Soonie let out a faint, scolding mewl, and Minho huffed a small laugh, the sound breaking the tension just enough to make your chest ache.
“I think he’s telling me to stop hogging your attention,” Minho murmured, his gaze flicking briefly to the golden thread.
You bit your lip to hide a smile. “Maybe he’s smarter than both of us.”
Minho’s lips twitched faintly, but the warmth in his eyes lingered. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
For a moment, the room was quiet again except for Soonie’s soft purr and the faint hiss of oxygen. The golden thread between you thrummed gently, like it knew neither of you wanted to break this fragile moment.
Then Minho spoke, his voice low but steady. “Can I stay a little longer?”
You nodded before you even thought about it. “Yeah. Stay as long as you like.”
Minho’s shoulders eased at your words, a barely perceptible shift, but enough for you to notice. He turned back to Soonie, his gloved fingers tracing gently along the curve of the little cat’s jaw. “He hates being alone,” Minho said quietly, almost to himself. “Even when he’s healthy. He follows me room to room, and cries if I shut the door for too long.”
“I think he knows how much you need each other.”
Minho’s thumb brushed softly over Soonie’s ears, his voice rough at the edges. “He’s been there through everything, before all this,” he gestured vaguely, probably meaning the career, the fame, the endless spotlight. “The good, the bad… the times I thought I couldn’t keep going.”
Your fingers itched to reach out, but you kept them curled tight against your thigh. “I can tell. You’re his person.”
He let out a faint breath, his gaze still locked on Soonie. “And he’s mine.”
The room went quiet again except for the rhythmic hiss of the oxygen chamber. You shifted slightly, leaning your hip against the counter. “You know,” you said softly, “you’re allowed to let people in, too. Not just Soonie.”
Minho’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, and for a moment, you swore the air itself felt heavier, charged. “That’s the thing,” he murmured, almost too quiet to hear. “I don’t know if I know how.”
“You don’t have to know,” you said, your voice steady but gentle. “You just… start small. One person at a time.”
His eyes held yours for a long beat, something unreadable flickering behind them. Then, as if realizing the weight of his own stare, he looked away, his shoulders hunching slightly. Soonie mewled faintly, the sound almost scolding again, and Minho huffed a small laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “He really doesn’t like it when I get too serious.”
You smiled softly. “He’s keeping you in check.”
“Maybe,” Minho said. Then quieter, almost like he wasn’t sure he meant for you to hear, “Or maybe he just doesn’t want me to push you away.”
The golden thread between you pulsed hard. Your chest tightened faintly at his words, but before you could reply, Hana’s voice rang out from the hall. “Are you two still in there? Or do I need to bring snacks so you can keep whispering secrets all day?”
You startled slightly, your face heating. Minho’s lips curved into the faintest smirk, but his eyes didn’t lose that quiet softness.
“I should… check on the front,” you said quickly, backing toward the door. “You can stay with him a little longer if you want.”
Minho didn’t move to stand yet, his gloved fingers still brushing over Soonie’s fur. “I will.”
You hesitated at the threshold, the golden thread tugging faintly like it hated the growing distance. When you glanced back, Minho was watching you again, his expression unreadable but his eyes warm in a way that made your chest ache.
Hana was waiting for you at the front desk, her grin already in place. “So?” she prompted, tapping a pen against her clipboard. “Is he as devastatingly handsome up close when he’s not trying to be all moody and mysterious for the cameras?”
You shot her a warning look, your lips twitching despite yourself. “Hana.”
“I mean,” she continued with a little shrug, “it’s not like I didn’t notice him walk by. The man’s unfair to my heart rate.” She leaned on the counter, eyes sparkling with mischief. “And he brought food, didn’t he? I can smell takeout from here.”
“That was last night,” you muttered, tugging lightly at the end of your sleeve. “And it wasn’t… it wasn’t like that.”
“Sure,” Hana said, drawing out the word. “Just like this isn’t ‘like that’ either, even though he’s in there whispering to his cat like a tragic K-drama lead falling for the beautiful vet who saved his pet’s life. Oh! And they happen to be soulmates!”
“You’re impossible.”
“Impossible and correct.” She gave you a gentle nudge with the end of her clipboard. “You like him.”
You dropped your hands and looked at her, your voice quieter now. “Hana… I don’t even know if he likes me like that. Or if he even wants this bond.”
Her teasing softened instantly, her expression easing into something warmer. “Hey. He came back, didn’t he? Voluntarily. And don’t even try to tell me it’s just for Soonie. You see the way he looks at you.”
“It’s complicated. He’s… the Lee Minho. I’m just…”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence with ‘a vet’ or ‘a nobody,’” Hana said firmly. “You’re the woman holding his cat together with pure stubbornness and skill. You’re the reason Soonie’s still here.”
Before you could reply, the faint sound of Soonie’s meow drifted down the hall, louder than before. But it wasn’t the soft, croaky sound from earlier. It was sharper, higher.
Your stomach sank. You didn’t wait to explain to Hana. You were already moving, your sneakers squeaking faintly on the floor as you jogged back to the recovery room. When you burst through the door, Minho was kneeling by the oxygen chamber, his eyes wide with something between fear and panic. Soonie was struggling faintly inside the chamber, his breath coming too fast, too shallow, his tiny chest fluttering.
“He started wheezing again,” Minho said hoarsely, his gloved hands frozen in place inside the ports. “I…I didn’t touch anything, I swear. He just-”
“It’s not your fault,” you said quickly, your tone calm but clipped as you crossed to his side. Your hands flew to the controls on the chamber, adjusting the oxygen flow slightly. “Sometimes this happens during recovery. His lungs are still fragile.”
Minho’s eyes were fixed on Soonie. “He’s…he’s breathing so fast. Is he okay?”
“He’s fighting,” you said softly but firmly, scanning the monitors. His oxygen saturation had dipped, but not dangerously so yet. “I need to check his airway. Can you step back for a second?”
Minho hesitated, his fingers twitching slightly before he pulled them back out of the ports. He stood but didn’t move far, hovering just behind you as you slid on fresh gloves and reached into the chamber. Soonie let out another faint, rasping cry, his body trembling weakly as you gently examined his small ribcage.
“Shh, it’s okay,” you murmured, adjusting his position slightly to ease the strain on his lungs. “You’re okay, Soonie. I’ve got you.”
Minho’s hands were curled tightly at his sides, his cap casting a shadow over his eyes as he watched. “He’s scared,” he said lowly, almost to himself.
You glanced up briefly, your heart twisting at the rawness in his voice. “So are you.” He blinked, his lips pressing together, but he didn’t deny it. “He’s stable enough for now,” you said after a long moment, your own breath finally leaving your lungs in a slow rush. “The next few minutes are important, but I think he just overexerted himself trying to get up earlier.”
Minho’s shoulders sagged, some of the tension leaving his frame, though his hands still fidgeted slightly at his sides. “Can I…” His voice broke faintly, and he cleared his throat. “Can I stay?”
You nodded without hesitation. “Of course.”
He sank back down to kneel beside you, his eyes never leaving Soonie. The golden thread between you pulsed hard, like it felt the same quiet desperation binding you both to this moment.
“He’s okay,” you said finally, your voice almost a whisper.
Minho’s head dipped forward, his hands resting on his knees as he exhaled heavily. “I thought I was going to lose him again.”
“You’re not.” Your words were steady, your pinky brushing lightly over the edge of the chamber glass. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”
“You’re… not what I expected,” he said quietly.
Your lips curved faintly. “Neither are you.”
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶
Minho had practically begged to stay the night again. You hadn’t even thought to protest, not when his eyes, raw and unguarded, had locked on yours with the same quiet desperation you’d seen in Soonie’s tiny, trembling body.
“He’s not out of the woods yet,” you’d said softly, trying to keep your voice steady. “But I’ll be here all night monitoring him.”
“Then I’ll stay too,” Minho had murmured, no room for argument in his tone, though the faint quiver in his hands betrayed how close he was to unraveling.
Now it was nearing midnight. The clinic was quiet, the faint hum of machines and the hiss of oxygen filling the room like a fragile heartbeat. Minho sat cross-legged on the floor beside the oxygen chamber, his hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows, one hand inside the port as his thumb stroked faintly under Soonie’s chin. You’d offered him a chair earlier, but he hadn’t taken it. It was like he needed to be as close to Soonie as possible, as if the thread tying him to his cat was every bit as vital as the golden one faintly glowing between your pinkies. You sat nearby on a low stool, tablet in hand, documenting Soonie’s vitals in small, neat strokes. But your eyes kept flicking back to Minho.
“Do you want coffee?” you asked softly.
Minho’s thumb paused for a moment before resuming its slow, careful movements. “If I drink coffee now, I’ll be wired for hours.”
“You’re already wired for hours,” you pointed out gently.
That drew a faint huff of air from him, amusement, but only just. “Fair.”
“You don’t have to sit on the floor all night, you know,” you said after a pause. “You’ll wreck your back.”
“I’m fine.” His voice was quiet, distant. His gaze never left Soonie, but his fingers curled slightly into the fur. “I can’t leave him. Not again. Last time… when he got sick the first time, I was on tour. Thousands of miles away. I didn’t even know he was deteriorating until my manager showed me the vet report.” His jaw tightened. “By the time I got home, they were already saying I should prepare for the worst.”
Your chest ached. “That wasn’t your fault.”
“I wasn’t there.” His voice cracked faintly, raw edges bleeding through the words. “I wasn’t there when he needed me most. And I swore I wouldn’t let that happen again.”
“You’re here now,” you said gently. “And he knows it.” Soonie let out a faint, croaky purr as if to prove your point, his small body pressing weakly into Minho’s hand.
Minho exhaled shakily, his other hand scrubbing over his face. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost him.”
“You’re not going to,” you said, firm but quiet. “He’s still fighting. And so are we.”
For the first time that night, Minho’s dark eyes lifted to yours. Something unguarded flickered there, fear, yes, but also gratitude. Relief. And beneath it all, something you couldn’t name that made the golden thread between you hum so hard it felt like a second heartbeat.
“Most people…” He trailed off, his fingers absently stroking Soonie’s fur. “Most people see me one way. The idol. The performer. Even my friends sometimes forget that’s… not all I am.” He hesitated, his throat bobbing with the swallow of unspoken words. “But you don’t treat me like that.”
“Because you’re not just that,” you said simply.
Minho let out a quiet, disbelieving breath, his lips twitching faintly. “Maybe that’s why this,” he gestured vaguely to the space between you, to the faintly glowing golden thread, “scares me so much.”
“Scares you?”
“It feels… real.” His voice cracked again, softer this time. “And I don’t know if I deserve that.”
You felt your heart twist painfully. Slowly, carefully, you reached out, your fingers brushing lightly against his gloved knuckles through the chamber port. The golden thread pulsed hard at the contact, warm and steady.
“Everyone deserves to be loved, Minho,” you said quietly. “Even you.”
For a long moment, he didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stared at your hand resting against his, his expression unreadable. Then his lips parted, the faintest whisper escaping: “You make it sound so easy.”
“Maybe it could be,” you murmured. “If you let it.”
Soonie’s purr grew faintly louder, like he approved. Minho let out a soft, breathless laugh, more exhale than sound, but it was enough to ease the tightness in your chest. “You’re dangerous,” he murmured, his eyes lifting to yours again.
“Dangerous?” you echoed, a faint smile tugging at your lips.
“You make me want to believe.”
The words lingered between you, soft and aching, like a wound neither of you knew how to close. But before you could reply, before you could even draw breath, Soonie let out a sound that froze every cell in your body. A thin, high-pitched wheeze. Your eyes snapped to the chamber just as Soonie’s small body gave a violent shudder, his limbs twitching weakly as his breath came in rapid, shallow gasps.
“No, no, no, no,” Minho whispered, his voice raw as he pressed his gloved hands against the glass, eyes wide with horror. “What’s happening? What’s wrong?!”
“Respiratory distress,” you said sharply, already moving, your hands flying to adjust the oxygen flow. “His lungs are collapsing under the strain. He’s not getting enough air.”
Minho swore under his breath, his voice breaking. “Fix it…please…just fix it…”
“I’m trying,” you practically yelled. You didn’t let yourself look at him, not when his panic was a mirror of your own. Not when the golden thread between you pulsed frantically, like it was feeling your fear and amplifying it.
Soonie let out another faint, rasping cry, then his tiny chest stilled for one terrifying second. “No…no, stay with me, Soonie.” Minho’s voice cracked so violently you thought it might shatter him. His hands curled into fists against the glass, his knuckles white. “Don’t do this…please don’t do this!”
“He’s not gone,” you said fiercely, refusing to let the words take root in your own mind. You reached into the chamber with steady hands, steadier than you felt, and gently lifted Soonie’s limp body, repositioning him to open his airway. Your gloved fingers pressed lightly against his tiny ribcage. “Come on, sweetheart. Breathe for me. Just one more breath.”
“No!” Minho’s knees hit the floor with a hollow thud as he sank lower, his head dropping forward against the chamber. “I can’t…I can’t lose him like this…I can’t.”
“Minho,” you said sharply, your own chest tight with dread. “Look at me.”
He didn’t move.
“Minho!” Your voice rose, cutting through his panic. His head snapped up, eyes wild and glassy with unshed tears.
“Talk to him.” Your voice was low but commanding as your hands worked with calm precision. “He knows your voice. He’s fighting. But he needs you to remind him why.”
For a beat, Minho stared at you like you’d asked the impossible. But then his gaze darted back to Soonie, his breath hitching.
“Hey…hey, buddy,” he said hoarsely, his voice breaking on the words. He pressed his palm flat against the glass, his other hand clutching the edge of the chamber so tight his knuckles turned white. “You can’t do this to me. You can’t leave me, do you hear me? You’re my best boy. My shadow. You’ve been with me through everything, and I still need you.”
Soonie’s paw twitched faintly.
Minho let out a choked, desperate sound. “That’s it…that’s it, stay with me. Please, Soonie. You’re strong. You’re so strong. Don’t leave me yet.”
You exhaled slowly, relief flooding your veins as Soonie’s small chest rose, shallow, but steady. “He’s breathing,” you said softly, your own voice trembling now. “Minho. He’s breathing.”
Minho’s shoulders sagged forward as if the words physically hit him, his forehead dropping heavily against the glass. A shudder tore through him, a low sound escaping his throat that made your chest ache. You worked quickly, adjusting Soonie’s position again to stabilize him fully.
“He’s not out of danger,” you said gently, though your hands finally stilled. “But he’s fighting. He heard you.”
Minho didn’t speak, didn’t move. Just sat there, his breath ragged, his fingers trembling as they brushed faintly against the glass.
You hesitated, then reached out, your hand settling lightly on his shoulder.
“Hey,” you murmured. “You stayed. You didn’t lose him.”
Minho’s head turned slightly at your touch, his eyes finding yours in the low light. They were glassy, rimmed red, but burning with gratitude. For a moment, neither of you moved. You couldn’t. His gaze flicked from your eyes to your mouth and back again. “You…” His voice cracked, and he tried again, softer this time. “You’re incredible. You saved him. You saved me.”
Your breath hitched. “I didn’t-”
“You did.” His hand, unsteady but sure, lifted from the glass. For a second, it hovered in the space between you like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed. Then, as if pulled by some force neither of you could fight, his fingers brushed your cheek, warm and trembling. The golden thread pulsed sharply.
Your eyes fluttered shut at the lightness of his touch, the calloused pad of his thumb grazing your skin. “Minho…”
“I don’t think you understand what you’ve done,” he murmured, his voice low, rough-edged but tender. “You didn’t just keep Soonie alive. You…you’re…” He trailed off, his breath unsteady. “You make me feel like I can breathe again, too.”
Your eyes opened, and you found him impossibly close. His hoodie still smelled faintly of detergent and rain, his lashes casting long shadows against his cheeks. His thumb lingered just below your lip now, his fingers cradling your jaw with the kind of care that felt terrifying and safe all at once.
“I’m not supposed to feel this,” he whispered. “Not here. Not now.”
You leaned in before you could stop yourself, your breath mingling with his. So close now you could see the flecks of amber in his dark irises, the faint tremor in his lips as they parted like he was about to say your name again.
But he didn’t. Instead, his forehead touched yours, a soft, desperate exhale leaving his lungs. “Tell me to stop,” he whispered hoarsely. “Because I don’t know if I can.”
Your heart thudded painfully against your ribs. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his sleeve before you realized it, holding on like he was the only thing anchoring you to the ground. “I don’t want you to stop,” you admitted, your voice barely a breath.
Minho let out a low, shaky laugh, one that sounded almost like it hurt. “You’re dangerous,” he murmured again, and this time it was almost a plea.
And then, Soonie let out a soft meow. Both of you startled slightly, your heads turning at once toward the chamber as Soonie let out another faint mewl. He shifted weakly, his small tail flicking like he was trying to remind you both he was still there.
Minho’s hand fell back to his side. He scrubbed a palm over his face, exhaling hard as though trying to ground himself. “I…” He hesitated, his voice quieter now, almost shy. “I should stay focused. On him.”
You nodded, your chest tight, the phantom warmth of his touch lingering on your skin. “Yeah. Me too.”
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feeling part 3
“One single thread of gold tied me to you.”
Stray Kids - Lee Know x Reader
Red (golden) string of fate trope
Word count: 23k
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The morning light hadn’t yet touched the edges of the clinic windows when Minho’s phone buzzed softly against the surface of the table. He stared at it for a long moment, the screen glowing faintly in the dim room, illuminating the dark circles under his eyes.
“Work,” he said finally, his voice hoarse from hours of quiet. He didn’t move right away, his gaze still fixed on Soonie curled in the chamber.
You shifted from your perch by the counter. “You should go. He’s stable enough now, and I’ll keep a close watch. We have your number in the system.”
“Will you… Tell me if anything changes?” he asked finally, standing slowly.
“Of course,” you said, your tone steady but kind. “Go do what you need to do. He’s in good hands.”
For a moment, it looked like he might say something more, but the words never came. He pulled his hoodie sleeves down over his hands, grabbed his cap from the chair, and shoved it low over his hair again. As he headed toward the door, his steps faltered briefly at the threshold. “Thanks. For… everything.” His voice was soft, but something in it felt heavier than gratitude alone.
You gave a small nod. “You’re welcome, Minho.”
The bell above the door gave a faint chime as he stepped out into the pale morning. The golden thread stretched thin between you, glowing faintly like it hated the distance already.
You sighed, rubbing at your eyes before turning back to Soonie. “Just us now, huh?” you murmured, crossing the room to crouch beside the oxygen chamber again. Soonie blinked up at you, his ears flicking as his tail gave a weak swish.
“Your dad’s a complicated guy,” you said gently, slipping your hands into the chamber with practiced ease. Your fingers stroked along his tiny ribcage, feeling the slow rise and fall of his breathing. “I don’t think he knows what to do with all of… this.” You wiggled your pinky slightly.
Soonie gave a faint mewl, his head pressing weakly into your hand.
“I know, sweetheart. He’s scared. And maybe I am too.” Your thumb brushed over the soft fur of his ear. “But at least you’re fighting. That’s all anyone can ask.” You stayed there for a while, murmuring to the cat and checking his vitals. The rhythmic hiss of oxygen filled the silence like a steady companion.
At some point, you glanced toward the door, half-expecting to see Minho lingering in the hall. But he was gone.
You sighed again, a quiet sound that seemed to get lost in the hum of machines. “It’s okay, though,” you whispered to Soonie, your hand still stroking gently along his side. “He’ll come back.”
“Until then,” you said softly, a wry smile tugging at your lips, “you and I will hold down the fort.”
You pushed yourself up from the floor with a groan, the stiffness in your joints reminding you how long you’d been awake. The quiet hum of the clinic, interrupted only by the soft hiss of Soonie’s oxygen, settled back over you like a heavy blanket.
“Let’s make a deal,” you murmured as you tidied the notes on Soonie’s chart. “You keep fighting in there, and I’ll… try to keep my eyes open.”
But even as you said it, your lids felt impossibly heavy. The adrenaline from the long night was gone now, leaving exhaustion in its place. You set the clipboard aside and pulled the extra blanket from the supply cabinet, draping it over your shoulders as you sank onto the stool near the counter.
“Just five minutes,” you whispered to no one in particular.
Your head tipped forward, resting in the crook of your arm. The sound of machines and Soonie’s faint breathing became a lullaby in the stillness.
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶
The muffled sound of keys jingling and the door unlocking startled you awake. You blinked rapidly, disoriented for a moment as warm morning light began to filter through the blinds.
Hana’s voice broke the quiet. “You’re still here?”
You rubbed at your eyes and turned, catching her knowing smile as she stepped inside with her coat still on. She set a box of pastries and two cups of coffee on the counter.
“You look like you need this,” she said, sliding one of the cups toward you.
You accepted it gratefully, fingers wrapping around the warmth. “Thanks. How was your night?”
“Less eventful than yours, I imagine.” Hana’s eyes flicked toward Soonie’s chamber, where the little cat was curled up and breathing steadily. She crouched beside it, her brow furrowed as she checked the monitor. “Vitals are improving. Good work keeping him stable.”
“I just monitored him,” you said quietly. “He did all the hard work himself.”
Hana looked over her shoulder, her expression soft. “And Minho?”
“He left a little while ago for work. I promised to call if anything changes.”
Hana stood, brushing off her knees. “You should go home and sleep.”
“I can’t. We’re open now, and I don’t mind staying on. I’ve slept.” You took a long sip of coffee. “I’ll help with the morning appointments.”
Hana gave you a look but didn’t argue. “Alright. But you’re clocking out early, deal?”
“Deal.”
The day unfolded in its usual steady rhythm, clients trickling in with pets for check-ups, vaccinations, and minor procedures. You moved from room to room, slipping back into the familiar flow of work. Yet no matter how busy it got, your eyes kept flicking back toward Soonie’s chamber every chance you got.
Between appointments, you’d find a moment to kneel beside him again, murmuring soft encouragements as you checked his vitals. “You’re a strong little guy,” you whispered during one quiet moment. “I’m proud of you. Your dad’s proud of you, too.”
Soonie’s tail twitched lazily, and he let out a faint purr.
You smiled faintly. “Good boy. Keep this up and you’ll be going home before you know it.”
But as you stood and turned back to the waiting room, you couldn’t shake the thought of the golden thread, how it had pulsed faintly all morning like it knew the distance between you and Minho, stretching but never breaking.
And you wondered, not for the first time, what it would feel like when he came back.
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶
The soft chime of the front doorbell and the lingering scent of antiseptic followed you as you finally stepped out of the clinic. The sunlight was warmer now, climbing steadily higher in the sky, but it made your eyes sting after so many hours in the dim, humming quiet of the overnight shift.
Hana had practically shoved you out the door after the lunch rush, her hand firm on your shoulder as she’d said, “You’ve done enough. Go home before you pass out standing up.”
She wasn’t wrong. You could feel the weight of exhaustion in every step as you crossed the street to where your car sat, the golden thread tugging faintly at your pinky like it was reminding you that distance didn’t mean disconnection. You rubbed at your eyes, trying to shake the lingering image of Minho’s bowed head, his hand cupped tenderly around Soonie’s tiny frame.
The drive home passed in a blur. You barely remembered the traffic lights or the rows of shops you passed, only the ache in your muscles and the faint, pulsing warmth at your finger. When you finally stumbled into your apartment, the quiet was almost too much. It didn’t hum like the clinic did; there was no soft hiss of oxygen, no beep of monitors, no faint mewl of a recovering cat. Just silence.
You kicked off your shoes by the door and tossed your bag onto the couch before sinking down beside it. For a moment, you sat there in the soft afternoon light filtering through the curtains, your fingers absently brushing over your pinky where the thread still glowed faintly.
What was he doing now? Was he in a studio somewhere, headphones on, face set in focus the way you’d seen in passing online? Or was he distracted too, thinking about Soonie, or about the fragile golden tether tying the two of you together before either of you was ready for it?
You leaned your head back against the cushions with a sigh. “You’re ridiculous,” you murmured to yourself. But no matter how firmly you told yourself, the thought of his quiet voice, the raw honesty in his eyes, and the way the thread had thrummed between you in that dim exam room refused to leave.
Your phone buzzed on the arm of the couch, startling you. You reached for it with sluggish fingers, expecting a message from Hana or an automated appointment reminder. But it wasn’t.
[Unknown Number]: This is Minho. Hana gave me this number. Said she normally doesn’t allow it…but this is different. Where are you?
You stared at the message for a moment, the words swimming slightly in your tired eyes. Your heart gave a sharp, unexpected thump. Minho.
You weren’t sure what you expected, maybe a simple check-in about Soonie or nothing at all until he came back to the clinic, but this felt different. The directness of it. The quiet urgency in his choice of words. Your thumbs hovered over the keyboard. For a second, you considered brushing it off with a professional, neutral reply. But the golden thread at your pinky pulsed faintly, like it already knew you couldn’t.
You: I just got home. Hana made me leave after the lunch rush. Soonie’s still stable.
You: You can check the system for updates if you’d rather not text.
The reply came almost immediately.
Minho: I’ve already checked. I wasn’t asking about that.
Minho: When will you be back at the clinic?
You: Why?
Minho: I have something for you.
You stared at his last message, your heart thudding hard enough to make your fingers pause over the screen. Something for you. It shouldn’t make your chest feel tight, shouldn’t send a ripple of warmth down your arm to where the golden thread pulsed faintly against your skin. You curled your pinky instinctively, as if trying to steady it or yourself.
You: I’m off until tomorrow morning. Hana’s covering tonight’s shift.
Minho: Can I bring it by?
You blinked at the message, your mind scrambling for a response. There were a dozen reasons to say no. Professional boundaries. Exhaustion. The fact that you hadn’t changed out of your scrubs yet and looked every bit like someone who’d been awake for nearly 36 hours straight.
But the thread tugged gently. It reminded you that this was your soulmate for crying out loud.
You: You don’t have to. It can wait until tomorrow.
Minho: I know. I don’t want to wait.
You: …Okay. I’m at [your address].
Minho: Be there in 15.
You set the phone down in your lap, staring blankly at the far wall as the reality sank in. Minho. Here.
Your apartment was small but tidy, thankfully. You shoved your bag off the couch and stood, stretching muscles sore from the long night. You caught your reflection in the hall mirror on your way to the kitchen. Your hair was a mess, your eyes ringed with exhaustion, and the neckline of your scrub top was wrinkled from where you’d slept against your arm.
There wasn’t enough time for much. You tied your hair back quickly, splashed cold water on your face, and changed into a soft sweatshirt and leggings. Comfortable. Neutral. Like, this wasn’t the Minho coming to your door. Lee Know of Stray Kids.
You were still smoothing the blanket over the couch when the soft knock came. When you opened the door, Minho stood there in his hoodie and cap, shoulders slightly hunched like the weight of the world hadn’t quite left him. One hand clutched a small paper bag, crumpled slightly from his grip, the other held a bag of cat food.
“Hi,” you said finally, your voice quieter than you meant.
His lips curved faintly, almost a smile. “Hi.” He shifted slightly, lifting the bag. “Can I come in?”
You stepped back, holding the door open. “Yeah. Of course.”
The golden thread stretched as he stepped past you, pulling taut before easing again as he stopped in your small living room. He didn’t sit, just stood there for a moment, eyes sweeping the space like he was trying to memorize it.
“I, uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck, holding out the bag awkwardly. “I thought you might not have eaten.”
You blinked, then took the bag. The faint scent of food wafted up, rice, something warm and savory. Your stomach gave a small, embarrassing growl.
“I wasn’t sure what you’d like,” he said quickly. “So I just got a few things. You can throw it out if-”
“Minho.” Your voice was soft but steady as you met his eyes. “Thank you.”
He exhaled slightly, some of the tension in his shoulders easing. “You’re welcome.”
“Is that bag my food too?” You pointed at the cat food bag.
Minho blinked, then followed your gaze down to the large bag of high-quality cat food in his other hand. A faint flush crept up his neck, almost hidden by the collar of his hoodie. “Oh, no. This… uh.” He cleared his throat, shifting his weight. “This is for the clinic. I… I wanted to donate it.”
You raised your brows slightly, surprised. “Donate it?”
He nodded, his fingers tightening on the bag as though unsure if he should’ve brought it. “Yeah. You mentioned last night that a lot of rescues rely on donations, and… I figured it might help. It’s the kind Soonie eats, and he’s picky as hell, so I know it’s good.”
Something warm unfurled in your chest, quiet but insistent, much like the golden thread thrumming faintly between you. You took a careful step closer, your hands still cradling the bag of food he’d brought for you. “That’s… really thoughtful, Minho. The rescues will be grateful. And so will we.”
“It’s nothing.” He glanced down at his socks, then back at you. “After… everything you’ve done for Soonie, it felt like the least I could do.”
“You didn’t have to do anything,” you said softly. “But I’m glad you did.”
Minho’s lips twitched faintly as his eyes flicked to yours and then away again. “I… should probably head back soon.” The words were quiet, reluctant, like he hated saying them even as he said them.
Your chest gave a small, inexplicable ache at the thought. You hadn’t even realized how much of your exhaustion had ebbed in his presence until now, with the weight of goodbye hanging in the air again. “Work?” you asked softly.
He nodded once, his cap casting a faint shadow over his eyes. “Yeah. The guys are waiting. We’ve got rehearsals later.” A pause. “It feels… weird leaving Soonie behind again.”
“He’s in good hands,” you said gently, echoing the words you’d given him earlier at the clinic. “And either I or another vet will send you updates. If anything changes, even the smallest thing, you’ll know.”
Minho let out a quiet breath through his nose. He didn’t argue, but his gaze lingered on the floor, on your coffee table, anywhere but your face for a moment too long. When he finally did meet your eyes, there was something raw and unguarded there. “I don’t usually…” He trailed off, his thumb brushing nervously along the seam of his hoodie sleeve. “This isn’t how I… interact with people.”
You tilted your head slightly. “People?”
“Strangers. Soulmates.” His lips pressed into a faint line, like the word still felt heavy on his tongue. “I don’t know what I’m doing here.”
“Neither do I,” you admitted, the truth spilling out before you could temper it. “But… we don’t have to figure it all out right now.”
The golden thread pulsed faintly between you, warm and steady, like it agreed. Minho’s gaze softened, the tension in his shoulders loosening just slightly. He took a step toward the door, then hesitated again, his hand still wrapped around the strap of the cat food. “You’re… sure it’s okay if I check in later?”
You gave a small smile, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ll be at the clinic tomorrow.”
He exhaled slowly, nodding as if to himself. “Okay.” His voice dropped low, almost a whisper. “I’ll see you there.”
The words lingered in the quiet of your apartment long after the door clicked shut behind him, the golden thread pulling taut as he walked away but never once breaking.
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