you take up a new summer job—being a fire lookout for the forest service at a national park. you’re added to a group chat and get to know the man in the neighboring tower.
pairing: lee know x fem!reader
genre: smau, fluff, humor
content: coworkers to lovers, grumpy x sunshine, minho is a grump, highly unrealistic depiction of the national forest service, and forest fires in general
ss: 24
a/n: i'm so happy to finally share this! the idea was inspired by the video game firewatch, but nothing about the plot is the same. and yes, i know real fire lookouts use the radio. but this format is more fun! this story is sfw, a bit different than the vibe of the event, but i just wanted to tell a cute summer story <3
♡ m.list
A heat advisory remains in effect until further notice. Meteorologists have confirmed that this season's unusually high temperatures can be traced to a persistent system known as Stray Kids. Residents should expect long days, warm nights, lowered inhibitions, and a sharp decline in good judgment.
Management has been advised to remind guests that @binniebb and @joyracha cannot be held liable for any poor decisions, questionable behavior, or unexpected entanglements resulting from prolonged exposure. Proceed with caution.
INDEX—
[ 📋 ] Visitors—please consult individual tags and warnings when entering the affected area. Forecasts range from light and sunny to full heat advisory. Please plan accordingly.
☀️ DEEP END ⋮ BINNIEBB
bang chan x reader
summer mvp was supposed to be a harmless summer incentive until chris bang turned it into war. now the only thing hotter than the country club pool deck is how badly you want your smug, shirtless rival to lose control first.
🔥 WHEN THE SMOKE CLEARS ⋮ JOYRACHA
⤷ part one ⋮ part two
lee know x reader ; smau
you take up a new summer job—being a fire lookout for the forest service at a national park. you’re added to a group chat and get to know the man in the neighboring tower.
🏕️ CABIN FEVER ⋮ BINNIEBB
changbin x reader
camp skz has rules for swimming, hiking, campfires, and pretty much every possible disaster. too bad there’s no rule against falling for the counselor who carries you out of the woods and into a summer-long problem.
🚢 TEQUILA SUNRISE ⋮ JOYRACHA
hyunjin x reader
being a travel blogger has its perks; you get to travel the world, eat delicious food, and…dance with a mysterious, handsome stranger on a cruise?
🎡 DUNK HIM! ⋮ JOYRACHA
han x reader
you’re just trying to volunteer for a summer charity event at the pier, but you meet an infuriatingly handsome guy who makes it his mission to get under your skin
🍰 PROOFING TIME ⋮ BINNIEBB
felix x reader
at honeycrumb bakery, the ovens aren’t the only thing making the kitchen unbearably hot. unfortunately, your biggest weakness wears a flour-covered apron and answers to the name felix.
⚾️ IT STARTED OUT WITH A KISS ⋮ JOYRACHA
seungmin x reader
you meet by chance at a baseball game, so he asks you to be his plus one for a wedding. the catch? pretending to be his girlfriend for a whole weekend. what happens when you actually start to like him?
🏡 GOOD ‘OL NEIGHBORLY CONDUCT ⋮ BINNIEBB
i.n x reader
the whole neighborhood wants jeongin mowing their lawns, fixing their fences, and cleaning their pools for the summer. you just want him shirtless in your yard, forgetting every good manner he has.
summary|| a group gathering reunite you with your ex whom you're trying to forget and while you avoid any interaction with him—he look for any small thing that might get you to talk with him again, what route will he try to reach your heart again? what risks is he willing to take? will your will-power for peace defeat a yearning man?
gener|| smau, college au, yearning, angst, mainly comedy but might change in the future, university drama, fluff, expect toxicity, this is subjected to change as chapters release
contains: poly skz, skz x reader, fluff, suggestiveness
summary: by this point, seungmin is far too accustomed to homoeroticism. a lingering hand? normal. draping himself into someone's arms? ordinary. stomping down the feelings blooming dangerously in his chest? par for the course. or: seungmin wouldn't recognize a sign if a billboard body-slammed him. 7.1k words.
☆ note: inspired by this tweet [guy who's in a polycule but not dating anyone, he's just there]
my masterlist
Seungmin would like to remind everyone he is not unobservant. He observes just fine. The issue lies within his interpretation of those observations, which tend to lean towards what a strange coincidence at best and ugly, curdling envy at worst.
There’s been too many coincidences lately. Something… weird is happening.
Weirder than usual, which is honestly a feat in and of itself.
He needs time alone to analyze, so after vocal practice he pushes and pushes (and pushes) his manager’s patience. Eventually, she snaps and agrees to let him walk back to the dorms by himself, on a couple conditions. He promises to keep his location on. He swears to call the millisecond someone looks at him the wrong way. He compromises and agrees to let himself be picked up if he’s not back within an hour.
And then he is free.
Carving out time for himself is a skill he’s mastered over the years. It’s difficult when his members’ nosiness rivals Pinocchio’s, but he manages. His dedication to pestering until he gets his way works out surprisingly well for him more often than not.
He loves all of them, he does. He would gladly find scissors if fate’s string ever tries to pull them apart. Sometimes, though, being around anyone at all frays him in a way that’s unpleasant for everyone, especially himself, only reset back to normal through peace and quiet.
Peace and quiet could not have come at a better time. He’s more of a grand gesture person when it comes to expressing his emotions. Talking things out inherently requires someone else, listening and remembering and potentially bringing up again. That’s too much. He just needs to identify his jumbled emotions, put a label on them, and neatly pack them away to shove deep into his mind’s junk drawer.
All of that is without even considering how you fit into everything – which, for the record, Seungmin is always considering how you fit into everything. It’s a mess, but he’s confident he can sort it out in the next hour or so.
Setting off in the direction of home, he pops in his earbuds (don’t tell his manager), zones out (especially don’t tell his manager), and ruminates on some of the stranger happenings.
He supposes the best place to begin is the beginning.
THE JEONGIN SUBVERSION
Hindsight is a bitch, isn’t it?
Looking back, the too peaceful drive should have been a sign of what was to come. But it was 2:30 in the morning, and Seungmin was barely conscious after Felix – the bastard – yanked his blanket off him while declaring “Get up we’re going to be late!” thirty minutes beforehand.
They were not late. They were the first ones to arrive at the SUVs idling at the curb for them. Seungmin felt entirely justified waiting until Felix made his choice to climb into the opposite car, where he practically melted into a window seat in the back row and would try to catch a few more minutes of rest.
Shortly after, Chan, Changbin, and Han created the world’s sleepiest single-file line to settle into the remaining seats. Changbin and Han opted for the back row with him. Han draped his legs over Changbin’s lap, let his head fall onto Seungmin’s thigh, muttered “Wakem’upwhenwegetthere,” and promptly fell back asleep, like he was never even awake in the first place.
Instinctually, Seungmin began carding his hand through Han’s soft hair. He felt an odd sense of pride when Han emitted a satisfied noise and snuggled further into him.
Chan greeted him with a tired smile and took the seat in front of Seungmin, immediately opening his laptop and getting back to work. His screen glowed brightly in the dim lighting. Seungmin’s willing to bet the oldest does not even register the eye strain anymore, and resolved to hunt down some painkillers during their first break.
With Chan’s keyboard clacking and Han drooling on his leg, Seungmin should have been more annoyed, but try as he might, he couldn’t muster up that feeling. Mostly, he just felt nearly complete – like the majority, but not all, pieces of himself were finally sliding into place.
Speaking of.
You appeared in the open doorway after Chan, looking entirely too composed for the hour. Seungmin wasn’t necessarily surprised to see you – it’s more of a surprise when you’re not around – but he didn’t expect you would come over this early. Another one of his members must have let you sleep on their couch.
He wasn’t jealous. Even if he was, nobody knew, so it remained fine.
Your gaze settled over Chan, resolute. Seungmin has been on the receiving end of that look, and he’s not eager for a repeat experience. At least, not in public. You have a particular talent for making him feel like he’s been called to the principal’s office – which, okay, he’s not complaining, but it absolutely does not help his nervous system working overtime around you.
Chan, seemingly, did not even notice.
“Move,” you said, determined.
At that, Chan did glance upwards at you, but only for a second before he returned to his laptop. “Why?” he asked, eyes glued to the screen.
“I wanna sit by Minnie.” Your eyes flit to Seungmin, who was doing his best to school his expression into neutral. A ghost of a smile haunted your lips, for nobody but him, and Seungmin concentrated hard on being normal about that. She smiles at you every day, get it together.
“What if I want to be beside Minnie?” Chan mocked the nickname by putting extra emphasis on it, which Seungmin did not appreciate. Seungmin expressed this displeasure via a kick to the back of his seat.
He resolutely ignored Changbin’s good-natured, “Real mature, Minnie.”
Luckily, that was the extent of the conversation, mainly because Han shifted on Seungmin’s lap and murmured a distinct threat detailing what would happen if everyone kept making noise. So Chan moved, and you took his place, and the staff member in charge of them drove off before Han had the opportunity to act on his threats.
They were heading to rehearse choreography. The whole group protested the ass o’clock start time, but it was the only time everyone’s schedules were free at the same time for the next week. As much as it sometimes seemed like it, you were not actually a part of Stray Kids, which meant you could have easily slept in this morning and skipped accompanying them to rehearsal.
You would definitely fall asleep on them later, but that didn’t matter. Seungmin was glad you chose to stay with them. He hoped you never stopped choosing to stay with them.
“How’s my third favorite doing?” you whispered while simultaneously reaching back to obnoxiously pinch his cheek.
“I hate you,” he said, yearning.
“Yeah, I hate you too. Here, I brought you this,” you reached into your bag and held out his favorite muffin from the good bakery down the street. “It’s a little stale, I got it yesterday. Hope it’s still good?”
Seungmin practically snatched it from your hands. “I don’t hate you anymore,” he said between bites, reveling in your laugh. Crumbs landed in Han’s hair. Seungmin left them.
Their SUV leisurely drove through familiar streets. The second car carrying everyone else followed closely behind them. Seungmin made the right choice with this one.
His gaze settled on you in front of him. He tried not to; he tried staring at the stars, or trying to peek at Chan’s laptop screen, but he always returned to you. How could he not? Bathed in low light, shadows playing with your features, you were absolutely beautiful.
You weren’t even paying attention to him, and that was perfectly fine with him. He could stare without needing an excuse.
The ride ended too soon.
Jeongin, damp hair clinging to the back of his neck, was already storming towards them when they disembarked.
“Hey!” Jeongin shouted into the chilly night air, and Seungmin – no matter how Chan retells this story – did not yelp like a scared puppy. He yelped like a brave puppy. “Don’t use my towel, asshole!”
Seungmin only saw it because he was studying for Chan’s reaction – the flicker of genuine exasperation, the gut instinct to snap back that he pushed down for the sake of being a good leader. Still, Chan took several seconds to breathe before turning to face the youngest and saying, “I didn’t use your towel.”
“Bullshit,” Jeongin said. A small crowd began to form around them – members and staff entering the building dropping their tasks to watch. “I’ve asked you not to before, and my towel was wet this morning. That was my last clean one, man.”
“Then maybe you should do your own laundry, instead of expecting me to do it for you.”
“I asked one time! You-”
“Sorry!” Your voice rang out, interrupting the insult Jeongin surely had poised on his tongue. He startled slightly; he must not have seen you behind Changbin and Han. Easy, you placed yourself between them, facing Jeongin. “I think that was me. Is it blue?”
Jeongin took a moment to collect himself before shaking his head. “No, red.” Annoyance still laced his voice, but significantly less than ten seconds beforehand. Seungmin definitely did not feel a stab of jealousy that you stayed over with Chan and Jeongin – and, apparently, had enough time to take a shower this morning.
“Ah, that was me then,” Han piped up beside him. “I’m sorry, I thought it was Chan’s.”
Seungmin watched Jeongin deflate. “Oh, that’s okay then,” he answered. If Seungmin didn’t know better, he would almost call the youngest’s tone gentle.
The small number of onlookers began to disperse, exchanging looks with each other, speechlessly regretful they didn’t get to watch a bigger fight.
Usually, on a normal day, both Jeongin and Chan forget about their one-off outbursts almost as quickly as they begin, provided nobody gets hurt or there isn’t a bigger issue. However, that day, Jeongin was irritated by virtue of not being a morning person and Chan was irritated by virtue of being yelled at before the sun rose. Neither one of them felt like kissing and making up right at that moment.
“Hey, wait, what the fuck?” Chan’s earlier calmness fractured.
Seungmin had the same question. How many people showered at their dorm?
Jeongin shrugged. “Honest mistake, it happens.”
“You were ready to kill me!”
“You’re exaggerating, it was fine.” Jeongin didn’t give Chan a chance to respond, very purposefully turning on his heels and following the dissipating trail of people into their building.
Being ignored, of course, only made Chan more upset, not that Jeongin was there to see it.
Chan’s eyebrows rose in disbelief, and Seungmin decided Jeongin had the right idea getting out of there. Seungmin, as a rule, generally becomes a target for people’s irritation (granted, he causes it most of the time, but still), and he absolutely did not want to stick around for that to happen.
As he speed walked to the entrance doors, he passed you and Chan.
You were whispering something to Chan, and he was smiling, goofy, back at you. He pulled you in closer to him, and both of you laughed like you shared a private joke. Seungmin would not have believed Chan was about to forge a warpath if he hadn’t witnessed it firsthand.
Out of nowhere, Seungmin’s mind conjured up fantasies of what it would be like if Chan smiled at him like that. If Chan held him, shared his body heat in the cold, if Seungmin could just whisper something and melt his leader’s stress. If Chan would lean on him, instead of trying to hold everything together all the time. Sure, they’re close now, but it’s not the same; it’s not the ease he seems to emanate with everyone else.
It caught him off guard, to say the least.
He didn’t have time to unpack those thoughts – it probably had something to do with the remnants of sleep tugging him down, anyway. Shoving it out of his mind, he continued to scramble to their practice room before Minho could get onto him for his lateness.
Rehearsal was tense, in the beginning. Jeongin and Chan still had frigidity, but as the day continued, the ice melted between them. By their second break, they were back to their usual selves; Jeongin annoying Chan, Chan taking every possible opportunity to drape himself over the youngest.
During that break, Seungmin went searching for you. It had been a while since you excused yourself from watching and slipped out the door. He found you curled up asleep on an out-of-the-way bench, just like he knew you would eventually. Gently, to not disturb you, he took off his hoodie and covered you with it.
If he took a picture because you looked cute, that’s his business.
Seungmin shakes his head, doing his best to rid himself of that memory. He’ll come back to that one. On to the next.
Living with Felix gives him whiplash sometimes.
It could be argued he knows Felix better than anyone. He’s seen him blossom in front of adoring fans, he’s seen him cough into his phone’s speaker to convince management he really is coincidentally sick when The Game Awards streams, he’s seen him cry himself dry after a particularly brash photographer weaseled under his skin.
Ninety percent of their last decade has been spent together. Words aren’t necessary for routine conversations at this point. Last week, Felix glanced at him for less than a second and knew Seungmin wanted strawberry jam instead of his usual grape. That one still freaks him out a little.
But every so often, Felix does something that makes him question whether or not he’s been kidnapped and replaced by an evil twin.
(They went down a conspiracy theory rabbit hole a few nights ago. Felix is convinced Avril Lavigne isn’t real.)
Take, for example:
THE HYUNLIX COLLISION
There is a certain dignity in failure. Granted, it has negative connotations, but Seungmin would genuinely prefer to first fail than to immediately succeed.
Failure precedes learning. Failure builds resilience. Failure means growth, not just in the attempt, but as a person. It’s a raw and honest reflection of the human spirit in a way nothing else can attempt.
Seungmin was blank-staring at his opponent’s fuckass long fatality sequence when their front door burst open.
Felix was first through the door, but only on a technicality. With Hyunjin pressed up against him, it was nearly impossible to tell where Felix ended and Hyunjin began. Felix’s arms wrapped around Hyunjin’s neck, leaving no other option but to remain flush against each other.
They were falling all over each other, sloppily making out as much as gravity allowed, both men giggly in the way liquor makes them.
The last thing Felix said to Seungmin before leaving hours ago was, “Be safe, love you.” He definitely would have remembered a Hey, by the way, I’m gonna need the dorm to myself tonight. And also, Hyunjin and I are hooking up.
That was probably the wrong thing to focus on, he thought, as Felix let out a particularly needy whine. The two men didn't seem to notice nor care that they are not alone.
Seungmin sat unnoticed, unmoving, under a rock the size of a large rock. He wanted to say something, don’t get him wrong, but he felt too much like he was teetering on the edge of an endless abyss. One wrong move, or one move at all, and he would freefall forever, never to be seen or heard from again.
So he remained slack-jawed, staring.
They were moving as one in the general direction of Felix’s room, however, they kept getting distracted by each other. Hyunjin angled himself to press hasty kisses onto Felix’s jawline. The image of Felix’s flushed cheeks, coupled with his fingers tugging into Hyunjin’s hair, branded itself into Seungmin’s eyelids. Hyunjin’s whispered praises reverberated around his ears.
Their living room’s temperature rose approximately one thousand degrees. It was batshit insane that Seungmin was the only one who felt it. The entire world could have turned upside down at that moment, and he would not have noticed.
Then, the world did turn upside down.
Something — rather, someone — shifted in his peripheral vision. Maybe if he noticed you sooner, he would have been more prepared. Maybe he could have stopped the strangled noise he emitted when he laid eyes on you.
Maybe, but probably not.
You had followed Hyunjin and Felix into the room, eyes also trained on the two and a large smile on your lips. However, you also noticed him almost immediately. “Seungminnie!” you exclaimed, a smidge too excitedly to be sober.
“Uh-h,” Seungmin eloquently stammered. His face was dangerously hot, approaching cause for concern. He was suffocating and overheating and not doing a single thing about it.
Over your shoulder, the two men stopped stumbling through the dorm in favor of Hyunjin subtly palming Felix through his jeans. As subtle as he could, that is, which is to say not subtle in the slightest. Felix’s resulting moan nearly caused him to choke on air.
Hyunjin finally looked over at Seungmin. “Hey, my love,” he said, and Seungmin suddenly was receiving far too much attention. He wished he could go back to when nobody knew he was there.
Not one to be outdone, you crossed the room and nearly collapsed into his side. He had to loop one arm around your waist to keep you from overshooting it and ending up facedown in his lap. He was the only one in the room who would have a problem with that, if Felix’s excited gasp and your smile were anything to go by.
You could definitely feel his racing pulse. Hell, you could probably hear his racing pulse. He was more certain of that than he’s ever been about anything.
Your perfume stuck to your skin throughout the night, and it invaded Seungmin’s senses. Sickly sweet, mixed with sweat (probably from dancing with someone else, Seungmin’s brain reminded him). It’s so familiar, so you, so unattainable, yet it was the only thing keeping air in his lungs right then. Manually breathing wasn’t far off the table.
Belatedly, Seungmin realized his game’s home screen music was still playing through their TV speakers. That moment of clarity dissipated when you glanced over your shoulder to Hyunjin and Felix, and somehow shared a silent communication with them.
Seungmin couldn’t read the glint in Hyunjin’s eyes.
You turned your attention back to Seungmin. “We’re gonna go to Lixie’s room,” you started, eyeing him hopefully. Then you leaned in, closer, closer, and Seungmin had never known anything except the warmth of your skin against his or your hair brushing against his cheek.
“Wanna come?” you purred into his ear, breath ghosting over his earlobe. Goosebumps erupted across his skin.
whatthefuck whatthefuck whatthefuckwhatthef-
“God, yes,” Felix growled at the same time Hyunjin found amusement in your wording.
You could ask him to do nearly anything, and he would oblige without question. This, however, felt like a cruel joke. It’s not your fault. He wants the real thing too much. You would know. Hyunjin and Felix would know. Everybody he cares about would know.
Besides, he was the only one there thinking clearly, and he was positive you would regret touching him like that in the morning. He should not have even let you get as far as you did.
He opened his mouth to tell you as such, but Hyunjin beat him to it.
“He’s not going to, you know that,” Hyunjin murmured, disconnecting from Felix long enough to talk again. He wasn’t unkind – he was nearly sympathetic, even, which crushed Seungmin further. He said it so casually, so matter-of-fact. Then, because he’s Hyunjin, he followed it up with, “And our boy here’s getting impatient, hm?”
He paired his words with some caressing, judging by the obscene noise Felix let out.
“Yeah,” you responded. “Let’s take care of him, yeah?”
With that, you stood up, leaving Seungmin alone and strangely cold, even as his skin still burned.
Seungmin didn’t stick around to see what happened once you reached them. He didn’t want to see. He couldn’t see. His imagination would be cruel enough to him.
As soon as your back was turned, Seungmin took the opportunity to dart off the couch and into the relative safety of the hallway. In reality, the whole scenario probably took no longer than five minutes, but Seungmin felt like he had aged decades by the time his front door closed behind him.
He wasn’t proud of running away, but he absolutely could not stay in that dorm with the three of you. Part of him regretted not taking you up on your offer. A larger part of him regretted being in the dorm at all.
His feet carried him to Changbin’s door.
Changbin, like he always did, opened up immediately and ushered Seungmin inside and onto his couch. Changbin, like he always did, knew when something was bothering Seungmin. He didn’t even need to tell him.
He didn’t, but he tried anyway. “Hyunjin and Felix–” he started, unsure how to finish. Changbin nodded, encouragement to keep going. “And she–” he cut himself off, not trusting himself to get through this with a straight face. Changbin wouldn’t judge him, he knew, but he still couldn’t.
“Yeah,” Changbin said softly. “How are you feeling? With that?”
“Don’t wanna talk about it,” Seungmin murmured. Again, he thought, he was running away, but he’d deal with it later. He’d think about everything later. In that moment, he just needed to exist and be distracted with Changbin.
That’s exactly what he got. He and Changbin artfully avoided the heaviness lingering around Seungmin, and instead talked about absolutely nothing until Seungmin drifted off to sleep on his couch.
Seungmin sidesteps a crumpled, discarded bright pink flyer – it reads EVERYONE’S A STAR! – and grumbles in irritation. He’d asked you about it after that night, but you had made it into a joke every time. Either you’d wink and say he could return the favor, or you’d just extend the same offer again (“But join us this time!” “I don’t drink that much.” “Who said anything about drinking?”).
He gets it. Now that he’s had time to relive it, he feels either hauntingly inadequate or gnawing jealousy, depending on his mood.
Why not him? Bitterness. Envy. Towards which person – Felix, Hyunjin, or you – he’s not sure. The obvious answer is he envies both Felix and Hyunjin for sharing a bed with you, but that’s not entirely true.
He doesn’t wish to replace anyone. He wants to be involved, is all. And he was – you, quite literally, threw yourself at him, and that stings so much worse than anything else. He doesn’t want to be a joke; he wants to be included in a real way, not when everyone involved is simply looking for a good time with the nearest person available.
God, what a sad thought.
He needs to move on before he spirals.
THE MINSUNG CONTROL VARIABLE
Some things would be stranger if they didn’t happen.
THE CHANGBIN REACTION
It started out as a surprise for fans. As a surprise to the rest of his group. A love letter, of sorts, for their dedicated, unwavering support, from the early years where odds of success were stacked against them through their sold-out stadium tours. A love letter to his members, who never let him cave into himself and constantly remind him of his worth.
A love letter to Changbin, specifically. For holding him together. For being a pillar, for loving him extra in his low moments, for being Changbin.
The official itinerary for their Fanmeeting alloted time for a “Seungmin Solo”. Everyone, including his members, believed he would sing “As We Are” – they were under that impression because Seungmin told them that’s what he would sing. Nobody except himself and the relevant staff knew the truth. In reality, he would be performing “ULTRA” again, complete with a recreation of Changbin’s tour outfit tailored for his own proportions.
Changbin loved when Seungmin did it last, so why not do it grander this time?
Seungmin made the last-minute decision to bring Changbin on stage with him, to give him a chair and have a camera dedicated to capturing his live reaction. A mistake if he’s ever made one.
Changbin’s attention on him burned hotter and resonated louder than any screaming fans. He did not speak a word, but he didn’t need to. Every time Seungmin looked over, Changbin was looking back at him, relaxed and all too glad to keep watching. Sometimes he was grinning, his tongue prodding the inside of his cheek. Sometimes he leaned forward to study Seungmin closer. Every time, he was cocky, his body language screaming out desires.
Seungmin had not considered Changbin would dial up the fan service. All the more embarrassing that it affected Seungmin more than it should. At a certain point, he had to stop looking over entirely and just focus on getting through his performance without stuttering or tripping over himself.
Afterwards, he was absolutely positive that the SeungBin shippers had enough fuel for the rest of their lives. More than enough fuel. Wildfires would be envious of the kindling Changbin provided out there. Seungmin could only pray that the sunglasses and stage makeup were enough to hide his reactions.
Seungmin stared at himself in his dressing room mirror. He had two minutes to ready himself for going back out onstage, and he was absolutely nowhere near close to it.
He was still staring, trancelike, when the door to his left opened and closed. And just like that, there was another, heavy presence. The same one Seungmin couldn’t decide if he should cling to or run far away from. Finally tearing his eyes away, he turned and saw Changbin staring at him, confused.
“You can’t do that to me,” Changbin said.
The instinct to push back kicked in, and Seungmin responded, “There’s thousands of fans out there who would disagree.” He didn’t even know what Changbin was saying he couldn’t do. He needed normalcy, and that was the quickest way.
Changbin chuckles without humor. He took a step towards Seungmin, then another, and another, until he was right in front of him. Inches away. Seungmin could count his eyelashes, could trace the lines on his skin if he wanted to. He could easily lean in, if he wanted to.
Something flickered across Changbin’s face. Once again, his hyung knew what he needed. Changbin’s voice dipped low, huskier than Seungmin had ever heard it. “God, all this time…” he trailed off, eyes flitting down to Seungmin’s lips.
Seungmin didn’t want to move. He wanted the two of them to stay right there while the world passed them by. He wanted Changbin to keep talking and to keep looking at him like he hung the stars in the sky.
Changbin continued, “Chan made me promise, you know? He knew. He knew I’d already fallen for you a long time ago. He knew I would have the hardest time controlling myself.”
Changbin stared, his eyes drilling into Seungmin. Seungmin had to look away, for fear that Changbin would drill too deep and all of his fantasies would spill out.
“Hey, no, eyes on me, yeah? There you go.” Changbin’s praise sent a shiver up Seungmin’s spine. “But you don’t want me to control myself, do you?”
Seungmin wasn’t aware when they started moving. His back hitting the wall behind him came as a complete surprise, but he wasn’t willing to tear his eyes away again. Changbin’s arms caged him in on either side.
“You want us, yeah?” Changbin asked.
The door slammed open.
It was a bucket of ice water dumped all over the moment.
“Oh! Am I…” Jeongin trailed off, wriggling his eyebrows, shit-eating grin firmly in place. “Interrupting something?”
Changbin looked at Seungmin, as if waiting for him to answer. Seungmin was bolted to the ground. Every one of his limbs was frozen.
Was he interrupting something? Does Jeongin know?
No. There’s nothing to know. Jeongin was just being a menace, as usual.
Still, Changbin stared at Seungmin, at Seungmin’s lack of a reaction, and that was all the answer he could give. Eventually, after a few seconds or a small eternity, Changbin dropped his hands. “No,” he answered. “You didn’t interrupt anything. Come on, we’ve gotta get back out there.”
So he did what he was best at. He followed Changbin, and he performed, and he ignored the persistent ache in his chest.
Seungmin has never been good at keeping up with group texts. Sue him.
His main source of updates is Chan informing him of schedules about thirty minutes in advance. Seungmin plays along – his yes, I already know, go away expression is truly a work of art – even though they both realize Seungmin would be lost without him.
That quality is part of what landed him in this mess to begin with.
That quality is entirely the reason for what he will call
THE OT8 CLUSTER(FUCK)
He almost walks right past their dorms, too wrapped up in himself to realize the familiar, hulking building that has not once moved nor changed its appearance is, in fact, where he lives.
He’s out of time with absolutely nothing to show for it. If anything, he’s even more confused, and now he has to face the very people causing this. He doesn’t think he’s ready for it – but he has to be. He can’t exactly hide from his band forever. He could barely hide from them for an hour.
Briefly, Seungmin considers taking a lap around his usual path. He discards the idea almost as soon as he has it. Their manager probably already warned Chan to be expecting Seungmin, and Chan is probably waiting with a pile of more work for them. Their leader is in one of his moods; he absolutely will not let up until he passes out with exhaustion, unless it’s for something he deems more important. Not a lot of things have ever been more important.
Scrubbing a hand down his face, he pulls open the entrance door, waves to their security guard, and gets in the elevator.
Whatever happens, he’ll be along for it. During their trainee days, when they weren’t sure if the outcome would be worth their effort and each day was harder than the last, Chan used to tell them the only way out is through. He said it so often, Seungmin and Jeongin would place over/under bets concerning how many times they would hear it any given week.
So, the only way out is through. If only trainee Seungmin knew where he’d end up.
If that means he keeps hurting, so be it. It’ll be worth it to stay around.
The elevator dings. The doors open, and his hallway sprawls unending in front of him. Starting towards his dorm, he begins to think up excuses to dodge Chan’s near-certain extra work. All he wants is a long, hot shower and to sleep forever (he’s not being dramatic, no.)
Faking sickness or an injury won’t work – everyone saw him right before he started walking home. They also have access to his schedule, so he can’t claim he has something else to go to. Well. That leaves him out of options.
Chan’s dorm is closer to the elevator than his. He’ll pop in, get an idea of what’s up next today, then sneak out again to take a shower.
Simple.
Easy.
As he approaches Chan’s door, he tells himself work will probably actually be good for him. He’s good at what he does and he enjoys doing it, he really couldn’t ask for anything better. So what if things get complicated every now and then?
Reaching for the door handle, he’s almost glad to know what he’s about to walk into. He’ll be productive. It’ll serve as a nice distraction. Besides, he thinks he hears the others inside – he won’t be alone with his thoughts any longer.
He’s made as much peace with the rest of his day as he possibly could by the time he swings the door open.
Seungmin yelps. Like a scared puppy.
The eight of you spring into action, but it’s far too late. Han bolts to hide behind a pillow. You rush to throw on the nearest shirt. It’s the last thing Seungmin sees before slamming the door closed again.
A cacophony of noise resounds from behind that same door, but it’s drowned out by the buzzing in his own head. Reality crashes into him all at once. The force of it staggers him backwards, and his back hits the drywall behind him with a thud. He leans against the wall all the way to the carpeted floor.
He should have realized sooner.
The whole time, everything was right in front him. Jeongin flipped like a switch for you and Han. Hyunjin and Felix could not have been more obvious if they tried. Changbin might as well have outright confessed. What’s so wrong with him that he couldn’t see it?
What’s so wrong with him they didn’t want him?
Seungmin stares at the ceiling as if it will provide answers. Their perpetually-dead lightbulb is now on. It’s been burned out ever since they moved in, years ago. He wonders who fixed it, and when it got replaced. He wonders when everyone started– nope. He’s not thinking about that right now.
He’s aware he’s flailing – however, being aware and stopping are two completely separate things. He’ll get up off the ground when he’s more stable, but until then, he’ll sit in denial.
He’ll leave them alone, like he’s been doing, without him.
At some point, Chan’s door opened again. Seungmin steeled himself for the inevitable, but Chan was quiet when he joined him in the hallway and sat opposite him. Both of their legs stretched out in front of them, as mirror images of one another. Chan sat there as if this was a normal day. Not rushing, not putting pressure on him. Just existing with him.
Every so often, Chan brushes his leg against Seungmin’s, but makes no mention of it. They stay in the same position for a few more minutes, which gives Seungmin time to slow his mind a miniscule amount.
He’s panicked before. Twice, he’s done this exact thing, and he keeps kicking himself for his inability to say anything. That’s not going to happen. He’s going to speak this time, and he knows this situation requires tact and grace, and he will not mess this up again.
He simply can’t help that he’s a bit dumb right now.
“You’re wearing pants,” he says.
Chan, for what it’s worth, is not jarred by Seungmin pointing out the obvious. “Yeah, I am,” he responds.
“That’s new.”
“Listen,” Chan says with a grimace. “I’m sorry you saw that. Felix was supposed to let you know to hang out at your place for a bit.” He does seem genuinely regretful Seungmin walked in.
Seungmin pulls out his phone, and sure enough, Felix did text him ten minutes ago. The notification sits at the top of his screen. “Oh, now he texts me,” he mutters.
“What? Did he just text you?”
“No – it doesn’t matter.” Seungmin puts his phone back in his pocket and braces his palms against the ground. “I’ll get out of your way, I don’t think you guys want me around right now anyways.”
He’s met with complete silence. He stops himself from standing and looks up at Chan. His leader’s expression is beside himself, stricken and confused.
“Is that what you think? That we don’t want you around?” Chan nearly whispers. Seungmin had to strain to even hear it. Chan continues, his voice faintly rising. “We thought you were still getting comfortable with us. We were – shit – we were giving you your space. Of course they like you, Min.”
“You - huh?”
“I mean, I know she, Jinnie, and Felix slipped up, they told me about that. But did you actually think we didn’t want to be with you too?” He sounds desperate now, hoping Seungmin will give him any other answer than the one he already heard.
Seungmin can’t.
They want him.
They want him in the same way he wants them. In the same way he’s spent all this time pining after each one, so convinced it would never happen for him. Forcing himself to accept the painful closeness, because at least it was better than being apart.
“Seungmin.” Chan’s voice brings him back.
“Hm?”
“Do you want to go inside?” Chan must have seen Seungmin’s hesitancy written on his face, as he adds, “I made them put on clothes, I promise. They’d just like to see you, if you’re okay with that.”
Seungmin nods, and Chan rewards him with another smile. It’s the same smile he showed you, all those nights ago.
This time, the scene on the other side of the door is drastically different. For one, Chan was right, everyone is wearing clothes. Seungmin allows himself to feel disappointed about that, because he can and because you want him.
For another, a multi-sided war is about to break out, localized entirely within Chan and Jeongin’s living room.
Minho sits on the floor with his arms around Han, who’s animatedly talking and gesturing to Changbin and Hyunjin on opposite sides of their couch. He’s going at the speed of light, but Seungmin definitely hears his name and drove him away.
You, Felix, and Jeongin aren’t faring too much better, exchanging hushed words in the relative privacy of Jeongin’s doorway.
Chan clears his throat. Everything stops.
Every head turns, as if on a synchronized swivel, to stare at Seungmin. Seungmin is eerily reminded of walking in late to his school classrooms.
Han is the one to break the silence. “Do you… You’re here,” he says, wide-eyed.
“I’m here,” Seungmin confirms.
“To stay?” Han brings his hand up to clutch Minho’s. He does it slowly, like any sudden movements will scare away Seungmin. Not a bad move, all things considered.
His eyes find yours across the crowded room. You’re watching him intently, nervous but trying to hide it. He could recognize your specific behavior anywhere. “To stay,” he confirms again.
“I need to hear you actually say it,” Hyunjin speaks up. “You’re staying with us, like, romantically? Ow! Why?” he groaned in response to Jeongin lightly pushing him.
“He got the romantically part,” Jeongin whispers, loud enough for everyone to distinctly hear him.
“He obviously didn’t!” Hyunjin protests.
Felix, luckily, takes over before they can devolve further. “What they’re trying to say–” Felix shoots a pointed look over at them, “–is that we want to be as clear as possible in telling you that we would love to have you join this with us. Obviously, we’d go as fast or as slow as you’re comfortable with.”
“And you’re sure?” Seungmin questions, about all of it. His heart never calmed down, but now it stands still and frozen, whether it will keep beating entirely contingent on the answer.
Minho barks a disbelieving laugh.
“Are we sure?” Changbin repeats, looking at him as if he said something stupid. “Yes. One-thousand percent sure. We’ve had conversations about how sure we are.”
One by one, each of you echo Changbin’s sentiments, confirming Seungmin’s long-since buried hopes in various ways. It will take a while for Seungmin to get used to the pure relief floating him through air. He feels weightless. There’s nothing to hide anymore.
He takes a deep breath. “Then yes, I want to be part of.. whatever this is. Please.” There was probably a better, more eloquent way to phrase it, but Seungmin doesn’t care. He doesn’t think anyone else does either.
The dam breaks.
Seungmin hardly gets any warning at all, just a blur of movement, before Han crashes into him, sending him stumbling backwards and directly into Chan’s chest. He’s completely engulfed in seconds. With Han wrapping himself around his chest and Chan at his back, it’s hard to find any more space, but as always, everyone finds a way.
“Aww, Minnie, you love us!” Jeongin’s teasing lilt rings out above everything else, his own smile taking up half his face.
Seungmin is unable to contain his matching grin, but he doesn’t let that stop him from rolling his eyes and muttering, “Shut up, I hate all of you.”
Everything about him immediately betrays that lie.
Before, he would have either pushed them away or slipped out, armed with an excuse to protect himself. He would have ignored it as best he could, and would have only allowed himself to feel the extent of his hurt once he was truly alone.
Now, Seungmin chooses to believe that he is desired just as much as he desires, if not more. That his strongest fantasies are real, and the reality far outweighs even the best ones. He will need time to fully convince himself of that, but he finally has unrestrained time with the people he loves. He accepts your love with open arms.
weeks later, seungmin gets home from a long walk to find everyone in a ludicrously gigantic cuddle pile. changbin and minho are both holding controllers. changbin looks overjoyed. minho, less so. mileena’s fuckass long fatality sequence is playing on screen.
☆ note: it's published!! this specific draft has been driving me absolute bananas for longer than i'd like to admit. every time i tried (and i did try) to abandon it i'd hear it calling to me like the green goblin mask. as always, ty for reading, love you <3
taglist: @emilyywhyy @velvetmoonlght @opiumfidgetspinner @bahngarang @angelwings-fly @pixie-felix @certainstarfishmiracle @luvvvivi @strhwa @ayedomino008 @breakmeoff @foppishitudinality @ilovedallywinston @cookiewookie9t @astrayapple @teffyx @geni-627 @kpopgirliez @imnotsupposedtobedoingthis @bunny-2473
lmk if you want to be added to/removed from the taglist!
pairing: stray kids maknae line x reader (separate)
genre: established relationships, fake texts, member is close with/talks to your family
warnings: implied close relationships with family in all. your mom wants you to marry seungmin (real). i don't think anything else but lmk if i missed anything you wished you were warned about :)
notes: I had to go back and change part of felix and jeongin's bc they called reader ma'am and i was like oops i got too much of me slippin in there lmao
Seungmin as your friend with benefits is the type to...
…call you up on a random week night because he's stressed about something again, and he's so wound up he can feel it in his neck. He never says what’s wrong. Just exhales deeply like he’s been holding his breath all day and asks casually, “Can I come over?” He asks you to let him use you for just one night, just one time. A friend helping a friend. He doesn't want to talk about it, and you don't make him. After all, you've thought about it before in passing too. Holding each other without calling it holding. Kissing each other without calling it romantic. He's your best friend, and while some may argue that you're crossing a line, you trust him. So, you let him come over for one night. And the next. And the next. And the next.
“What if we made this our thing? No questions. No expectations. Just whenever I need you, or you need me.”
…bring snacks and sweet treats like he’s showing up to a movie night instead of whatever this is supposed to be. He never asks what you want. He just remembers. Your favorite gummy candy. That specific brand of chocolate you like because you claim it tastes less fake. Pastries from that overpriced bakery you refuse to buy for yourself because it’s too expensive. He lets himself in like he lives there, toeing off his shoes by the door, jacket draped over the back of the couch (he'll forget it, and you'll wear it for a week before he realizes). He stays through two episodes. Then three. Never checking the time. And when you finally pause the show and turn toward him, there’s sugar on his lips from the candy and a softness in his eyes he doesn’t bother hiding in the darkness of midnight. He didn’t mean to settle into your daily life this easily. But he did. And now you don’t remember what your week used to look like without him.
"How come your couch so much more comfortable than mine? Don’t be surprised if I start living here."
…ask to do stupid or silly stuff in the bedroom like it’s the most normal request in the world. He doesn’t hesitate to push limits with you because he doesn't mind getting shot down. There's no point in being hesitant or embarrassed because there's no romantic standard to uphold. He’ll be halfway through kissing you and then pull back just enough to let you know he's had a crazy idea, and he doesn't care if it makes him look completely ridiculous. If anything, he enjoys it. Because he gets to see you laugh and loosens you up. Sometimes, he’ll suggest random things just to watch the expression on your face. He wants to see if you’ll break your own rules for him. And the best part is that sometimes you do. Because sex with him as a friend is fun, light, and not at all scary. There’s no pressure. No heavy expectations. No drama. He doesn’t treat the bedroom seriously. It’s just another place to explore, test, and laugh if something goes wrong. He's the type that likes discovering all the different, imperfect sides of you. The bold one. The shy one. The competitive one. And especially the soft one that only comes out when the lights and his voice are really low.
"You’re gonna roll your eyes, but I don’t care. Trust me, this will be worth it."
…be surprised the first time he doesn't immediately leave after it's over. Usually there's some kind of routine, a teasing comment, a stretch, a slow detachment and separation. But this time he just…stays. Flat on his back, breathing, looking at the ceiling, waiting for the urge to leave to kick in. It doesn’t. As someone who's not very physically affectionate, he finds himself wanting to feel you wrapped around him in a totally not sexual way. He likes the weight of you sprawled over him like a blanket. Likes how your body settles against his like it belongs there. The curve of your hip fits perfectly under his palm as his fingers rest there naturally. Your legs tighten around his thigh when he shifts, holding him in place. And he doesn’t mind. He really, really doesn’t mind. For the first time, he’s not thinking about leaving, or even about keeping things light and detached. He’s simply thinking about how easy this feels with you. He settles deeper into the bed, pulling you slightly higher so your head rests against his chest properly. His hand drifts up your bare back in slow, gentle strokes. Just touching because he wants to.
"You're not going?"
"Do I have to?"
…refuse to accept his developing feelings for you. All of a sudden, he's getting flustered when you do domestic shit around him. Why are you cooking him dinner while wearing his oversized shirt? Why does it fall off one shoulder like that? Why does he know the exact way your waist curves under the fabric? Why are you folding laundry together, ranting about your coworker’s fucked up engagement like he’s your actual partner? Why are you brushing your teeth topless, catching his eyes in the mirror like it's casual? Like he isn’t standing frozen in the doorway trying to remember how to breathe? He tells himself he’s staring because he’s allowed to. That’s the arrangement, right? You don't seem to notice his heart beating out of his chest – or if you do, you're not confronting him about it. He panics internally the first time you don’t immediately reach for him afterwards. Not saying anything, but pulling you closer under the excuse that you’re hogging the blanket and he's cold without clothes. He tells himself he’s in complete control. And then he realizes one random Tuesday night, that he hasn’t wanted anyone else in months. He’s never wanted anyone as badly as he wants you. He hasn't been able to stop thinking about you for god knows how long. And it's all he can do not to crash out over how adorable you look laying on your back, reaching out for him, as if he's the only one you'll ever want.
"I'm fine. Not thinking about anything really. Just…I'll tell you later."
thinking about how to get more interaction to my side blog with my skz post (+ upcoming work). like am i off the tumblr algo? is my understanding of the algo bad? i feel like i tagged it bad or posted at a bad time or am lowk nugu
finally watching daengnyangz/seunglix baking rachalog and it is genuinely giving me so much anxiety every time the camera cuts to ksm. like, i love you puppy, but please keep out of the kitchen...
Summary: You meet Han when he helps you produce your debut album. He helps you see the light.
Warnings: reader's boyfriend is an ass, cheating (not my main man Hannie let's be so fr), angst but happy ending (for now)
Word count: 8.7k.
a/n: i don't like my formatting in some of this but fuck it, it'll do duckies! if you need me, i'll be here yearning for soft Hannie xo
The front door slams so hard the frame rattles.
Cold night air hits your tear-streaked face as you stumble down the porch steps, arms wrapped around yourself like you can physically hold your heart together. Behind you, Wooyoung’s voice is still going — loud, careless, chasing after you through the open doorway.
“Baby, come on—”
You wipe furiously at your cheeks and keep walking.
“You’re unbelievable,” you choke out without turning around. “You flirt with anything that breathes, and somehow I’m the crazy one for being upset?” A bitter laugh leaves you. “God, I’m such an idiot.”
Your heels click sharply against the pavement. You hear him move closer, slower now, confident. Not worried. Never worried.
Because he already knows how this ends.
“Hey,” he calls, voice dropping into that smooth tone that always weakens your resolve. “Look at me.”
You refuse. A car passes at the end of the street, headlights sweeping briefly across both of you. You can practically feel his smirk before he even speaks again.
“We always get back together, baby.”
The words stop you cold. Not because they’re romantic, but because he means them. Because every breakup has become a rehearsal. Every apology memorised. Every kiss after a fight is expected. He says it like a fact, like gravity, like something inevitable. And the worst part?
A tiny, humiliating part of you wonders if he’s right.
You finally turn around. Your eyes are red, your mascara ruined, your chest aching. He’s standing there in the doorway, hands in his pockets, looking entirely too calm for someone who just shattered you again.
“You really think that’s okay?” you whisper.
His expression flickers for half a second — almost guilt, almost affection. “I think,” he says carefully, “you love me too much to stay gone.”
Silence stretches between you.
And God, you hate that he might know you better than you know yourself.
You’d met your boyfriend when everything in your life still felt uncertain.
Back then, you were just another trainee buried among dozens of others in practice rooms that smelled like sweat and dust and ambition. Your days blurred together — dance evaluations, vocal lessons, monthly rankings, surviving on too little sleep and too much caffeine. You were exhausted all the time, constantly aware that one mistake could cost you your future.
And then suddenly, he noticed you.
He was already successful by then. An idol people recognised instantly. The kind that had fans screaming outside music shows and brand deals plastered across buildings in Seoul. You remembered seeing him in person for the first time backstage at a year-end show and nearly forgetting how to breathe.
He was impossibly handsome. Confident. Charming. Warm in a way that made you feel singled out in every room. When he started talking to you regularly, you genuinely thought it was a misunderstanding. You were nobody yet, so why would someone like him want you? But he did.
At least, it felt like he did.
He’d sometimes wait for you after practice just to walk you to the company entrance. He’d text you constantly despite his schedule, sending selfies from waiting rooms and voice messages late at night telling you he missed you already. He praised your singing as if he genuinely believed you were incredible, before you believed it yourself.
When you debuted as part of a group and the relationship became official behind closed doors, you thought you were living inside a dream.
The first few months were genuinely happy. He did all the things you’d ever wanted and more - he kissed your forehead when you were tired, he held your hand under restaurant tables, he told you he was proud of you after every performance, no matter how small it was. Sometimes he’d show up unexpectedly outside your company building just to take you for food because you’d mentioned being stressed.
You loved him completely. And maybe that’s why it took you so long to notice when things started changing.
It happened slowly. At first, it was small things. Replies would take longer, and plans would suddenly get cancelled. There was a lot less affection, both in and out of the bedroom. He stopped asking about your day. Stopped listening when you spoke. Conversations became distracted, half-hearted. He was always on his phone but never answered you.
You kept making excuses for him.
He’s tired.
He’s stressed.
His schedule is hard right now.
Whenever you tried bringing it up, he’d sigh like you were asking for too much.
“You know how busy I am.”
“You’re overthinking again.”
“You’re being sensitive.”
So, you tried harder instead, putting in more effort because you thought you could fill the new void in your relationship. You became easier, quieter, and less demanding. You learned not to ask for reassurance too often because he acted irritated when you did.
Then, about a year into the relationship, you found out about the first girl.
It wasn’t dramatic. There was no screaming confrontation, no movie scene. Just a photo someone posted online accidentally. He was in the background of a club with his arm around a woman who definitely wasn’t you. Then came the messages. Then rumours. Then the awful, nauseating confirmation when you confronted him and he went silent rather than deny it. You remembered sitting on the floor of your apartment, staring at him while your entire body shook.
And the worst part?
He cried. Not immediately, only after realising you might actually leave. He held your hands. Told you it meant nothing. Told you he was drunk and stupid and terrified of losing you. He said he loved you more than anyone. Said the pressure got to him. Said he’d change. And because you loved him — because you remembered the man from the beginning — you believed him. Or maybe you just wanted to.
After that, the relationship became a cycle you could never quite escape.
Things would improve briefly after every betrayal. He’d become affectionate again for a few weeks. He’d be gentle, attentive. The version of him you fell in love with would reappear just long enough to keep your hope alive.
Then slowly he’d disappear again.
More distance. More coldness. More fights. Sometimes there were other women. Sometimes there were only rumours you drove yourself insane trying to verify. Either way, you always ended up crying in front of him while he looked exhausted rather than sorry. And somehow, every time, he convinced you to stay. Sometimes it was through apologies, sometimes through guilt. Sometimes, simply by reminding you how deeply you still loved the version of him he used to be.
By now, two years in, you barely recognised yourself anymore.
You’d become anxious all the time. You were constantly hyperaware of his moods and careful with your words. You were ashamed of how desperate you were for the scraps of affection that used to come freely. You spent more time mourning the beginning of your relationship than actually enjoying the present version of it.
But leaving felt impossible. Because every so often, he’d smile at you the old way or pull you into his chest after a fight or whisper that he loved you, and your heart would desperately convince itself that maybe this time things would finally go back to how they were in the beginning.
Even though deep down, you were starting to realise they probably never would.
The morning after your latest fight, you wake slowly, disoriented at first.
The room smells like his cologne and clean laundry, sunlight cutting through the gap in the curtains in pale gold stripes. Your head throbs. Your throat burns from crying. One glance at the clock on his bedside table makes panic shoot through you.
“Shit.”
You push yourself upright too fast and immediately regret it. Your body feels heavy, emotionally bruised. Beside you, he’s still asleep on his stomach, bare back rising and falling steadily like nothing happened last night. Like he didn’t say exactly the right things to get you back into his arms. Again. You stare at him for a moment, eyes tracing his tattoo - I’m never alone and I will never be - before ripping your gaze away.
The memories come back in ugly flashes — fighting in the kitchen, storming out, his hand catching your wrist halfway down the block, the soft apologies murmured against your hair, the way he kissed you like he couldn’t stand losing you. And then the inevitable.
Now you just feel hollow. You failed at walking away for good yet again.
You throw on the first clothes you can find in your overnight bag: oversized hoodie, loose sweats, sneakers. Your hair gets twisted into a messy bun that’s barely holding together. Concealer does absolutely nothing for your swollen eyes. Perfect.
By the time you arrive at the studio, you already want to crawl into a hole. The receptionist gives you a polite smile before directing you upstairs, and the closer you get to the studio room, the more nervous you become. Not just because this is your debut solo album, but because you’re about to meet with 3Racha for the very first time, looking like you got hit by a truck emotionally and physically.
You knock softly before pushing the door open. Inside, Bang Chan looks up first from behind the mixing desk. His expression immediately shifts.
“Oh,” he says gently. “You okay?”
You instinctively straighten up. “Yep.”
There’s a beat where you all look at each other, and you can see the two older men trying to decide whether they should say something or not. Changbin makes the decision for them.
“Nope,” says Changbin from the couch, eyeing you with alarming accuracy. “You look like you fought a bear.”
Despite yourself, a laugh escapes you, but it’s rough and tired.
“Feels like it.”
The tension eases after that. Chan welcomes you in and gets you tea without asking what happened. Changbin makes terrible jokes as he sets his notebook beside yours. Neither of them pry, which somehow makes you feel even more grateful.
You settle into the studio slowly, headphones around your neck, lyric sheets spread over your lap. The session starts casually — melodies, concepts, talking through the emotional direction of the album. You’re halfway through explaining an idea when the studio door bursts open.
“Sorry! Sorry, traffic was hell—”
You look up and feel your heart flutter in your chest.
Han walks in with his backpack hanging off one shoulder, slightly out of breath, hair messy beneath a cap. Somehow, he looks exactly like every charming behind-the-scenes clip you’ve ever secretly replayed and also nothing like them at all. In person, he’s warmer… realer.
His eyes land on you immediately. “Oh— hi.” His whole face brightens. “You’re finally here.”
Finally here. Like he’d actually been looking forward to meeting you.
You try not to stare. “Hi,” you manage.
Chan snorts quietly from across the room, noticing the sudden weird energy between the two artists in front of him. He sneaks a glance at Changbin to see that he’s smirking, too.
Han drops into the seat beside you like you’ve known each other for years instead of minutes. He apologises for being late on three separate occasions, offers you snacks from his bag, and immediately asks about your musical influences with genuine interest rather than industry politeness.
As the session progresses, you decide that the scariest thing is how he listens to everything you say. Completely. When you speak about the album, he watches you like your thoughts matter. When you mention wanting your songs to sound “messy in an honest way,” his eyes light up like he understands exactly what you mean.
By lunchtime, the session is flowing effortlessly.
By mid-afternoon, you’re laughing - actually laughing- and the night before starts to feel like a distant memory.
Han keeps throwing out melody ideas while absentmindedly tapping rhythms against the desk with his rings. Every now and then, he says something so unexpectedly insightful that it catches you off guard. Other times, he’s ridiculous and dramatic, and Changbin threatens to mute his microphone permanently.
And every time he grins at you after making you laugh, your stomach betrays you. You hate it, because this — this easy warmth blooming in your chest — feels dangerously close to something you haven’t felt in a long time. You feel seen, but you also feel like a hypocrite. Had you not just argued with Wooyoung the night before about how he flirted with others? And now here you were, with butterflies in your stomach from another man.
Near the end of the session, you’re both leaning over the same lyric sheet, shoulders almost touching as you discuss the final verse.
“What if,” Han says softly, scribbling something out, “instead of just saying ‘some things just ain’t meant to be’… you make it more personal?” You glance at him, but he keeps writing as he talks. “Like…” He pauses, then reads quietly, “‘some things just ain’t meant to be, kinda like you and me.’”
The room goes silent for a second. You don’t know what to say, because it’s too accurate. Your chest tightens, and you clench your hands together to stop them from shaking. Slowly, Han looks up, and there’s this strange flicker in his expression — like he knows that line came from somewhere real for you. Something vulnerable passes between you both before Chan claps his hands loudly from the mixing desk.
“Okaaay,” he says, pointing between the two of you. “You’re either writing the best heartbreak song of the year or about to destroy this girl emotionally.”
Changbin wheezes, laughing, and you feel heat rush to your face while Han drops his head, grinning sheepishly. But later, when the session finally ends, and everyone starts packing up, Han walks beside you to the lift.
“You did really well today,” he says quietly.
You blink at him. “Even looking like this?”
He looks genuinely confused. “Like what?”
“A sleep paralysis demon.”
He laughs warmly and shakes his head. “No,” he says softly. “You looked sad.”
The lift doors open and you realise two things at once:
Your boyfriend has never looked at you that carefully, and,
Working with Han is going to become a very serious problem.
The studio always seemed to smell faintly of burnt coffee and overheated equipment, and you had slowly begun to associate it with exhaustion.
For the last week, nearly every waking hour had been spent tucked into one of the cramped rooms with 3Racha, chasing melodies despite your sleepless nights, scribbling half-finished lyrics across notebooks and phone notes. Chan kept everyone moving with relentless energy, Changbin bounced between intensity and chaos, and Han—
Han was noticing things.
“Hey.”
You blinked hard, pulled back from whatever fog you’d disappeared into. Han was sitting cross-legged in the swivel chair beside you, one headphone hanging around his neck. His voice was soft enough not to startle.
“You disappeared on me again.”
“Sorry.” You rubbed at your eyes quickly. “Just tired.”
He didn’t push. He never did. Your boyfriend would’ve rolled his eyes by now. He would’ve told you to stop being dramatic and asked why you were acting weird again. Han only nudged a bottle of water toward you, looking concerned.
“You haven’t touched this in like two hours.”
You laughed weakly through your nose. “Are you keeping track?”
“A little,” he admitted, smiling.
The smile hit you harder than it should’ve.
Across the studio, Chan stretched and announced he was starving, dragging Changbin out with him to pick up lunch before anyone passed out. The second the door slammed shut behind them, silence settled over the room. It wasn’t awkward silence; it was just a peaceful silence shared between friends.
Han spun slowly in his chair, glancing at you. “You okay?”
The automatic answer rose immediately. Yeah, I’m fine. But with the look in Han’s eyes, it caught somewhere in your throat. You stared down at your notebook instead, and the lyrics blurred as tears came to your eyes. You were so tired of everything – tired of the arguments you had with your boyfriend, the back-and-forth, the constant second-guessing of whether he was where he said he was.
Han’s expression changed almost instantly, a look of alarm coming to his face. “You don’t have to tell me anything,” he said carefully, “but… you look really exhausted lately.”
Your fingers tightened around your pen. “It’s just…” You exhaled shakily. “Things at home.”
He stayed quiet, waiting, giving you space instead of demanding answers. You felt your mind race as you tried to decide where to begin. You laughed suddenly, bitter and small, realising you didn’t even have the energy for that. “Do you ever get so tired that you stop feeling like a person?”
Han frowned slightly. “Yeah.”
“I think I’m getting there, or… might already be there.” The words slipped out before you could stop them. “He’s been… disappearing, lately.” Your voice stayed fixed on the notebook because looking at Han felt impossible now. “He’s late replying, if he even replies at all. He goes out and stays out until the next morning. He doesn’t even seem to see me anymore unless I’m trying to leave.”
Han didn’t interrupt once.
“He says I make him act like that.” Your throat tightened. “And maybe I do. I don’t know anymore.”
“You don’t,” Han said immediately. The firmness startled you enough to finally look up. You could see his jaw tighten. “You don’t make someone treat you badly,” he said, shaking his head.
Your chest ached, and you looked away again before he could see it on your face. “It’s stupid,” you muttered. “I keep thinking if I just tried harder, spent less time here, maybe—”
“No.” Softer this time. “Don’t do that to yourself.”
Something inside you cracked quietly at the words, because he sounded so certain, so unlike the voice you heard at home.
You pressed the heels of your hands into your eyes, laughing once in a way that sounded dangerously close to crying. “This is embarrassing.”
“It’s not.”
“I swear,” you said shakily, “if crying was fun, I’d be having the time of my life.”
Han’s face fell - not dramatically, not performatively - just genuine hurt on your behalf. And somehow that hurt more than anything because your boyfriend barely reacted anymore when you cried.
Han leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “How long has it been like this?”
You swallowed.
“A while.”
“And you’ve been dealing with it alone?”
You shrugged because the alternative was admitting how lonely you’d become.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air conditioner hummed softly overhead, and somewhere outside the studio, someone laughed in the hallway.
Han looked down at his hands before speaking again. “You know,” he said quietly, “every time you come in here looking so tired, I keep hoping someone’s taking care of you when you leave.”
Your breath caught, but he carried on.
“But hearing this…” He shook his head faintly. “I don’t think they are.”
The kindness in his voice nearly undid you completely. You stared at him, suddenly overwhelmed by how careful he always was with you. The way he noticed your moods before you even spoke. The way he guided you back during recording when your thoughts drifted too far away. The quiet encouragement after every take.
Good job.
That sounded beautiful.
You should believe in yourself more.
Tiny things that felt enormous after months of being made to feel small.
Han must’ve noticed the panic rising in your expression because his voice softened again. “You deserve to feel safe with someone.”
Your eyes burned instantly, and you looked away, trying to hide your swollen eyes and puffy cheeks.
He hesitated before adding, quieter still, “You know that, right?”
You wanted to say yes. Instead, more tears slipped free before you could stop them. Han reacted immediately, sliding the tissue box across the desk without making a big deal out of it. He wasn’t awkward about it, and there was no frustration on his face as you struggled to stop crying. He was patient, sitting close to you as he waited for you to get it out of your system. And when you finally covered your face in humiliation, laughing through tears, he said gently:
“Hey.”
You looked up.
“You don’t have to pretend you’re okay here.”
You tried to trick yourself into believing that your feelings for Han were still innocent after that.
The day you opened up to Han in the studio, he’d lingered awkwardly after Chan and Changbin returned with food, like he was trying to decide whether he was overstepping. Then, while the two men were distracted unpacking bags and arguing over stolen fries, he’d quietly held his phone out toward you.
“Can I give you my number?”
You’d blinked at him.
“Just in case,” he added quickly. “You sounded like you needed someone.”
Your chest had tightened painfully at how sincere he looked. So, you gave him your phone and watched as he saved his number under “Hannie”. And somehow, after that, he slipped quietly into your life in all the spaces your boyfriend had slowly abandoned.
At first, it was a simple text after studio sessions.
You did really well today :)
That bridge you wrote is still stuck in my head.
Don’t overthink the high note. You sounded good.
Then it became:
Did you eat yet?
Go drink water before you answer this.
You’re still awake, aren’t you?
You’d find yourself smiling at your phone in dark rooms after the rare, always miserable evenings with Wooyoung. Sometimes, after arguments that left your chest aching and your confidence shattered, there’d be a message waiting for you from Han like he somehow sensed when things were bad.
Get home safe.
Proud of you today.
Don’t be so hard on yourself, okay?
Nobody had taken care of you gently in a long time, and Han was gentle with you constantly.
The dangerous part was how natural it became.
Your days slowly began to revolve around the studio. You’d arrive in the afternoons to work with 3Racha and somehow always end up beside Han without meaning to. On the couch during playback sessions. Shoulder-to-shoulder in front of the computer monitor. Knees bumping beneath tables cluttered with notebooks and empty coffee cups.
At first, you thought you were imagining it. But then you started noticing how he always made room for you specifically. If Changbin sat beside you first, Han would drag another chair over anyway. If there wasn’t enough space on the couch, he’d squeeze in close instead of sitting elsewhere. Every tiny movement brought him brushing against you — his shoulder against yours, his arm nudging yours while reaching for a pen, his thigh pressed warm against yours under the desk.
And he never moved away quickly… But neither did you.
One night, Chan had stepped out to take a call while Changbin disappeared to the vending machines downstairs. You and Han stayed hunched over lyric sheets together in the dim studio lighting, exhaustion softening everything around the edges. You were staring blankly at your notebook again when Han nudged your knee lightly with his own.
“You disappeared.”
You huffed quietly. “You say that a lot.”
“Because you do it a lot.”
His voice carried that familiar warmth now. He sounded comfortable. Fond, your brain supplied, but you pushed that traitorous voice away.
You looked sideways at him. “Maybe I just like it better in my head.”
Han studied you carefully for a second. Then, softer: “I think people have made you feel lonely for too long.”
Your breath caught. He said things like that sometimes, quiet observations that landed directly in your chest. Before you could answer, he reached over and gently tapped your notebook.
“Read me that line again.”
You stumbled through the lyrics self-consciously while he listened intently, chin resting against his hand. The whole time, his thigh stayed pressed against yours beneath the table, solid and warm and grounding.
When you finished, Han smiled immediately. “That’s beautiful.”
You rolled your eyes weakly. “You say that about everything I write.”
“Because everything you write sounds honest.”
The way he looked at you after saying it made your stomach twist. His gaze wasn’t lustful; it wasn’t even romantic. It was just… intense. He paid attention to every small thing you said. It should’ve all felt harmless, but lately, nothing about Han felt harmless anymore.
Especially not when you got home at night and found yourself waiting for his messages more eagerly than your boyfriend’s.
Especially not when your phone lit up at 1am with Did you make it home? and somehow that simple question made you feel more cared for than you had in months. Or when you replied: Yeah. You should sleep though. And Han answered almost instantly: After you do.
The line between friendship and something far more dangerous had begun to blur so gradually that you barely noticed it happening. Until one evening in the studio, when everyone burst into laughter at something Changbin said, and you instinctively turned toward Han at the exact same moment he turned toward you.
Your faces ended up inches apart - close enough to feel his breath, and close enough that the laughter around you faded into background noise entirely. Neither of you moved immediately. And for one long, aching second as his eyes dropped to your mouth, you thought he might kiss you.
The almost-kiss haunted you for days.
You replayed it constantly against your will — the warmth of Han’s breath, the way his eyes had dropped briefly to your mouth before snapping back up again, the awful moment where neither of you had moved away. You’d wanted him to kiss you, and that was the problem.
You had gone home that night sick with guilt, because no matter how awful your relationship had become, no matter how many times your boyfriend had hurt you, cheated on you, made you cry until your chest physically hurt—
You were still with him.
And somewhere along the way, your feelings for Han had stopped being innocent.
Wooyoung noticed the shift immediately. Maybe because you’d been distant, maybe because you’d started smiling at your phone without realising. Or maybe because people in the industry eventually noticed everything.
The confrontation happened three nights later.
“You and Han seem close lately.”
You’d looked up sharply from where you sat on his couch, your stomach instantly dropping. His expression looked casual, almost too casual.
“What?”
“I heard you’ve been spending a lot of time with him.”
Your pulse pounded hard enough to hurt. “It’s work.”
“Mhm.”
That sound. That dismissive little hum. You hated how quickly it made you defensive.
“We’re writing together,” you said carefully.
“You seem to write together a lot.”
The implication made heat crawl up your neck. Nothing had happened… but it almost had, and somehow that made you feel even guiltier. He leaned back against the sofa, studying you.
“You know,” he said lightly, “it’s funny.” You stayed quiet, waiting for him to continue. “You spent months crying over me talking to other girls, but now suddenly you’re attached to another guy all the time?”
The words hit like a slap, and you were shaking your head before he could finish. “I’m not attached—”
“Then why’s everyone talking about it?”
Your throat tightened instantly; you didn’t know how to answer that.
He sighed dramatically, rubbing a hand over his face like you were exhausting him. “I just didn’t think you were that kind of person.”
And somehow, despite everything he’d done to you, shame flooded your body immediately. You could feel your eyes getting wet as you replied, “I’m not.”
“Then maybe stop acting like it.”
You barely slept that night, and by the next studio session, panic had settled deep inside your chest. Panic about losing him despite everything he’d done, about your life potentially crumbling around you because of your own poor choices.
So, you did the only thing you could do. You started pulling away.
You stopped automatically sitting beside Han. When you needed feedback on lyrics, you went to Chan instead. When Changbin offered to help with production adjustments, you latched onto it gratefully just to avoid being alone with Han. You could tell that the older members were confused by the change in attitude, but they didn’t say anything, simply choosing to share confused looks when they thought you weren’t looking.
Out of it all, it was your texts that hurt the most, because he kept texting like nothing had changed at first, despite your new distance at the studio.
Did you eat?
You looked tired today :(
You left your hoodie here again lol
You started taking hours to answer, sometimes not replying at all. You could practically feel his confusion through the screen at the sudden frostiness, and your heart broke at the thought of doing this until he stopped texting one day. But you had to, because Wooyoung was right. You’d been a hypocrite.
Inside the studio, the atmosphere changed quickly as soon as Han realised these new changes were seemingly permanent.
You caught him watching you constantly now, brows furrowed whenever you drifted toward Chan instead of him. Every time you slipped out of conversations early. Every time you quietly moved your chair further away. And still, he kept trying. He’d save the seat beside him automatically before realising you weren’t going to take it. He’d turn to make a joke to you first before remembering you’d barely spoken to him all day.
The hurt in his eyes every single time made you feel sick.
Then one evening, after Chan and Changbin finally left for the night, Han stopped you before you could escape, too.
“Can we talk?”
Your heart dropped instantly, and your hands froze where they had been packing your things away. The studio suddenly felt too small. Han stood near the desk, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, looking more nervous than you’d ever seen him.
“What’s going on?”
You forced yourself to stay calm. “Nothing’s going on.”
“That’s not true.”
His voice wasn’t angry, just confused. Hurt. “You’ve barely looked at me all week.”
“I’ve just been busy.”
“For me specifically?”
You looked away immediately, and Han exhaled shakily, shifting on his feet.
“Did I do something?”
The genuine confusion in his voice almost broke you.
“No.”
“Then why are you acting like you can’t stand being around me anymore?”
Your chest physically ached because you didn’t want distance from Han at all. You wanted too much closeness. And that terrified you.
You wrapped your arms tightly around yourself. “I think maybe I’ve been too comfortable here.”
Han frowned. “What does that mean?”
“I’m taking up too much of your time,” you said quickly. “I just want to finish the songs and stop being such a burden.”
Han's eyes went wide, and he stared at you like you’d said something unbelievable. “A burden?”
“You already have your own schedules and work and—”
“Hey.” His voice softened immediately. “You’re not a burden to us.”
You swallowed hard.
“To me,” he corrected quietly.
The sincerity in his face made it almost impossible to continue lying, and you could feel your hands starting to shake as he stepped closer to you slowly.
“I like being around you.”
Your pulse stumbled as he stopped in front of you, close enough that a sudden intake of breath would have your chests touching.
“I love being around you,” he murmured.
The room went painfully silent. It wasn’t a confession, not explicitly. But it was enough for your panic to surge violently, your boyfriend’s words echoing viciously in your head.
I didn’t think you were that kind of person.
You took a step backwards, and Han froze instantly. You decided then that you wouldn’t stop yearning for him, that you wouldn’t stop being a hypocrite, unless you made him stop.
You made your face go cold. “I think we’ve been unprofessional.”
The words visibly hit him, and your heart shattered in your chest as he stepped back. You forced yourself to continue anyway.
“This whole thing got too personal, and it made me uncomfortable.”
Han stared at you like he genuinely didn’t recognise the person standing in front of him anymore.
“You’re uncomfortable around me?”
You hated how quietly he asked it, but you nodded anyway, believing this was for the best.
The silence afterwards felt unbearable, and you struggled to keep your face impassive and your breathing steady. Han looked down briefly, jaw tightening hard enough that you could see the muscle flicker. When he finally spoke again, his voice sounded smaller somehow.
“Okay.”
Your chest cracked open, but you stayed still because if you moved, you thought you might start crying.
Han gave one short nod like he was trying desperately to compose himself. “Got it.”
He walked past you toward the studio door, and you expected him to leave straightaway, but he paused in the doorway.
His back was still to you as he mumbled, “I wish you’d just told me the truth.”
And then he left.
The door clicked shut behind him softly. You stood there frozen in the middle of the empty studio, surrounded by unfinished songs and dim lights and the lingering warmth of someone you’d just hurt terribly. And for the first time in a long time, the loneliness felt entirely self-inflicted.
You almost didn’t go back to the studio the next day. You sat in your car outside the building for nearly twenty minutes with your hands clenched around the steering wheel so tightly your knuckles hurt. Every instinct in your body screamed at you to turn around and leave before you had to face the consequences of what you’d done.
Because for the first time in a long time, the ache in your chest wasn’t because of your boyfriend. It was because of you.
You’d barely slept after hurting Han. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw the look on his face when you said you felt uncomfortable. You heard the way his voice had gone quiet afterwards when he’d wished for the truth. You wondered if he hated you now? Part of you thought he should, but a bigger part selfishly hoped that he didn’t.
When you finally forced yourself upstairs and pushed open the studio door, Chan and Changbin were already there, and neither of them greeted you the way they normally did. There was no loud teasing from Changbin and no bright smile from Chan. Just silence. It was impossible to ignore the atmosphere, and you knew instantly that Han had told them what had happened.
Your stomach dropped.
Chan glanced up from the computer briefly before looking back down again. Changbin leaned against the couch with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. You’d never realised before how protective they were of Han until now. They weren’t just friends, they were family to each other. And you had hurt one of their own.
“Morning,” you said weakly.
Changbin muttered a greeting back, and Chan only nodded.
The entire session felt unbearable. You tried focusing on lyrics spread across the desk, but your eyes kept drifting toward the studio door every few minutes without meaning to. Every creak in the hallway made your heart jump before sinking again. You hated yourself for it, because you were the one who pushed him away. Still, some awful part of you kept hoping he’d walk in anyway. Maybe because if he came, it would mean he didn’t completely hate you yet.
Another hour passed, then another and Han never appeared. Eventually, Chan sighed quietly from across the desk.
“He’s not coming anymore.”
The words landed heavily in the room, and you looked up too fast for someone who claimed to be uninterested. “What?”
Chan finally met your eyes fully for the first time all day. “Han,” he said gently. “He’s not coming to these sessions anymore.”
Your throat tightened instantly, but you forced yourself to look confused. “Oh.”
Changbin made an incredulous sound under his breath. “Oh?” he repeated. “That’s all you’ve got?”
“Changbin,” Chan warned softly.
“No, seriously.” Changbin pushed himself upright, frustration written all over his face. “What happened?”
You stared down at the notebook in front of you. “Nothing happened.”
Both men looked unconvinced from the start, and Chan carefully leaned back in his chair.
“We’re not stupid.”
Heat crept up your neck as Changbin rolled his chair over to sit beside Chan, both sets of eyes fixed on you.
“We could see what was going on between you two,” Changbin added bluntly. “Everyone could.”
Your heart stuttered painfully as you tried to disagree. “There was nothing going on.”
“Then why’d you tell him he made you uncomfortable?”
The shame hit instantly, and you swallowed hard, hit again by the image of Han looking so hurt. “Because I was being unprofessional.”
Changbin actually laughed once at that, completely disbelieving. “Come on.”
You stayed silent, not wanting to discuss it with them because you knew you were close to breaking, to spilling everything.
Chan’s voice softened. “He really liked you.”
The words hurt far more than they should have, and you shifted in your seat as you felt your heart start to race.
“He would come home talking about you constantly,” Chan continued carefully. “He hasn’t done that in a long time.”
You blinked rapidly at the table.
“And then suddenly he comes back looking miserable because apparently you don’t even want him near you anymore.” Changbin shook his head. “None of it makes sense.”
Your chest tightened painfully enough that breathing became difficult, because it didn’t make sense. Not even to you.
Chan watched you for a long moment before speaking again. “Did he do something?”
Your head snapped up immediately. “No.”
The answer came too fast, too honest, and both men noticed.
Changbin frowned slightly. “Then what is it?”
You opened your mouth. Closed it again. How could you possibly explain this without sounding awful? Without admitting that somewhere along the line, you’d started caring about Han too much while still trapped inside another relationship?
Chan’s expression shifted subtly as he studied you. Then, quietly, he asked the question you had been waiting for, hoping for.
“Did your boyfriend say something?”
Your composure cracked immediately. Your eyes burned, and suddenly you were exhausted. Too exhausted to keep pretending anymore.
You looked down at your hands in your lap and whispered, “He heard about Han and me spending time together.”
Neither interrupted, but you saw them lean forward from the corner of your eye to hear you better.
“He made me feel like…” You swallowed hard. “Like I was becoming the kind of person he is.”
Chan’s face softened instantly, and you laughed shakily, wiping angrily at your eyes before tears could fall.
“Which is stupid, because nothing even happened.”
“But you wanted it to,” Changbin said quietly.
The honesty of it made your chest ache, and you nodded once, ashamed.
“I started comparing them,” you admitted. “And I hated myself for it.”
The room stayed silent as they waited for you to continue. Both men could finally see the truth behind the mask you’d worn when you walked in.
You stared at the floor as the words finally spilt out after being trapped inside you for weeks.
“Han notices when I’m tired. He listens when I talk. He makes me feel…” Your voice broke softly. “Important.” You laughed bitterly. “My boyfriend barely even looks at me anymore unless he’s guilty.”
Chan looked devastated for you, and somehow that made it easier to continue.
“When my boyfriend found out how close we’d become, he made me feel disgusting for it,” you whispered. “So, I thought maybe if I pushed Han away hard enough, things would go back to normal.”
Changbin sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his face.
“But instead… I just hurt him,” you finished quietly.
Nobody spoke for a moment before Chan asked the question you’d spent the past year of your relationship avoiding.
“Why are you still with him?”
Your chest tightened instantly, and you stared blankly ahead. “I don’t know.”
“That’s not true,” Chan said gently.
Your eyes filled despite yourself. “Because I feel like I can’t leave.”
The admission sounded pathetic out loud. But it was true.
“He’s been my entire life for two years.” Your voice shook. “And every time I try imagining leaving, it feels impossible.”
You wrapped your arms tightly around yourself.
“Like I’m trapped.”
Chan’s gaze softened immediately. “In what way?”
You exhaled shakily. “Like I’m stuck inside a cage,” you whispered. “And every time I think I’ve found the door, something pulls me back in again.”
Silence settled heavily afterwards. Then unexpectedly, Chan smiled. It wasn’t mocking ot dismissive, just gentle.
“Maybe,” he said softly, “Han was trying to be your key.”
Your breath caught instantly.
Changbin nodded quietly beside him. “And maybe he still wants to be.”
The ache in your chest became unbearable then. Because for the first time, you realised the thing terrifying you most wasn’t losing your boyfriend.
It was the possibility that you’d already lost Han instead.
The studio fell quiet after Chan’s words.
Maybe Han was trying to be your key.
The thought lodged itself painfully somewhere deep in your chest, impossible to ignore. Your hands trembled slightly in your lap as you stared blankly at the lyric sheets scattered across the desk. Everything suddenly felt too sharp, too loud, too real.
Then your phone buzzed, the sound making all three of you glance downward instinctively. Your stomach twisted the second you saw Wooyoung’s name across the screen.
A message preview lit up your lockscreen:
baby, they’re just rumours. i promise. the pictures are edited.
You stared at the words, and something inside you finally snapped - not painfully but quietly. Cleanly. Because suddenly you were just… tired. Tired of lies, of crying. Tired of waiting for him to become the person he used to pretend to be, of feeling guilty for wanting kindness.
You thought you’d feel devastated seeing that text. Instead, you felt nothing at all. Just clarity.
Chan noticed the shift in your expression immediately. “You okay?”
Slowly, you looked up. And for the first time in months, your answer was honest.
“No,” you said calmly. “But I think I’m about to be.”
Changbin blinked. Before either of them could ask what you meant, you were already standing abruptly, grabbing your bag so quickly your chair nearly tipped backwards.
“I need to go.”
Chan frowned slightly. “Go where?”
You looked down at your phone one last time, then locked the screen.
“To finally leave him.”
The silence afterwards lasted half a second before Changbin broke into a stunned grin. “About damn time.”
Even Chan looked relieved. You laughed shakily despite yourself, already halfway to the door. And as you left, Chan called after you softly:
“Don’t lose your nerve.”
You wouldn’t. Not this time. You finally had your key.
The drive home felt surreal. Your heartbeat pounded hard enough to make your hands shake, but beneath the nerves, there was something else blooming quietly for the first time in years.
Freedom.
You stormed through your apartment gathering every single thing that belonged to Wooyoung with frantic energy — hoodies, chargers, shoes, random toiletries abandoned in your bathroom. You carelessly shoved everything into bags, not even bothering to fold anything properly.
At some point, you caught sight of yourself in the mirror. Messy hair. Dark circles. Determined eyes. You barely recognised yourself.
Good.
Then you hauled the bags into your car and drove straight to his apartment before you could lose momentum.
The whole way there, your mind kept trying to panic. What if he cries again? What if he convinces you to stay? What if you regret this? But underneath every fearful thought was another one now.
What if freedom feels better than this?
By the time you reached his apartment, your pulse was racing violently. You barely knocked before shoving the door open with your spare key. And immediately stopped.
Your boyfriend stood frozen near the kitchen, and he wasn’t alone. A woman sat on the couch behind him, wearing one of his hoodies and not much else. For a second, nobody moved. You saw the moment the girl’s eyes widened in horror, and Wooyoung went pale. And then, unexpectedly—
You laughed. Actually laughed. Not hysterically, not heartbreakingly. Just completely, utterly done.
Your boyfriend stared at you in confusion. “Baby—”
“Oh my god,” you laughed again, dropping the bags of his things onto the floor with a heavy thud. “This is perfect.”
“It’s not what it looks like.”
The line was so cliché it almost made you laugh harder. The girl looked mortified already, scrambling to grab her things. You barely even acknowledged her. Because for the first time, you realised none of this was about her, or the others before her. It was about him, and you were finally exhausted enough to stop carrying the weight of his choices.
“She’s nobody,” he said quickly, stepping toward you. “I swear.”
You walked past him calmly toward the bedroom. “I literally do not care anymore.”
He followed after you immediately, panic rising in his voice as you started gathering your belongings from drawers and shelves with brisk efficiency. “Can you just listen to me?”
“Nope.”
“You’re seriously overreacting right now.”
That made you pause. Slowly, you turned toward him, and suddenly you saw everything clearly.
The manipulation. The excuses. The endless cycle.
All of it looked pathetic now.
“I spent two years begging you to love me properly,” you said quietly. “And you made me feel crazy for wanting basic respect.”
His expression faltered.
You grabbed the last of your things. “You know what’s funny?” you continued. “I thought leaving you would destroy me.”
“Baby—”
“But honestly?” You shrugged lightly. “I feel great.”
His face twisted desperately then, realising too late that this time was different. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do.”
You slung your bag over your shoulder.
And just before walking past him, you smiled sweetly. “You’re dumped.”
Then you left. Just like that. No tears. No begging. No looking back.
The cool night air hit your face as you stepped outside his building, breathing hard like you’d just escaped something burning. Your hands shook violently now that it was over, but underneath the adrenaline, your chest felt strangely light. Like the cage door had finally swung open.
And suddenly, there was only one thought left in your mind.
Han.
You had to find Han.
You drove to the studio first, of course. It’s where this all began, and you were hoping it was where it would continue. Your heart pounded the entire way there, hands trembling against the steering wheel as every possible outcome fought through your head at once.
Maybe he wouldn’t want to see you.
Maybe you’d hurt him too badly.
Maybe you were too late.
The building was quieter than usual when you rushed inside, taking the stairs two at a time because waiting for the elevator felt unbearable. Your lungs burned by the time you reached the familiar hallway.
The studio's lights were off. It was empty.
Your stomach dropped, and you stood there staring through the small glass window in the door, chest heaving, disappointment crashing over you so fast it almost made you dizzy.
Where was he?
Your phone buzzed, and you nearly dropped it as you pulled it from your pocket. It was a message from Chan, knowing just what you needed at the perfect time.
Roof.
You didn’t even stop to answer. You’d thank him later, in person.
The rooftop door slammed open loudly as you burst through it into the cool night air.
And there he was.
Han sat alone near the edge of the rooftop with headphones around his neck and a notebook balanced on one knee. The city lights painted everything around him gold and silver in the dark. For a second, he didn’t notice you, and then he looked up. And froze.
You stopped a few feet away, suddenly unable to breathe properly.
Han stood slowly, confusion written all over his face. “What are you doing here?”
Your eyes burned immediately, and without thinking, you blurted out, “I broke up with him.”
Shock flickered across his expression. “What?”
“I left him.” Your voice shook. “I finally left him.”
Han stared at you silently, like he didn’t quite believe what he was hearing.
You laughed shakily, wiping quickly at your eyes. “And then I realised the only person I wanted to tell was you.”
Something in Han’s face softened painfully, but he still looked guarded. Careful. He’d never looked like that before, and your heart broke knowing that you'd done that to him.
“You hurt me,” he admitted quietly.
The honesty hit straight through your chest. “I know.” You stepped closer slowly. “I know I did.”
Han looked away briefly, jaw tightening. “When you said you were uncomfortable around me…” He exhaled shakily. “Do you know how much that messed with my head?”
Guilt crashed through you instantly. “I lied.”
“I figured.”
Your throat tightened. “I was scared,” you whispered. “Not of you. Never of you.”
Han finally looked back at you then. You could see the hurt still lingering there beneath everything else.
“My boyfriend made me feel guilty for caring about you,” you admitted softly. “And instead of facing what I felt, I pushed you away because I thought it would fix things.” A humourless laugh escaped you. “It didn’t.”
The wind moved softly around both of you, carrying the distant sounds of the city below. Han stayed quiet for a long moment before asking, “Do you know what the worst part was?”
You shook your head slightly.
“I believed you.”
Your chest cracked open all over again.
“He spent so long making you feel small,” Han continued quietly, “that when you suddenly started avoiding me, I thought maybe I’d imagined everything between us.”
“You didn’t.” The answer came instantly, certain.
Han’s eyes searched yours carefully, and for the first time, you didn’t look away.
“I tried so hard not to fall for you,” you admitted.
His breath caught softly.
“But every time you checked if I’d eaten, every time you stayed beside me in the studio, every time you looked at me like I mattered…” Your voice broke slightly. “I did anyway.”
The silence afterwards felt enormous.
Then Han laughed quietly to himself, shaking his head once. “You seriously waited until after destroying me emotionally to say all this?”
A startled laugh escaped you through your tears. “I’m sorry.”
“You should be.”
But he was smiling now - small. Fond. Relieved. Your heart stumbled painfully at the sight of it. Han stepped toward you slowly until barely any space remained between you, close enough that you could feel warmth radiating from him in the cold night air.
“You know,” he murmured softly, “I was trying really hard not to kiss you right now.”
Your breath caught. “Who says you have to try?”
Something shifted in his expression then. You could see the relief, the affection, the want.
Warm hands cupped your face gently like you were something precious, something worth being careful with. The kiss itself was soft at first — almost hesitant — like he was still giving you the chance to pull away. You didn’t. Instead, you grabbed fistfuls of his hoodie and kissed him back with everything you’d been holding in for months. All the loneliness, the wanting, the relief. Han made a quiet sound against your mouth before pulling you closer, arms wrapping tightly around your waist like he never wanted to let go again.
When you finally broke apart, both of you breathless, he rested his forehead against yours and laughed softly.
“There you are.”
Three simple words, and somehow they undid you more than anything else. Your eyes filled immediately, and Han smiled gently, brushing his thumb beneath one of them before the tear could fall.
“No more cages,” he whispered.
For the first time in a very long time, you believed him.
a/n: I want me some Hannie in my life. Part Two will be this week, and I'm gonna throw some real shit at the fan 😈 if you want tagging lmk in the comments!
I appreciate any and all interactions with my work xo
how do they react when you call them baby boy, seemingly out of nowhere ?
note: couldn't wait to post pt 2 sooooo here it isss
hyung line here !
jisung sits up and sniffles, trying to hide his tears and hiccups behind his hands. his lips snap shut when you stir beside him, rolling over to face him. moonlight filters through the curtains, illuminating your face enough that he realizes you’re awake and looking at him through cracked eyes.
“jisung, honey, what’s wrong?” he wipes his eyes again, moving his face to the side, trying to hide it from you. you sit up next to him, taking his chin between gentle fingers, “look at me?”
he does, he turns his face in your hold, eyes downcast. a tear slips onto your hand but you pay it no mind. jisung heaves a breath, then looks at you with a fake smile. “i-i’m fine! go back to bed,” he tries.
you swipe your thumb over his bottom lip, “not a chance, please tell me what’s wrong?” he looks up at you, teary eyed, and shuffles closer, laying his head on your shoulder as you wrap your arms around him.
“bad dream. really bad, i-it-” another sniffle, “it just felt so real, i don’t think my body could tell it wasn’t,” you let him speak, laying back and guiding him to lay his head on your chest.
you run a soothing hand down his back, letting him play with the other, “do you want to talk more about it?”
he chuckles lightly, “i think if i do, i’ll cry again.” he shifts, tucking his head fully under your chin, breathing warm against your skin.
you reach down and fix the blanket, throwing it over the two of you, “okay, baby boy.” you kiss his forehead, “go back to sleep, we have a busy day tomorrow.” he’s out like a light seconds later.
he wakes in the morning to the memory of you sweetly calling him baby boy, not the dream that scared him from his sleep. he bites his lip with a small smile, you’re stuck calling him that now, he figures.
felix sighs, pulling a sleep shirt over his head. by sleep shirt, it means it’s a shirt of yours that he’s stolen and claimed as his own. the day wore on him like boulder on his shoulders, he’s ready to crash into bed and not rise for three whole days.
he washes his face and brushes his teeth in the connecting bathroom before shuffling over and falling flat onto the bed. he shifts around until he’s comfortable, head on his pillow, tucked into the blankets. but there’s something on his mind he can’t seem to shake.
the bedroom door cracks open, revealing you in your day clothes still. “long day?” you say in unison, making the other giggle. you both nod, ready to let sleep take you both over.
“let me wash up, i’ll be back soon,” felix hums as you saunter into the connected bathroom where he was minutes ago.
you shower quickly and brush your teeth, ready to crawl into bed alongside your beloved. when you exit the bathroom you find felix still awake, which doesn’t surprise you but he looks conflicted. “what’s wrong, love?” you ask, choosing to sit on the side of the bed beside him. he turns towards you, resting a hand on your back, idly playing with the hem of your shirt.
“not sure, can’t seem to get my mind to turn off,” you tuck a strand of golden hair behind his ear, moving to swipe your thumb across his freckled cheek as you hum.
your fingers dance across his cheeks, over his nose and around his ears, “have i ever told you that you’re so beautiful? my beautiful baby boy.” heat warms his cheeks when he meets your eyes. they’re full of love.
“baby boy? that’s a new one,” he mumbles, tugging you to lay next to him.
you half shrug, careful to not elbow him, “figured i’d give it a shot.”
felix hums again, “say it again.”
“go to sleep, baby boy.”
seungmin never liked when you told him off for hovering around while you worked in the kitchen. he wanted to be around you, help if he could, after being gone all day. “you could get burnt if you’re not careful and i’m cooking,” he opens his mouth to retaliate, “and no, i don’t want your help.” you spin, pushing him backwards by a finger until he hits the island, “what i want is for you to go sit on the couch and relax until it’s done.” seungmin deflates, bottom lip jutting out. you shoo him away, he pouts further but complies either way.
seungmin flopped himself onto the couch, idly watching whatever was on while he waited for you. an episode later, he hears the clink of plates being removed from the cupboard. he sits up, ready to be called upon like he knows you will.
“baby boy, come here, would you?” you called from the kitchen. seungmin’s ears perked up as they warmed. he paces into the kitchen, with his head tilted. “take these to the table?” you hand him two sets of utensils, a smile on your lips. he nods and takes them from you, “thank you sweet boy.”
he sets the plates down, then pauses. he thinks for a minute before marching back into the kitchen, cheeks flaming. seungmin stutters a few times before articulating his thoughts, “what’s with all the nicknames, huh?!” he sounds slightly panicked, his cheeks are not helping as he tries to look insulted.
you dry the spatula in your hand, using it to tilt his chin upwards. “i thought you’d like them,” you sigh, “oh well, back to your name it is, then.” you tap the underside of his chin once then turn to grab both plates of food, ready to set the table properly.
“w-wait no, i…” he trails off.
you hum sweetly, “hmm?”
he whispers as his cheeks flare red. “i liked it.”
jeongin hums to some tune they must have worked on yesterday, something slow and jumpy, as he sits across from you in the driver's seat. you, in the passenger, are content to listen to his humming as he drives you to work. jeongin had insisted earlier that he drive you, since he didn’t get home until late yesterday and wanted to make it up. you’d told him there was nothing to make up, but he wasn’t having any of it.
he takes each turn like a practiced song he knows the entire choreography to, bringing you closer to separating for the day. pedestrians and buildings swim in your field of view but you pay them no mind as you fiddle with some button in his expensive car. “what’s the plan for later?” jeongin’s voice breaks you from your thoughts.
you hum, unlike his song it’s just a quick thing, “not sure, i should be done around five today if you’d like to come get me? maybe we can go out for dinner today.” he smiles, revealing twin dimples in his cheeks, glancing over to you as he pulls up to the lights just before your work building.
“sounds lovely, i’ll come get you.” he pulls off to the side, putting the car in park.
“then it’s a date, baby boy.” you lean over the console and press a kiss to his cheek, which is warm under your lips. you turn to gather your things, flipping the visor down to check yourself in the tiny mirror as jeongin grasps onto your free arm.
his eyes are slightly wider, looking at you like you’ve just given him the world; they’re swimming with a mix of love and need, “say that again,” he whispers.
you chuckle, and lean over to pat his cheek, “i’ll see you after work, baby boy.”
if jeongin sat parked on the side of the road for twenty minutes contemplating life, that’s no one’s business but his own.
