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My most beloved Enhypen, I'll choose you to be my home in every universe.

Mutual Help | 60 pt. 2

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; in order for you to pretend to be his girlfriend, he helps you with your sexual desires ⏤ he calls it mutual help

⇢ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: jungkook x reader

⇢ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fake dating au, fluff, angst, smut, slow burn

⇢ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: explicit language, explicit content

⇢ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 21.7k+ (both parts)

⇠ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯. | 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ⇢

Read part 1 before this!

i would never want a daughter like me

#eldest daughter

paleunhee

The baby that died..

PAIRING - CEO!Kim mingyu x reader!childhood bestfreind

Summary - mingyu saw her again after ten years—the girl who once laughed too loud, now quiet like winter; his childhood best friend, now a ghost of herself—so he stayed, and slowly, he began to draw stars around the scars he didn’t give her.

Genre: Angst ,grief, Healing ,Childhood friends to strangers to lovers·

Warnings: Miscarriage · Depression · Grief · PTSD-like symptoms · Mentions of car accident · Emotional trauma · Themes of loneliness, detachment, and recovery .

Author's Note (A/N): Hi! This fic is really close to my heart and honestly, it wrote itself in the quiet hours when I was thinking about how grief can make the world feel blurry — and how sometimes, the softest people bring us back to life without even trying. just a story about what happens when the past walks back into your life and sees the version of you even you don’t recognize anymore. It’s raw. A little sad. But there’s light coming — I promise. Thank you for reading and sitting with this story. hope u enjoy

index / next

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶︶୨ ︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹

Chapter One: The Day After the End

I didn’t cry. I think that’s what disturbs people most.

There’s a kind of silence they expect after death. A respectful kind. The silence of white flowers, gentle condolences, a soft nod, a hand on the back. But mine isn’t that kind. Mine is the kind of silence that makes a room colder. That presses down on everything until even the floorboards want to give up.

They waited for the scream, I think. Or the collapse. Or maybe something loud, something cinematic. But all I did was sit.

I came home from the hospital with a prescription I didn’t ask for and an empty body. No crib. No baby. Just the sound of blood still in my ears.

I took off my shoes at the door and sat on the floor in my coat. And stayed there for a very long time.

there has been a heartbeat

I remember it. I remember the way it sounded in that dark room—like a drum underwater, like a secret whispered back to me. I remember pressing my palm to my belly every morning like it was a ritual, as if I could memorize the shape of her safety. I remember talking to her at night, when the world went still, telling her stories no one else had ever heard. She was real to me before she had a face.

I remember the name. And what it meant. And how I picked it in one breath like it had always belonged to her. She was mine. She was mine.

Five months.

That’s how far we made it. Five months of hope stitched into fear. Of silent prayers. Of aching love. And then a car came, and in one careless second—everything unraveled.

A woman I didn’t know. A stranger in a rush. She didn’t see me. Didn’t stop. Didn’t even slow down.

I was crossing the street. Groceries in one hand. My other hand over my belly like always. And then I was on the ground. My head against the cold. Blood spreading like spilled ink beneath me. I remember the sky. How still it was. I remember the pain—sharp, blinding. And then, the absence of it. Like my body gave up before I could.

She drove away. She left me there.

That night, not only my baby girl died. Something in me did too. My will to live , My soul. Gone.

And I—I just laid there. Eyes open. I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I didn’t even fight.

I couldn’t save her.

God, I couldn’t save her. She was inside me. My body was supposed to be her home. Her shield. Her world. And I let her down. I let her die.

Every day since then has been a hollow replay of that moment. That sound of car tires screeching That silence after. That guilt—feral and endless. It crawls up my throat every time I breathe.

The shadows came after that.They wrapped themselves around my ribs and settled in my chest.

The doctor had said it softly, like he didn’t want to wake something fragile in me. “These things happen,” she told me. “Just an accident.” “You’re young. You’ll heal. You can try

Try again. Like she was a test I failed. Like grief had a reset button. People moved on so fast. Like it was a scratch, a passing cold, something that time would erase if I just smiled more, ate better, slept longer. But they didn’t understand— The world didn’t just crack for me. It ended

They forget. They always do. They talk about new beginnings while I still sleep with her name echoing in my head. They don’t see how I flinch when I walk past the baby aisle in stores. They don’t notice the way I hold my breath when someone asks, “Do you have kids?” They forgot her. But I didn’t. I never will.

Because the day she left me, everything stopped making sense. And I’m still here, trapped in the pause.

After everything, there was only one person who didn’t walk away

My best friend bibi . The only one who didn’t tiptoe around my silence or flinch at the dark circles under my eyes. She didn’t ask me to move on. She didn’t tell me to be strong. She just… showed up. One day, she arrived with her son and a small suitcase and said, “We’ll stay for a while, okay?” No questions. No pity. Just love. And noise.

Her son—junseo, five years old and made entirely of light and mischief—ran through the halls like he was trying to shake the sadness out of the walls. Sometimes he’d climb into my lap without asking, tiny arms hugging me like it was the most natural thing in the world. I’d just sit there, frozen, wondering how something so small could hold me together like that.

Bibi tried everything. Cooking with too much garlic so I’d notice. Playing our favorite songs too loud. Leaving little notes on my mirror that said, “Still breathing. Still here.” She held the house up while I crumbled in it.

And I hated that. Hated that she had to carry my weight while raising a child. Hated that I’d become someone who needed saving.

So when she stood at my door on the 40th day and said, “Come with us to the store. Just groceries. Just ten minutes of air,” I didn’t say no.

I didn’t say yes either. I just… stood up.

That was the first time I stepped outside in forty days. The sunlight felt foreign. The world looked too sharp. Every sound was too loud. Every face unfamiliar. But Bibi held my hand like she used to when we were kids crossing the street, and junseo tugged at my sleeve like I was still someone worth reaching for.

And so, I walked. Half-alive. Half-gone.

The automatic doors parted like a curtain, and the world didn’t stop. It kept going. Loud, fluorescent, unbearably alive.

Shopping carts clattered. Children screamed without consequence. A song played overhead that no one really listened to. A woman scolded her husband near the produce, laughing right after.

It was offensive, almost. The world, still spinning like it hadn’t swallowed me whole.

I stood at the entrance for a second too long. Junseo tugged at my sleeve, calling my name like he always did—with such gentleness, it made my bones ache. I nodded at him, or maybe I just blinked. I wasn’t sure.

Every step into that store felt like a betrayal. Like I was walking deeper into a world that dared to move on without my baby.

Bibi kept talking beside me, making soft comments about discounts and fruit and “maybe let’s get you some tea,” like tea could fill the hole I live in.

My throat was tight. Not from tears—I don’t cry anymore. From pressure. From trying to hold myself together in a room full of people who didn't know they were brushing shoulders with someone whose soul had caved in.

I thought of the baby aisle that I couldn’t walk past. Of the car. The red. The pain.

And then I felt it—this strange sensation, like air shifting. Like something or someone watching. Not in a threatening way. Just… steady. Heavy. Familiar.

But I didn’t lift my head.

A voice called my name. Once. Then again.

Faint, male, careful— Like someone unsure whether I’d remember who they were. Like someone not expecting silence in return.

But I didn’t respond. Because that name doesn’t belong to me anymore. Because I didn’t care who was saying it. Because the girl they were calling died on a street corner with her hand on her belly and blood blooming under her like a cruel flower.

Junseo reached for my hand again. I let him hold it. He didn’t know it, but in that moment, he was the only thing anchoring me to this plane.

The name echoed once more behind me. I didn’t look back

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶︶୨ ︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶

That… couldn’t be her. Could it?

Mingyu slowed his steps near the end of aisle three, a carton of oat milk in one hand, and uncertainty tightening in his chest. For a second, he almost brushed it off — the resemblance, the coincidence — but then she turned slightly, just enough for him to see the curve of her jaw, the shape of her eyes.

Y/N. It was her.

Ten years. He hadn’t thought about how long that really was until this moment. People changed. But this—this didn’t feel like just time.

She stood beside a little boy, maybe five, maybe younger. His small fingers were curled around hers, and she didn’t seem to notice. Or react. Just stared blankly at the rows of cereal boxes like she was trying to remember how to be human.

He blinked, startled by how wrong it all felt.

The Y/N he remembered would’ve been halfway through a story already, laughing too loud and talking with her hands. This one… she looked like she hadn’t slept in months. Like she’d forgotten how to exist out loud.

He watched for a moment longer, unsure why he suddenly felt nervous. Maybe it was the kid. Maybe it was the ring he didn’t see. Maybe it was how her face was exactly the same, and yet completely different.

Still, something in him stirred—something old and familiar and warm.

He stepped a little closer. “Y/N?” His voice came out quiet, unsure.

She didn’t look up.

“Y/N,” he tried again, just slightly louder.

Nothing.

She kept her eyes fixed somewhere beyond the shelves, like she was watching something only she could see.

It unsettled him. Not because she ignored him—he could’ve laughed that off, made a joke about her bad memory or how he must’ve aged beyond recognition. But it wasn’t that.

It was the way she stood. So still. So far away. Like her body was there, but the rest of her was somewhere else entirely.

He hesitated, then stepped back. Maybe she didn’t hear him. Maybe it wasn’t the right time. Maybe ten years had created more distance than he’d realized.

Still—his chest felt strangely full as he turned away. Warmth. Worry. Nostalgia. A mess of things he didn’t have words for.

He’d seen her. After all this time. And he didn’t know why she looked like that, or why her silence felt so loud—but he knew one thing for sure.

He couldn’t forget her again. Not this time

____________________________ <3 ______________________________

please share your view on the story ..and i am realy sorry if there any mistake it is my first time posting a story i hope you enjoyed it . :)

#mingyu x reader #seungcheol x reader #jeonghan x reader #seventeen headcanons #kim mingyu #mingyu smut #scoups x reader #mingyu seventeen #mingyu x you #mingyu x y/n #kim mingyu fanfic #seventeen #kim mingyu x reader #kim mingyu imagines #seventeen fanfic

The baby that died..

INDEX <3

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

chapter four

#anon

#kim mingyu

paleunhee

The baby that died..

PAIRING - CEO!Kim mingyu x reader!childhood bestfreind

Genre: Angst ,grief, Healing ,Childhood friends to strangers to lovers·

Warnings: Miscarriage · Depression · Grief · PTSD-like symptoms · Mentions of car accident · Emotional trauma · Themes of loneliness, detachment, and recovery .

Author's Note (A/N): thank you so much for liking the first chapter so much , i am so grateful . i hope that you all like this chapter the same , and understand the pain and longing of it . hope you enjoy .

previous / index / next

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶︶୨ ︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

chapter two

Sometimes I wonder if my heart remembers more than it should.

High school feels like a thousand years ago, like a life that belonged to someone else, but the softness he gave me — Mingyu — it still clings to the edges of my ribs. He let me be soft.

That’s the part I never forget. In a life where I was always being told to grow up, toughen up, do more, be more… he was the only place where I didn’t have to earn gentleness. He gave it freely.

He was warm. Brave in all the ways I was never allowed to be. I remember the time he yelled at my parents. No hesitation, no fear in his voice. He told them they were wrong — that I wasn’t theirs to control, to order around like some kind of puppet. I had never seen anyone do that before. Defend me like that. He didn’t care that he was just a teenage boy — he spoke like he was trying to unbreak me.

If I cried, he panicked. Not in an uncomfortable way. In the way someone panics when something precious gets scratched. He once told me if stealing stars from the sky would make me smile, he’d do it without blinking. God, I didn’t believe him… but I stopped crying anyway.

And I still think about it sometimes — how maybe, just maybe, if he had stayed… things would’ve turned out differently.

Maybe I wouldn’t have felt so alone.

Maybe I wouldn’t have become… this.

Because back then, when everything else was a disaster, he was the one thing that made sense. The only thing that felt like home. I was three years younger, but he never made me feel like I was just some silly kid following him around. He used to run from his class just to meet me at mine — said the walk home wasn’t the same without me. He looked at me like I held the sun in my hands. Like the sky would collapse if I ever stopped smiling.

I wish I could forget that look.

But I remember it every time I catch myself in a mirror and don’t recognize the face staring back.

And now… I don’t know if I want to see him again. Not because I don’t want to — God, I do. A part of me still aches to see the life I always believed he’d build. To see with my own eyes what I used to close mine and pray for. Mingyu smiling. Mingyu laughing. Mingyu getting everything he once whispered about under the stars with shaking hands and wild hope. He deserved all of it. Every dream. Every win. Every soft piece of happiness the world could offer. And somehow, knowing he might’ve found that — that he made it — it’s the one thing that still makes breathing feel a little less like drowning.

But I don’t want him to see me.

Because I’m not her anymore. Not the girl who used to throw rocks at his window just to say goodnight. Not the girl who used to run barefoot through the street to meet him, hair wild, eyes full of plans. I’m not even a full person anymore. I’m a memory folded in on itself. A shadow in a house too quiet. And he… He belongs to a world I don’t recognize now. One that’s full of light. And I’m scared that if he looks at me, he won’t see his childhood best friend. He’ll just see a stranger.

Or worse— He’ll see nothing at all.

I don’t remember being a child. Not really. Not in the way that matters. There are no warm memories to hold onto, no giggles under blanket forts or the soft lull of bedtime stories. Childhood, for me, was a performance. A constant rehearsal of perfection. Be good. Be quiet. Be better. My parents didn’t raise a daughter — they built a resume. I was a reflection of what they could show off at dinner parties, another trophy on their shelf of curated accomplishments.

And yet… in the middle of that cold, spotless house, where love was something to be earned, not given — he existed.

Mingyu.

He lived three houses down but somehow felt like my real home. He wasn’t like anyone else. His laugh was too loud, his dreams too big, and his hands always full of something he was building — a fort, a paper plane, a future. He had this sparkle, like life hadn’t taught him how cruel it could be yet. I used to watch him talk about wanting to see the world, about being someone, about making something that lasted. And his parents? God, they adored him. They believed in him. Encouraged him. Let him take up space.

It was like he was born to bloom, and I was born to stay small.

But he never made me feel small. He made me feel seen.

He used to sneak me out when I wasn’t allowed to breathe. Would tap on my window at midnight just to show me the stars. He used to say, “You’re allowed to want more, you know?” like wanting wasn’t a crime. I think, in some hidden way, I loved him even then. Or maybe I just loved how I felt when I was with him — free. Real. Human.

And then he got in. That scholarship. That dream school abroad.

I still remember his face, damp from tears, full of guilt and joy at once. He told me before he told anyone. His hands shook when he said it, like he was waiting for me to fall apart. But I didn’t. I smiled. I clapped. I told him he had to go. I made it sound brave — like I was proud — when really, I was dying inside.

Because I knew what was coming.

I knew what silence would feel like after him.

I knew that the only person who ever looked at me like I mattered… was about to leave.

And he did.

He promised he’d write. But he didn’t. Not really.

Life swallowed him whole, like it always does to people who are meant for more. And I was left behind in that same house, with the same people who only looked at me when I had something to offer. And when I didn’t… when I began to crumble… they called me lazy, ungrateful, dramatic.

“Other kids have it worse,” they said. “You have food on the table. Why are you always so sad?” As if sadness isn’t allowed unless you’re starving.

I was starving. Just not in ways they could see.

So, I stopped trying to explain. I just worked. Studied. Smiled. I became the good daughter again. The machine.

But machines break too. And one night… I just couldn’t take it anymore

So I drank. I wandered. I ended up with someone whose name I never asked. I didn’t care. I just wanted to feel something that wasn’t pain.

And then I missed my period.

And the lines were pink.

And my mother slapped me so hard my ears rang for days. She called me shameful, a stain, a mistake. She cried to her friends about how she raised a failure.

When I found out I was pregnant, I didn’t cry. I didn’t panic. I smiled. For the first time in forever, I felt like I was given something that was mine. Just mine. And when it came time to pick a name, I chose one that had part of him in it. Just a syllable. Just a whisper of "Gyu." I didn’t even think about it too hard. It just… felt right.

Stupid, right?

I told myself if my baby had even a piece of his name, maybe she’d be strong like him. Maybe I would be, too.

Maybe I could remember what it felt like to be the girl he believed in.

But names don’t keep people alive. do they ?

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶︶୨ ︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Life in Seoul was different from the States. Louder, but maybe a little more peaceful in its own way—more familiar. It carried a kind of warmth, like a song you used to hum under your breath without even noticing. Mingyu sometimes thought it felt like nostalgia wrapped in sunlight. Like the kind of air that didn’t just fill your lungs—it hugged them.

And in this life, he had everything he once asked for.

He had the corner office. The skyline view. His own company. Stamped passports, photographs from rooftops in Portugal and rainy markets in Morocco. His dreams had grown and bloomed in real time. But no matter where he stood—whether it was under Tokyo’s neon haze or the Tuscan sun—his thoughts never really left the girl who used to wait for him under the gingko tree outside their school gates.

Y/N.

She was supposed to see all of it. That was always the plan. “This one next time—with her.” That’s what he’d think in every new city, every unfamiliar street, every postcard sky. He used to buy bracelets from each country. One for her, one for him. Wore his under his sleeve. Saved hers in a drawer. Someday, he’d find her. He was sure of it.

He tried. God, he tried.

He went back to her childhood house. A stranger lived there now—an old man who told him the family had moved years ago. Mingyu had smiled politely, but his heart dropped in his chest like a stone. He tried bookstores, rooftops, the beach where she once cried into his sweater when her dog died. He even showed up to a high school reunion once—awkward and overdressed—only to hear she’d shown up to one, years ago, and never again.

Maybe the universe was playing some cruel trick.

Maybe it was protecting them.

Eventually, he moved on, or tried to. Kept her safe in that quiet part of his chest where no one else could reach. He didn’t know what it was that made her stick so deeply in him. Was it love? Longing? Or just grief shaped like memory?

All he knew was—ten years later—he still couldn’t forget the way she used to laugh like summer tasted.

He tried to date, once or twice. Nice girls. Kind hearts. But every time they smiled, he found himself looking for her in their eyes. He hated himself for it. It wasn’t fair to them. So, he stopped.

He told himself he was content. Told himself he had peace. Told himself it was enough to be happy for her from afar, even if he never saw her again. But last week, in the bright artificial lights of a grocery store, the universe finally answered him.

There she was.

Ten years collapsed in one breath.

Her face was sharper now, quieter. But still hers. Still her. And for a second, he forgot the world. His heart beat so hard he thought the floor might tilt. He wanted to run to her. Wanted to pick her up like he used to, spin her in his arms and cry-laugh into her shoulder. Say, I found you, I found you, I found you.

But then he saw the child beside her. A toddler with sleepy eyes and soft fists clinging to the hem of her coat.

And Mingyu’s feet stopped moving.

Just like that, the warmth in his chest turned cold. He didn’t know why it stung so sharply. He should have been happy for her. A family. A child. The kind of love she always deserved. And yet, it felt like someone had closed a door he hadn’t even realized he was holding open.

She didn’t notice him. Not even when he called her name.

Not even when he stood right there.

She didn’t look at him like someone who had forgotten.

She looked like someone who had forgotten herself.

And maybe that was the part that broke him the most.

A week passed.

The grocery store encounter turned into a fog of “what ifs.” He told himself it was enough—that maybe seeing her happy, even from a distance, was the ending he needed.

But then… he saw her again.

It was late. He was leaving the office, caught in traffic near a small pharmacy on a side road. His driver slowed, and through the windshield, he saw her.

Same face. Same coat. Same… stillness.

But this time, there was no child beside her. Only a brown paper bag clutched in her hand and that same empty stare.

She looked… haunted.

Like someone barely breathing.

And before he could think, before he could weigh the logic of the moment, Mingyu threw open the car door and ran.

“Y/N!” he called, voice cracking across the dark street.

She didn’t turn. Didn’t flinch.

But this time… he was closer. Closer than he’d been in ten years. And this time, he wouldn’t let the moment slip.

“Y/N!” he called again, breathless now, something between a plea and a prayer.

She finally blinked. And for the first time in a decade— Her eyes met his.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶︶୨ ︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

You stared at him.

Eyes wide. Heart slamming. Breaths shallow.

For a second, it didn’t feel real—like your brain couldn’t compute the image in front of you. He looked… the same, yet older. More defined. Taller maybe. Tired maybe. Beautiful always. And it was him. Mingyu.

Your Mingyu.

Your feet refused to move. Your mouth refused to work. There was a thousand things you wanted to say—Where were you? I missed you. I’m not okay. Please don’t go again. But your throat tightened instead, burned like it had swallowed a star.

And then—God. You wanted to run. You wanted to hug him. You wanted to scream, "He's here!" to everyone on that street like some crazed woman begging the world to know joy still existed.

But instead, your knees weakened. Your vision blurred. Your breath caught like a fist in your lungs.

And a tear fell. Then another. And then suddenly, they all came crashing—falling like monsoon rain against a hollow rooftop, loud and sudden and merciless.

You were crying. Yes. You were crying.

You didn’t cry when your mother called you a disgrace. You didn’t cry when Mingyu left you behind with promises he didn’t even know he was breaking. You didn’t cry when you woke up in blood and silence and your baby girl wasn’t breathing.

But now? Now your whole body sobbed with grief. With longing. With the unbearable ache of everything you buried and everything you never said.

And he just stood there.

Looking at you like a man ready to fall on his knees if it would bring you back to life.

He didn’t know it—but you were dying long before this moment. And somehow, just by being here, he made you breathe again.

Before you could even think, your hand moved—pushed his shoulder. Not hard. Not cruel. But with everything you couldn’t say. Love. Anger. Grief. Pain that had no shape.

Then the other shoulder. And before you even realized it, you were in his arms.

You buried your face into his chest like it was your home. Like it was the only place your sadness didn’t feel shameful. And He held you like he was scared you'd break.

Like you were something divine and ancient, pulled from myths and prayers, and all he could do was hold tight enough to make sure you didn’t slip through his fingers again.

His arms wrapped around you like a promise. Firm. Warm. Familiar. So Mingyu.

And you let yourself stay there—breathing in that scent you didn’t know you remembered, feeling the weight of a thousand ghosts lift from your chest. You wept into his shirt until your sobs turned to soft, uneven breaths.

He didn’t rush you. He didn’t speak. He just held you like you mattered.

And when your tears dried up and you finally looked up at him, his gaze was already on you.

So close, you could see every detail of his face—the mole on his nose, the little crease that formed between his brows when he was overwhelmed.

He stared at you like you were a miracle. Like you were a story he never thought he’d read again.

Then finally, his voice, low and a little hoarse: “God… I thought I imagined you.”

You blinked, still stunned, eyes moist ,still catching up.

“I mean it. I looked for you. Everywhere. I even came back to your old place. Asked around. Went to that beach you always loved. I thought maybe I’d see you there, reading or just… being you.”

Your heart clenched at that. The way he said being you like it was some sacred thing.

“I missed you so much,” he said, his eyes flickering over your face like he was committing every feature to memory. “You just… disappeared.”

You didn’t say anything. Not yet. There was too much.

He smiled gently—uncertain, careful—like he didn’t know if he deserved to smile at you. “How have you been?” he asked. “I mean, really?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came. You could lie. Say “I’ve been good.” But something about his eyes stopped you.

So instead, you said the only thing that came to mind. Something so soft, so simple it made his lip tremble.

“…Mingyu,” you whispered. “Oh, Mingyu… how have you been?”

He blinked like he hadn’t expected that. Like after everything—after disappearing, after leaving, after chasing his dreams—you’d still think of him first.

Of course you did. You always had. You didn’t know how not to.

He let out a shaky breath and gave a short, dry laugh. “You’re still the same. Still asking about me first.” His voice cracked a little. “I’ve been… alright. Busy. You know, life gets loud. But seeing you right now—” He paused. “It’s like everything got quiet again.”

You didn’t know what to say to that.

So you just looked at him.

And he looked at you.

There were oceans in between you. And years. And all the things you hadn’t told each other. But here he was, standing in front of you like a thread from your past had finally tugged hard enough to bring him back.

“I thought I lost you forever,” he said. “And I didn’t even know what that meant until now.”

You swallowed hard, quickly brushing under your eyes with your sleeve.

There were too many things you couldn’t tell him. About the baby. About the grief. About how close you came to not making it.

But instead, you offered a small smile. One that hurt to make.

“Well… you found me,” you whispered.

And he nodded, his expression soft, his eyes still dripping warmth like honey.

“Yeah,” he said. “I did.”

And for a second, standing there on the sidewalk with a bag of medicine in your hand and the past unraveling right in front of you

And for the first time in two months, breathing didn’t hurt.

For the first time, your chest didn’t feel like a graveyard of all the things you’d lost. You weren’t thinking about your dead baby. You weren’t drowning in the silence of your own empty soul.

Because standing there, with Mingyu in front of you, something inside you flickered— fragile, desperate, but alive.

Maybe it was foolish. Maybe it was just a moment. But for that one second… you felt grateful.

Grateful to feel anything other than grief. Grateful to remember that once, life had been more than pain. Grateful that he was still him.

And maybe, just maybe, seeing him made you want to try again. To live again. Even if it was only for a moment.

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next ch - soon..

thank you staying till the end , this chapter is for all of the ones those who are having hard time , who have lost somthing or themself . just know no matter how long is the night , morning always comes

☁️ 𐙚 . ˙ 𖧧 ₊ ˚ 🐇

paleunhee

It’s for the soft-hearted. For the ones who are tired but still love deeply. For the girls who want to be held gently. A gut-wrenching childhood friends-to-strangers-to-lovers story. This Mingyu is for you.

The baby that died..

PAIRING - CEO!Kim mingyu x reader!childhood bestfriend