♡ Author's Note: english is not my first language, so I hope it’s still easy to understand and that the story comes across well. This is just fiction, and I really hope you enjoy reading it. It took me some time to write, so any feedback or comments are welcome — as long as they’re respectful. Thanks for reading! ♡♡♡
♡ Content: romance, angst, summer love, idol x reader, mingyu x reader, secret relationship
Since you were little, you had believed the sea could heal everything. All you needed was to go there, sit on a rock, and watch the sun slowly sink, painting the sky a reddish orange. Just hearing the waves crash against the rocks and feeling the salty droplets on your skin was enough to soothe your soul—little by little.
But now, just feeling the wet sand beneath your feet made you want to cry.
Sitting all afternoon, staring into nothingness, didn’t help anymore. You cried and cried, letting your tears be washed away by the sea.
At this point, all you wanted was for those memories—etched into your skin and burned into your mind—to be washed away too. Because a part of you still wanted to believe that the sea could heal everything. That, with time, it would all become just another story to tell. That the pain in your chest would fade, just like the waves breaking gently on the shore.
You hoped it would fade. Just like he had.
Like that golden-skinned boy who vanished overnight, as if he’d never been there at all.
But you knew it had been real. Because if it hadn’t... why did it hurt so much?
When summer arrived on the island, so did the mornings and evenings you could spend swimming and reading in the sun.
You used to get up early—not moaning in bed like you did during thel year—but jumping out eagerly. You’d dress quickly and, with a simple cloth bag slung over your shoulder, run straight out of the house toward the sea.
You wanted to see the sunrise.
You loved those minutes when darkness slowly turned to light, illuminating the tropical island landscape.
At that hour, there was almost no one outside. Most people were still enjoying the comfort of their beds, and the only sound around was the peaceful rhythm of nature.
When you arrived, you went to your favorite corner of the beach and set your bag down. It didn’t take you long to slip off your pants, leaving just your bikini bottoms and an old T-shirt. You rarely wore the bikini top—it was a habit you’d always had.
The sea looked calm, though a light breeze made you shiver.
Now ready, you walked to the shore and dove in. You swam and swam, letting the cold water wrap around your body. It felt like heaven.
When the sun began to rise, you swam back to where your things were. Even though you were soaking wet, you never used a towel—within minutes, the warmth would dry you off.
You sat on the sand, waiting.
Suddenly, you heard fast footsteps, like someone jogging. You didn’t think much of it—until they got closer.
A shirtless boy, wearing only dark shorts, came running across the beach.
As he passed you, he gave you a slight nod.
But you yelped, realizing your wet T-shirt was now completely see-through. You instinctively covered your chest with your hands.
He stopped and raised his hands in apology.
“I’m sorry, relax—I didn’t see anything,” he said in english, with a foreign accent.
“It’s okay,” you whispered.
But he was still looking at you. Then, from the backpack hanging off his shoulder, he pulled out a dark T-shirt and handed it to you without hesitation.
You didn’t quite understand the gesture. He could’ve just left, let the awkward moment pass—but instead, he offered you his shirt. It was true that, from your few belongings, it was obvious you didn’t have a change of clothes. Still, his action caught you off guard.
You took it, mumbling a quiet “thank you,” and he gave you a soft smile before jogging off as if nothing had happened.
As soon as he disappeared from view, you took off your wet shirt and slipped on his. It was too big for you... and it smelled good.
You felt your cheeks flush. And, for a moment, you wished you’d known who that boy was.
And why, after only a few seconds of interaction... you couldn’t stop thinking about his smile.
The next morning, you wore a full bikini—just in case. You’d be lying if you said that smile hadn’t shown up in your dreams. In fact, that’s all you remembered: that damn perfect smile.
This time, after your swim, you lay on the sand near a palm tree, and in the dim morning light, you began reading a new book you had just bought. You were so absorbed in the story that you didn’t hear the now-familiar sound of footsteps approaching.
But this time, instead of just nodding, he spoke.
“Good morning,” he greeted.
His voice pulled you out of the fictional world you were in, and you looked up just in time to see him smiling again.
He nodded, looking like he was about to continue his run, so you quickly said,
“Thanks for yesterday. I— I don’t have the shirt with me, sorry,” you mumbled.
The truth was, you didn’t want to give it back. Even though you’d only had it for one day, something inside you refused to let it go.
“It’s okay, don’t worry about it. You can keep it,” he said in a calm, casual tone.
“Really? Well… thanks again,” you replied.
He smiled again and kept running.
You wished you’d had the courage to talk more. To hear his voice a little longer.
That night brought one of those typical summer storms—sudden, intense, but brief.
You were having dinner at a small beach bar when the first drops began to fall. Within seconds, the drizzle turned into a heavy downpour, drumming against the earth and sea with surprising force.
Honestly, you didn’t mind getting wet. You could have left at any time and walked home. These summer rains weren’t cold—just warm and drenching.
Still, something inside you wanted to stay, sheltered under the roof of the bar, accompanied only by the sound of the rain.
The place wasn’t very crowded—it was getting late, and at that hour they only served drinks and a few snacks. You were sipping on a cold lemonade, the ice soothing your throat.
Minutes passed. The rain wasn’t letting up.
Then the door opened, letting in a blast of humid air—and a tall figure.
You didn’t need to look closely. It was the morning jogger.
He was wearing a linen shirt and shorts, both completely soaked. His black hair clung to his forehead, and the smile that was usually full of energy now looked tired, almost like a grimace.
The man behind the bar greeted him and made a comment about the weather. He nodded and scanned the room for a place to sit… until he saw you.
And just like that, that smile returned.
He gave you a small wave and sat down at a table not far from yours.
A few minutes went by. You watched him as he read the drink menu with exaggerated focus, like every word mattered.
You noticed him. His broad shoulders, his strong frame… his wet clothes clinging to sun-kissed skin.
He was handsome. And from what little you’d seen of him, he seemed kind too.
Something about him drew you in. But you hesitated to approach. It had been a while since you’d felt this nervous around a guy.
Still… something inside you nudged you forward.
You stood up and walked over to him.
He was still reading when he noticed you, lifting his gaze with bright, curious eyes.
“Hey, what’s up?” he said.
You pointed to the stool beside him.
“Can I?” you asked, clearly wanting to join him.
“What a storm… looks like it got you good,” you said, trying to break the ice. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
He smiled faintly and shook his head.
“No. I’m from Korea. You guessed from how I look?” he asked, half-joking, half-curious.
“Actually… your accent gave you away,” you teased with a smile. “It’s cute. So, you’re here on vacation?”
“A break,” he said, taking a breath.
“Well, this area is pretty quiet. I’m sure you’ll get plenty of rest,” you replied. Then, noticing how focused he still looked, you nodded toward the menu. “You don’t know what to order? You seem very serious about it.”
“I’m still deciding. Any recommendations?”
He looked straight into your eyes when he said it.
That gaze caught you off guard. You had to clear your throat before answering—just to make sure your voice didn’t betray your nerves.
“Well… if you want something with alcohol, the mojitos here are pretty good. But if not, the lemonades are the best.”
“Then a lemonade it is,” he said with playful finality, raising his hand to order one from the bartender.
While he waited, he drummed his fingers lightly on the table. Then he turned back to you.
“What?” you asked, not sure what he meant.
“My name. Mingyu,” he repeated softly, almost shyly—like it was a secret.
“Oh… that’s nice. I’m Y/N.”
“That’s nice too,” he replied, smiling again.
Just then, his drink arrived. You watched him take a sip. His throat moved as he swallowed the cold liquid. He let out a soft, satisfied sigh and gave you a thumbs-up.
The rain started to fade, turning into a gentle murmur in the background.
You watched him quietly, heart racing. Your mind was screaming: Talk to him. Ask him something. Anything.
Because honestly… that’s all you wanted to do.
Great! Here's the final part of your one-shot, polished and natural in tone, keeping your emotion and rhythm intact:
“So… Mingyu, can I ask what this break is about?”
He looked up from his drink and nodded slowly.
“Uh… yeah. It’s a break from work. I don’t usually get long vacations, but this time… they let me stay away longer than usual,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, a little hesitant.
Something about the way he said it made your chest tighten.
“Oh… I see. Well, if it’s something complicated, you don’t have to talk about it. I don’t want to intrude,” you said gently.
“It’s not that. It’s just… people usually don’t ask. I guess I’m not used to talking about it.” He let out a small laugh, the kind people make when they’re trying to shake something off. “Honestly, I needed this break. I’ve needed it for years. But it still feels strange.”
You gave him a reassuring smile.
“They say the sea heals everything,” you said softly. “You’ll be okay here. Enjoy the summer. If you let yourself… everything will fall into place.”
“Yeah?” he asked, like he wanted to believe it.
For almost an hour, you talked—about nothing and everything.
He asked you more about the sea, and you told him what it meant to you: how it felt like therapy, how it brought peace, how it was life itself. He listened intently and told you he’d never thought of the ocean that way before.
As the conversation went on, his smile became more relaxed, more familiar—just like the one you’d seen when he was running.
He apologized a few times for his English, sometimes repeating himself when he couldn’t find the right words. You found it endearing.
When you asked how long he’d be on the island, he said he had a couple of months—then he’d have to return to work.
You didn’t ask what kind of work. Something told you it wasn’t the kind of job people could easily leave behind. But you didn’t push it.
You liked the way his voice sounded when he spoke. Calm. Gentle. It had a rhythm that made you want to keep listening.
Just before you left, he asked if you’d want to see him again. Maybe go for a walk… or, if you were brave enough, try running around the island.
You laughed and said yes without thinking.
You exchanged numbers. He smiled at you, and just before you turned to leave, he gently touched your arm—a small, almost shy gesture.
You walked home with a strange warmth blooming in your chest and your cheeks sore from smiling.
You couldn’t stop smiling.
You fell asleep that night with your phone clutched to your chest, hoping—no, waiting—for a message from him.
- I'm good. Want to take a walk by the beach this afternoon?
- Great. Wear a swimsuit.
- Both parts, don’t forget.
- HAHAHAHAHA, very funny. I won’t forget, don’t worry.
You were getting ready to see Mingyu. You were really looking forward to it. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little excited.
You had agreed to meet near the bar from last time, for a walk.
You wore a short dress with colorful flowers and thin straps; underneath, your lavender swimsuit—complete, just in case you ended up swimming.
You packed a simple bag with sunscreen, a towel, and something to drink.
Your hair was loose, falling down your back, and you practically ran out the door, heading straight to the meeting point.
The walk was quick. You were moving at a slightly rushed pace, eager to see him.
A few meters away, you spotted him standing there, looking at his phone.
Every few seconds, he looked up and glanced around, as if searching for something... until he saw you.
You sped up until you reached his side.
“Hi,” you greeted, a little out of breath.
“Hey. Shall we go?” he asked, pointing ahead.
You nodded and moved next to him, keeping some space but matching his pace.
Compared to you, he was very tall, and you had to tilt your chin slightly just to look at his face.
As you listened to him talk, attentively, you thought: he’s a stranger.
Why were you so drawn to his presence?
There was something about the way he spoke—simple, unhurried—that made you want to keep listening.
You already knew you liked his smile, the way his fangs showed, the way his eyes closed when he truly laughed.
He was just a stranger. One of many passing through the island.
But then... why couldn’t you stop looking at him?
After walking for a while, he stopped in front of one of the many beaches in the area.
There weren’t many people.
A few kids were running around in the sand. A couple of people were sunbathing, and others swam in the water.
The sun shone over the sea, and the only shade came from the palm trees leaning over the edges of the beach.
“Ready to swim?” he asked, pointing to the water.
“You don’t have to ask me twice. Of course.”
You stopped under one of those big, leafy palm trees. You set your things down and took off your clothes, revealing your swimsuit.
Mingyu ran toward the water and, before jumping in, motioned for you to follow.
You watched him dive in enthusiastically, like a kid on Christmas morning.
You walked in more slowly. The water rose up your body almost to your neck.
It wasn’t cold—the sun had warmed it during the day to the perfect temperature.
Still, the closer you got to him, the more your skin tingled.
You could see his broad back, glistening with water, and the way he pushed his hair back to keep it out of his eyes.
“The water’s nice, isn’t it?” he asked, swimming toward you.
“It is. It’s perfect, honestly. If you do this often, your soul starts to heal. It’s almost impossible not to.”
“I wish I could stay here forever,” you heard him whisper.
“Wish?” you asked, letting the waves rock you gently.
“Everything feels easier here. Calmer. Almost normal,” he said, gazing at the horizon.
“Yeah, it does. I like to think it’s because of the sea,” you said with a soft laugh, starting to swim.
You swam for a while longer.
At one point, you raced to see who was faster, laughing and splashing like kids.
Eventually, you spotted some smooth rocks not far away, and without much thought, you headed toward them.
He climbed up first and helped you up.
The rocks were warm under the sun. You lay down on one, the contrast with your wet skin creating a tingling sensation.
It was the perfect spot to dry off after the swim.
Mingyu sat beside you, hugging his knees.
“You know what?” he murmured, eyes still on the water. “It’s weird how quickly I trusted you... I mean, you could be a criminal and here I am with you,” he teased.
“It’s a little late to worry about that. But don’t worry—I’m not.”
“And why did you trust me?” you asked, looking at him.
“It’s simple. I felt comfortable. I felt at ease. And as strange as it sounds, I liked being just a regular stranger.”
You frowned slightly as you listened to him.
He was a stranger. You’d never seen him before.
He laughed when he noticed your confused expression.
“Believe it or not, it brings me peace that no one looks at me, that no one judges every little thing I do... no matter how small, you know?”
“Shouldn’t it always be like that?” you asked, surprised.
“Mmm... not in my life,” he whispered, shaking his head.
He lay down beside you. Now both of you were staring up at the sky: blue, bright, endless.
“You still haven’t asked what I do for a living,” he whispered softly.
“Would you answer if I did? The other day you seemed a little closed off about it,” you replied gently.
“What do you do, Mingyu?” you asked, turning your head to him.
He turned to look at you too, and smiled.
“I’m a singer,” he said quietly.
“So... an artist? Do you like it?”
“Then what is it that weighs you down?” you asked curiously.
“It hasn’t been easy. Not at all. And don’t get me wrong—I know I’m privileged. But sometimes... it’s not just about singing or dancing. It’s about selling myself. About giving my whole life away. And then I drown. Like I don’t know how to swim.”
Maybe you didn’t know that exact kind of exposure, but you knew the feeling.
The fear of failure. Of taking one wrong step.
Of falling so deep that getting back to the surface seems impossible.
“I’m the only one watching you here. And I’m not going to judge you,” you whispered.
“That’s something I really appreciate, Y/N. Right now, it’s enough. If it’s just you looking at me. If it’s just the water around me instead of people. Then... it’s enough.”
You stayed there a while longer, letting the water brush your feet. Your arms nearly touched from how close you were.
When the sun started to set, you swam back to your things.
You got dressed slowly, as if dragging out the moment could stop it from ending altogether.
Then you started walking back the way you’d come.
The walk back was quiet. You spoke in soft tones, and this time you were walking a little closer together.
There was more silence than conversation.
But it was a peaceful silence. Natural.
One of those rare kinds that lets you appreciate someone’s presence without needing to fill the space.
You arrived at the point where your paths split to go home.
“Thanks for coming,” he said, glancing sideways at you.
“Thanks for inviting me,” you replied with a smile.
He hesitated for a second, as if unsure.
“Could we consider this a date?”
“If you liked it... then yes,” he said, a little shy.
He smiled. That smile of his you liked so much.
During the following weeks, you saw each other more often.
The sun became witness, again and again, to your little impromptu routine: walks on the beach, hikes in the mountains, afternoons of shared silence lying under the shade of a palm tree.
During that time, Mingyu told you more about his work. He told you that he was part of a group, that being an idol meant many things. Too many, perhaps.
Most of the time he said it with a smile on his lips, as if it didn’t weigh on him. But you learned to distinguish when that same smile bent slightly downward.
There were days when he looked tired. Days when his words carried a gray background.
You, on the other hand, told him about your work as an editor. You described the office where you spent most of the year, full of plants you always forgot to water.
You told him about books, endless manuscripts, coworkers who complained about everything, and the smell of overheated coffee that permeated the place.
And he listened, amused and attentive, as if the simplest things—the ones you took for granted—were just as interesting and captivating as a story.
One of the last nights you saw each other, he hugged you for the first time.
It was soft, long. As if his body had finally found a place to fit.
His arms were big, enveloping. His breath brushed against your neck and he wished you good night in a quiet voice, as if he were uttering a secret.
He looked at you with that expression of his—calm, intense—and when he finally let go, you noticed that something inside you wanted to stay there forever.
Now, you had arranged to meet for dinner at the house where he was staying. It was the first time you went.
He told you he would cook, that he was good at it, and that he wanted to prepare one of his dishes for you.
You accepted without a second thought.
When you arrived at the house, he opened the door with an apron tied around his waist, covering a tank top that showed off his arms.
He hugged you instantly, as if an eternity had passed since the last time you saw each other. He let you in and led you to the kitchen.
A mixture of warm smells hung in the air. You couldn’t identify them all, but something spicy and comforting made your stomach roar without warning.
Mingyu laughed when he heard it.
“Relax, it won’t be long before it’s all done.”
You stood watching him silently as he stirred something in a pan.
His muscles contracted slightly every time he flicked his wrist, and at one point, he gave you a smile when he caught you watching so attentively.
He gave you a taste with a small spoon, and you were surprised at how good it was.
“My God, you’re really good at cooking,” you whispered, eyes wide.
“Well, it’s just a hobby,” he replied as he offered you another spoonful. He smiled while watching you close your eyes in pleasure at the taste.
And you thought, if only all dinners were like that: warm, pleasant, easy.
When he finished cooking, he proudly told you about the dish: a beef stew he used to prepare, accompanied by a pasta he had wanted to try for a long time.
Your eyes sparkled at the presentation.
Why was this guy so perfect, you wondered. In the past few years, you had never met anyone like this.
When you sat down at the table, you ate quietly, enjoying every bite.
You kept praising him, and he smiled shyly, even blushing a little.
“Did you blush?” you teased him.
He put his hands to his cheeks.
“What? No, no... it must be the spice I put on the meat,” he muttered, a little nervously.
“It’s okay to accept compliments, Mingyu. The food is delicious, and it has to be said.”
Suddenly, he stood up slightly and leaned toward you.
He ran his thumb over the corner of your lips, slowly, softly, as if you were made of glass.
You froze, mesmerized by the unexpected touch.
“You had some sauce,” he murmured, bringing his thumb to his lips.
You felt the heat rise to your face, as if it was invading you from within.
“Now you’re the one blushing,” he said, pointing at you. You covered your cheeks instantly.
You blushed even more, and he laughed.
When dinner was over, you sat together on the sofa in the dining room, tasting a sweet dessert he had prepared.
The texture was smooth, the taste perfect.
You had your head tilted back, eyes closed, savoring every spoonful. He was close.
You felt the warmth of his body, his hand inches from yours, barely brushing your fingers.
“I guess you liked the food,” he whispered, turning his face toward you.
“Yes,” you murmured. “Too much, actually.”
That bright, carefree smile of his, the one that had haunted you since that first day on the beach.
You were so close you could smell him: a mixture of salt, sun, and something sweet that you would’ve liked to keep in a jar.
He ran his hand down your cheek, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, as he looked at you with shining eyes.
He came closer. Very slowly. As if any sudden movement might break the moment.
“Would you let me kiss you, Y/N?” he whispered.
“Yes,” you answered softly.
He leaned in and brought your lips together.
At first, a slightly hard collision, stretching the first touch between your lips. Then he kissed you, slow, sweet—as if you were being kissed properly for the first time.
His lips were warm, and his movements numbed your mouth. As the seconds passed, the kiss deepened—faster, hungrier, afraid to separate.
His tongue licked your upper lip and he ran his hand from the nape of your neck to your jaw, lifting your chin, as if he were guiding you now.
As if he was showing you the right way to taste you.
As if you, in fact, were the dessert of the dinner.
The air was starting to run short, and you parted, breathing through your mouths, foreheads pressed together.
“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he whispered, his hand still lifting your face.
He pulled you close again and kissed you once more.
With the same hungry, desperate tone, as if you were about to disappear.
The kiss was a mixture of control, shivers, and tongue.
He held you by the waist and settled you on his lap, one leg on each side, placing one arm behind your back.
He ran his hand from your chin to the nape of your neck, forcing your head down to pull you closer.
Your hands on his chest and shoulders ran over his warm, soft skin.
He lifted you as if you were an extension of his own body—and carried you.
A mixture of heat and passion enveloped you as you touched and explored each other.
He ran his lips over every inch of your skin he could see—over every mole, every scar—as if seeing you and discovering you was his only mission.
Your lips almost never parted.
You spent the night between the sheets, moving naturally, as if you'd been in bed with each other your entire lives.
There came a time when the only sounds were your breathing and the rhythm of your bodies.
Until finally, exhaustion caught up with you.
You fell asleep together, in each other’s arms.
His hand rested on your bare stomach and his breath on your neck.
His naked chest pressed against your back, and you felt his heart beating against your skin.
You closed your eyes, still intoxicated by the heat.
And for the first time in a long time, you weren’t afraid to let yourself fall.
The next morning, a beam of light flashed across the room.
Now you were face to face with him. He was sleeping peacefully, breathing slowly and quietly.
His hair was a little messy from the times your hands had run through it.
You rested your head on his warm chest and smiled, closing your eyes again, hoping this dream would never end.
You didn’t know what would happen when you woke up, but for now, you preferred to let yourself be carried away by his warm, golden arms—and dream until you got tired.
You were no longer afraid to confess that you had fallen in love.
And that, for the first time in a long time, you had fallen completely.
During the following days, that intimacy that had intoxicated you that night repeated itself without pause, like a constant tide that came and went, dragging you with it. Whether under the moonlight or beneath the sun, your bodies sought each other instinctively, without question, without hesitation, as if everything that had to happen simply flowed.
You slept and woke together, always with your hands tangled in each other’s, with caresses and touches as the unspoken rule. You searched for each other ravenously, like animals who needed one another to breathe. Blinded by the magnetic pull of lips pressed to lips.
You spent most of the day together—on the beach, between salty swims and sweet kisses; between the sheets, where your naked bodies met like two perfect pieces that were always meant to fit. Floating aimlessly in the sea, letting yourselves be carried by the tide. Talking about life, your childhoods, your favorite things. About everything except the end. About everything except reality.
Because somewhere in the universe, an invisible clock was ticking. The countdown had already begun. But you didn’t see it. And if you did, you chose not to.
That day, you woke up late—later than usual—after a night of whispered words, skin against skin, and kisses that lingered. You decided to swim in a cove, a hidden place that was usually deserted.
The crystal-clear, warm water waited for you eagerly; it was so transparent you could see the sandy bottom without effort. You wore only the bottom of your swimsuit and one of his T-shirts that covered your thighs. He was shirtless, wearing a backwards cap, and helped you climb down the rocks to reach the secluded cove you both craved.
When you arrived, you dropped your things. You slipped off his shirt, revealing part of your bare skin—but by now, you no longer felt shy. You were alone, and he embraced you from behind, kissing your shoulders softly.
Already in the water, you swam and held each other under the sun. His golden skin glowed, and that smile of his seemed permanently etched on his face. You wrapped your legs around his waist, and he pulled you to his chest. You stayed like that for a while.
“You don't look real,” he whispered, running his hand gently down your back.
You laughed and looked into his eyes.
“I’m very, very real,” you murmured, and kissed him, tasting the salt on your tongues and memorizing the shape of his lips.
You stayed in the water for a long time—swimming, playing, kissing freely and shamelessly, as if there were no tomorrow. Most of the time, Mingyu kept his hands on you, touching every part of your body boldly, unapologetically, as if he already knew you by heart.
You let yourselves go. Just the two of you. No one else, nothing else.
And then, in a far corner—where the bushes grew taller and almost no sunlight reached—a silhouette appeared. A camera. Fingers. The soft, rhythmic sound of clicks.
The consequences didn’t come until the next morning. Mingyu held your body close until he heard his phone vibrating. He ignored it. He didn’t want to let go just yet. But by the fifth time, he couldn’t look away anymore.
So many calls. So many messages. From everyone—his family, friends, band members, his manager, the agency.
Suddenly, he let go and slowly sat up, starting to read what was going on. His hands were shaking, and his pulse was racing.
There were pictures of you everywhere. You hugging him. Him kissing you, touching you. Swimming. Tangled together on the sand. You, everywhere.
Reality hit all at once—cold, violent—like a bucket of ice water shattering the dream. And something inside him broke.
He didn’t respond to anyone, because he already knew what was coming. He didn’t need to see more. His mind, frozen, could only think of you—his Y/N. He had forgotten that outside that paradise, the world still spun. He had been pretending to live a normal life. To have something real. He had been more naïve than ever. And now all he wanted was to disappear—and for none of this to have touched you. Not you. Not the girl he had fallen for.
He watched you sleep—so calm, so peaceful.
And it hurt. Because that peace was about to vanish.
He left the room slowly, but not before glancing back at you. Your face resting on his pillow, still dreaming in his arms.
He called his manager, who answered immediately, clearly worried, and told him the situation was serious.
He was supposed to be alone. On vacation. On a break. And now... this. Everyone was upset, everyone had something to say. The manager told him this needed to be dealt with immediately, and that it would be best if he came back to try to put out the fire all this had caused.
Mingyu couldn’t respond—his mind was still processing, still sinking.
When the call ended, he dialed Seungcheol.
“Mingyu? Is that you? Finally you answer, dammit,” the older man snapped.
“I’m so sorry, hyung. I wasn’t careful. I didn’t think. I don’t know what to do,” his voice came out shaky and broken, like a frightened child’s.
“It’s okay, Gyu. You have the right to live your life—I’ve always told you that. But I think it’s better if you come back now. I’m getting a lot of questions and honestly, I don’t have any answers. We’re doing what we can.”
“I know. I’m sorry for putting you through this.”
“That’s what we’re here for, Mingyu. If your family doesn’t take care of you, who will?”
“One thing, hyung… I don’t want to leave her. I can’t. Not now. After all of this… I just can’t,” he whispered, almost afraid.
“I understand,” he replied seriously. “But I think that’ll be harder than you think. The situation’s complicated now. Look—I haven’t seen all the photos, I wanted to respect your privacy—but it’s going to be rougher than you expect. I’m really sorry. I mean that.”
Mingyu sighed, uneasy, his throat tight. He felt like he’d been punched in the gut. He wanted to cry like a kid.
“You have to come back, Gyu. I’m sorry.”
Another silence. Breathing hurt.
“You looked happy in those pictures. You looked at peace with her,” was the last thing the leader said before hanging up.
Mingyu collapsed to the ground, on his knees, not knowing what to do. He answered a few messages from his family without saying much. Then tossed the phone aside and sank—he felt like he was drowning again. And this time, even if he swam, he wouldn’t reach the surface.
The sea didn’t heal everything.
You woke up a little later. Alone in bed. Mingyu’s side was cold, empty.
You put on one of his T-shirts and went looking for him.
You found him on the couch, biting his nails, nervous, his usual smile gone.
“Hey,” you said, approaching him.
He looked up, and you saw his red, sad eyes.
“What’s wrong?” you asked, worried, taking in his state.
He swallowed hard. “I have to go,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”
“What? Go where? What’s wrong, Mingyu?” You sat next to him, but he stood up immediately. That hurt.
“Back to Korea. I leave this afternoon. I already have a flight,” he muttered, not meeting your eyes.
You just sat there, trying to absorb his words, hoping he was joking. That this was some stupid prank.
But the seconds passed, and he didn’t smile.
Then you felt it. That internal alarm. The one that yanks you out of a dream and drops you into cold, hard reality. The boy you’d fallen for was leaving, just like that.
“What? I don’t… I don’t understand. A flight? What are you talking about?” you managed to say, still dazed. “Mingyu, please, tell me what happened. Maybe we can fix it, okay?”
You stood up and took his hands, trying to make him look at you. You needed to hear that everything would be okay.
He looked at you and took a deep breath. “Someone took pictures of us yesterday… in the sea, when we were together. They’ve been leaked. Everywhere,” he said, voice trembling.
And you got it. You knew his job came with weight. He’d told you how judged he was, how demanding it all was. And now, your presence—your love—was not welcome.
“The public, the fans, the agency… they want answers. They want me back. They want me to fix it. I can’t stay, Y/N. I’m sorry.”
“But… what about us?” your voice barely came out. “We can work it out. Can’t we?”
You saw him tremble and slowly shake his head. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “I’m not sure. I don’t know if it’s right…”
“For you,” he said, his eyes glassy. “Because you are… you. So free. So unburdened. And this could break you. It could devour you whole. And I don’t want that.”
“Believe me, Y/N. You don’t understand. It’s not worth sacrificing your life, your privacy, your peace… for this. For me. You can’t lose everything. Not you.”
“Please, no, Mingyu. Not like this. You mean so much to me. This past month has been incredible. It can’t just end… like this,” you gasped, short of breath.
“I know. I’m sorry,” he said softly, heartbreak in his eyes. “You were the best thing that ever happened to me. I’ve never felt this way with anyone before,” he confessed, caressing your face.
His hand was warm. His touch was both comforting and devastating.
“I should’ve been more careful,” he whispered. “Maybe then I wouldn’t have to leave. Maybe… you’d still be just mine. Just us. No one else. But there’s no going back now. And I won’t let this consume you. Right now… leaving is the only thing I can do.”
You watched a tear fall down his cheek—and couldn’t hold back your own.
You sobbed, shaking. Mingyu closed his eyes and hugged you tightly, like he could shield you from everything. He stroked your hair and rested his chin on your head.
“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’m really sorry,” he murmured into your hair, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry, love.”
You stayed in each other’s arms for what felt like forever. Or no time at all. Time had stopped—and so had you. Mingyu held you until you had no tears left. Until your voice disappeared. You were tired. Empty. All you wanted was to go back—to that quiet bed, to that morning, to the dream.
Mingyu packed everything in silence. His suitcase. The house. He made sure everything was in order, as if that could somehow balance the chaos he was leaving inside you. He told you it was better if you didn’t go to the airport, so he walked you home to say goodbye.
At the door, it still didn’t feel real.
Mingyu hugged you one last time and kissed your forehead gently. “I have to go now, Y/N,” he whispered.
You didn’t know what to say. Nothing came out. Your voice was gone.
“I’m so sorry, love. I hope you’ll be okay. I’ll text you when I get there. If anything happens, call me. For now, I can’t promise anything,” he confessed. “But I want you to know that I love you, Y/N,” he murmured, looking at your lips.
You wanted to tell him you loved him too. But you knew that if you opened your mouth, the tears would take over again.
He gave you a look—one of those looks—and seemed to understand. He nodded and sighed.
He left a kiss on your cheek, then turned to leave.
You stood at the door, watching him disappear down the street. You didn’t go inside until he was completely gone. Your hands trembled. When you finally got the key in the lock, you collapsed onto the bed.
You wanted to sleep and wake up to find it had all been a nightmare—that Mingyu was in the kitchen cooking, or beside you smiling like always.
But something deep inside you knew: This was real.
Days passed, and Mingyu told you that he had arrived. He told you to avoid looking up anything about what happened on the internet —it was the best thing to do—. He also told you that he missed you and apologized again, as if that could comfort you.
You listened to him and didn't look at anything. Actually, a part of you didn't want to know anything anymore. A part of you wanted to forget, to not feel that pain in your chest that choked you and forbade you to breathe. Another part of you just wanted to cling to the pictures of the two of you together and cry yourself to sleep.
You did not return to the sea until a week later.
You didn't hear from him anymore. You did not write to him either.
You went to the sea every day, at all hours, hoping, praying, that the sea would cure you and that after the summer there would be nothing left... because after all, yours had been a summer love. One that doesn't last, one that comes without you asking for it, without you wanting it, but that leaves when your heart already loved it.
One that only let you see and live the love you would never be.
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