for all the simps

[sanshineeeeee]

ateez recommended fics

hongjoong seonghwa yunho yeosang

sani mingi wooyoung jongho

ateez recommended fics (maknae line)

part 1 part 2

updated: 2024/03/08 (not yet done for yeo + maknae line)

i'm deeply sorry if i didnt stated the genre right because its been so long since i've read them and have forgotten about the storyline for most of them 🙇🏻‍♀️

[kathaelipwse]

Strings of You ✦ “she was used to being invisible—until he looked at her like she hung the stars.”

pairings ꒰ bang chan × fem! reader ꒱

word count ꒰ ~ 15.9k ꒱

genre ꒰ slowburn romance, angst, fluff, slice of life, college au → married au ꒱

warnings ✶ angst, bullying, hurt/comfort, insecurity, toxic friendships, emotional panic, soft spicy scenes later (obsessive whipped chan energy), marriage fluff (1k-ish words at the end), food mention, swearing, unhealthy coping mechanisms.

✧ in which ⌇ reader is the quiet girl always used by others, with only 3 true friends. enter chan—the loud, popular, outgoing captain of the soccer team. opposite worlds collide when he chooses to know her, to protect her, to love her slowly and entirely. from hidden doodles and secret coffee dates, to public stands and confessions, to a lifetime later where he’s still whipped as her husband—this is their story.

author’s note ꒰ hi loves! ꒱ I know, I haven’t posted in a long time and this fic had been on my mind so here it goes ♡ it’s shorter in comparison to my other fics and I plan on posting a txt fic by this weekend (spoiler: it’s a fan × idol, soobin's). also, the inbox is open for requests—send me all your ideas and thoughts, I’d love to hear them!

You existed in the spaces between things.

You existed in the quiet sigh you released when Mr. Harrison asked, for the third time this week, if you could please help him organize the papers. You existed in the thin, nearly-invisible line where your notes ended and a classmate’s hurried transcription began—notes that would be returned to you with barely a nod, if at all. You were dependable, a fixed point in the chaotic school day, but you were never truly seen. To them, you were an extension of a task, a resource to be used and forgotten. It was a familiar, dull ache that settled in your bones, a quiet resentment that you refused to let surface. You were a good person, you told yourself, and good people did these things. You smiled, you nodded, you said, “Of course,” and you watched the world move on without you.

Your friends, Mira, Asha, and Dev, were the only ones who saw the pattern. They adored you fiercely, and their love was a blanket that you could hide under when the cold indifference of others became too much.

"Eat, you're too nice for your own good," Dev would say at lunch, shoving his container of fries toward you. It was his way of feeding you warmth, of acknowledging the quiet exhaustion that lived in your eyes.

You'd laugh it off, batting his hand away with a gentle smile. “It’s fine, Dev, really. I don’t mind.” But you did. You minded the way the world seemed to take and just take from you, leaving you with a hollow space inside. You minded being the invisible one, the girl whose name was only spoken when a favor was needed.

From across the cafeteria, you could see the sun. His name was Christopher Bahng. He was the nucleus of the entire school, surrounded by a constant, buzzing orbit of friends and admirers. His laugh was a loud, joyous sound that echoed off the walls. The soccer team chanted his name, their voices a triumphant symphony, and he would grin, his face bright with an easy, unburdened confidence that you had never known. He moved with a loud grace that seemed to defy the ordinary rules of physics, and you watched him from the quiet corners of your world, a world of half-eaten sandwiches and neatly organized papers. You were the moon, he was the sun. The thought made you feel both small and safe, as if the immense distance between you was a protective force. He was too bright, too brilliant for someone who spent her life in the shadows.

But the universe, it seemed, had a sense of humor.

He saw you.

It wasn't when you were helping with the papers, or when you were lending your notes. It was after everyone had left the lunch tables, leaving behind a battlefield of crumpled napkins, empty water bottles, and discarded wrappers. It was a mess that nobody, least of all the captain of the soccer team, would ever think to touch. But you saw it, and the sight of it, left to fester, was a small wrong that you felt compelled to make right.

You moved quietly, your hands working with a practiced, almost automatic rhythm. You collected the trash, your eyes downcast, a quiet, mournful ghost gliding through the empty space. Christopher, however, was still there, leaning against a locker, talking to a few remaining friends. He wasn’t watching the conversation; he was watching you.

The question formed in his mind, sharp and insistent. Why is she always cleaning up when no one else cares? It was a small, almost insignificant action, yet it was the first time he had truly noticed you as a person, and not just as another face in the crowd. Your quiet, unassuming dependability was an anomaly to him, a stark contrast to the loud, demanding world he lived in.

He said something to his friends, a quick goodbye, his eyes never leaving your back. A nervous energy hummed in his veins, an unknown curiosity that he couldn't explain. He watched you finish your task, your shoulders a little slumped, and then you were gone, melting back into the silent hallways.

The next day, it happened. The first real interaction.

The bell had just rung, and the classroom was a chaotic sea of chatter and motion. You were packing your backpack, trying to shrink into the corner of your desk, when you saw it. A pen, a simple black pen with a silver clip, had rolled off Christopher's desk and lay forgotten on the floor. It was nothing, a small object that he probably had ten of, but a small part of you felt a pull to return it. It was what you did. You were the one who made things right.

You walked over, the noise of the room seeming to grow louder with every step. You picked up the pen, your hand trembling slightly, and you tapped him on the shoulder. He turned, his face a bright, warm surprise that made your heart hammer against your ribs.

"Hey," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the din. You held the pen out to him, your eyes fixed on his chin, unable to meet his gaze.

A slow smile, different from his usual brilliant one, spread across his face. It was a gentler, more genuine smile that reached his eyes and made them crinkle at the corners. He took the pen from you, his fingers brushing against yours for a fleeting moment that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Thanks," he said, his voice surprisingly soft. "Didn't think anyone noticed."

The words hit you with the force of a tidal wave. They were so simple, so small, but they were the words you had been waiting to hear your entire life. Someone noticed. You couldn't handle the weight of that sincerity. You simply nodded awkwardly, your face flaming, and fled the classroom before you could overthink it.

You were halfway down the hallway, your heart still pounding, when you heard Mira's voice behind you. "Ohhh, the captain noticed you."

You scoffed, the sound shaky. "Don't be ridiculous. He's just being polite." The lie felt sour on your tongue. You wanted to believe it, you needed to believe it, because the alternative was too terrifying to contemplate.

Across the hall, Christopher leaned against a locker, a small smile on his face. He replayed the moment in his mind, your shy smile, the way you had looked at him before you ran. He sensed something genuine about you, something quiet and unassuming and utterly real, and it was a stark contrast to the endless demands for his attention that he was so used to. He couldn’t explain why he was so curious. He didn't know your name, but he knew your hands were gentle and your heart was honest. And thus, curiosity, a strange and insistent feeling, planted the first seed in his mind.

That night, lying in bed, you replayed the moment in your mind. The brush of his fingers, the look in his eyes, the simple words that had meant so much. You told yourself it was nothing, that he was just being nice, that you were overthinking it. But a small, hopeful part of you, a part you had long forgotten, couldn't help but wonder. Was it possible that you, the invisible one, had finally been seen? And in a different part of town, Christopher lay awake, his mind replaying the moment, his chest filled with a strange, new feeling he couldn't quite name...

--- x ---

You were a walking library, a mobile fortress of books held together by sheer hope and the delicate balance of your chin resting precariously on the top one. It was a strategy born from a desire to carry everything in one trip and avoid a second interaction with the gruff librarian. Your arms ached under the weight of the novels and research materials, but you were so close. Just a few more feet and you would be free.

Then, the world tilted.

A loud, familiar laugh cut through the hallway noise, followed by the clatter of cleats and the energetic chatter of the soccer team. In the seconds before impact, you knew exactly who it was. The sun, Christopher Bahng, was heading your way, too absorbed in his conversation to notice the human pile of paper in his path.

You braced yourself, but it was no use. The collision was a soft thud followed by a loud, echoing crash as your fortress came tumbling down. Books scattered everywhere, their spines splayed open, pages fluttering like startled birds. You felt a flash of mortified panic, a heat that rushed to your face as you knelt immediately, desperate to gather your life before anyone could notice the quiet girl who had just caused a scene.

"Oh no—sorry, sorry!" a voice exclaimed, and you didn't even have to look up to know it was him. "Let me help."

He was kneeling on the cold floor beside you, his presence filling the space with an energy you were not used to. His voice was soft, genuinely apologetic, and for a moment, you forgot to be embarrassed. Your hands, however, were still frantic, darting from book to book. Your fingers brushed his as you both reached for the same worn copy of Pride and Prejudice.

It was a small, fleeting contact, but it felt like an electric shock. The touch was warm and solid, and you quickly pulled your hand away, muttering, "It's fine, don't worry." You focused on grabbing the remaining books, not daring to look at him. You could feel his eyes on you, his frown as he noticed your avoidance, the way you were trying to shrink in on yourself. The silence was louder than the laughter and chatter that surrounded you, and you couldn't stand it. You gathered your books, clutched them to your chest, and stood, muttering another quick "Thanks," before hurrying away, your cheeks still burning.

Christopher watched you go, his brow furrowed. He had been expecting a scolding, a sigh of annoyance, a loud protest. But all he got was a quiet apology and a hasty retreat. At soccer practice later, his friends noticed his distracted air.

"What's with you, Chris? Why'd you bother with her? She's weird," one of them said, laughing.

Christopher snapped back without thinking. "She's not weird. She's just… different." The words hung in the air, a defense he hadn't planned on, and he realized with a jolt that he meant them. She was different. Unlike everyone else, she didn't want his attention or his apologies. She wanted to be left alone, and that, more than anything, intrigued him.

His curiosity grew into a conscious effort. He started noticing where you sat in class. You were always at the edge, the last desk in the last row, a sentinel guarding your own quiet solitude. He saw you scribbling notes with a meticulous hand, and when you thought no one was looking, you would doodle. Your pen would move across the page, creating intricate patterns and small, detailed sketches that seemed to tell an entire story.

One day, he couldn't take it anymore. You were alone, as usual, doodling while you waited for the next class to start. He walked over, his heart pounding a little too fast, and stood by your desk. "You like drawing?" he asked, his voice low.

You froze, your pen still, your hand hovering over the paper. The question was so simple, so direct, that it caught you completely off guard. You quickly covered your notebook with your arm. "It's nothing," you stammered. "Just… passing time."

He smiled, a gentle, understanding expression. "Well, it looks cool. A lot better than my stick figures."

You looked up at him, a flicker of surprise in your eyes. He wasn't teasing you. His smile was warm, and his gaze was sincere. The tension in your shoulders lessened, and a small, unexpected laugh escaped you—your first laugh around him. It was a soft, melodious sound, and Christopher felt his heart stutter in his chest. His cheeks flushed, a warmth spreading through him as he realized, with a sense of pure, innocent panic, God, why is her laugh so cute?

You immediately regretted laughing. You brushed it off as him being nice, a simple gesture from a genuinely kind person. He was, after all, Christopher Bahng, the sun, and you were just… you.

But you were wrong. Across the room, Mira noticed him looking over at you often now, a different look in his eyes than the one he used for everyone else. "You sure he's not staring?" she asked you later.

"No," you insisted, scoffing at the thought. "Guys like him don't look at girls like me." You had built your walls high, and you had no intention of letting them fall.

That night, alone in his room, Christopher sat at his desk. He wasn't thinking about soccer practice or the upcoming game. He was thinking about you, about your shy smile and that quiet, unexpected laugh. He opened his notebook, the one filled with messy song lyrics and ideas, and found himself copying your doodle from memory, your intricate patterns filling the margin. He didn't even realize he was smiling at it, a genuine, content grin that only appeared when no one else was watching. The invisible girl was becoming more visible to him every single day. And he, the sun, was drawing her world into his.

Your friends were your shield, your protectors, and the first line of defense against a world that you had learned to navigate with quiet caution. They had watched the subtle shifts in Christopher's behavior—the lingering glances, the soft smiles, the way he seemed to gravitate to your orbit—and their suspicions had reached a boiling point. They were not malicious, just fiercely protective. They had seen too many people take advantage of you. They had seen the way your light dimmed each time someone took without giving, each time your kindness was mistaken for weakness. Their love for you was a wall, and now, someone was trying to breach it. They were not going to let him pass without a fight.

One afternoon, Asha decided to act on it. She was blunt and brave in a way you couldn't be, armed with a fierce loyalty that left no room for subtlety. She found Christopher by the vending machines, his attention momentarily absorbed in choosing a drink. Dev stood by her side, a silent, unyielding presence, his hands stuffed in his pockets, his posture radiating a quiet but firm disapproval.

"What's your deal with her?" Asha began, her voice low and direct, meant to be heard only by the three of them. "Is this some bet? Some joke?"

The question hung in the air like a storm cloud, thick with accusation. Christopher, who had been humming a song under his breath, froze. The easy, friendly warmth that had been a permanent fixture on his face for weeks vanished, replaced by a coldness that made his eyes go flat. He had expected this. He knew people would talk, would assume the worst, but hearing it directly from your friends—from the people who loved you—stung him more than he could have anticipated. It was an accusation that went deeper than just him; it was an insult to you, and he felt a flash of white-hot anger at the thought.

"What? No," he said, the words sharp with frustration. "Why would you even think that?"

Dev stepped forward, his voice a low rumble, the words a painful confirmation of your deepest insecurities. "You're the soccer captain, Christopher. You're… you. People like you don't notice people like her unless it's for fun. Or unless you need something from her." It wasn't just a warning. It was a statement about the way the world worked, about the rigid social hierarchy that kept everyone in their place. It was a line drawn in the sand, one you had always instinctively known not to cross.

Christopher's jaw tightened, the muscle jumping in his cheek. He hated the way they were categorizing you, as if you were some quiet, insignificant project he had stumbled upon, a new toy to entertain him. He had spent his life navigating a world of people who wanted something from him—his influence, his attention, his popularity. You were the first person who seemed to want nothing at all, the first one who saw him as just another person, and it was a relief he hadn't known he was craving. He hated that they couldn't see that.

"She's not a joke," he said, his voice firm and unwavering, each word a stone-cold promise. "She's… someone I actually want to know."

Asha and Dev exchanged a look, half-suspicious, half-surprised. The sincerity in his tone was hard to dismiss. He saw their hesitation and pushed on, an almost desperate urgency in his voice. "She means a lot more than you think. Even if she doesn't realize it." With that, he turned and walked away, the weight of his words hanging in the tense, silent air.

Later that afternoon, Asha reported back to you, her voice a mix of disbelief and grudging respect. You were organizing your locker, your head down, trying to disappear into the familiar rhythm of the school day. "He didn't deny it," she said, her eyes wide. "He's serious."

The words hit you with the force of a physical blow. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic, hummingbird beat that made it hard to breathe. Your hands, which had been neatly stacking books, froze. "Please," you scoffed, your voice shaky, a desperate attempt to sound nonchalant. "Christopher Bahng? No. Don't play with me." The thought was absurd, a ridiculous fantasy that you refused to entertain. You had spent so long building your walls, reinforcing the idea that you were not someone who could be seen, let alone wanted, by a boy like him. The idea that he might genuinely be interested was more terrifying than the thought that he was just playing a cruel joke. At least with a joke, you knew the end was coming. But a genuine connection? That was a vulnerability you didn't know how to handle. But the seed of doubt Asha had planted, a tiny, persistent thing, shook the foundation of your well-guarded walls.

Meanwhile, Christopher was restless. The confrontation with your friends had left him with a bitter taste in his mouth. He was used to people wanting things from him, but their assumption that he would use you for a joke was a new kind of low. He hated that they saw him that way, and he hated even more that they saw you as someone who could be so easily dismissed. The anger simmered in his chest, a constant, low-level burn that he couldn't shake.

At practice, his frustration bubbled over. His friends, oblivious to the confrontation and the emotional weight he was carrying, teased him relentlessly. "Got a new project, Captain?" one of them would say, nudging him in the ribs. "What's the goal with this one, anyway?"

"She's not a project. Shut up," Christopher snapped, his voice venomous, his eyes dark with a rage that was entirely disproportionate to the comment. His sudden, brutal anger shocked them, and they fell silent, their confused stares a new kind of pressure. He realized then that he was more protective of you than he thought. The thought of anyone seeing you as a joke, as a project, filled him with a quiet, simmering rage that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

He needed to show them. He needed to show the world. And more importantly, he needed to show you.

The next day at lunch, you noticed it immediately. The noise of the cafeteria, the blur of faces—it all seemed to quiet as you saw him. He was walking toward your table, not with a soccer player's confident swagger, but with an almost hesitant, purposeful stride. He didn’t sit with his teammates. He sat with you and your friends, sliding into the empty spot next to Dev, a subtle but monumental shift in the social landscape of the entire school.

He started small, a gentle infiltration into your world. He joked with Dev about soccer drills, the two of them a surprisingly easy pair. He learned Mira's favorite song, humming a few bars to get a genuine smile out of her. He even engaged in Asha's sarcastic banter, his own wit a match for her sharp tongue. He was trying to show your friends, I'm not here to hurt her. His eyes, however, kept finding yours, and in them, you saw a sincerity that you were terrified to believe.

You watched him, your mind a whirlwind of confusion. Why me? you thought. Out of everyone here, out of all the people who would fall at his feet, why me? You kept your gaze fixed on your plate, your heart a frantic drumbeat in your chest. His presence was a constant, unsettling force, a reminder that the quiet, predictable life you had built for yourself was now in danger of being torn apart.

Christopher, on the other hand, had a different thought. He saw you, sitting there, your shoulders a little tense, your eyes still holding that beautiful, quiet sadness. He saw the way you listened to your friends, the way your small smiles were so genuine. He saw you as you truly were, stripped of the pretense and performance that defined the world around him. He was exhausted by the constant need to be perfect, to be the charismatic leader everyone expected him to be. And in your quiet existence, he found a profound sense of peace.

In his mind, the answer was simple, the most honest truth he had ever known. Because you’re real. And that's all I've ever wanted.

The universe, in its own strange way, seemed to be conspiring to bring you together. The sky, a bruised tapestry of purple and grey, opened up with a torrential downpour, a sudden and violent wash of rain that canceled soccer practice and stranded Christopher inside the school's quiet sanctuary. You, however, had nowhere to be but the library. The storm was a symphony that muted the frantic energy of the hallways, and the rain-lashed windows provided a perfect backdrop for your sketching. It was your element, a world of quiet contemplation where you could exist without the demanding, watchful eyes of others.

You were completely lost in your own world, a world of intricate lines and gentle curves. Your pen moved across the paper with a practiced, almost subconscious grace, the tip leaving a delicate trail of graphite in its wake. The rain hammered against the glass, a rhythmic drumbeat that lulled you into a meditative state. You didn't even hear him approach, his usual loud, confident stride replaced with a careful, quiet grace that you had never known he possessed.

He simply pulled up a chair and sat near you, the silence between you a soft, comfortable blanket that was a stark contrast to the storm outside. He was not the loud, boisterous captain of the soccer team you knew from the hallways. He was just Christopher, a boy with damp hair that clung to his forehead and a restless energy that seemed to quiet the moment he sat down. He wasn't reaching for you, or demanding anything from you. He was just… there.

"Show me?" he asked, his voice a low, gentle rumble that was barely audible over the sound of the rain.

You froze, your pen still, your hand hovering over the paper. The question was a simple one, but it felt impossibly heavy, weighted with all the unspoken things that had passed between you. It was one thing for your friends to see your doodles, but for him, the sun, to ask? Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic, nervous beat that made your hands tremble. The act of sharing your art was an act of profound vulnerability, a laying bare of your inner world. You hesitated, the walls you had so carefully constructed threatening to crumble. But something in his gaze, a quiet sincerity that you were beginning to recognize, made you give in. You flipped the page reluctantly, revealing a detailed sketch of an old, gnarled tree, its roots twisting like a forgotten symphony and its branches reaching into a dark, stormy sky.

He stared, genuinely amazed. He didn't just glance at it; he truly looked at it, his eyes tracing every line, every shadow, every intricate detail you had poured your soul into. The silence stretched between you, but this time, it was an appreciative, thoughtful silence, not an awkward, painful one. "This is… beautiful," he said, his voice a whisper of pure awe.

You laughed, a nervous, almost self-deprecating sound. "It's just lines on paper." The words were a defense mechanism, a way to deflect the vulnerability you felt. You weren't a great artist, just a girl with a sketchbook and a lot of quiet hours to fill. You didn't want him to think it was more than it was.

He shook his head, his gaze still fixed on your drawing. "No," he said, and his voice was so firm, so sure, that you believed him. "It's not just lines. It's you. Quiet, but… it says so much." His words were a mirror, and you saw yourself reflected in them in a way you had never done before. He wasn't seeing just the drawing; he was seeing the emotions behind it—the loneliness, the resilience, the quiet strength.

His words made your cheeks warm with a blush that you couldn't control. You looked away, your gaze fixed on the rain streaming down the window, a desperate attempt to hide the raw emotion on your face.

He seemed to sense your discomfort because he didn't push. Instead, he pulled out his own notebook, the one you had so briefly seen on the day of the book collision. He flipped it open to a page filled with messy, frantic song lyrics, words scribbled in the margins, and an energy that was palpable. "Don't laugh," he said, a genuine nervousness in his voice that made him sound so much younger, so much more vulnerable than you had ever thought possible. "It's rough."

You took the notebook, your fingers brushing his as he passed it to you, a now familiar shiver running down your arm. You read the lyrics softly, and your eyes widened as you read his words. They were raw and honest and filled with a quiet melancholy that was so completely at odds with the loud, charismatic person he presented to the world. They were filled with loneliness and the pressure to be someone he wasn't, to constantly perform. You looked at the words and you looked at him, your gaze filled with a new kind of understanding. "This… this is you, isn't it?"

He nodded, a vulnerable, almost shy expression on his face. "Yeah. No one else sees this stuff."

And in that moment, the world shifted. You realized you were seeing a side of him that no one else had—the boy who wrote poetry and music in the quiet moments between soccer games and loud laughter. He was more than the loud, bright sun. He was a universe of his own, filled with a quiet, introspective sadness you recognized. He had given you a glimpse of it, a silent invitation into his world, and in turn, he had shown you that he truly saw yours.

He relaxed around you, the conversation flowing as naturally as the rain outside. He talked about music, about late-night walks, about the quiet pressure he felt to be perfect all the time. He talked about the loneliness that came with being everyone's idol, the constant feeling that people loved the idea of him, but never the real person. You listened without judgment, a quiet, non-demanding presence that he seemed to crave. He didn't have to be anything for you. He could just be Christopher.

A comfortable silence fell between you, a heavy, warm quiet that was a far cry from the awkward silences you were used to. The air was thick with unsaid things, with the growing weight of your shared vulnerabilities. It felt like a safe space, an emotional bunker you had both unknowingly built.

He broke the silence, his voice a low, almost surprised whisper. "You’re easy to talk to. Like I don’t have to perform."

You smiled softly, the feeling a foreign but welcome one. "Maybe that's because I don't expect anything."

He caught himself staring at you again, his pulse quickening as he realized how much he craved your quiet presence. His eyes, dark and searching, held yours for a moment, and you felt your own breath catch in your throat. He wasn't just looking at you; he was studying you, as if committing every detail to memory.

He leaned in, his voice barely audible, as if he were saying a secret to himself. "Yeah… that’s why I like being here."

You didn't catch it. The words were a whisper, and your mind was too busy unraveling the mess of emotions you were feeling to pay attention. But across the room, tucked away behind a row of bookshelves, Mira saw the way he was looking at you. She saw the genuine warmth in his eyes, the soft smile on his face, the quiet intensity of his gaze. And she knew, without a doubt, that he wasn't just being polite. He was falling. And you, oblivious and caught in your own walls, had no idea.

The afternoon sun, a tired and golden light, slanted through the tall classroom windows, casting long, dusty stripes across the desks. It was the last period of the day, a collective, heavy silence that had settled over the entire class like a thick blanket. The low, incessant hum of the air conditioning was the only thing keeping most of you from falling completely asleep. Your pen had slowed to a near halt, your notes a jumble of half-finished thoughts and a series of geometric shapes that were slowly turning into something more intricate—a castle of polygons, a fortress built from your own fatigue. You were tired, the day's constant, quiet performance of being “fine” weighing you down in a way that felt physical.

Mr. Peterson, your math teacher, was a kind man who had a penchant for terrible puns. He had just finished explaining a particularly complex algebraic equation when he paused, a mischievous glint in his eye that you recognized with a tired sigh. “Now, remember,” he said, drawing out the words in a slow, dramatic fashion, “an angle is acute when it’s so… little.” He paused for a beat knowing he was giving the most useless and known information out ther, but with a hopeful smile on his face, waiting for a laugh that never came.

A collective, exhausted silence followed. A few people offered a courtesy chuckle, a polite gesture from a class that was too tired to do anything else. But for the most part, the joke landed with a thud, a hollow, echoing sound in the quiet room. You, however, had your own brand of quiet humor, one born from a lifetime of internal monologues. Without thinking, the words slipped out, a soft, self-deprecating murmur under your breath that was meant only for yourself. “Well, at least the numbers and angles are more balanced than my life.”

Next to you, Mira snorted, a sharp, surprised sound that she quickly tried to stifle with a hand over her mouth. But from a few rows ahead, a sound so explosive and unexpected it made the entire class jump erupted from the back of the room. It was Christopher Bahng, and he was laughing. Not his usual loud, boisterous, soccer captain laugh, but a genuine, unrestrained sound that started as a choked gasp and ended in a full-throated, joyous roar. His laugh was a waterfall of pure, unadulterated amusement, and it seemed to break the very silence of the room.

Every single person turned, their eyes wide with shock. Christopher never laughed like that. He was a constant source of effortless cool, a controlled smile always in place, but this was different. He was laughing so hard that tears were starting to well in the corners of his eyes, his shoulders shaking with the effort of trying to contain it. He felt the heat rise to his ears, the flush of embarrassment spreading across his neck, and he quickly tried to quiet down, pressing a hand over his mouth, his chest still heaving with silent giggles.

You, meanwhile, felt a wave of mortification wash over you. Your joke was meant for you and Mira. It was a joke for the invisible, a shared moment of dark humor that was meant to exist only in the shadows. It was not meant for the sun. You felt your face burn as you looked at him, your voice barely a whisper. “…It wasn’t that funny.”

He shook his head, still trying to catch his breath. His eyes, when they finally met yours, were sparkling with a light you had never seen before—a light of pure, unvarnished delight. "No—it was," he managed, his voice still thick with laughter. "It was. You’re funny. Like… stupid funny."

The words were so sincere, so honest in their clunky delivery, that they left you speechless. He wasn’t mocking you. He was genuinely, truly, hilariously impressed. You hid your face in your hands, the embarrassment almost unbearable. It wasn't just that he had laughed; it was that he had laughed at your joke, a joke that was so inherently you, so personal and quiet. It was the most seen you had ever felt.

For the rest of the day, the image of your laughing face was burned into his mind. He found himself grinning at random moments, a warmth spreading through his chest every time the memory of your whispered joke and your startled, embarrassed laugh replayed in his head. The weight of his world seemed to lift, replaced by a simple, joyous lightness. He was so used to hearing jokes that were loud and obvious, jokes that were meant to be heard and appreciated by a crowd. But your joke was a quiet whisper, a small, perfect thing that only he had been able to catch.

At soccer practice, his focus was gone. He missed a simple pass, something he never did, and the ball rolled harmlessly out of bounds, his teammate yelling in frustration. Christopher barely heard him. His mind was elsewhere, lost in a quiet classroom with the afternoon sun slanting through the windows. He couldn't concentrate. He was usually so precise, his movements sharp and calculated, but today he felt clumsy, his feet tangled in a way he couldn't explain.

His teammate, sensing something was wrong, came over, his expression concerned. "Yo, what's with you, Chris? You've been off all day."

Christopher shook his head, his gaze fixed on nothing in particular. “Nothing,” he muttered. “Just tired.” But in his mind, it wasn't the heat or the drills or the pressure that had him distracted. It was the sound of your laugh, a quiet, unexpected melody that he couldn’t get out of his head. He replayed the entire conversation, the way you had looked at him, the way your eyes had widened when he called you "stupid funny."

That night, he was restless, unable to focus on his homework. He couldn't shake the memory of your joke, the way it had broken through his composure. It wasn't just funny; it was real, and it was a glimpse into your world that he desperately wanted to know more about. He pulled out his phone, his fingers hovering over his contact list, before finally landing on Mira's name.

He texted her, a simple, direct question. “What kind of jokes does she usually make?”

The reply came back almost instantly, a string of emojis and a knowing, teasing line. “Oh, so the Captain is interested, huh?”

He groaned aloud, but he didn’t deny it. He couldn't. He knew there was no going back. The seed of curiosity had blossomed into a full-blown obsession, a need to know you, to see you, to hear your quiet wit. He wanted to hear you laugh again, and he knew, with a sudden, startling clarity, that he was the reason for it.

The next day, he sat by your group again at lunch. You saw him coming, and you knew exactly what he was doing. You rolled your eyes, a half-playful, half-serious gesture. “Why are you here again?”

He grinned, a playful glint in his eyes as he leaned forward, his voice a low, teasing whisper. “Waiting for my daily dumb joke.”

You stared at him, your defenses crumbling. You had no witty comeback, no sarcastic retort. You were completely disarmed by his directness, by the way he was so shamelessly, openly, and playfully invading your space. You stared back, your expression a mixture of surprise and confusion, and for a fleeting moment, he was flustered, the tables turned on him.

From across the table, Dev muttered, shaking his head with a resigned smile. “God, he’s whipped already.”

Christopher laughed, the sound easy and genuine, but deep down, a profound and startling realization settled over him. He wasn't just curious about you anymore. The crush he had been fighting, the attraction he had been denying—it was all so much bigger than he had ever thought. He was in too deep. And with a silent sense of relief and quiet panic, he realized that he was falling.

The easy, comfortable silence between you and Christopher became something else entirely. It became a public, unspoken language that those who were paying attention could read with alarming clarity. What started as quiet moments in the library and whispered jokes in the back of the classroom had blossomed into something more tangible, a physical orbit you couldn't seem to escape, nor did you truly want to.

It started with small things, so subtle you almost didn't register them as new. You would be gathering your books at the end of class, your shoulders already aching from the day’s weight, and he would simply be there, leaning against the doorframe as if he’d been waiting for you all along. His presence was a subtle shift in the air, a warmth that you felt before you even saw him. "Heading to the library?" he'd ask, his hands in his pockets, a casual smile on his face that was anything but. You would shake your head, muttering, "Just to my locker." He would shrug, his grin widening, and say, "Cool. I’ll walk with you." He made it sound like a happy coincidence, a convenient overlap in your schedules, but you knew, with a quiet, certain part of your heart, that it was a deliberate choice to insert himself into your world. His presence was a warm blanket you didn’t know you were cold without, and you had grown to crave the quiet rhythm of his stride beside yours, the comfortable way he would fill the silence with the sound of his voice, talking about music, about late-night walks, about the mundane pressures of his life.

One afternoon, your arms were heavy with a stack of textbooks that felt particularly unforgiving. The weight was a physical manifestation of your exhaustion, the kind that made your shoulders ache and your knuckles white. He saw you struggling from across the hall and jogged over, his hands reaching for the books without a moment of hesitation. "Here," he said, his voice soft, as if you were a fragile thing that could break. "Let me help."

You flinched back, your grip on the books tightening so much your fingers went numb. The thought of him carrying your things, of the two of you walking together, was too much. It was too visible, too blatant a display of… something you couldn't even name. You couldn't handle the inevitable stares and whispers, the way their curious, judgmental eyes would follow you both. "No, it’s fine," you protested, your voice a little shaky. "I’ve got it."

He stopped, his brow furrowed in confusion. A fleeting look of hurt crossed his face before he masked it with a light, teasing smile. "What? You think I’ll drop them?" he joked, trying to lighten the tension.

You shook your head, your eyes fixed on a spot on the floor just past his shoulder. The words came out in a rush, a quiet admission of your deepest fear. "No… I just don’t want people staring."

The easy smile on his face faltered, replaced by a quiet understanding that was more devastating than any anger. He looked up, his gaze sweeping across the crowded hallway, and he saw it. He saw the subtle, knowing looks, the small groups of people whose eyes followed your every move, like a flock of vultures circling a single, vulnerable bird. He saw the hushed conversations, the way they would suddenly fall silent as you passed. He saw it all, and it made him angry, a hot, protective rage that he had to swallow down. He lowered his hand, the offer of help rescinded, and simply walked beside you in silence, his presence a solid, unyielding wall against their prying eyes. Because you were right. People were staring.

The whispers started small, a low, buzzing static in the background of your life that slowly began to crescendo. You heard them in the hallways, in the crowded cafeteria, and in the worst place of all—the bathroom. You were washing your hands, your gaze fixed on your reflection, the tired girl with the kind eyes staring back at you. Two girls walked in, their voices pitched low, their words a knife twisting in your chest.

“Did you see Christopher with her?” one of them whispered, her voice laced with a mixture of envy and disbelief. “I just… don’t get it. Like, why her? She’s so…” a long, cruel pause, a searching for the right word. “…plain.”

The word, when it came, was a poison in the air. It was spoken with such casual cruelty, such a careless lack of concern for the person it was describing. "I mean, she’s nice and all, but she just… blends in."

The other girl laughed, a brittle, sharp sound. "He’s just being nice, you know? He’s the Captain. He’s always being polite. She’s probably just reading too much into it."

The words hit you with the force of a physical blow. You felt your chest tighten, a familiar, agonizing pain that you had spent your life trying to ignore. You had always known you were plain, that you were the type of person who blended in. But hearing it spoken aloud, in connection with him, in connection with the quiet, hopeful thing that was growing between you—that hurt in a way nothing else ever had. You kept your head down, not daring to move, not wanting them to know you had heard.

That night, lying in bed, you texted Mira, the words a raw, honest confession that felt like a betrayal to the fragile hope in your heart. “It’s not real,” you wrote, the words a desperate plea for her to agree. “He’s… just bored.”

Mira’s reply was almost instant, her words a lifeline in the suffocating darkness of your self-doubt. “You think he’d waste this much time if he didn’t care? You think he’s bored enough to learn about your weird doodles and listen to you talk about old books? He’s not bored. He’s into you. Seriously.” Her words were meant to be a comfort, but they only fueled your insecurity. The logic was sound, you knew it was, but a part of you couldn't accept it. It was too easy for Christopher Bang, the sun, to get bored. To him, you were a puzzle, a quiet mystery, and once he solved you, he would move on. You struggled to believe that you could be enough, that you could be the real thing he was looking for.

Meanwhile, Christopher was fighting his own battles. His world was full of noise and constant feedback, and it was hard for him to tune it out. His teammates, who were used to his laser focus and unwavering dedication to the game, were getting frustrated. They saw the distraction in his eyes, the way he would miss a pass or be a beat too slow. They didn’t understand, and their frustration turned into a quiet, resentful curiosity.

“What’s with you and that girl?” one of his friends asked him in the locker room after practice, his voice a low, teasing whisper, his eyes a cold, judgmental assessment. “Bet she’s just using you for clout.”

The words were so disgusting, so far from the truth of who you were, that Christopher felt a hot, blinding flash of anger. He spun around, his voice low and dangerous, his eyes a storm of furious protectiveness. “She’d never,” he snapped, the words a harsh hiss. “Don’t talk about her in that manner.” His sudden, venomous anger shocked them all into silence. They had never seen him so protective, so quick to anger. It was a clear, unmistakable line in the sand, a stark declaration that you were no longer a topic for their locker room jokes.

The next day, you noticed he was quieter. The usual easy banter was gone, replaced by a simmering tension in his shoulders that you instinctively felt. He seemed heavier, the light that usually followed him dimmed by a shadow you couldn’t quite place. You waited until lunch, until his friends had walked away to get their food, and leaned forward, your voice soft with genuine concern. “Did something happen?”

He shook his head, running a hand through his hair, his eyes meeting yours with a profound weariness. “Nah,” he said, the word a forced casualness. “Just… don’t listen to what people say, okay?”

His gaze was so intense, so full of unspoken things, that your heart stirred in your chest. His protectiveness, raw and simple, was a powerful thing. He was fighting for you, in a way that you had never thought anyone would. But the insecurity, the fear that you were just a phase, that you were just a quiet girl he would eventually grow bored of, lingered. The whispers still echoed in your ears, the words ‘plain’ and ‘bored’ a constant, nagging refrain.

That night, lying awake in bed, Christopher’s mind was not on his team or the upcoming finals. It was on you, and on the quiet, fragile thing he was trying to protect. He thought about the fear in your eyes when you asked him not to stare, the way you had flinched away from him. He realized, with a sudden, bone-deep clarity, that he wasn’t just crushing on you. It wasn't just a crush. It was more. He didn't just want to know you; he wanted you to be safe. He wanted you to be happy, and he wanted to be the person who could make you feel seen, truly seen, for the first time in your life. The weight of that realization, the sheer vulnerability of it all, terrified him more than the soccer finals ever could. He was in too deep. And he wasn't sure he wanted to get out.

The goodbye was a soft, gentle thing, a quiet moment in the chaotic blur of the school parking lot. You stood beside your friends, trying to smile, trying to act like this was just a normal departure. Christopher was surrounded by his team, their cheers and excited chatter a loud testament to the final game. It was a regional championship, the biggest game of his uni-life, a chance for his team to make history. He deserved to be focused, to be free of any distractions, and you were determined to not be one.

“Win for us, Captain,” you said, your voice a little shaky, a false brightness to it that you hoped he wouldn't notice. You tried to project a calm, unwavering confidence that you were far from feeling.

He laughed, a warm, genuine sound that you would cling to for the next few days. He reached out and ruffled your hair, a small, familiar gesture that made your heart flutter. "For you," he said, his eyes finding yours, holding your gaze for a moment longer than they should have. "Always." The word was a promise, a quiet vow that sent a shiver down your spine.

Then he was gone, a blur of red and white as he climbed onto the bus. You watched the bus drive away, the exhaust a faint cloud in the humid air, and as it disappeared around the corner, a hollow, empty space bloomed in your chest. It was a physical ache, a profound sense of loss that felt both familiar and new. You were a planet without its sun, and you were already beginning to feel the cold.

At first, everything was normal. The halls were still crowded, the classes still mundane, the lunches still loud. But as the days bled into one another, his absence became a tangible thing, a vacuum in your world that sucked all the light out of the room. The noise seemed louder, the stares more pointed. The whispers, which had been a low hum, now felt like a crescendo, a venomous chorus that followed you everywhere.

The popular girls, who had been silenced by his presence, were now emboldened. Their whispers were louder, their glances more direct. You overheard them in the lunchroom, their voices sharp and cruel. "She thinks she's special just because he talks to her." The words, so stupidly simple, lodged themselves in your brain, an echo of your own deepest fears. You felt a wave of nausea, the familiar self-doubt a bitter taste in your mouth.

His friends on the team, not as kind or as mature as Christopher, saw an opportunity. They didn't understand the bond between you two. To them, you were a distraction, a quiet girl who had somehow taken up too much of their Captain's time. They would sneer as you passed, their voices dripping with contempt. "He's bored of you already," one of them said as he walked by you in the hallway, the words a cold knife in your back.

You shrank into yourself, the familiar weight of your quietness a shield you wrapped around yourself. You brushed off the comments, pretended not to hear the whispers. You could handle this. You had always handled this. It was a part of your life, the quiet dismissal, the unseen labor. But your friends, your three fierce protectors, noticed the way your shoulders had begun to slump, the way you would subtly change your route to avoid a hallway, the way your smiles no longer reached your eyes.

Mira, her jaw clenched with a simmering fury, grabbed your arm one day in the cafeteria. "Say something to Christopher," she insisted, her voice low and urgent.

You shook your head violently, a wave of panic rising in your chest. "No. He doesn't need this. Not when he's away." You thought of him, focused and determined, his eyes on the prize. The last thing he needed was your petty high school drama. You were a minor distraction, a footnote in his life. You could handle this on your own. It was a fierce, desperate kind of pride that made you refuse to reach out.

But the bullying escalated. The snide comments turned into malicious acts. An "accidental" spill of water on your notes in the library, your meticulous handwriting a blurry, ruined mess that made your heart ache with every illegible word. A shoulder check in the hallway that sent you stumbling, your books scattering across the floor like a second collision. One girl cornered you by the lockers, her face a mask of bitter jealousy. "He'll drop you the second finals are over," she hissed, her voice a low, ugly sneer. "He just likes the chase. You're not special."

You swallowed the tears that burned in your throat, gripping the cold porcelain of the bathroom sink, your knuckles white. You looked at your reflection, at the girl with the tired eyes, and you whispered the words that had been your mantra your entire life. "It's fine. I'm used to this. I can handle it." But your friends, standing outside the door, knew better. They exchanged worried looks, their hearts breaking for you. They knew you were breaking.

Dev, the quietest of the three, spoke the words that they were all thinking. "She won't tell him. So we will."

They huddled together, their phones a small circle of light in the dim hallway. They drafted a message to Christopher, the words a careful, concise explanation of everything that was happening. They hesitated, their fingers hovering over the send button. They didn’t want to be the ones to ruin his concentration, to distract him from his dream. But Mira, her face set in a determined scowl, pressed the button. It wasn't about the finals anymore. It was about you.

Meanwhile, a thousand miles away, Christopher’s team was celebrating a hard-won victory. The cheers were loud, the music was blaring, and the air was thick with the triumphant smell of sweat and adrenaline. He held the trophy in his hands, but it felt hollow. Something was missing. He pulled out his phone, a little annoyed, and saw a text from Mira. He read the first line, then the second, and his chest dropped with a sick, twisting panic. "She's not saying anything, but they're destroying her here. She's getting bullied."

He reread the words three times, his mind refusing to accept them. The elation of victory vanished, replaced by a cold, numbing fear. He felt the blood drain from his face, and his hands began to tremble. His whole world, which had been so bright and so focused on this victory, came crashing down around him. He didn’t think. He didn't process the cheers or the congratulations. He just knew he had to get back to you.

"I have to go back," he muttered, his voice hoarse, the words barely audible over the music.

A teammate, overhearing him, grabbed his arm. "Are you crazy? The finals—the media's waiting for you!"

Christopher pulled his arm away, his eyes wild with a fear that was deeper than any he had ever felt on the field. "She's more important," he said, his voice a quiet, resolute promise. "Always." He turned and ran, leaving behind the victory, the celebration, and the stunned faces of his teammates. His heart pounded in his chest, a frantic rhythm against his ribs. Please… please let her be okay. He was running on pure adrenaline, a desperate, undeniable need to get back to the only person who mattered. He would leave the trophy behind, leave the cheers, leave the victory—it all meant nothing without you.

The world had shrunk to the size of a single desk. The classroom, once a place of quiet refuge, was now a suffocating space filled with the low hum of whispered poison. You sat there, pretending to take notes, your pen moving across the page with a practiced, automatic rhythm. But the words on the paper were a meaningless blur, and the page might as well have been blank. Your mind was a frantic cacophony of fear and humiliation, replaying every cruel comment, every sneer, every dismissive glance you had endured in the last two days. It was a vicious cycle of remembered pain, a silent torture that left you feeling like a ghost in your own body.

You had become a target, a quiet scapegoat for a jealousy you never asked for. The girls who had been silenced by Christopher’s presence were now emboldened, their words a constant, nagging refrain of your own deepest insecurities. "She thinks she’s special," one would whisper as you passed, the words a low hiss in the crowded hallway. "He's just bored," another would mutter, her eyes a cold, judgmental assessment that cut you deeper than any physical blow. You tried to be invisible again, to shrink back into the shadows you had so painstakingly crawled out of, but it was no use. The quiet space you had carved out for yourself was gone.

A crumpled paper ball hit your desk with a soft thud, a silent act of aggression. You didn't flinch. You didn't dare. You just stared at it, a knot of pure misery tightening in your stomach. When you finally looked, a quick, furtive glance, you saw the words scrawled in an angry, jagged handwriting: Not worth his time. The phrase was a dagger, a cold confirmation of your worst fears. Your chest tightened, a sharp, searing pain that felt like a physical wound. You clenched your pen tighter, your knuckles white, fighting the hot, humiliating tears that threatened to spill over and betray the quiet composure you were so desperately clinging to. You felt so utterly alone, so impossibly exposed, as if the entire room could see the words on that paper ball, could see the fragile state of your heart.

Suddenly, a wave of gasps rippled through the room. The quiet, monotonous drone of the teacher's voice stuttered to a halt. A hush fell over the classroom, a stunned, collective silence that was so profound it felt like the world had stopped spinning. The air crackled with a strange, frantic energy. You looked up, your eyes wide with confusion, and that's when you saw him.

He was standing in the doorway, a living, breathing anachronism in the orderly world of the classroom. He was still in his soccer jersey, sweat-soaked and rumpled from a game you had heard had ended in a triumphant victory. The jersey was a brilliant red, but it looked faded and dirty from the road. His hair was a mess, his face pale and drawn, and his chest heaved with the heavy, uneven breaths of a man who had run a thousand miles to get here. He looked less like the undefeated captain of the soccer team and more like a lost boy who had just run through a storm, fighting against every obstacle just to stand in this room.

His eyes, frantic and wild, scanned the room. They passed over the shocked faces of his teammates, the stunned silence of the popular girls, the confused expression on the teacher's face. They were searching, a desperate, frantic search for a single face, and when they finally landed on you, your heart stopped. The world narrowed to just the two of you, the chaos and the noise of the room fading into a distant, buzzing static. For a brief, terrifying moment, you were the only person in the world who existed to him.

"Y/N," he said, and the sound of your name, spoken by him for the first time, was a soft, ragged whisper in the heavy silence. The sound of it, the way it rolled off his tongue, was a beautiful, disorienting thing. It was so simple, and yet it held all the weight of the universe.

You froze, a shot of pure panic shooting through you. He was here. He was supposed to be celebrating. He was supposed to be a million miles away, enjoying his victory, basking in the glow of the media. This was a nightmare. This was all your fault. You stammered, the words getting caught in your throat. "W-what are you doing here? Your finals—"

He didn't listen. He didn't even hear you. He was already striding forward, his boots a loud, heavy drumbeat against the linoleum floor. He ignored the stunned silence, the disbelieving stares, the murmurs of his teammates. His gaze never left you. He reached your desk and knelt, his hands gripping your shoulders, his touch firm and grounding. He held you as if you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground, his eyes searching your face for any sign of a wound. "Did they hurt you?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous, a raw rumble of emotion that made every hair on your arms stand up. "Tell me."

You shook your head furiously, the tears you had been fighting so hard to suppress finally breaking free and running hot and fast down your cheeks. "No, no—you shouldn't be here," you insisted, the words a desperate, broken plea. "This is my fault—I shouldn’t have—"

"Don’t you dare blame yourself," he cut you off, his voice cracking with a raw emotion you had never heard from him before. He didn’t give you another moment to protest, another second to pull away. He pulled you from your chair and into his arms, crushing you against his chest in a tight, desperate hug. His touch was so strong, so protective, so utterly real.

Gasps erupted around the room. It was the moment that broke the spell, the moment that shattered the silence. The whispers were no longer quiet, but loud and venomous.

One of the popular girls, her face a mask of bitter jealousy and confusion, found her voice. "Chan, what are you doing?! Think about your image! You just won!"

His teammates, still stunned, shook their heads in disbelief. "She's no one, man," one of them said, his voice laced with disgust, as if he were talking about a stray dog. "Remember who you are!"

Christopher’s arms tightened around your trembling body, holding you in a fierce, unyielding grip. He buried his face in your hair, breathing you in as if you were an antidote to the poison in the room. He didn’t respond to the protests, to the outrage. He simply looked up, his head still low, and glared at them. His eyes were not the easy, confident gaze of the Captain they knew. They were the cold, unwavering stare of a lion protecting his cub.

"She’s not no one," he snapped, the words a thunderclap in the room. His voice was laced with a raw, undeniable fury that made every single person in the room flinch and take a step back. "She’s everything. And if you can’t respect her—you don’t respect me."

Silence crashed over the room, a profound stillness that was more terrifying than any noise. His words hung in the air, a final, unyielding declaration. You buried your face deeper in his chest, trembling harder. The solid warmth of his body was a fragile fortress against the sudden, devastating weight of his words. You had never been chosen before. Not like this. Not so loudly, not so unapologetically. You were terrified, but you were also safe.

"They’ll hate you for this," you whispered, the words a broken sob against his chest. "You’ll regret it."

He lowered his head, his lips pressing against your hair, his words a low, fierce murmur meant only for you. "The only regret I’d have is not protecting you."

And in that moment, in the middle of a stunned classroom, with everyone watching, you finally believed him. He had chosen you. And for the first time in your life, you felt like you mattered. You were not a side character, a background player. You were the main event. And he had just told the world exactly why. He had left his victory behind, and come running. For you.

The classroom was a battlefield, and you were the sole casualty. After the explosion of that afternoon, a sudden, blinding storm of raw emotion, the school buzzed with a low, electrified energy. The whispers were no longer just whispers; they were a frantic, unyielding chorus of questions. Everyone wanted to know. Why her? Why would Christopher, the golden boy, the soccer captain, throw away his victory, his image, for the quiet girl who no one ever noticed? You felt a crushing, unbearable weight on your chest, convinced that you had single-handedly ruined his life. The shame was a physical thing, a hot flush that rose from your stomach to your cheeks every time you heard your name.

You avoided everyone. You walked with your head down, your hands clenched into fists, a desperate, silent prayer on your lips that no one would acknowledge you. You changed your routes, you ate lunch in the library, you lingered in the bathroom until the last possible second. But the walls had ears, and the rumors followed you like a cloud of poison. In the hallways, you could hear them. “I saw it with my own eyes,” a girl would whisper, her voice dripping with disbelief. “He snapped for her? What’s so special about her?” The words were a bitter pill, confirming every single one of your insecurities. You felt the hollow ache in your stomach deepen with every passing minute.

Lunch the next day was a particularly painful ordeal. You sat tucked away in the farthest corner of the cafeteria, a single plate of food a sad, lonely testament to your solitude. You were a planet without an orbit, a moon with no sun. You tried to read, to lose yourself in the quiet world of your book, but the words were a meaningless jumble. The whispers were louder here, a constant, buzzing commentary that made your skin crawl. You heard your name again, a name that had once been so private, now a common currency on the lips of strangers. Your hands trembled, and you dug your nails into your palms, trying to ground yourself.

Then, the murmurs stopped. A sudden, jarring silence fell over the room, a collective intake of breath that was more powerful than any noise. You looked up from your book, your heart lurching with a terrible premonition, and saw him. He was walking toward your table, a resolute, unyielding force. He ignored the stunned stares, the gaping mouths, the quiet, judgmental assessment of the entire cafeteria. He was still in his worn soccer hoodie, his shoulders broad and a tense line to his jaw, and he slid into the chair directly across from you, his presence a loud, unmistakable declaration.

Your chest tightened with a fresh wave of panic. You leaned forward, your voice a desperate, urgent whisper. "What are you doing? Don't make it worse." You couldn't bear to look at the faces watching you, the silent judgments that you knew were burning into your back.

He reached across the table and covered your hand with his, his touch warm and firm. "I don’t care what they think," he said, his voice low and unwavering, meant only for your ears.

You looked down, unable to meet his gaze. The tears you had been holding back for days burned in your throat. "You should," you whispered, the words choked with a quiet, defeated resignation. Your heart ached, not for yourself, but for him. He was losing his friends, his reputation, everything he had worked so hard for. And it was all because of you.

His chest ached at your defeated tone. He saw the way you were trying to shrink into yourself, to become invisible again, and a fresh wave of anger pulsed through him. He had faced down a raging crowd, he had thrown away a victory, but the raw, unadulterated pain in your voice was more terrifying than any of it. He wanted to shake you, to tell you to look at him, to see that none of it mattered, but he held back, his hand a gentle, steady presence on yours. He knew he couldn't push you too hard, too fast.

That night, alone in your room, you avoided his texts. You sat in the dark, your phone a beacon of light on your nightstand, its screen lighting up with a quiet persistence that broke your heart. The messages were so simple, so painfully sincere. "Are you okay?" "Please talk to me." "Don't shut me out." You couldn't respond. The shame was too great. The fear of being a burden on him, of taking any more from him than you already had, was a paralyzing, unbearable weight. You curled up in bed, crying silently into your pillow, a deep, mournful sob that shook your entire body. You were so alone. You had never been chosen before, and you were convinced that you had ruined the one person who had ever chosen you.

The next day, he cornered you. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. You were leaving class, your head down, trying to escape the room before he could find you, but he was waiting for you, his back against the wall, his arms crossed. The hallway was empty, the quiet a sudden, unnerving thing. He looked at you, his eyes raw with a mix of frustration and profound sadness.

"Why are you running from me?" he asked, the words a low, painful plea.

You flinched, your body tensing, a thousand excuses dying on your tongue. You finally looked at him, and you saw the deep ache in his eyes, a pain that mirrored your own. You couldn't lie. You had to tell him the truth. You whispered, the words catching in your throat, "Because I don't want to be your downfall."

His heart cracked. The words were a dagger, a testament to the quiet cruelty he had seen over the last few days. He had expected anger, frustration, but not this—this bone-deep resignation, this conviction that you were the one to blame. He took a step forward, his hands reaching out to cup your face gently, forcing you to meet his eyes. His touch was so soft, so careful, as if he were holding something precious and fragile. He forced you to look at him, to see the sincerity, the love, the deep, abiding truth in his gaze.

"You're not my downfall," he said, his voice a low, fierce murmur that was meant only for you. "You’re the only reason I stand tall."

You gasped softly, a little broken sound that you couldn’t suppress. His eyes, dark and unwavering, were so full of a truth you had never dared to believe. You were lost in his sincerity, in the warmth of his hands, in the raw honesty of his expression. You were just a girl who had always existed in the shadows, and he was the one who had come running, a bright and powerful force, just to bring you out into the light. The silence stretched between you, thick with unsaid words, with the crushing weight of everything you had gone through, everything he had sacrificed.

Finally, you pulled back, the trembling in your body a thing you couldn't control. "Please," you whispered, "just… give me time."

He exhaled, a pained but understanding sound, and nodded, his hands falling slowly from your face. "I'll wait," he said, his voice a quiet, resolute promise. "For however long you need."

From then on, he didn’t push. He stayed close but quiet, a silent, unwavering presence in your life. He walked you home, his footsteps a gentle, steady rhythm behind you. He studied beside you in the library, his quiet, focused presence a comfort you were slowly growing used to. He was a shadow, a silent guardian, a soft whisper that said, "I'm here," without ever having to say the words. And as the days turned into weeks, you began to realize that his silence, his quiet, unyielding presence, spoke louder and more truthfully than anyone else’s words ever did. He was your quiet constant, and the world finally felt a little less lonely.

Months passed like the turning pages of a book you couldn't put down, each one a testament to a truth you were still too terrified to believe. The awkward silence that had once defined your interactions, the tense anticipation, the paralyzing fear—it all melted away, replaced by a comfortable rhythm of shared, stolen moments. Your world, once a quiet, monochromatic place, was now filled with vibrant color. It was in the hushed study sessions in the library, the late-afternoon walks home when the sun bled into the horizon, and the secret, lingering smiles you exchanged when no one else was looking.

He was no longer just Christopher, the soccer captain. He was Chris, the boy who liked to listen to old records on his scratched-up vinyl player, the one who found solace in the quiet of a shared space. He was the boy who would gently push a loose strand of hair from your face when you were focused on an essay, and the one who made you feel seen in a way you had only ever dreamed of. The way he would notice the smallest things—a new drawing in the margin of your notebook, the subtle change in your mood, the small, shy smile that would only appear when you were truly happy—felt like a secret language meant only for you.

The change wasn’t just in your world; it was in his as well. He seamlessly integrated himself into your quiet orbit, a sun that had found a home in the shadows. He helped Dev with soccer drills, a patient mentor who never made him feel inferior. He would join Mira’s musical banter, surprising her with his knowledge of obscure artists and effortlessly singing along to her favorite songs. He even laughed at Asha’s biting sarcasm, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he delivered a witty retort. Your friends, once so wary and protective, had slowly but surely accepted him. They saw what you saw—a boy who was so much more than his public persona, a boy who treated you with a quiet, unwavering reverence that made their initial suspicions seem like a long-forgotten memory.

You felt lighter, safer, as if the crushing weight you had carried for so long had finally been lifted. For the first time, you felt a sense of belonging, not just in your friend group, but in the world at large. The constant background noise of insecurity, of feeling like you were an afterthought, had faded into a soft hum. But with that lightness came a terrifying new fear. The fear of what would happen if you let yourself believe it was real. You had spent so long building your walls, convincing yourself that you were unworthy of this kind of attention, that the very idea of it was a dangerous, fragile thing that could shatter at any moment. You were terrified that if you let him in, truly let him in, you would scare him away and be left with nothing but the broken pieces of a dream.

One evening, as the semester wound down, he found you on the school rooftop, your usual quiet spot. The sky was a deep, velvet blue, sprinkled with the first shy stars of the night. The cool evening air was a welcome contrast to the humid heat of the day. You were sitting on the ground, your knees pulled to your chest, your gaze fixed on the quiet, sprawling cityscape below. He sat beside you, not too close, but close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. The silence was comfortable, a silent conversation you had perfected over the past few months.

You broke it first, your voice a soft, teasing murmur. “Bet the captain of the soccer team doesn’t usually waste time stargazing.”

He smirked faintly, the corner of his mouth turning up in a way that made your heart do a nervous little flip. He didn't look at the stars; he looked at you, a soft, unwavering gaze that made your cheeks feel warm. “Only when it’s with you,” he said, the words so quiet they were almost swallowed by the night.

Your chest fluttered, a wild, frantic thing, but you hid it with a small, nervous scoff. "Don't be cheesy, Christopher," you said, your voice a little shaky. The name felt strange on your tongue now, a formal remnant of a person you barely knew. You had started thinking of him as Chan, and sometimes, in the quiet solitude of your own thoughts, as Chris.

Silence fell between you again, but this time it was different. It was thick with a tension that was both exhilarating and terrifying. You could feel his knee touching yours, a gentle, solid presence. He was fiddling with his bracelet, a nervous habit you had come to recognize as a sign of his vulnerability. Your heart began to race, a frantic drumbeat in your chest.

"Can I tell you something?" he whispered, his voice so low and raw that it sent a shiver down your spine.

You glanced at him, a nervous energy humming in your veins. You were so used to keeping your emotions locked away, to being the quiet one, that his sudden vulnerability felt like an earthquake. "You're scaring me," you whispered back, a nervous laugh catching in your throat.

He chuckled softly, a sound filled with a hint of pained truth. “Good,” he said, his voice dropping a little lower. “Then maybe you’ll take me seriously.” He turned to face you fully, and in the faint glow of the city lights, you could see the raw honesty in his eyes. He took a deep breath, and then the words, the words that would change everything, spilled from him, trembling and sincere.

"I like you," he confessed, the three words a world-shattering sound. He leaned in just a little, his eyes searching yours for a sign of… something. “More than I should. More than I planned. I like you, Y/N.”

The use of your name, your real name, the one he had never spoken directly to you before, hit you with a force you couldn’t have anticipated. It was a formal declaration, a stake planted in the ground, and it made the air feel thin and hot. You stared at him, wide-eyed, a panicked denial already forming on your lips.

"No… no, you don't. Not me. You can't—"

He cut you off, his voice now rough with frustration, a mix of hurt and anger. "Why not you, Y/N?" he demanded, his hands reaching out to cup your face, his touch so gentle it was a contradiction to the fierce frustration in his eyes. "Tell me. Is it because you're quiet? Because people think you're plain? Because they've been using you your whole life?" The last part was a quiet, pained whisper, a testament to what he had seen, what he had understood. "That’s why I like you. You're real. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, and everything I never knew I needed."

Tears, hot and sudden, pricked your eyes. You had no defenses left. All your carefully constructed walls, all the quiet self-deprecating thoughts, all the years of feeling invisible—they were crumbling to dust under the weight of his sincerity. You felt a soft sob catch in your throat, a quiet, broken sound that echoed the ache in your chest. You had never believed you were worthy of something so real, so honest, so profound.

He saw your tears and his gaze softened, his thumbs gently wiping a single tear from your cheek. He leaned closer, his voice a low, rough murmur. “Someone like me has only ever wanted someone like you,” he said, the words so full of a truth you had never dared to believe. He wasn't a hero, a captain, a sun. He was just a boy, and you were just a girl. And in that moment, in the soft, hushed privacy of the night, nothing else mattered.

A quiet, broken laugh escaped you through your tears, and you buried your face in your hands, the embarrassment of your emotions a fleeting thing against the overwhelming wave of happiness and disbelief. He pulled your hands down gently, his touch a careful, steady presence. He was grinning nervously, his eyes filled with a hope that made your own heart ache.

"So?" he whispered, his voice filled with a hopeful anticipation. “Do I get a chance?”

The question hung in the air, a final, monumental decision. You looked at him, at his hopeful, sincere eyes, and you knew. The fear was still there, a tiny, nervous thing, but it was nothing compared to the blossoming warmth in your chest.

After a long, breathless silence, you whispered, "…Yes. But don't regret it."

A profound sense of relief washed over his face, and he exhaled, a long, shaky breath that was both pained and relieved. He pulled you into a crushing hug, a gentle but firm embrace that made your heart feel safe for the first time in your life. You buried your face in his chest, your own hands clutching his shirt, and a soft sob of pure, unadulterated relief escaped you.

"Regret?" he murmured, his voice muffled in your hair, his arms tightening around you. “The only regret would be if I never asked.”

The confession on the rooftop had been a dam breaking, a release of a lifetime of suppressed emotion. But in the days and weeks that followed, your relationship with Chan wasn't a loud, public affair. It was quiet, private, and tender, a secret garden you cultivated away from the prying eyes and judgmental whispers of the school. You didn’t need grand gestures or public displays of affection. Your love language was one of hushed moments, soft touches, and whispered truths.

Your first "date" wasn’t a planned event. It was simply a continuation of a familiar ritual—walking home together. The only difference was the nervous, electrified energy that hummed between you. Your shoulders brushed with an almost agonizing lightness, a silent communication of your newfound status. He nervously cleared his throat, his gaze fixed on the pavement, a blush creeping up his neck. "So… is this a date?" he asked, the question so simple and raw that it made your chest ache with affection.

You looked at him, a genuine smile spreading across your face. The captain of the soccer team, the confident sun of the school, was so endearingly flustered. You couldn’t resist teasing him. "If you want it to be," you said, your voice a soft murmur. His ears burned red, a sign of his charming embarrassment. He looked at you, a soft, unwavering sincerity in his eyes. He took a deep, shaky breath, as if steeling himself for a leap of faith. "Then yes," he said, the words a little shaky but firm. "It is."

Your friends noticed the difference immediately. It wasn't in the way you held hands or kissed; it was in the way Christopher looked at you. Mira whispered it to Asha one afternoon, her voice filled with a profound wonder. “He looks at her like she’s the only star in the sky.” The boys on his team, too, noticed the change. He was still the fierce, dedicated captain, but a newfound softness had settled into his features. His grin, once wide and boisterous, was now a private, tender smile reserved just for you.

Your world became a series of small, perfect moments. You'd sneak out for late-night coffee shop visits, the air thick with the smell of espresso and the quiet murmur of conversation. He would scribble lyrics on napkins, his brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to put his whirlwind of emotions into words. When he got too serious, too lost in his own head, you would gently take his hand and doodle on his skin with a small pen. Your little sketches of cats and stars and constellations would bloom across his knuckles and the back of his hand, a quiet protest against his intense focus. He would pretend to grumble, a playful frown on his face. "I'm the captain, you know. People take me seriously." You would laugh, the sound a light, melodic thing he had come to adore. "Not when you've got cats and stars all over your skin," you'd tease. But you knew he kept the doodles, refusing to wash them away, a silent promise that you were a part of him now.

At soccer practice, his teammates would groan in frustration. "Bro, focus!" one of them would yell, after he missed a pass he should have easily made. He would glance at the stands, distracted, and his grin would widen as he saw you sitting there, a silent, unwavering presence, a small wave of your hand a promise of a future you were slowly learning to believe in. "I am focused," he would shout back, his eyes twinkling. It was true. You were his focus now, the one thing that mattered.

After practice, he would run to you first, sweaty hug and all. You'd wrinkle your nose in mock disgust. "Gross, you smell like turf." He would smirk, his breath a little ragged, his eyes full of a playful tenderness. "Still hugging me though."

On weekends, you'd study together in the library, the quiet so thick you could almost taste it. He would be poring over a textbook, his face a mask of concentration, and you would find yourself just staring at him, mesmerized by the quiet beauty of his profile. The way his brow would furrow in thought, the way a loose strand of hair would fall over his forehead, the perfect, gentle curve of his lips. He would catch you staring and your cheeks would burn, your heart racing with a familiar panic. "What? You had something on your face!" you'd stammer, your voice a little too loud in the silent room. He would chuckle, his eyes warm and knowing. "Yeah, sure. On my face."

Slowly, his quiet, unwavering devotion began to earn your trust. It was an unspoken, fragile thing, a promise that he wasn't going anywhere. One night, huddled on a bench in the park, the streetlights a warm, golden glow against the dark sky, you finally confessed. "I kept waiting for you to get bored," you whispered, the words a raw, honest admission of your deepest fear. He frowned deeply, his eyes filled with a profound sadness. He gripped your hand, his touch firm and reassuring, as if he were trying to physically burn the words into your memory. "Bored? I could spend a lifetime and still not get enough. You're the most fascinating person I've ever met." His words made you cry, the tears a hot, silent stream of relief and gratitude. He wiped them away with his thumbs, his touch a tender, gentle thing.

He leaned in, his gaze fixed on your mouth. The kiss was gentle, trembling, and almost shy. It was a question and an answer all at once, a silent confirmation of everything you had built, everything you had whispered in the quiet of the night. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath a warm, steady rhythm against your cheek. "I'm yours," he murmured, the words a vow. "Completely."

From then on, he became your loudest protector. The gossip still existed, a constant, buzzing irritation in the background, but he shut it down instantly. When his teammates or friends would start to say something cruel or insensitive, he would simply look at them, his eyes hard and unwavering, and they would quiet down immediately. And when people would ask what was so special about you, the quiet, unremarkable girl who had somehow managed to capture the sun, he would only smile, a tender, knowing grin that reached his eyes. "Everything."

---x---

Fifteen years. A lifetime ago, you were just a girl with a stack of books and a quiet heart, and he was the sun, a force of nature who seemed to exist on a different plane entirely. Now, fifteen years later, the world had settled, and the vast, intimidating universe had shrunk to the space between you. The boy who had once run across a field just to make sure you were okay was now the man who still woke up before you every morning, a soft, unwavering smile on his face as he watched you sleep. His gaze wasn't just loving; it was a profound, quiet worship, a silent testimony to the miracle of your existence.

It was a familiar, constant ritual. You'd groan, your voice thick with sleep, a pillow clutched to your face. “Stop staring. It’s creepy.”

He would simply grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners. The lines on his face were new, a testament to the years of shared laughter and late-night talks, but his grin was the same as the one that had made your heart stutter on the school rooftop all those years ago. “Sorry, can’t help being proud I married you,” he’d whisper, his voice a low, husky sound that was just for you. He’d lean in and press a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment as if to imprint the feeling of you being right there, next to him, forever.

He still insisted on cooking breakfast. The sounds of him in the kitchen—the clatter of pans, the gentle sizzle of oil—were the soundtrack to your mornings. And just like fifteen years ago, he’d still manage to burn the eggs. The smoke alarm would chirp a nervous little protest, and you’d get up, your hair a messy halo, to find him pouting in front of the stove. “Captain, you can’t even flip an omelet,” you’d tease, laughing softly as you took over, your movements practiced and easy. He would hug you from behind, his arms a warm, solid presence around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder. He’d nuzzle his face into your neck, a familiar, comforting gesture. “Still whipped for you though,” he’d whisper, the words a low, happy rumble against your skin.

Your home wasn't a grand, perfect space. It was a lived-in canvas, a testament to your shared life. The walls were filled with doodles—not just the intricate sketches you made, but also his. He’d frame your sketches and place them beside his neatly handwritten lyrics, a silent testament to how he saw you. In a small, lacquered box on his nightstand, he still kept the old, crinkled napkins from your first coffee dates, a secret treasure he’d pull out on quiet nights when he wanted to remember where it all began. The house was a quiet echo of the quiet love you had built.

Sometimes, a song would come on the radio, a forgotten tune from a high school dance, and he’d pull you into his arms. The music would be low, but the laughter between you would be high, a chorus of joy that filled every corner of your home. He still wrote songs, but now, he didn't have to search for inspiration. You were in every lyric, a muse for his melodies, a quiet presence that defined his every note.

When you were working too hard, hunched over a drawing tablet with a deadline looming, he’d pout dramatically. His voice would be a theatrical whine that still made you laugh. “What about your husband? Neglected and starving.”

“You literally ate five minutes ago,” you’d say, a grin on your face as you threw a pillow at him. He would catch it, his grin wide, and he’d kiss you until you gave in, the gentle press of his lips a soft plea that you never had the strength to deny.

Your friends, now a tight-knit family of their own, still visited often. They’d watch the two of you, a quiet, knowing wonder in their eyes. "He’s still obsessed with you after all these years," Mira would say, her voice a mix of humor and sincere awe.

Chan would simply shrug, a proud, contented smirk on his face. “Of course. I told you—she’s everything.” He wasn’t a loud, boastful man, but when it came to you, a quiet, confident pride would settle over him.

On your anniversaries, he still planned chaotic but heartfelt surprises. A picnic with a wobbly blanket and a basket of burned food, a rooftop dinner where the constellations were the only light, homemade gifts that were more sentiment than artistry. You’d laugh at his corny speeches, but you’d always cry too, the tears a hot, silent stream of gratitude for a love that had grown so deep it had become a part of you.

Sometimes, in the quiet of the night, a flicker of that old insecurity would creep into his eyes. “Am I enough for you?” he’d whisper, the question a vulnerability you still found breathtaking. You would cup his face in your hands, your touch as tender and sure as his had been on the school rooftop. “You’ve always been more than enough.”

Your nights were filled with soft, sacred intimacy, a gentle obsession, an endless affection. He worshiped your body like it was sacred, his voice a low, reverent murmur against your skin. “Mine. Always mine,” he’d whisper, the words a possessive, loving vow. And then, the morning after, he’d be back to being goofy, burning pancakes, his hair a mess, and his eyes filled with a love so pure and honest it made your chest ache.

Even after fifteen years, he refused to let you carry any burden alone. If someone, even a stranger, tried to use you or take advantage of your quiet nature, he’d step in immediately, his gaze hardening with a familiar protectiveness. You’d tease him, a soft, loving smile on your face. “Still my bodyguard, huh?”

He’d smirk, kissing your forehead, the gesture a silent promise. “Still your biggest fan too.”

Their love was slow, steady, a quiet, deep-burning fire. He had never stopped trying to show you how adored you were, and in every single one of his words, his actions, his glances, you felt it. And when people would ask what his greatest achievement was, what he was most proud of, Chan would always smile, his eyes finding yours across the room. “Her. Always her.”

THE END

[lynsbng]

❛❛ EYES CLOSED ❜❜

˚ ༘ 🎞️ ⸝⸝ ⋮ in which you have feelings for seo changbin, and you’re absolutely, positively, a hundred percent certain that he could never, ever like you back.

or… your best friend, kim seungmin, insists that he reciprocates your feelings, yet you refuse to listen.

seo changbin x fem!reader · category : angst & fluff · contents : feat. seungmin & jeongin (cameo). she fell first, he fell harder. eventual romance. friends to lovers. body insecurities. self-loathe. reader always talk negatively of herself. pining. hurt/comfort. kissing. strong language. reader’s discretion is advised. · word count : 14.5k

💬 … lynsbng speaking ⸝⸝ another anon request! just a gentle reminder that you are beautiful just the way you are. every body is different, every body is beautiful! 💕

proceed to navigation? < yes. > · join the taglist? < click me! >

subscribers: @someonesmember @leewayout @soldantae @lolawritesforlove @xiestaa @hansl0ver @tonkshamsandwich @hime-honne @whosmerii @bangingchanxx @babystay7 @cchapssaltteok @siruslyloony4u @chaeeryng @ncityswrld @scrumptiousbasketballranchalien

(for accounts that are tagged in a different color, i somehow can’t tag your account.)

THE FIRST TIME YOU MET SEO CHANGBIN, you were pretty sure you had made a bad impression.

or so you thought, at least.

the jyp entertainment building loomed over the busy seoul street like any corporate giant, yet the cafe on its ground floor, your current workplace, was a world away from the polished, high-pressure energy of the floors above. it was your sanctuary, your little pocket of warmth in the city, you had worked part-time for the past year, ever since your cv required a little more padding and your bank account required a little more cushion. what started as a necessity had become a comfort, where the scent of freshly ground coffee beans had become synonymous with a life that existed outside of your own spiraling thoughts.

you loved it here. the way the afternoon sun slanted through the large windows, casting golden light across the wooden floors. the way regular customers, especially idols, smiled and greeted you when they saw you behind the counter. the way the chaos of the entertainment world swirled just upstairs while you remained in your quiet, cozy bubble. it was cozy, it was inviting.

you were wiping down the counter, humming along to a mellow piano piece, when the little bell above the door chimed. you looked up, a practiced smile already forming on your lips, ready to greet the customer.

“welcome–”

and then, your brain just… short-circuited.

not in a panicked, static-noised kind of way. more like the way the world goes silent right before a first snowfall. everything else in the coffee shop, the hiss of the espresso machine, the dull roar of small talk, all of them just… faded.

he was average height, sure, yet the way he stood made him feel like the only solid thing in a tilting room. his shoulders were broad, not in an intimidating way, but in a way that they seemed to carry the weight of the world in the most attractive way possible. the simple black hoodie looked impossibly soft, his jeans worn perfectly, and a black mask that covered the lower half of his face.

but it was his eyes that got you. god, his eyes.

they were sharp, almost too sharp for a place this ordinary, scanning the menu board like he was solving a puzzle. there was a warmth behind the intensity, though, a quiet fire that made you wonder what it would be like to be the sole focus of that gaze. and then, as if he felt the weight of your staring, his eyes dropped from the menu.

and they landed on you.

thump.

your heart didn’t just skip a beat; it stopped entirely, forgot its rhythm, and then started again in a completely new tempo meant only for him. you almost forgot how to breathe, almost forgot your own name.

you had seen those eyes a thousand times on your phone screen. in music videos. in variety shows. in the photos your best friend, kim seungmin, occasionally sent you from their dorm, captioned with things like ‘this idiot fell asleep on the couch again’ or ‘this greedy motherfucker ate the entire chicken and left me with nothing.’

seo changbin was literally standing three meters away from you, and you were already a sweating mess.

“hi,” he greeted, his voice slightly muffled by the mask yet still undeniably warm, a rich baritone that seemed to resonate somewhere deep within your chest, “can i get an iced americano, please? and a tuna salad sandwich.”

“of course,” you managed, mentally proud that your voice only wobbled slightly. you tapped his order into the tablet with his fingers that definitely weren’t trembling. “that’ll be 10,300 won.”

the card reader beeped. he tapped it once, twice, then slipped it back into his wallet with hands that looked like they had been drawn by someone who understood art–okay, y/n, keep your shit together.

you told him you would call his order number and he nodded. just a dip of his chin. just a small thing. it shouldn’t have made your stomach drop.

then he moved.

you watched him thread through the cafe, watched him choose the table by the window like it had been waiting for him his whole life, watched him comfortably settle into the chair. the light loved him immediately–of course it did, everything would, now.

you watched for exactly three seconds. long enough to memorize the way his shoulders relaxed against the chair. long enough to burn the image behind your eyelids. long enough to admire.

then you forced yourself to look away.

number one-four-three. your hands found his cup, and you began to make his order as if the axis of your world hadn’t just permanently tilted towards a window seat.

concentrate, you told yourself firmly. it’s just coffee. you’ve made thousands of coffees. this one is no different. he’s just a customer.

except, it was different, and you knew it, and your stupid hands knew it too.

you made his iced americano with painstaking care, measuring the espresso shot twice, making sure the water ratio was exact. you placed the sandwich on a small plate with the kind of reverence usually reserved for offering sacrifices to ancient gods. you took a deep breath, steading yourself before calling out his number.

“order number one-four-three?”

he looked up from his phone, and even through the mask, you could see the slight crinkle around his eyes that suggested a smile. he rose from his seat and walked towards the counter, and with every step, your heart pounded harder against your ribs.

just hand him the order. that’s it. hand him the order and walk away.

you set the tray on the counter, “one iced americano and one tuna salad sandwich, enjoy!’

he reached for it, his fingers brushing against the edge of the tray, and you quickly pulled your hands back as if burned.

“thank you,” the words unfurled slowly, warm honey dripping into the space between you, and you wanted to bottle them, keep them, play them back on every cold morning for the rest of your life. his voice didn’t just reach your ears, it settled into your bone, made a home there, started building furniture.

you nodded and smiled. you felt it split your face open–too wide, too bright, the kind of helpless expression that belongs to people who have just realized they’re in a huge, huge trouble.

then you turned away because staying would have been impossible.

the espresso machine waited for you, cold and patient, and you ran a cold over its surface like you could smooth away the shakiness in your hands–news flash, you couldn’t. you didn’t. your pulse was a metronome counting time to a song only your heart could hear.

out of the corner of your eye, you watched him. you watched him carry his tray back to the window table, watched him settle in, watched him pull down his mask to take that first sip.

and then you watched him pause.

his eyebrows drew together slightly. he looked at the cup. took another sip. look at the cup again.

your stomach dropped.

no. shit. nonono.

you glanced at the order screen on your tablet. one-four-three: iced americano, tuna salad sandwich. you swore you had made it correctly. you had been so careful. you–

he was looking at you now. not angrily, not even with frustration. just… confused, slightly puzzled.

you walked over before you could stop yourself, your feet moving on autopilot. you could feel a hard lump stuck between the depths of your throat, “is everything okay?”

his eyes remained fixated on you, and even confused, even puzzled, his eyes were so incredibly kind.

“sorry,” he began, his voice without the mask was even deeper, even warmer, even more unfairly attractive, “i think there might be a mistake. this tastes like… vanilla syrup?”

you stared at him. stared at the cup. stared back at him.

and then your gaze snagged on something over your shoulder; a flash of wood, a drink sitting lonely on the counter behind you. the vanilla latte, made for the woman at the table across, who was now craning her neck, scanning the cafe, looking around like she had been forgotten.

…shit.

“oh my god,” you breathed, your face instantly flooding with heat, “i am so sorry. i mixed up the orders—i gave you the wrong drink. i don’t know how–i was so sure… i’m so sorry, i’ll make you a new one right away.”

you reached for the cup, already mentally kicking yourself, preparing for the sigh, the eye roll, the cold dismissal that someone like him… someone important, someone famous, someone who had places to be and people to see, would surely give to someone like you, someone who couldn;t even get a simple coffee order.

however, instead, he laughed.

it was soft, barely more than an exhale, yet it was genuine. his eyes crinkled at the corners in that way you had only ever seen in videos, and it was even more beautiful in person.

“it’s okay,” he breathed, “honestly, it’s a nice surprise. i was expecting bitter, and yet i got something sweet instead.”

he took another sip, and his eyes–those eyes, sparkled with amusement. “not bad. but i was really looking forward to that bitter kick.”

you stared at him, momentarily speechless. he wasn’t annoyed. he wasn’t rude. he was just… kind. patient. human.

“i’ll get you a new one,” you repeated, your voice steadier now, touched by his unexpected grace, “right away, i promise!”

“thank you… y/n.”

he said your name.

he said your name.

his eyes had dropped to your chest; to the small rectangle pinned to your apron, the one you had worn a thousand times without thinking, the one that now felt like the most important in the entire universe. he had read it. he had looked at it. he had formed the letter in his mind and then let them fall from his lips like they belonged there.

y/n. the same name you had been called your entire life.

and yet, hearing it from him was like hearing it for the first time. as if no one had ever said correctly before. as if every other person who had spoken your name had been practicing for this moment, and he was the first one to get it right.

something fluttered in your chest.

scratch that. something ignited. something small, warm, and terrifying, like the first spark of a fire you wouldn’t be able to control. it fluttered, yes, but it also burned. it settled into the space between your ribs and started growing roots.

you looked at him.

he was still watching you. still patient. still kind. still impossibly, devastatingly there, with your name still hanging in the air between you like a gift you hadn’t earned.

“r–right away!”

you rushed back to the counter, and made a perfect iced americano, ensuring that it wouldn’t contain any syrup or other condiments. you then grabbed a chocolate chip cookie from the display case, before bringing everything back to him, setting it down with trembling hands.

“again, i’m so sorry for the mix-up,” an apologetic smile hovered your lips, “the cookie is on me, a peace offering.”

his gaze remained on the cookie, before diverted back to you. for a moment, he just stared, and you could feel your cheeks burn under his gaze. then slowly, he smiled–a real smile, full, and warm.

“my, you really didn’t have to,” a soft chuckle escaped his lips, the cookie now within his grasp, “we make mistakes all the time. thank you, i love chocolate chip cookies.”

you let out a shaky laugh, “i’m glad. i mean–i’m glad you like them. i mean–”

you idiot. stop talking. you’re so embarrassing.

“i mean… i’m just glad you’re not.. mad.”

his smiles widened, his eyes crinkling into those beautiful crescents. “that will be unnecessary. thanks for fixing my drink.”

you nodded, managed to say something that might have been ‘enjoy your coffee,” and practically fled back to the counter. from there, you had him under your scrutiny as he ate his sandwich, sipped his coffee, and scrolled through his phone. he also ate the cookie, taking large bites and looking genuinely pleased with it.

when he finally got up to leave, he paused at the counter on his way out, “have a good day, y/n,” giving a small wave.

“you too. please come again–”

and then he was gone, the little bell chiming softly behind him, leaving you in a daze with a heart that refused to stop racing.

that was the moment. the exact moment your heart began to stutter for seo changbin.

YOU DIDN’T TELL SEUNGMIN ABOUT IT. it felt too silly, too insignificant. it was just a three-minute interaction, for fuck sakes. yet you couldn’t stop thinking about it. the kindness in his eyes. the soft laugh. the way he had looked at you like you were an actual person, not just an average part-time worker who had messed up.

a week later, seungmin invited you over for game night at his apartment. it was a regular occurrence; you had been friends with him since high school, and his groupmates had become familiar faces over the years. through him, you had grown close with jeongin, which you often played mario kart with (who definitely cheated during the games), and you had deep conversations with the two of them at two in the morning about life in general. you were comfortable there, a part of the furniture in their chaotic, lovely world.

you arrived on a friday evening, two large tteokbokki takeouts in each hand. seungmin opened the door, his round glasses on, looking like the epitome of a cute, studious nerd.

except, he was the complete opposite–that menace, you hate him. (affectionately, of course.)

“hey! what took you so long?” he demanded, already reaching for the bags, “i’ve been waiting forever. jeongin’s been complaining about the controller for twenty minutes straight. my ears are bleeding.”

you rolled your eyes, pushing past him into the apartment, “you’re living in seoul, idiot–traffic exists. also,what happened to ‘hi, hello?” nice to see you, seungmin. i’m fine, thanks for asking.”

“yeah, yeah, whatever. now give me my tteokbokki.”

you held the bags above your head, grinning at his glare. “say please.”

“please,” he said flatly, without an ounce of sincerity.

“woooow. so heartfelt. i’m moved.”

“y/n.”

“seungmin.”

he lunged for the bags, and you dodged, cackling as you ran into the living room where jeongin was sprawled on the couch, controller in hand, looking betrayed by the game on screen.

“noona,” jeongin perked immediately, his face splitting into a wide grin, “you actually brought food! i take back every bad thing i have ever said about you.”

“you what?” a scoff followed your inquiry as you dropped onto the couch next to him, the bags clutched to your chest.

“in my defense, only when you beat me at mario kart. which is never, by the way, because i’m simply amazing.”

“you cheat,” you and seungmin sang in unison.

jeongin gasped, clutching his chest in mock offense, “this is slander! defamation! i’m hurt!”

“you’re annoying,” seungmin corrected, finally wrestling the tteokbokki from your grip and settling on your other side, “now shut up and eat so we can play.”

the night progressed as it always did, with jeongin somehow winning at every round of mario kart, seungmin complaining about unfairness, and you comfortably existing in the middle of the chaos, laughing until your stomach hurt.

it was around ten when you heard the front door open and close.

jeongin perked up, “is that–”

“hey! how can you guys order tteokbokki without me!”

the voice came roaring from the hallway–loud, indignant, and absolutely unmistakable. it was deeper than you had heard back in the cafe, rougher around the edges, laced with playful outrage.

you froze, your hand hovering over the controller.

changbin burst into the living room like a man on mission, his eyes scanning for the source of the spicy and savory scent that had clearly been tormenting him sinc he walked through the door. he was in a loose gray t-shirt and sweatpants, his hair slightly damp, as if he had just got back from the gym. his expression was one of exaggerated betrayal.

“i can smell it from the elevator! you guys are so inconsiderate, i’ve been starving all evening and you–”

he stopped dead on the tracks.

his eyes had found you.

you watched the realization dawn on his face–the shift from playful indignation to startled recognition. his mouth, which had been agape mid-complaint, slowly closed. his ears, you noticed with a strange sense of detachment, were turning slightly pink.

for a suspended second, no one moved. the mario kart soundtrack played cheerfully in the background, completely oblivious to the tension crackling through the room.

jeongin, bless his chaotic heart, was the first to break the silence, “hyung, you’re so loud! also, there’s still some left. noona brought two large portions.”

“...noona,” changbin repeated, his voice now significantly softer than the roar that had preceded it, he was still looking at you, and you watched as he seemed to piece everything together; you, on the couch, holding a controller, seemingly a close friend to his younger members, very much not behind a coffee counter.

you raised your hand in a small, awkward wave. “hi…i… also brought the tteokbokki. sorry. for existing–i mean, with the food. that you can smell.”

kill me now, literally.

however, instead of looking annoyed or embarrassed, changbin’s face broke into that same genuine smile from the cafe–the one that crinkled his eyes and made your heart do dangerous things.

“miss best barista strikes again,” he observed, warmth curling through his voice like steam off fresh coffee. no trace of annoyance, “first coffee, now tteokbokki. you’re going to spoil me.”

“you two know each other–”

you shot a glare at seungmin. a playful smirk hovered his lips by that exchange, his eyes dancing with mischief behind those round glasses. he knew exactly what he was doing.

“we’ve met,” changbin said easily, finally tearing his gaze away from you to look at seungmin, “at the cafe downstairs. how about you? you’ve never formally introduced me to your friend.”

the accusation in his voice was mild, yet there was something underneath it–curiosity, maybe, interest. seungmin, the traitor, just shrugged.

“didn’t think you’d be interested,” he uttered casually, and you wanted to strangle him.

changbin’s eyebrows rose, “why wouldn’t i be interested in meeting my favorite dongsaeng’s oldest friends?”

favorite dongsaeng. the term of endearment made something warm flutter in your chest, even though it wasn’t directed at you.

seungmin gestured vaguely between you and changbin, “well, now you’ve met. y/n, this is changbin hyung, you know him. changbin hyung, this is y/n, a close friend from high school.”

you managed a small wave. again. “hi. officially.”

changbin’s smile widened, his teeth peeking through his plump lips, “hi, officially.”

jeongin, who had been watching this exchange with the attention span of a caffeinated squirrel, finally interrupted, “so, are we gonna play mario kart or? the tteokbokki’s getting cold and my winning streak is getting lonely.”

seungmin threw a pillow at him, “you don’t have a winning streak. you cheat.”

“i don’t cheat! i’m just talented!”

changbin laughed, and the sound wrapped around your heart and squeezed gently, as if it was testing whether you were real. he moved towards the couch, settling onto the floor across from you with the kind of casual grace that made everything look effortless, “i haven’t played in awhile, you have to go easy on me.”

“i don’t go easy on anyone,” jeongin declared, “victory shall be mine–”

“this brat–”

you couldn’t help but laugh, and when you looked up, changbin was watching you again with that soft expression. this time, he didn’t look away when you caught him. he just smiled; a smaller yet more intimate smile, and something warm bloomed within your chest. something that felt like the first real thing you had felt in years.

the night progressed in the familiar chaos of races and trash talk. you learned that changbin was surprisingly quiet bad at video games, or just mario kart, despite his confident claims, that he had a habit of biting his lip when concentrating, and that his laugh was even more fun and beautiful up close.

you also learned that he was kind. when seungmin got frustrated with a difficult course, changbin was the one who calmed him down. when jeongin made a self-deprecating joke, changbin was quick to reassure him. and when you accidentally knocked over your drirnk, he was the first one to grab paper towels.

and without you knowing, seungmin was already documenting the entire scene. that asshole.

“don’t worry about it,” he said, kneeling beside you to wipe up the mess, “accidents happen.”

he was so close you could smell him. you could feel your cheeks burning, could feel the heat crawling up your neck, staining your ears, betraying every calm thought you had ever had.

“...thanks,” you managed, the smile on your lips trembling.

he looked up at you, and for a moment, the world seemed to pause. his eyes were dark and warm, and you could see yourself reflected in them.

“anytime,” he exhaled softly.

seungmin’s voice shattered the moment, “is it just me or is it getting hotter here? get a room, you two!”

you jerked back, face burning.

changbin shot him a dirty look, despite his ears turning pink, “dude, shut up!”

both seungmin and jeongin looked at each other, mirroring each other’s grin.

by the time midnight rolled around, jeongin was yawning, and seungmin was checking his phone with a grimace.

“i should go,” a soft yawn accompanied your words, starting to gather your things, “thanks for having me. this was really fun.”

seungmin stood up, “i’ll walk you–”

“i’ll do it,” changbin offered immediately, “it’s late, i need air anyway.”

seungmin looked at him, then at you, that knowing smirk playing on his lips, “suuure, hyung.”

you grabbed your bag, avoiding seungmin’s gaze. as you headed for the door, you heard jeongin’s loud whisper: “noona’s down bad, isn’t she?”

the door closed behind you before you could hear changbin’s response, and you were figuratively, metaphorically, dying inside.

you wanted to melt into the floor of the hallway and never resurface.

the walk to the lobby was short, barely five minutes, yet if felt charged with a new, electric energy.

“it was really nice talking to you tonight, y/n,” changbin was first to break the silence as you reached the shelter. the night air was cool, and he stood with his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, looking down at you.

“you too,” you replied, and you meant it with every fiber of your being, “i had a lot of fun.”

his signature smile returned, “maybe we can do it again sometime? not a game night, necessarily. just… talk more in general. about music, or movies, or anything.”

your heart soared. this man will be the end of me.

“i’d like that,” you whispered, your voice full of a hope you were terrified to feel.

“great… that’s great! i’ll reach out to you, of course,” a sigh of relief slipped past his lips, “i’ll see you then, y/n.”

your taxi rumbled into view, its headlights cutting through the darkness. you climbed in, turning back to wave. he was still standing there, under the streetlight, a figure who had somehow, in the span of a single evening, managed to capture a piece of your heart you hadn’t even known was available.

as the taxi pulled away, you pressed a hand to your chest, feeling the wild, erratic beat beneath your palm.

oh, you were so screwed.

THE MONTHS THAT FOLLOWED WERE A MONTAGE OF STOLENT MOMENTS AND GROWING FEELINGS. it started with messages. he would send you little snippets of songs he was working on, asking for your honest opinion, and you would send back voice memos of your thoughts; voice cracking slightly, too shy to call.

and then the messages changed.

they became life updates. mundane thing such as what he ate for lunch, a funny thing seungmin said, a picture of the sky from his studio window. however, tucked between the ordinary were photographs of him: messy hair after gym sessions, sleepy eyes over morning coffee, that same smile he had always given you every time you meet.

and of course, you couldn’t help but to admire him even more. an idol was literally sending you messages for free, and that also happened to be the man you had grown feelings for.

he would reply with long advice when you were struggling, or compliments that landed soft and warm within your chest. and you would find yourself smiling at your phone like an idiot; on the subway, on your breaks, in bed at three in the morning.

and then came the casual meet-ups–the coffee ‘dates’, although neither of you would necessarily call that a date. you would meet at a small cafe in hongdae, and you would talk for three hours without realizing it. about music, movies, your families, your dreams. he would tell you about his producing process, and you would tell him about your studies, and somehow, impossibly, the conversation had never once felt awkward.

after that, it became a pattern. coffee dates turned into walks by han river. walks turned into late-night calls that stretched into the early morning. late-night calls turned into him showing up at your cafe during your shifts, just to say hi and make you laugh.

and with every shared moment, every lingering glance, every comfortable silence, you fell deeper and deeper in love with him.

it was quite a kind of falling. the kind that happens without a drama, without any announcement, without any of the fanfare you had always imagined love would bring. just the slow, steady gravity of wanting someone. just the soft, relentless pull of his existence against yours.

you fell like the rain into the ocean, like dusk into night, like you had never been anywhere else, never wanted anything else, never knew what it meant to be whole until he walked into your coffee shop and looked at you like you were worth looking at.

and yet.

you knew, a hundred percent certain, that he would never feel the same way.

you were just… ordinary.

just a barista who made him the wrong coffee. just a stranger who happened to be there. just someone who laughed too loud, smiled too wide, and loved too easily. just ordinary.

and that fact hurt a lot.

yet the feelings remained growing until they were a physical presence in your chest, a constant, aching thrum of affection and longing. you couldn’t keep it to yourself anymore. you had to tell someone.

so, on a rainy thursday afternoon, you found yourself sprawled on seungmin’s couch, staring at the ceiling while he sat on the other couch, typing on his laptop.

“...i think i’m in love with him, seungmin,” you mumbled into the silence.

the words fell out of you like something heavy you had been carrying too long. like a confession you had whispered to yourself so many times it had worn grooves in your brain, and now it was finally loose in the world, vulnerable, real, and terrifying.

having feelings for someone had always been terrifying.

you waited for the shock, the questions. for the careful unpacking of a secret you had protected with everything you had.

seungmin didn’t even look up from his screen, “with seo changbin? yeah, i know.”

the world stopped.

you sat up so fast the room tilted. your heart slammed against your ribs like it was trying to escape, like it knew it had been caught, having nowhere left to hide.

“how do you know?” the words came out too high, too fast, too desperate, “am i that obvious?”

seungmin finally turned, pushing his glasses up his nose with a sigh that carried the weight of someone who had been watching this ongoing disaster unfold for weeks and was frankly exhausted by it.

“y/n,” his voice was patient. too patient. the kind of patient that meant he was about to say something devastatingly obvious, “you’ve been going on these ‘dates’ with him. you talk about him all the damn time. you always have this dreamy, faraway look in your eyes whenever he’s around. you get so flustered easily. it’s not exactly a state secret.”

you deflated.

all the air left your body in one long, defeated exhale, and you flopped back onto the pillows like a puppet with cur strings. the ceiling stared down at you, blank and indifferent, and you stared back at it, wishing it would swallow you whole.

you could never fight with kim seungmin on this. he saw too much. remembered too much. cared too much to let you pretend.

“well, fuck,” the word came out flat, resigned, “i’m screwed, huh?”

“not exactly,” seungmin was quiet for a moment, before continuing, “so, what are you going to do about it?”

the question landed in your chest like a stone.

you laughed; a hollow, humorless sound, “what am i going to do about it? nothing. absolutely nothing.”

the silence that followed was different, heavier, you could feel his gaze on you, could feel him turning something over behind those glasses, could feel the exact moment he decided this conversion wasn’t over,

you heard the soft click of his laptop closing, the creak of his chair as he turned to fully to face you.

and you knew, with the kind of dread that sits in your stomach like lead, he wasn’t going to let you off that easily.

a frown grazed over his features, “why not? he clearly likes you. he mostly spends all his free times with you. not to mention how he always light up whenever you walk into the room–”

“no.”

the word came out sharper than you intended, sharp enough to cut through the gentle concern in seungmin’s voice. you felt it leave your mouth like a dagger, felt the way it landed in the space between you, felt the way it made him stop mid-thought,

“he doesn't,” your voice was brittle now, cracking at the edges. you couldn’t hear this. “he's just being friendly. he’s a kind person, seungmin. he’s like that with everyone.”

he’s like that with everyone.

the words hung in the air between you, fragile and false, and you hated how they sounded out loud. hated how they tasted like excuses. hated how even as you said them, a small, traitorous part of you was remembering the way he looked at you, the way he smiled at you, the way he treated you right.

but that didn’t mean anything, didn’t it?

it couldn’t mean anything.

“no, he’s not,” seungmin insisted, his voice firm. “he’s polite to everyone. but with you? it’s a whole different world. he’s softer, more open. i’ve known him for years… i can tell.”

you shook your head. the familiar wave of self-consciousness washed over you, cold and heavy, dragging you under. it whispered in your ear, that agitating voice, the one that knew you better than anyone: you’re not special. why would he even have feelings for you? have you seen yourself? stop humiliating yourself further.

you sat up slowly, pulling your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around them like they were the only thing keeping you together. like if you held tight enough, you could protect the small, fragile thing inside you from hoping. from believing. from getting hurt.

“seungmin, look at me,” you muttered, your voice laced with an old, familiar pain, “really, look at me.”

he did, his expression patient yet puzzled.

“i’m not…” the words stuck in your throat, stumbled over years of careful swallowing, of biting back, of learning to smile through the quiet devastation of never feeling like enough.

you struggled to find them; the ones that had been whispered by cruel voices in your head as long as you could remember. the ones that had been reinforced by a thousand tiny cuts from a world obsessed with a narrow definition of beauty. magazine covers, movie screens, the way people’s eyes slid past you in rooms full of people who looked like they were born for the covers.

“i’m not the kind of woman someone like him falls for. he’s seo changbin. he’s talented, successful, and painfully gorgeous. he could have anyone. any of those perfect, thin, out-of-this-world beautiful women. why would he ever look twice at someone like me?”

seungmin’s frown deepened, “what do you mean, ‘someone like you’?”

“you know what i mean,” your voice trembled–just slightly, just enough to betray the years of careful composure you had built around this particular wound. you gestured vaguely at your body. at the curves you had spent years learning to hide. at the softness that had been pointed out to you as a flaw. your hand moved through the air, encompassing everything you had been taught to hate about yourself.

“i’m not… i’m not physically attractive. not in the way that matters. i’m not thin. i’m not pretty. i’m just… me. and me isn’t enough for a man like him. he wouldn’t, couldn’t, ever love a woman with this body.”

the words hung in the air between you; they were ugly, raw, and bleeding, like wounds you had picked open in front of someone who actually cared.

you couldn’t look at him. couldn’t bear to see the confirmation in his eyes, the quiet agreement that you had finally said out loud what everyone must have been thinking all along.

yet as the silence stretched too long, you risked a glance.

seungmin’s expression had shifted. the gentle confusion was gone, replaced by a dawning, horrified understanding that made your stomach drop. he got up from his seat and sat next to you. the mattress dipped under his weight, pulling you slightly towards him, and you hated how even that small act made you want to cry.

“y/n…” he called, his voice gentle, the way he used to talk you down from panic attacks back in high school, “that’s the most ridiculous thing i’ve ever heard you say.”

“it’s not ridiculous, it’s true–”

“it’s not,” he insisted, “do you think changbin hyung is that shallow? that he only sees the surface? the guy who spends hours talking to you, hangs out with you during his free times, visits your every shift, buys you gifts, that guy–you think he only cares about what you look like?”

“he cares about me as a friend,” you mumbled into your knees, “that’s different.”

“it’s not different!” the words burst out seungmin with a force that made you flinch. you knew it wasn’t anger, never anger, but it was definitely something close to desperation. like he was watching you drown and couldn’t understand why you wouldn’t take the rope he kept throwing.

“ attraction isn’t just about one thing. it’s about everything! it’s about how you laugh, how you listen, the way your eyes light up when you talk about something you love. it’s about who you truly are. not what you look like. not the number on a scale. not whether you fit into some impossible standards that wasn’t even healthy in the first place,” his voice softened, just slightly, just enough to crack something even open in your chest.

his eyes were boring into yours, “and changbin hyung is head-over-heals for who you are. i’m telling you, he likes you back. he’s crazy about you.”

you wanted to believe him. desperately. but the voice of insecurity was too loud. it kept taunting you for far too long.

“you’re a good friend, seungmin,” you whispered, learning your head on his shoulder, “but you’re wrong. he could never like me. not like that. and i would rather have him as a friend than not have him in my life at all. so i’m just going to… i’m going to be okay with that.i have to be.”

a long, frustrated sigh escaped seungmin. he wanted to argue, you could tell. however, he also knew you well enough to know that when you had built a wall like this, pushing against it would only make it stronger.

“okay,” he exhaled softly, wrapping an arm around you for comfort, “okay, fine. but for the record. i think you’re beautiful. and i think you’re wrong about him. one day, you’ll see.”

you closed your eyes, letting your best friend’s warmth comfort you.

yet, the cold knot of insecurity remained, coiling tightly within your chest.

THE UNIVERSE, YOU DECIDED, HAD A SICK SENSE OF HUMOR. not even a week after your conversation with seungmin, it decided to test your fragile resolve in the cruelest way possible.

you were at the company building on a tuesday afternoon, having just dropped a jacket that changbin had lent you during one of your walks by the han river. it had been cold that night, and he had wrapped it around your shoulders without a second thought, insisting he was fine even as you watched him shiver.

you remembered laughing. it had bubbled up out of you, helpless and warm, watching that gorgeous man freeze for your sake.

“you’re a terrible liar, changbin,’ you teased, and he just smiled; shrugging like it was nothing. as if you were worth freezing for.

you remembered the way laughter had faded into something softer when he looked at you. the way the city lights had reflected in his eyes. they way you had wanted, so badly, to reach out and pull him close, share the warmth of his own jacket.

you hadn’t, of course. you just walked a little closer, let your shoulders brush, pretended that was enough.

the jacket was safely delivered to the security guard now, with a small note tucked into the pocket: ‘thanks for keeping me warm. – y/n’

simple. innocent. friendly.

you were heading towards the exit, your head down, scrolling through your phone to check bus times–just another ordinary tuesday, just another mundane task, just another moment in a life that had been carefully, painfully returned to normal.

the elevator doors slid open.

and there was changbin.

the world stopped. your thumb froze over the screen. your heart forgot its rhythm and stumbled into something chaotic and desperate.

he was walking out with a woman.

she was beautiful–of course, she was. tall and slender, with the kind of effortless elegance that made you feel like a shadow just by standing near her. her hair caught the light like it was paid to. her smile resembled helen of troy’s, the kind of smile that could make a thousand men forget themselves and burn cities to the ground.

and all you could do was stand there, ordinary and invisible, watching her exist in the same space as him like she had every right to.

like she was born for it.

she was probably a producer. or a friend. or a girlfriend.

it didn’t matter which. the evidence was right there in front of you. your worst fear made flesh.

she was laughing at something he had just said, her head tilted back slightly, her hand resting lightly on his arm as if it belonged there.

changbin was smiling. not his polite, professional smile, yet a real one–warm and genuine, his head tilted towards her, listening intently to whatever she was saying. his free hand was gesturing as he spoke, animated in that way he got when he was comfortable with someone.

they looked perfect together.

your heart didn’t just drop. it didn’t skip a beat. it shattered into a million tiny pieces, each one a sharp, cold shard of confirmation that lodged itself deep in your chest.

see? the shards whispered, smug and cruel. seungmin was wrong. this is who he eventually chooses. she’s someone you’ll never be.

you could feel them settling between your ribs. could feel the weight of them pressing against your lungs, making it hard to breathe. could feel the sharp edges cutting into everything soft you had left.

this is what you were afraid of.

this is why you never told him.

this is why you never left yourself hope.

because hope was dangerous. hope was a knife you handed to the universe and prayed it wouldn’t use. and now, you were bleeding out in the middle of the lobby, watching the person you loved walk away with someone who was in all aspects, especially physically wise, better than you, and all you could do was walk away.

you fled the building.

you didn’t run, that would have drawn attention. yet you walked faster than you had ever walked in your life, bursting through the glass doors and into the chilly afternoon air. you made it half a block before you had to stop, pressing yourself against the side of a building, your hand over your heart as if you could physically hold the pieces together.

you didn’t cry. you were too numb for tears. you just felt a hollow, aching emptiness where the warmth of your feelings for changbin used to be.

of course, you thought, the voices in your head now sounding almost reasonable. of course he has someone. did you really think someone like him would be single? did you really think he was spending time with you because he wanted more than friendship. he’s seo changbin, for fuck sakes.

you thought about all those walks you did with him. all those late-night conversations about your lives. all those times he had looked at you like you were the only person in the room. all those messages, the shared playlists, the way he remembered your coffee order even when you weren’t at work. the jacket. the way he had wrapped it around your shoulders so carefully, so tenderly.

just friendly. that’s all it ever was. you just read into it because you wanted it to be more. because you’re desperately, lonely, and pathetic.

the walk home was a blur. you don’t remember the bus ride, don’t remember getting into your apartment, don’t remember collapsing onto your bed. you just remember staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours, the image of the them burned into the back of your eyelids.

that was the beginning of the end.

you began to set barriers, just as you had told seungmin you would. it was the only way to protect yourself, the only way to survive this. you couldn’t keep going the way you had been, couldn’t keep letting yourself fall deeper and deeper when there was no safety net at the bottom.

you started with small things.

and speaking of the devil, changbin texted you that night.

binnie : hey, thanks for dropping off the jacket

binnie : you didn’t have to wash it you know

binnie : it smells like your detergent now and i’m not complaining lmao

binnie : also i saw your note, you’re so cute ~

binnie : you know you can always keep it, right?

you waited an hour to reply. then two. then you sent a simple: glad u got it back! talk soon!

no emojis. no playful banter. no opening for conversation.

binnie : you free this weekend? there’s this cafe in hongdae i wanted to check out. thought you might like it!

binnie : heard the food’s great

ah, i have a crazy week ahead. maybe another time!

binnie : oh okay

binnie : no problem, just let me know when you’re free!

okay! 👍

the thumbs up emoji felt like a betrayal of everything you failed. but it was safer than a heart, safer than the smiley faces you used to send, safer than the ‘i’d love to’ that was screaming inside your chest.

he tried again a few days later.

binnie : i found this indie band today, they remind me of that playlist you made me

binnie : can i send you their stuff

sure

he sent three songs. you immediately added them to your playlist, listening to them on repeat for hours. it was the only way to hold onto a piece of him without reaching for all of him, the only way to love him quietly, safely, from a distance where he couldn’t see you aching.

and when morning came, you replied with three words that buried everything.

nice! added them!

nothing more.

after two days, he started showing up at the cafe again.

the first time, your heart lurched with that familiar, painful mixture of joy and despair. he walked in, ordered his usual iced americano, and flashed you his smile when he saw you behind the counter.

“y/n, hey.”

you served him with a tight, professional smile, “hi, changbin. the usual?”

something flickered within his eyes–confusion, maybe, at the formality. at the distance you had carefully crafted between your words. at the wall you had built brick by brick since the last time you saw him.

yet, he nodded, “yeah, thanks.”

you made his drink in silence, your hands trembling as you worked–measuring, pressing, pouring, each of your movements felt mechanical. the espresso machine hissed. the milk steamed. your heart cracked a little more with every second that passed without either of you speaking.

when you handed it to him, you didn’t linger. you didn’t ask how he was, didn’t mention how your day has been, didn’t do any of the things you used to do. you just simply, handed him the cup.

your eyes didn’t meet his. your fingers didn’t brush against his. your usual bright smile was nowhere to be found. you were terrifyingly indifferent, and it shook his poor heart.

“have a good day,” you mumbled, already turning to the next customer.

“y/n–” he started, yet you were already gone, busying yourself with the espresso machine, your entire physique hidden from him.

when you finally risked a glance, he was standing there for a moment longer, holding his coffee, staring at you with an expression that you unfortunately couldn’t read. then he turned and left.

the second time, you hid in the back room until one of your coworkers took his order.

the third time, he didn’t come at all.

his messages became more frequent, more confused.

binnie : hey, is everything okay?

binnie : you seem differently lately

all good! just busy.

for a moment, just a moment, the little bubble appeared. read. the words stared back at you, utterly devoid of the panic rising in your throat.

and for a second, you thought you were already losing your mind. he had to know that you were lying, and jokes on you, you weren’t fully mentally prepared.

then, a message appeared.

binnie : are we still on for our walk this weekend? the weather’s supposed to be nice

a trembling exhale escaped your lips, carrying the weight of everything you couldn’t say as you read his message. your thumb trembled, not from cold, not from nerves, but from the sheer effort of holding yourself together when all you wanted was to fall apart.

your thumb moved before your brain could stop it.

typing…

sorry i can’t

family stuff

there. it was a lie. you had nothing planned for the weekend. it was a lie wrapped in something almost believable. almost innocent. almost enough to explain why you were pushing him away without actually explaining anything at all.

binnie : oh okay

binnie : just let me know if you need to talk about anything

binnie : i’m always here

damn you, seo changbin

thanks

one word. after months of paragraphs, of shared thoughts, inside jokes, and late-night rambles, you could only manage by giving him one word.

the typing indicator appeared immediately. disappeared. appeared again. you watched it as if you could see him pacing outside of your door, afraid to knock on.

then his message came through.

binnie : y/n… did i do something?

the ellipsis hung there like a held breath. like he was scared to ask yet more scared not to.

binnie : if i upset you somehow, i’m really sorry

binnie : just tell me and i’ll make up for it

you stared at that message for a long time, your thumb hovering over the keyboard. you wanted to tell him everything. you wanted to scream that he hadn’t done anything wrong, that it was a ‘you’ problem, that you were just scared and didn’t know how to be around him without falling apart.

but you didn’t. fear wouldn’t let you.

what are u talking about lmao

u didn’t do anything wrong. dw about it

binnie : if you say so

binnie : but i do worry. about you. you know that right?

i know. thanks.

another brick in the wall, final.

TWO WEEKS PASSED LIKE THIS. fourteen days. three hundred and thirty-six hours. thousands of minutes stretched thin with short replies, avoided encounters, and a growing, aching silence that filled every space you used to share.

two weeks of you dying a little more inside every day–slowly, quietly, the way flowers die when you forget to water them. two weeks of him growing more and more confused, more hurt, more desperate with every unanswered question. every casual deflection,l every door you closed in his face.

you told yourself it was for the best.

you told yourself a lot of things.

and then you saw him. you were crossing the street, head down, invested in your phone, when something made you look up.

he was there. across the street, standing outside with jeongin, both of them laughing about something. his head was thrown back slightly, his smile wide and real, his whole body loose with the kind of happiness that used to make your chest ache in the best way.

for a moment, you forgot to breathe.

he looked happy. he looked like he was moving on. he looked like your absence didn’t affect him at all, as if you were just a footnote in a story he had already finished reading.

good, you told yourself, the word sharp and cold in your chest. that’s good. he has his life. he doesn’t need you.

you believed it. almost.

and then he looked up.

across the crowd, across the distance, across the cars, the people, and the weeks of silence, his eyes finally found yours. like they knew where to look. like they had been searching for you without permission. like some part of him had been waiting for this moment even when he didn’t know it.

god, the look on his face.

his smile faltered first. flickered. died. then his eyes went soft, achingly familiar, with something that looked like… longing. like confusion. like hurt. like he was seeing a ghost he had been trying to forget and realizing he had never stopped hoping she was real.

it almost broke you.

right there, in the middle of the street, with people pushing past on you both sides and the light about to change–the look alone almost broke you.

you couldn’t do it. couldn’t watching him cross the street. couldn’t hear his voice. couldn’t let him close enough to shatter what was left of you.

so you turned. you walked away.

behind you, you didn’t hear his footsteps. didn’t know if he had started towards you. didn’t let yourself look behind to find out.

you just walked.

and somewhere behind you, changbin stood frozen, watching you disappear into the crowd, wondering what he had done to lose you and why you wouldn’t talk to him.

the breaking point came on a thursday evening.

you were walking from work, your head down against a chilly autumn wind, your work bag heavy with the weight of your uniform and the extra pastries your manager had insisted on taking home. the days had blurred into a gray mess and self-recrimination, and you were so exhausted. so incredibly, bone-deep exhausted.

the cafe had been busy that evening; a constant stream of customers ordering seasonal drinks and desserts, their happy chatter grating against your frayed nerves. you had smiled, nodded, and made drinks on autopilot, your mind somewhere else entirely. somewhere with dark eyes, a warm laugh, and a hand that used to find yours.

you had checked your phone approximately forty-seven times during your shift. each time, hoping for a message from him. each time, telling yourself you didn’t deserve one.

he stopped texting three days ago.

and the silence was torturing you mentally.

you did this. you had pushed him away, built your walls, retreated behind a mask of politeness and distance. and now he was gone, just like you had known he would be. just like you had prepared for.

this is better, you told yourself for the thousandth time. this is what you wanted. to protect yourself. to protect the friendship.

however, it didn’t feel better. it felt like someone had dug into your chest and hollowed you out, leaving nothing but echoes and ache.

the street was quiet this time of night, most of the officer workers already home, the usual bustle reduced to the occasional taxi and the distant hum of traffic, a soft lullaby for a city that never quiet slept.

you welcomed the solitude.

it meant you didn’t have to pretend. didn’t have to smile when someone asked if you were okay. didn’t have to perform the exhausting charade of being fine when every step you took felt like walking through water.

the night air was cool against your skin. the streetlights cast long shadows on the pavement. your footsteps echoed in the silence, steady, rhythmic, the only sound besides your own breathing.

you were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t hear the car until it was right beside you.

the familiar purr of the engine made your heart stop.

you recognized that sound.

you would know it anywhere—in a crowded parking lot, in the middle of a song, in your sleep. it was the sound of late-night convenience store runs, of drives to scenic overlooks where you'd sit for hours just talking, of that one time he had driven you home at 3 am because you had fallen asleep on his couch during a movie marathon and he hadn't had the heart to wake you.

it was the sound of him.

you didn’t look up.

you couldn’t. if you looked up, if you saw him, if you let yourself acknowledge that he was here–right here, within arm's reach, you would break. you would shatter into a thousand pieces right here on the sidewalk, and you would never be able to put yourself back together.

so you kept walking.

your pace quickened. your eyes stayed fixed on the sidewalk ahead, on the cracks in the pavement, on anything that wasn’t the dark car gliding alongside you.

the car matched your speed.

of course it did.

the window rolled down. the sound was soft, just a mechanical hum, yet it might as well have been a gunshot in the silence. it echoed in your chest, in your ears, in the space you had been trying so hard to keep empty.

you felt him there. felt his presence like a gravitational pull, like the tide being drawn towards the moon, like every atom in your body screaming at you to turn around.

you didn’t look, and you heard the car kept moving.

the window stayed down.

and you kept walking, heart pounding, breath caught, waiting for the sound of his voice to finally destroy you.

“y/n.”

his voice. that warm baritone that used to make your heart soar, now making it clench with a painful mixture of longing and dread. you could hear the exhaustion of it, the confusion, the hurt.

you kept walking, the upcoming words came out smaller than you intended–fragile, thin, barely held together, “i’m fine. it’s a short walk–”

“y/n,” his voice was firmer now, yet still gentle. always gentle with you. even now, even after weeks of distance, he was still gentle, “it’s late at night. please, get in.”

you shook your head–a small movement, quick and dismissive. you couldn’t trust your voice, couldn’t trust that if you opened your mouth, something other than words would come out. a sob, maybe. a confession. a broken, desperate ‘i have feelings for you and it sickens me’ that you would never be able to take back.

the car stopped.

you heard it. the soft deceleration, the click of the gear shift, the sudden absence of movement beside you. then, his door opened.

heavy footsteps chased behind you, steady, determined. closing the distance you had been trying so hard to maintain.

and then his hand found your arm, his fingers wrapped around your elbow; not gripping, not trapping, just there. just enough to stop you. just enough to turn you around.

you didn’t resist.

his touch, his warm… it undid you so easily. it unraveled weeks of careful construction in a single second. it remind you of everything you had been trying to forget.

you turned reluctantly, and there he was.

changbin. standing in the middle of the quiet street, the streetlight casting shadows across his attractive face, his gorgeous eyes searching yours, looking for answers to his unanswered questions.

he looked tired as well. there were shadows under his eyes, deep purple crescents that spoke of sleepless nights and restless thoughts. a tension in his jaw that hadn’t been there before, a tightness around his mouth that made him look wearier, like someone carrying a weight they didn't know how to put down. he looked like he hadn’t been sleeping either, and that hurt more than anything.

you had convinced yourself that you were the only one suffering. that your absence alone was a final gift, a mercy, a kindness that allowed him to move on without the burden of your feelings, you had told–reminded yourself he was fine, happy, moving forward into a future that didn’t have to include you.

however, standing here now, looking at the exhaustion etched into every line of his face realized how wrong you had been.

“please,” he begged once again, softer this time. “just… talk to me. five minutes. that’s all i’m asking.”

you looked at him, really looked at him, and your heart fissured, cracks spreading like spiderwebs. the walls you had been so carefully building crumbled in an instant, leaving you raw and exposed, and so, so tired of running.

you nodded.

he led you back to the car, his hand was still on your arm–gentle, guiding, like he was afraid you might disappear again if he let go. he opened the passenger door for you, a small gesture something he had done a hundred times before, and you slid into the warm interior.

the scent hit you immediately. laundry detergent. something faintly woody. that familiar, impossible combination that was so uniquely him. it wrapped around you like a memory, like a hug you hadn’t known you needed, like everything you had been trying to forget suddenly flooding back all at once.

it made your heart ache further.

that deep, hollow longing you had been suppressing for weeks; it rose up like a tide, threatening to drown you right there in the passenger seat of his car. you gripped your hands together in your lap, knuckles white, and tried to breathe through it.

he pulled over to the side of the road, into a small parking lot near a closed convenience store. the engine idled softly, the heater hummed, and the world outside the windows felt very far away.

then, he turned to face you.

his dark eyes were intense–searching, desperate, hungry for answers you had been starving him of for weeks. they moved across your face as if he was trying to read a brook written in a language he didn't understand.

“what’s going on?” he began. his tone was cautious, as if he was approaching something wounded, “did i do something wrong?”

the question was a knife to your heart. it slide between your ribs with surgical precision, finding the softest parts of you, the places where all your fears lived, he thought it was his fault. he had been carrying this for weeks, thinking he was the reason for the ordeal.

and you had let him.

“...no,” your voice barely above a whisper. you looked down at your hands, at the white-knuckled grip you had on yourself, “you didn’t do anything wrong.”

the silence stretched between you, heavy with everything you weren’t saying out loud. you could feel his gaze on you, his confusion, his desperate need to understand. you could feel him waiting, always so patient for you to give him something, anything, to hold onto.

however, the truth was too big. too messy. too terrifying.

“then why?” the hurt in his voice was raw, undisguised, stripped of all the careful composure he had been holding onto. it was the kind of hurt that couldn’t be hidden, couldn’t be smoothed over.

“why are you avoiding me? why do you barely talk to me anymore?” each question landed like a blow, as if he was listing wounds he didn’t know how to treat. “whenever i see you at the cafe, you can’t get away from me fast enough. you used to–”

a pause, his jaw tightening; that muscle jumping beneath his skin, the one you watched flex a hundred times when he was concentrating, when he was frustrated, whe he was trying not to feel too much.

however, he was feeling it now. all of it.

“i thought we were close. i thought–”

he ran a hand through his hair, a gesture so familiar it made your chest cave in. frustration. confusion. the kind of helplessness that came from wanting to fix something and now knowing how.

“did i misread everything?” his voice came quieter now, more fragile. as if he was bracing for the answer, “were we not… were not friends the way i thought we were?”

friends.

the word hit you like a slap–a reminder. like everything you had been afraid of, crystallized into seven letters.

he thought this was about friendship. he thought you were pushing him away because you didn’t care enough, didn’t value him enough, didn’t want him in your life the way he wanted you.

he had no idea.

he had no idea that you cared too much. that you wanted him too much. that every moment near him felt like standing too close to a fire; beautiful, warm, and absolutely capable of melting you.

“no!” the denial tore out of you before you could stop it–sharp, desperate, and raw in its own way. you finally glanced up at him, finally let yourself see him, finally stopped hiding behind your own walls.

and the look on his face–god.

it was hope, desperation, and fear all tangled together, mirroring your current emotional chaos; the same storm you had been drowning in for weeks, now reflected back at you in his eyes.

“you didn’t… you didn’t misread anything. you’re my… you’re one of the best friends i’ve ever had, changbin–”

“but?”

you took a shaky breath. this was it. the moment you had been dreading. you had to say something, and the words were stuck in your throat like shards of glass.

“but i can’t do this anymore,” you whispered, “i can’t keep pretending.”

changin’s brows furrowed, “pretending what?”

you looked down at your hands, twisting together in your lap like they could anchor you to something solid. the tears were already coming, hot and traitorous, spilling down your cheeks before you could stop them.

"pretending that i don't—" your voice cracked. "pretending that you're just my friend. pretending that every time you text me, my heart doesn't race. pretending that when you smile at me, i don't forget how to breathe. pretending that i haven't been falling in love with you since the moment we first hung out.”

you looked down at your hands, twisting together in your lap like they could anchor you to something solid. the tears were already coming, hot and traitorous, spilling down your cheeks before you could stop them,

you couldn’t look at him. you couldn’t bear to see the pity, the awkwardness, the careful let-down that was surely coming. so you just kept talking, the confession spilling out of you like water through a broken dam.

“i know i shouldn’t feel this way. i know i’m not–” you, yet again, gestured vaguely at yourself–at your body, at everything you had seen as insufficient, “i’m not what someone like you want. i know that. i’ve always known that. but i couldn’t help it. i tried so hard to just be your friend, to just be happy with what we had, but every time i was with you, i wanted more. i wanted things i have no right to want.”

a sob escaped you, and you turned your attention towards the window, trying to hold it in.

“and then i saw you with that woman at the company. she was so pretty, so perfect, and i realized–” a sad laugh broke through your lips, “i realized that that was it. that was my wake-up call. you have a life, changbin. a real life with real people who belong in your world. you are loved. and i’m just.. just some girl who works at a cafe. i don’t belong there.”

you finally looked up at him once more, your eyes swimming with tears, your heart laid bare and bleeding between you.

“so i tried to give you space. to make it hurt less when you eventually–” you swallowed hard, “when you eventually found someone who was actually good enough for you. i thought if i did it first, if i created the distance, maybe it wouldn’t destroy me when you left.”

another tear fell.

“but it didn’t work. nothing worked–regardless, i still love you. i still think about you constantly.”

silence.

heavy, terrifying silence.

you waited for him to speak, to let you down gently, to explain that he was sorry but he only saw you as a friend. you waited for the kindness you knew he possessed to deliver the rejection in the softest way possible.

yet, he didn’t speak.

he just stared at you, his eyes wide, his expression frozen somewhere between shock and something you couldn’t name. something softer. something that looked almost like wonder.

“i’m sorry,” you breathed, the words falling like stones–heavy, clumsy, irreversible, “i’m so sorry. i shouldn’t have–i know this makes things weird. i know you probably don’t–”

you couldn’t finish.

you reached for the door handle, desperate to scurry away, “i’ll just–i’ll go. we can pretend this never happened. i’ll understand if you don’t want to–”

his hand caught your wrist, warm fingers circling the place where your pulse was trying to beat its way out of your body.

“y/n. stop.”

his voice was rough, strained, nothing like the gentle tone you had expected, you turned to look at him.

his chest was rising and falling too fast. his jaw was working around words he hadn’t said yet. his eyes were burning with something that looked almost like… relief.

“that woman,” he murmured slowly, carefully, “the one you saw me with at the company.”

you nodded miserably, mentally preparing yourself for the impact.

he let out a shaky breath, as if he was trying to suppress his… laugh?

“that was my cousin.”

cousin.

“she’s a stylist,” another breath, steadier this time, “she’s married.”

one second. two. your brain turning the words over, examining them from every angle, trying to find the catch, the lie, the evidence you were missing.

then the blood drained from your body.

“she’s–”

“my cousin,” he nodded, and something flickered in his eyes–something that looked almost like a smile, almost like disbelief, almost like he couldn’t believe this was the reason, “my cousin, y/n–who, by the way, has been asking about you for weeks because i may have mentioned you plenty of times.”

you stared at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air, “but–”

“i was telling her about this girl i’ve been spending time with. this amazing, beautiful, incredible girl who makes me laugh, listens to my music, and definitely the best cook. this girl who i’ve been falling in love with for months.”

all of the sudden, the world tilted. the car felt too small, the air too thin, your body too fragile to contain everything that was suddenly blooming inside you. your heart literally stopped.

“i wanted to introduce you, i wanted you to meet her, to meet my family, to–” he stopped. swallowed, before starting again, “but you were gone before i could get to you. and then everything changed.”

his thumb traced a slow arc against your wrist–the same wrist he was still holding, still grounding, still keeping you here when every instinct was screaming at you to run or cry… or even both.

“you started pulling away, and i didn’t know why. i kept thinking–” his voice cracked, just slightly, “i kept thinking i had done something. said something. pushed too hard or moved too fast. i really thought i had lost you.”

“...changbin–”

“no, let me finish,” he inhaled another shaky breath, his thumb still tracing those gentle circles on your wrist–an anchor, the only thing keeping you from splintering apart completely, “i replayed every conversation in my head, every moment we spent together. every laugh, every look, every stupid joke you made that i still think about when i can’t sleep.”

a broken laugh, soft and self-deprecating.

"i kept asking myself where i went wrong. what i could have done differently. because losing you—" his voice fractured, the words splintering on the way out. "losing you felt like losing something i never even got to have. something i wanted so badly it hurt. something i didn't even know i was allowed to want until it was gone.”

you shook your head, fresh tears spilling over, carving warm paths down your cheeks.

“you didn’t do anything wrong,” your voice came out fragile, trembling on the edge of breaking. it was the most honest thing you had said in weeks, stripped bare of all the restraints you had put on yourself, “nothing. it was never you.”

“then talk to me,” his eyes searched for yours, desperate, “please, whatever it is, just tell me. i need answers.”

you looked at him. at the shadows under his eyes, the tension in his jaw, the way his hand was still wrapped around yours like he was afraid you would disappear if he let go.

the truth sat on your tongue, heavy and bitter.

“because you deserve better.”

your answer fell into the silence like heavy stones into deep water, irreversible, sending ripples through everything.

his brows furrowed, “what?”

“you deserve better,” you repeated, voice cracking, “you deserve someone beautiful. someone thin. someone who looks like she belongs next to someone like you.”

you gestured at yourself, your body, at everything you had been taught to hate, “not this. not me.”

“y/n–”

“i’m not pretty, changbin,” the tears came faster now, “i’m not any of the things that you should want. and i thought–”

a sob caught in your throat, “i thought if i let myself love you, it would only hurt more when you finally figured it out. when you finally saw me the way everyone else does.”

“everyone else?”

“everyone else. you don’t understand,” you pulled your hand away, now wrapping your arms around yourself like you could hold the pieces together, “i’ve spent my whole life being looked at and looked through. being told i’m too much in some ways and not enough in others. i’ve made peace with it, or i thought i had.”

you wiped your tears with the back of your hand, sucking in another deep breath, “but then… you came along. and you looked at me. really looked at me. like i mattered. like i was worth seeing–and i didn’t know how to handle that, didn’t know how to be someone worthy of that look.”

silence.

he didn’t speak for a long moment. didn’t. just sat there, his eyes never leaving yours.

then, slowly, he reached out.

his hand found yours again, gently prying it away from where you were clutching your own arm. he held it in both of his, warm and steady.

“can i tell you something?” he asked gently.

you nodded.

“when i first met you,” he began, shifting closer to you–close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him, could smell that familiar scent that had haunted your dreams for weeks, “i thought you were cute. adorable, even. the way you smile like you couldn’t help it. like happiness just spilled out of you whether you wanted it or not.”

a tiny, sad smile tugged at his lips, “and so incredibly sincere. you wore your heart on your sleeve in a way i had never seen before. no pretense. just… you.”

he paused, his gaze mapping your features as if he was trying to memorize every detail.

“and i remember thinking, ‘i hope she keeps looking at me. i hope she keeps smiling like that. i hope i get to be the reason for it someday.’”

his hand came up, cupping your cheek with a gentleness that made your breath catch.

“i fell for you ever since game night. when you laughed at one of jeongin’s stupid jokes and your whole face lit up. when you talked about movies like it was something you felt in your bones. when you paid attention to the subtlest changes about me. i fell for you because of who you are.”

a tear slipped down your cheek, and he caught it with his hand.

“not who you think you should be. not who the world tried to tell you to be. not some edited, polished version of yourself. you, the real you.”

he leaned closer, his forehead almost touching yours. you could feel his breath warm against your lips.

“and you,” he continued, “you are the most beautiful person i’ve ever met. not just on the outside–although god knows i could spend an entire day just looking at you–but inside is where it counts. your heart. your kindness. the way you care about people, about me.”

his words settled in your chest like warmth, like light… it was something you had wanted to hear.

a sob escaped you–yet it was different, it bubbled up from somewhere deep and joyful, somewhere that had been locked away for so long you had forgotten it existed. it was a sob of relief. of disbelief. of hope.

"you're so silly." the words came out wet and wobbly, tangled up with laughter and tears and everything in between. a smile broke through despite everything—despite the crying, despite the weeks of pain, despite the walls you'd built so carefully. it split your face open, too wide and too bright, the way it always did when you couldn't help yourself. "how can you say things like that?”

he smiled back—that small, intimate smile, the one he saved just for you.

"because they're true." he shrugged, simple and honest and utterly devastating. "and because someone needs to say them. someone needs to tell you, every single day, until you finally believe it.”

his thumb traced your cheekbone, feather-light, “and i volunteer. full-time. no days off.”

a laugh bubbled out of you—wet and surprised and absolutely genuine. it felt strange in your throat, after weeks of nothing but silence and sorrow. it felt like coming home.

“god, i love you,” you breathed, the confession coming easier than ever, “i love you so much.”

a soft giggle bubbled up from his chest, warm and infectious, “say it again.”

“i love you.

“again.”

“i love you, seo changbin,” his name on your tongue felt like a prayer, something sacred, “i love the way you make me laugh. even when i’m sad, even when i’m scared, even when i’m trying so hard to push you away–you still find a way to make me smile.”

a watery laugh escaped you, genuine.

“i love the way you listen. really listen when i talk. like what i’m saying matters–like i matter. you don’t just hear my words, you understood everything underneath them. the things i’m too scared to say, the feelings i can’t put into words. you hear me.”

his breath caught. you felt it in the way his chest stilled, in the way his hand tightened ever so slightly against your cheek. you could've swore you could see his eyes glistening.

“i love the way you look at me. like i’m the only person in the world–”

“you are,” he cut in, his voice rough, almost breaking, “the only person in my world. have been for a while now.”

“changbin…’ another tear slipped down your cheek, and he caught that one too.

“it’s true,” his voice was fierce now, desperate in needing you to believe his words more than he had ever needed anything. “don’t you dare try to deny it. not for a second.”

a soft laugh escaped you. you shook your head, a reflexive motion, years of self-doubt wired so deep into your bones that even now, even with him saying his truths, your first instinct was to push back. to deflect.

“chang–”

he didn’t let you finish.

his hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck—slow, deliberate, like he had all the time in the world and wanted to savor every second of this. his fingers threaded gently into your hair at the nape, tangling in the soft strands there, and the touch sent a shiver cascading down your spine like the first notes of a melody you'd been waiting your whole life to hear.

and then he kissed you.

it wasn’t a frantic desperate kiss. it was something far more devastating.

his lips met yours with a tenderness that felt like a question and an answer all at once. it was soft, warm, a whisper of pressure that seemed to ask ‘is this okay?’ even as it promised ‘i’ve been wanting this forever.’ he hovered at the edge of you, giving you time, giving you space, giving you every chance to pull away if you needed to.

as if you had ever wanted to pull away from this.

he kissed you as if he was memorizing you. there was no rush in the way his lips moved against yours. he was a dedicated scholar, and it seemed as though the curve of your lips was a sacred text he intended to learn by heart. every angle, every soft sigh, every tiny movement you made… he absorbed it, catalogued it, stored it away in the deepest parts of his memory.

he traced the seam of your mouth with his own, a slow exploration that was more intoxicating than any rush. his upper lip brushed against your lower, then the reverse, a gentle push and pull that made your head spin and your knees weaken despite being seated.

one of your hands rose to rest against his chest, seemingly on its own initiative. your palm pressed flat against the solid warmth of his, fingers spaying slightly over the fabric of his shirt.

you could feel the frantic, staccato beat of his heart beneath your palm, and it shattered the last of your resistance.

whatever walls you had been clinging to, whatever voices in the back of your mind still whispered that this couldn’t be real, they all crumbled into dust, carried away by the truth of his heartbeat against your palm.

you kissed him back with everything you had.

your hand fisted gently in his shirt, pulling him slightly closer. your lips parted against his, inviting him, welcoming home. a soft sigh escaped you, and he swallowed it like a man dying of thirst, like you were the only thing that could sustain him.

his hand tightened in your hair, not pulling, just holding, just keeping you close. his other hand splayed over your waist, drawing you against him until there was no space left between you, until you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began.

when the kiss finally ended, it wasn’t because either of you wanted it to. it was simply that you both needed to breathe, needed to come up for air and remind yourselves that the world still existed outside of this moment.

he pulled back slowly, his lips lingering against yours even as he moved away, like they couldn’t bear to break contact completely. his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm and uneven, mingling with yours in the tiny space between.

you opened your eyes and just looked at him, at the man who had just rearranged your entire universe with a single kiss. your hand was still on his chest, rising and falling with every breath. the shiver he had sent down your spine had settled into deep, resonant warmth in the very core of you.

“that…” you exhaled, a toothy smile touched your lips–unguarded and real, “what a way to shut me up, seo changbin.”

a laugh rumbled in his chest beneath your palm–low, warm, and a little bit breathless.

“been wanting to do that for a while,” he murmured softly, his voice intimate in a way that made your stomach flip. his thumb traced a slow, absent-minded pattern on your waist, like he couldn’t stop touching you, like he was still reassuring himself you were really here.

your face flushed hot, the heat crawling up your neck and settling in your cheeks like it had every right to be there. you ducked your head slightly, a flustered smile tugging at your lips. you gave him a light, playful shove on his chest.

“shut up,” you mumbled, yet there was no heat in it. only embarrassment and the giddy, overwhelming rush of being wanted by him.

changbin stumbled back, a hand flying to his chest right where you had hit him, his eyes going wide with theatrical offense.

“ow,” he breathed, genuinely, like you had actually wounded him, “right in the heart. direct hit. you’re a dangerous woman, y/n y/l/n!”

you laughed, rolling your eyes even as your smile grew. your tears had dried up by now, replaced by the warm, bubbling joy that seemed to fill every corner of your chest whenever you were around him. the weight that had settled there earlier, the years of self-doubt and insecurity, felt lighter now. it was as if he had somehow shouldered some of it without you even noticing.

“dangerous,” you repeated, shaking your head at him, “it was just a little tap.”

“a little tap, huh?” he clutched his chest with both hands now, staggering another distance for good measure, “i think you cracked a rib. i might need medical attention!”

“hah, funny,” you crossed your arms, attempting to look unimpressed, yet the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you completely, “okay, drama queen. should i call an ambulance?”

he nodded solemnly, still clutching his chest, “yes. but only if the paramedic looks like you. and performs CPR exactly like you do.”

your face went red again–so quickly, so fiercely, that you could feel the heat radiating from your own skin. you opened your mouth to respond, to fire back with something witty, yet nothing came out. just a sputter. a flustered, embarrassed sputter.

changbin’s expression shifted instantly, the playful theatrics melting into something softer, more tender.

“god, y/n, you're so cute,” before you could react, his fingers were pinching your cheek–gently, of course. he squished your cheek slightly, his grin widening as your lips pursed into an involuntary pout.

“stop,” you mumbled through your squished cheek, yet it came out sounding more like sthob and that only made him laugh harder.

“can’t do, princess,” another squish, “you’re stuck with me.”

princess. oh, he’s gonna’ be the death of me.

the thought barely had time to form before changbin’s eyes lit up with that familiar mischievous spark. his head tilted, studying your face with exaggerated curiosity, “cat got your tongue?”

your heart, yet again, did a full somersault in your chest. your face flushed even deeper, if that was possible. you tried to look away, to break free from his knowing gaze, yet his hands on your cheeks held you gently in place.

“n–no,” the stutter gave you away completely.

his grin widened.

“no?” he repeated, his voice was honey and mischief all at once. he finally released your cheeks, only to let his fingers trail slowly down to your chin, tilting your face up towards his, “then, can i kiss you again?”

you should be used to this by now. the way he looked at you. the way his touch made your skin tingle. the way his voice dropped just slightly when he was about to do something that would ruin you in the best way.

but you weren’t used to it. you didn’t think you had ever get used to it.

“…yes,” you whispered, your voice barely audible even in the quiet of the car.

when his lips finally met yours, it was like the first time all over again.

soft. warm. perfect.

he kissed you like he had all the time in the world, like there was nowhere else he would rather be, like you were the only thing that mattered. his hand stayed on your chin, while the other found its way back to your cheek, gently cradling your face.

you melted into him.

your hands found his shirt again, fisting in the soft fabric, holding on as the kiss deepened. you could feel his smile against your lips, and you couldn’t help but to reciprocate it.

when he finally pulled back, it was only by a breath.

“i love you, y/n,” he whispered against your lips.

you couldn’t help but to press your lips against him once more, a gentle peck.

“i love you too.”

he captured your lips once again, before his kisses left a burning trail on your forehead, cheek, and jaw. returning to your lips once more.

“be my girlfriend?” he whispered against your lips, his bottom lip brushing against your upper as he spoke.

your heart stopped.

then started again, faster than before.

“yes,” an immediate response. the word tumbled out of you before you could think, before the doubts could creep in. for once, your heart spoke before your fears could silence it.

“yeah?”

“yeah,” you were smiling now, happiness radiating from every part of you, “yes, changbin. a thousand times yes.”

he smiled once more, before leaning in once again.

your eyes fluttered close.

not because you were scared. not because you were hiding. not because you were trying to block out the world.

because for the first time, you didn’t need to see to believe.

you could feel him–his warmth, his love, his unwavering certainty. the gentle pressure of his lips against yours. the way his hand cradled your cheek preciously. the steady beat of his heart against your chest, syncing with your own.

with your eyes closed, you left yourself fall.

into this. into him. into your future.

© lynsbng 2026

[hyunvom]

blue & grey

synopsis: A deaf artist and a famous idol form an unexpected bond built on silence, touch, and learning each other’s language beyond words.

word count: 12k

pairing: idol hyunjin x deaf artist reader

cw: angst, miscommunication, hurt/comfort, soft romance, eventual smut.

You like museums because they are honest about silence.

People whisper there, but even that feels optional. Sound exists, but it never demands you. No one expects conversation, no one expects responses. You can exist fully inside yourself without apologizing for it.

That’s why you came today on your day off from the atelier.

This exhibition has been advertised everywhere in Seoul, contemporary reinterpretations of classical Korean landscapes. Posters plastered on subway walls, colors blooming against concrete, brushstrokes promising emotion.

Art speaks your language.

You arrive early, before the afternoon crowd gets too overwhelming. The museum smells faintly of polished floors and old paper. Sunlight filters through tall windows, washing everything in gold. Your footsteps echo softly, or at least you imagine they do. You’ve learned to construct sound from memory rather than experience.

As you step inside you immediately feel calm settle over you.

Paintings line the white walls of the museum like open windows into other worlds. Mountains dissolve into mist. Rivers stretch endlessly toward horizons painted with impossible patience. You move slowly, hands clasped behind your back, reading each plaque carefully.

You don’t rush art. You let it happen to you.

A group passes behind you, you feel the vibration of footsteps through the floor before you notice them in your peripheral vision. You shift aside politely, used to navigating spaces by motion rather than sound.

People talk. Mouths move. Laughter appears in shapes you recognize but cannot hear. You don’t mind anymore. You stopped minding many years ago.

Silence isn’t loneliness. It can become a home if you know how to welcome it.

You stop in front of a smaller painting, ink brush mountains rising sharply against a pale sky. The artist captured distance so perfectly you almost feel wind on your face. Your chest tightens the way it always does when something beautiful finds you unexpectedly.

You lean closer..and that’s when you notice him.

You notice him the way you notice art that doesn’t belong to the rest of the room. He stands several paintings away.

Tall.

Black hair falling softly across his forehead, slightly messy like he forgot to tame it before leaving home. He’s wearing a brownish long coat, neutral colors, nothing flashy, yet he looks impossibly out of place among ordinary visitors.

Beautiful is too small a word.

Your brain supplies it anyway.

Beautiful.

A properly beautiful man, and you get lost in your head about how you’re pretty sure, you have never seen anyone this good looking before. Is he from here? Is he a visitor?

He studies a painting with complete focus, head tilted slightly, lips parted as if he’s thinking something profound. His hands rest loosely in his pockets, posture relaxed but elegant.

You stare longer than you should, and you know you are staring but you can’t take your eyes off of his face. You tell yourself to look away.

You don’t. You can’t.

There’s something gentle about him, something quiet, and you catch yourself wonder what he sees in the painting, and then you wonder what his voice sounds like. You rarely think about voices, but his lips move slightly, almost forming words to himself, and suddenly curiosity blooms painfully inside your chest.

You look away quickly, embarrassed.

Focus on the art.

You move to the next piece.

Then the next.

But awareness of him follows you like warmth at your back. Each time you pretend not to look, you somehow find him again across the room, turning a corner, standing beneath another canvas. Maybe he’s moving through the exhibition at the same pace as you. Maybe you’re both drawn to the same pieces. Or maybe you’re just being delusional about your destiny bullshit.

You stop in a room with a huge piece, and the painting dominates the room.

It stretches across nearly an entire wall, a sweeping landscape of storm clouds breaking over a coastline, waves crashing in thick, violent strokes of blue & gray. Light cuts through the storm in one brilliant opening, illuminating a lone figure standing at the edge of the sea.

You feel it immediately.

The ache.

You walk closer and closer, until the rest of the world disappears. You imagine the roar of the ocean, not as sound, but as motion. As pressure. As something vast and overwhelming that exists whether you hear it or not. The lone figure in the painting looks small against the storm, yet unafraid.

You exhale slowly, and you sit on the bench placed before the artwork.

You always sit for paintings like this. Standing feels disrespectful when something demands your full attention. You fold your hands in your lap and let your eyes trace every brushstroke. Minutes pass, or maybe longer. Time behaves differently when you’re absorbed in beauty.

Your thoughts drift.

You think about the waves, what sounds they might make, and your thoughts lead you to roads you don’t want to take right now, like how people describe music as emotional. You’ve never known music. Sometimes people pity you for that, but standing here, feeling emotion swell so strongly it almost hurts, you wonder if music could really feel more alive than this.

You don’t think so.

You’re so lost in thought that you don’t notice him approach. Not until the bench shifts slightly beside you.

Your heart jumps and you glance sideways.

It’s him.

He is so much more unreal up close. His presence feels warm, and you study him from the corner of your eye as he looks at the painting in front of you.

Long fingers resting on his knees. Soft features sharpened by concentration. His eyes move across the canvas slowly, thoughtfully, and you watch yourself thinking that he looks like someone who feels deeply, just like you.

Then he turns slightly toward you, and his lips move.

You blink, not expecting any interaction at all with the beautiful stranger, as if you were invisible in this space and someone interacting with you was impossible.

You look around briefly, wondering if he’s speaking to someone else, but no one stands nearby.

You look back at him.

His mouth moves again. Gentle expression.

You catch only fragments, shapes of syllables, but he’s probably mumbling and being extra quiet given the space you’re in, so you can’t read his lips at all.

Your stomach drops.

Of course, of course he’s talking, and of course he’s talking to you.

Panic flutters in your chest with the familiar anxiety of misunderstandings. Of people thinking you’re ignoring them purposefully. One of those moment where the world just has to mind you that easy communication isn’t built for you.

You hesitate.

Maybe he wasn’t speaking to you after all.

You look back at the painting, pretending nothing happened, but then he leans slightly closer, clearly directing his attention at you this time.

His lips move again, slower. You recognize the expression now. He’s definitely talking to you.

Heat rises to your face, and you hate this part. The part where you must interrupt normalcy. The moment people’s expressions change, surprise, awkwardness, apology. You turn toward him fully and he waits politely, eyes kind.

You look at him in the eyes, his beautiful intense but kind eyes, and you shake your head, pointing at your ear and your cochlear implant.

Then you mouth silently and carefully, hoping he’ll understand.

I’m deaf.

His eyes widen slightly as he realises, and for a brief second you prepare yourself for the usual reaction, exaggerated apologies, embarrassment, people backing away because they don’t know what to do or how to respond back.

He nods slowly. Then he mouths something again, more carefully this time.

You catch nothing. Maybe because you’re so distracted by him, maybe because the beautiful stranger is literally sitting right next to you and is trying to talk to you.

He pauses.

Thinks.

Then, unexpectedly, he reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out his phone.

You watch his every movement, surprised.

His fingers move quickly across the screen, and a moment later he turns his phone toward you.

“Sorry. I said the painting feels lonely but peaceful. I wondered if you thought the same since you’re sitting here too.”

You stare at the words. Then at him, and your chest does that thing again.

Most people would have simply smiled and stopped trying. They wouldn't try to have a conversation with you. But he was, he was trying. He was actively trying to communicate with you.

You take your own phone out, hands suddenly clumsy with awareness of him watching as you type.

“Yes. Like standing in a storm but not wanting to leave.”

You show him.

His eyes brighten instantly, he smiles and nods at you. Something about his reaction makes warmth spread through you.

He types again.

“Exactly.”

You both turn back toward the painting. Side by side. You can see a smile in his face, and you become acutely aware of everything.

The closeness of his shoulder. The subtle rise and fall of his breathing. The way he glances at the painting, then briefly at you, as if checking whether you’re experiencing the same emotion. Your heart beats faster.

Ridiculous.

You don’t even know his name. You don’t know anything about him. He’s just a beautiful stranger.

And then you catch him typing again, and directing his phone at you, again.

“Do you come to museums often?”

You nod, then write.

“Whenever I want to think.”

He smiles big at you and the smile changes his whole face, making it so soft and childlike, like he’s genuinely so unbelievably happy. And you almost forget how to breathe.

He writes.

“Funny you say that, me too.”

You want to ask more. So much more, but you hesitate. Conversations with strangers rarely last long. People move on. They always do. You don’t want to out yourself up for disappointment

Still, neither of you stands up to leave.

Minutes pass. Maybe more. You exist together in this shared silence, watching painted waves crash endlessly against a painted shore.

You glance at him again.. and he’s already looking at you.

Your gaze collides with his but neither of you looks away immediately. Something shifts. Unspoken. Fragile. Dangerous. You both smile at each other and he looks back at the painting, and he looks shy, cheeks red. You’re pretty sure you look like a radish yourself.

His phone lights up again in his hands. He hesitates before turning the screen toward you, but he does anyway.

“I’m Hyunjin by the way”

Hyunjin. You mouth it silently to yourself, testing how it looks. The name fits him somehow. Soft yet so elegant.

You quickly type your own name and turn your phone toward him.

He reads it carefully and smiles, the kind that reaches his eyes and lingers there, warm and bright, like he’s committing your name to memory.

Your stomach flips again at how pretty he looks.

He types again.

“Nice to meet you.”

You nod and type quickly.

“You too.”

It feels insufficient for the strange gravity of the moment, but you don’t know how else to explain what meeting him already feels like.

He looks at the painting again.

Then at you.

Then types:

“Do you want to see the rest together?”

Your heart stutters. You hadn’t expected that. You were just hoping to stay like this besides him for a few more minutes before he’s gone and you never see him again. You stare at the words longer than necessary, and he waits patiently, a look in his eyes as if hoping more than anything you’ll say yes.

You nod, a small movement, but his face lights up immediately.

You both stand at the same time, almost awkwardly synchronized, and a soft laugh escapes him, you see it in the way his shoulders lift, and you wonder what that sounded like.

You begin walking side by side through the gallery.

At first, neither of you types anything. You simply appreciate the art around you. Stopping before paintings and leaning closer to read descriptions. Then you start to occasionally exchanging phones for short comments.

“I like the colors here.”

“It feels nostalgic.”

“I think this one makes me sad. I’m not sure why.”

It’s all so natural and so not forced.

You notice how patient he is when typing, never rushing, and it’s all just making you feel like this is easy, after all, it’s not some huge inconvenience to him. He waits for your responses fully, eyes attentive, focused only on you when you write your words on the screen.

It’s rare. This is rare for you and you know it. People often grow restless. They get tired of having to do this. It has happened too many times. Boyfriends, friendships, coworkers.

The beautiful stranger in front of you doesn't stop. At least not yet.

You start noticing small things about him. The way he tilts his head when thinking. How expressive his eyes are and how carefully he observes everything.

You’re standing before a sculpture when Hyunjin suddenly pauses as if he forgot something, or her left something behind accidentally. He glances around the room, quick subtle movements, and then he reaches into his bag. You watch curiously as he pulls out a black cap. He slides it onto his head, lowering the brim slightly, and then a mask appears too, covering the lower half of his face.

Strange, you think. All of a sudden, why?

He wasn’t wearing any of that earlier when you saw him walk around the museum alone. Your brows knit together slightly and you look around instinctively.

Nothing seems different.

Only his eyes remain fully visible now. And because you stand beside him thankfully you can still see him clearly.

He notices you looking.

For a brief moment, embarrassment flashes across his eyes as he sees the confused look at your face.

He types quickly.

“Sorry. It's just something I have to do.”

You read it twice.

Why?

You glance at him again, puzzled. Again, you think about how free he looked before talking to you, what changed now?

You type back before thinking clearly.

“Not because of me I hope.” and you smile at him, as if joking. So awkward, why would you say that to him, so passive aggressive and for what? You just met the guy.. relax.

He immediately looks apologetic and there’s panic in his eyes. You’re a fucking idiot that’s for sure.

“Of course not!”

Relief softens the tightness in your chest. You hadn’t realized how much you were holding your breath. You nod lightly to show you understand, even if you don’t really. People have private reasons for things. Everyone carries pieces of themselves they don’t explain to strangers. You have no right to ask for explanations on anything.

He studies your face for a moment longer, as if making sure you truly believe him. Then his shoulders relax. Whatever tension had briefly appeared in him fades, replaced again by that quiet warmth you’ve begun associating with his presence.

You continue walking.

He stays slightly closer to you than before, positioning himself so that anyone passing would see mostly the side of his face turned away. When other visitors walk by, his posture shifts subtly, head lowered, brim of his cap shadowing his eyes.

It feels more like a habit of his. Like muscle memory.

You don’t ask why. You’re not going to ask him anything, he has his reasons. You just hope he’s not a criminal or something and he’s scared of being found.

You laugh in your head at the thought of this beautiful, kind man being a criminal.

You slow near the next painting and gesture toward it, inviting his attention back to something else. You both stop in front of a watercolor landscape, pale greens and soft blues melting into each other. He leans closer to read the description while you type a thought onto your phone.

“This one feels quiet.”

He reads it, then nods immediately.

He types

“Comfortable quiet.”

You smile.

Yes.

Exactly that.

The conversation resumes naturally after that. Whatever moment of tension existed dissolves into shared observation again, phones passing back and forth between you like a language only the two of you understand.

And you notice how attentive he is.

When you pause longer at a painting he waits for you. When you step closer to examine brushstrokes, he follows your lead. At one sculpture you circle slowly around it, studying how light changes the shadows, and when you turn he’s watching you instead of the art.

You pretend not to notice but your heart still reacts anyway. You show him another message.

“Do you like art a lot?”

He thinks before answering.

His thumbs hover over the screen longer this time.

“Yes. A lot. I try to make as much time for art as I can.”

You walk through the remaining galleries together, falling into an easy rhythm. Sometimes you talk through text. Sometimes you don’t talk at all. And somehow the silence between you never feels empty.

It feels shared.

At one point your hands brush accidentally while reaching toward the same information plaque. Both of you pull back at the same time. He laughs silently again, shoulders lifting, eyes crinkling above the mask.

You feel warmth rush to your face.

You type quickly, hiding your embarrassment behind humor.

“We have synchronized museum instincts.”

He grins and nods enthusiastically.

You don’t notice how often he looks at you now.

Not just glances.

Lingering looks.

As if he’s trying to memorize something.

Eventually the exhibition begins to thin out and visitors move toward the exit. Afternoon light grows stronger through the windows, signaling the end of the experience.

You reach the final gallery together and neither of you says anything. Neither of you rushes forward. It feels strangely similar to standing at the end of a good book, not wanting to turn the last page because finishing means losing it forever, that it’s over.

You slow your steps and he matches them automatically.

Outside the gallery doors the museum lobby stretches wide and bright. Reality waits there. You stop walking. He stops too. For a moment you both just stand facing each other. The silence changes. Not comfortable now, but fragile. Temporary.

You suddenly become aware that this was never guaranteed to last longer than today, longer than a few hours. That soon he will become a stranger again. You grip your phone slightly tighter.

He shifts his weight, eyes flicking down before returning to yours.

He’s nervous, you can feel it.

You’ve seen nervousness before, in yourself, in others trying to bridge uncertain moments. He types something. Stops and deletes it, then types again

Your heart begins beating faster.

Finally, he turns the screen toward you.

“Can I have your number Y/N? I understand if not, of course.”

You look at him. At the hidden half of his face. At the eyes that have stayed soft with you all afternoon, at the stranger who chose to stay instead of walking away when he realised communication was going to be more complicated than he's used to.

You type your number and you’re smiling down at his phone, and your fingers feel strangely unsteady as you hand the phone back to him.

He exhales, a subtle release of tension you almost miss. He saves it immediately, then types.

“I’m glad I met you today.”

Your throat tightens.

You reply.

“Me too.”

It feels inadequate compared to what you actually mean. You both linger a moment longer near the exit. Neither moving first.

Finally, you bow slightly, and he mirrors you instantly. You turn toward the doors, the remaining sunlight spilling across the floor ahead of you and each step away feels heavier than it should.

You reach the exit and something pulls at you. You glance back.. and he’s still standing there watching you. Not checking his phone. Not leaving.

When your eyes meet again he lifts his hand in a small wave and you immediately smile at him and wave back in a small movement, and then you step outside into the afternoon air, unaware that somewhere behind you Hyunjin remains still for several seconds longer.

As if leaving this moment is harder than he expected.

_

You didn’t expect him to text.

That’s the rule you’ve learned about people who show interest in you. People are not willing to do all that, to put this much effort. These beautiful moments don’t follow you home.

Still, when you step into your apartment you place your phone down on the table more carefully than usual. As if being gentle to your phone will make him text. You change clothes. Wash your hands. Make tea. The routine unfolds exactly as it always does, predictable.

Your apartment is quiet, as it always is.

You sit by the window, watching the city move below. Cars glide past. People talk animatedly on sidewalks, conversations you can see but never enter. And then.. with the corner of your eye you see your phone light up.

Your heart jumps before logic catches up and you go and pick it up way too quickly.

A message.

Unknown number.

You already know.

“Hey, it’s Hyunjin, from the museum. Did you get home safely?”

Warmth spreads through your chest so suddenly it genuinely embarrasses you. You type back immediately, then delete it. You’re being too fast. Too eager. You don’t want to make it seem like he’s all you could think about, even though that’s exactly what’s happening.

You wait for at least five minutes, just hoping he didn’t see you typing.

You: Hi. Yes. Did you?

The typing bubble appears almost instantly.

He was waiting too.

Hyunjin: Yes :) I keep thinking about the painting.

You smile instantly. You walk to the couch and sit down, pulling your legs beneath you.

You: The one with the storm?

Hyunjin: Yes. The one we met in front of.

Your breath catches. You stare at the message longer than necessary, unsure how to respond without revealing how much it affects you.

You: I can’t stop thinking about that piece too.

Three dots appear again.

Disappear.

Return.

You imagine him somewhere across the city, looking at his phone the same way you are now.

Hyunjin: I’m glad I talked to you today.

You blush like a schoolgirl. What even is this, why are you so effected by this man you barely know. Yes, he’s very attractive and he seems kind, but those things never effect you if you’re not knee deep in someone’s personality.

You: Me too, thank you for today.

The conversation ends there, but you can’t seem to be able to stop thinking about him for the rest of the night, before finally going to sleep, still thinking about him, replaying everything in your head.

_

As the days go by the beautiful stranger texts you nearly every day, almost always at the same hours, late evening, when the city softens and people begin disappearing into their private lives. And you blush and kick your feet like a teenager who’s interacting with a boy for the first time in her life every time you get a text from him.

At first, the questions are small.

Hyunjin: What do you usually do after work?

You: Go home. Read. Sometimes cook badly.

Hyunjin: Haha, I doubt it’s bad.

You: Do you paint?

Hyunjin: Yeah, I'm trying to find time for that.

You: What do you do for work?

Three dots appear.

Disappear.

Return.

Hyunjin: I’m a dancer.

You smile unconsciously. It fits him. The way he stood in front of the sculpture. The way his hands moved. The quiet awareness of his body in space.

You: That makes sense.

Hyunjin: Really? How come?

You hesitate, unsure how to explain something intuitive.

You: You notice things. Dancers notice things.

The typing bubble appears instantly.

Stops.

Appears again.

Hyunjin: I think you notice more than me.

The conversations grow slowly as days go by. He asks what silence feels like to you. No one has ever asked that before. You tell him silence isn’t always empty. It can be full. Full of movement, expressions, light shifting through rooms, people breathing.

He sends a message after several minutes.

Hyunjin: That sounds beautiful. I think sign language is very beautiful, maybe you can teach me something one day?

Your chest aches. Teach him sign? One day? This mean he's planning to see you again?

You: Oh, of course, if you'd like that :)

Hyunjin: I'd love it.

Some nights he tells you about the 'rehearsals' he has, as he calls them. You haven’t t quite understood what he does for work. Is he a dance teacher? Is he a backup dancer? He talks about long hours, sore feet and mirrors everywhere, and you imagine him practicing alone in a quiet studio.

You never push for details. You’ve learned people reveal only what they want to.

One evening after weeks of messages that feel strangely essential to your days, you type without overthinking.

You: I wish I could see you dance one day.

The message sends.

Immediately, the typing bubble appears.

Stops.

Appears again.

You watch it, heart beating faster than it should.

…typing…

…typing…

Then it disappears. Again. A minute passes. Two. Your stomach tightens.

Hyunjin: Maybe someday.

Another pause.

Hyunjin: Goodnight :)

You blink at the screen. Something about it feels unfinished. Like a door almost opened and then quietly shut again. What was he writing for minutes straight that he deleted?

You type goodnight back.

The next day passes without a text from him, and you don’t think much of it. People get busy. He clearly sounds like someone who has lots of work and lots of stuff to do. You go to work, come home, make tea and sit by the window as always.

Your phone stays dark.

Two days.

Five days.

A week.

No message.

You stop checking constantly. You place your phone face down now, as if removing the possibility will make disappointment smaller. It shouldn’t hurt. Yes, you both opened up a little bit about your lives, but still, you barely know him. But something settles quietly in your chest, familiar and heavy.

Because this is how it always happens.

People are kind at first. Curious. Interested. They like the novelty of learning how you communicate, the way you watch faces carefully, the patience required to speak with hands or typed words. But eventually comes the moment when effort becomes visible. When conversations require adjustment. When spontaneity disappears.

And then they fade.

Not cruelly or dramatically, but they do, and it always hurts the same. Maybe he wanted to meet with you, but the thought of having to text all the time made him change his mind.

You learned not to blame people for this.

And with him? You just tell yourself this was never different. You tell yourself that you knew better and to stop rereading the messages you exchanged the past weeks, and to stop wondering what he almost said that night.

Two weeks pass.

The rhythm of your life closes again around you, steady and predictable. Evening tea and city lights through your window. You feel foolish for having expected anything else. Some people are just passing moments. Beautiful ones, yes, but temporary. And you're still glad you got to know him even for just a bit. After all, he seemed like a nice, kind man.

_

It's Friday night and you’re halfway through washing dishes. You're planning on tidying up a bit, then putting on a movie and relaxing like that in front of the tv after a shitty day at the atelier.

You dropped your canvas, made a mess in the floor, ruined hours upon hours of hard work and had everyone trying to help you like you were some baby. You’re deaf, you’re not a toddler.

Everything today was just shit, and you deserved to relax and forget this day all together.

Suddenly your phone lights up on the counter. You don’t rush, you’ve trained yourself not to, and you're pretty much sure it's just your mom or your sister.

You dry your hands slowly.

His name.

Your heart forgets all the lessons you tried to teach it.

Hyunjin: Would you be up to meet again?

_

You start getting ready far too early.

The clock says you still have three hours before he arrives, yet you stand in front of your wardrobe like the decision carries unreasonable consequences. Shirts are lifted, held against your body, folded back again. Nothing feels right. Everything feels like trying too hard. You sit on the edge of your bed for a moment trying to catch your breath and looking at all the mess you’ve made in front of you.

You’re being so ridiculous. This is just tea. Just meeting a friend. Right? That’s what he is. A friend.

But your thoughts don’t cooperate. What if he realizes how exhausting it is to talk with you? The pauses while you type. The way conversations sometimes need to slow down or the constant awareness required to communicate with you. People always say it doesn’t matter at first. And then later it does.

You smooth your hands over the clothes you finally picked. A long skirt and a beautifully detailed top.

You tell yourself not to hope too much. To treat this as meeting a friend and nothing else. This is not a date, not a romantic one at least.

The message he sent yesterday replays in your mind.

Would you be up to meet again?

And then the location he chose.

A tea house.

You had mentioned weeks ago casually that tea makes you feel calm and that you collect different kinds, that choosing tea feels like choosing a mood.

He remembered.

The realization warmed you more than the invitation itself. He listens. He listens and he notices and he remembers. You'd be happy even having him in your life as just a friend, so you just hope tonight goes well.

The tea house isn’t in town. It sat far outside the city, near the hills, almost hidden, and you wondered why he would choose somewhere so far when there were dozens of tea places closer. The thought lingered, unanswered. And you didn’t have time to care.

Your phone lights up.

Hyunjin: I’m outside.

Your heart leaps. You grab your bag, check your reflection one last time and step outside.

The car waiting at the curb makes you slow down.

Sleek. Black. You can tell this is a nice, expensive car. Dancers don’t usually drive cars like that. Or do they? Before you can think longer, the driver’s door opens. Hyunjin steps out, and for a moment your brain stops working properly.

He looks unfairly beautiful.

Soft black hair falling into his eyes, simple clothes somehow looking elegant on him, long coat moving slightly with the breeze. There’s nothing flashy about him, yet everything about him draws attention effortlessly. He has a cup on again, a cup that hides most of his face.

He smiles when he sees you and it makes your stomach flip.

Oh no.

He looks even better than you remembered. How are you supposed to try become friends with someone you are so attracted to? A man so beautiful your heart is doing backflips inside your chest. This is never going to work. But you will try, you will do anything to keep him in your life, you're already sure of it.

He walks toward you, slightly nervous energy in his movements. Then he pauses, studying you carefully. He lifts his phone, types quickly, and shows you.

Hyunjin: How do you sign “beautiful” ?

You blink, surprised. You demonstrate slowly, showing him the motion, and his eyes follow your hands with intense focus, repeating the movement carefully, almost reverently.

He signs it back to you.

Beautiful. And points at you right after.

Heat rushes to your face instantly and you're pretty sure your cheeks are red, and he definitely noticed, because the corner of his eyes crinkles as a small smirk appears. You look away, suddenly very interested in the pavement.

The drive is quiet but comfortable.

He occasionally glances at you, like he’s reassuring himself you’re really there. The city slowly fades behind you, buildings giving way to open views and softer landscapes.

You watch the scenery change, curiosity returning. Why here? Why somewhere so far away? But you will not ask. Somehow, the distance feels intentional. Private. Safe. And you find that nice, you trust him. Maybe he just wants to be far away from people because it will be overwhelming having to text and hear all the noise all at once.

The tea house appears nestled between trees, large windows facing an expansive view of hills stretching toward the sea. When you step inside you can see that there are barely any people, and the air smells faintly of jasmine and citrus. They seat you by the window and the view was breathtaking.

For a while, neither of you speaks. You simply sit there, sharing the calm. Then he types something and turns the phone toward you.

Hyunjin: I’m sorry I disappeared.

You blink, caught off guard by the directness.

Hyunjin: Work became overwhelming. I didn’t want to text carelessly.

You nod slowly and you type back.

You: It’s okay.I thought maybe you got tired of talking to me.

You immediately wish the floor would open up and you’d disappear inside it. Why would you just blurt that out so easily? What is wrong with you?

His reaction is immediate. His eyes widen, genuine shock crossing his face. He shakes his head quickly.

Hyunjin: Of course not.

He hesitates before continuing.

Hyunjin: Why would you think that?

You stare at your hands before answering. You already fucked up by being completely honest, you might as well explain.

You: People usually do. They don’t always have patience. Talking with me takes effort.

You expect sympathy or awkward reassurance. Instead, his expression just softens, and he types slower this time.

Hyunjin: Talking to you is easy.

Your chest tightens, and you're still not used to the feeling even though he's making you feel like this way too often.

You hadn’t noticed how tightly you were holding yourself together until the tea arrived. Steam curls upward between you, carrying the faint scent of chamomile and something floral you don’t recognize. The porcelain cups are warm against your fingers.

Hyunjin watches you as you lift the cup.

Hyunjin: Can I ask something personal?

You nod immediately. You’re surprised by how easily trust comes with him.

Hyunjin: Were you always deaf?

You smile at his genuine curiosity and type back.

You: Yes. I was born this way.

You pause, then add more.

You: My parents found out when I was a baby. I have never experienced sound, so I don’t feel like I lost anything.

Hyunjin: Does the cochlear implant help you catch anything?

You reach up instinctively, fingers brushing the small processor resting behind your ear.

You: Sometimes, yes. In quiet places, I can pick up bits of sound, but it doesn’t come through clearly. It’s more like my brain turning electrical signals into rough shapes of meaning. I guess. Speech is the hardest. Some sounds are clearer than others, but none of it feels natural. And I get tired quickly, listening takes effort

He nods as he reads.

Hyunjin: Can you hear your own voice?

You: Not really. I feel it more than hear it.

You tap lightly against your throat.

You: Like vibration inside my chest.

His expression changes, something tender flickering there, and you realize he’s imagining it. Trying to understand your world from the inside.

He types again, slower this time.

Hyunjin: Thank you for explaining it to me.

You nod and smile at him.

Hyunjin: And do your parents know sign language?

You: Kind of, they're still learning, but we can communicate comfortably for the most part.

He smiles.

Hyunjin: I want to learn too.

You look up at him, smiling big without meaning to.

You: I'll teach you then.

And he nods excitingly, as he types again.

Hyunjin: Tell me about your paintings, about your work!

You describe them shyly at first, talking about your favourite techniques and explain how painting feels like translating emotions you can’t always express otherwise. He reads your messages intensely, elbows resting on the table, completely focused. You talk more than you meant to and you open up to him quickly.

Eventually, without thinking, the words slip out.

You: You could come to my house and see them sometime… if you want.

The moment you turn the phone towards him for him to read you immediately regret it and try to take the phone back, but he stops you and holds your hand, turning the phone back to himself. Soft hands, his long fingers making you feel dizzy.

Focus, you're trying to be his friend.

You read his lips: “Let me see.”

You look down quickly, wishing you could pull the invitation back.

He goes still, and you can see uncertainty flicker across his face as he reads it. You rush to type again.

You: Only if you want. No pressure!!!!!!!!

He interrupts gently, typing as a small laugh leaves his throat and you catch the movement.

Hyunjin: I’d like that.

You look at him and he nods once, as if confirming the decision to himself as much as to you. Warmth spreads through you, mixed with nervous excitement.

You: Enough about me though, tell me about yourself too.

He laughs and types.

Hyunjin: I’m not very interesting.

You snort softly before you can stop yourself, and you wonder if the sound you made just now sounded weird. You hope not, and you see him smile, so you don’t think about it too much.

You: That’s not true.

He smiles at your quick response, shoulders relaxing slightly, and he tries again.

Hyunjin: I dance. That’s most of my life.

You nod, already knowing that part, but you wait for him to continue.

Hyunjin: I started young. Training took a lot of time. Long days. Late nights. I still practice almost every day.

You: What kind of dance?

He tilts his head, thinking how to answer.

Hyunjin: Different styles. Contemporary, hip hop, performance dance.

You: Do you like it?

His answer comes immediately this time.

Hyunjin: Yes. When I dance, I don’t think about anything else.

You smile. You understand that feeling. Painting does the same for you.

You: That’s how painting feels for me.

He nods eagerly, clearly happy at the connection.

Hyunjin: Then you understand.

Golden light stretches across the road as you walk back to the car together, and the drive feels different now. You feel closer to him after the talk you had. You feel like you know more about him, but still, you know there's so much more. You can feel that he’s holding back, you just can't put your finger on what it is.

When the car stops outside your apartment your heartbeat picks up again. He picks up his phone after stopping the car right in front of your door and types.

Hyunjin: I have time to see your painting now, if you’re okay with that.

You look at him, not ready for this to happen so fast, but you want him to come and see so bad that you just can’t find it in you to care if your apartment is messy. You nod eagerly.

_

He’s here. About to see your space. Your world. You glance at him, unsure if he’s nervous too, and he meets your eyes and smiles softly.

He follows you quietly into your apartment and the moment the door closes behind him something shifts in the air. You don’t turn on the big overhead light. Instead you move through the small space flipping on the many warm lamps you’ve collected over the years, soft golden pools of light that make the cozy room feel even smaller, more intimate.

The apartment is tiny, walls lined with bookshelves and half finished canvases. The air smells faintly of oil paint, chamomile tea and a lavender candle that even though wasn't lit you could still smell it.

Having him here feels… overwhelming, in a good, perfect way.

Hyunjin looks impossibly beautiful under the warm lamplight. The harsh edges of the outside world are gone. His black hair falls softly across his forehead as he takes his cap off, catching threads of gold. His long coat is draped over the back of your old armchair, and in just a simple black sweater, he seems softer, more real. Every time he moves the light shifts across his face, highlighting the gentle slope of his nose, the curve of his lips, the depth in his eyes. He looks like one of your paintings come to life, something delicate and aching all at once.

You lead him to the corner where you paint. The space is cramped but warm, brushes resting in jars, colors smeared on an old wooden palette. Several canvases are propped against the wall, your private little windows into everything you feel.

Hyunjin crouches down slowly so he can see better, eyes moving across each piece with genuine focus. He studies the stormy seascape, soft misty mountains, and the smaller abstract works where colors bleed into emotions you’ve never named out loud.

His expression changes as he looks. First curiosity, then quiet surprise, and finally something close to awe. He leans closer to one particular canvas, a figure standing on a cliff as golden light breaks through heavy clouds, and his lips part slightly.

He pulls out his phone, but then seems to change his mind. Instead, he looks up at you, eyes bright, and slowly signs the word you taught him earlier.

Beautiful.

The movement is careful, a little clumsy but full of effort. His long fingers shape the sign with reverence.

You look up at him, heart pounding so loudly you can feel it in your throat. Without thinking, you sign back “Thank you”, and you mouth the word silently at the same time.

For a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you under the warm lamplight.

Hyunjin’s gaze softens. He rises slowly from his crouch until he’s standing close, closer than he’s ever been. The air between you feels charged, fragile, full of all the unspoken things that have been growing since you met. His eyes drop to your lips for half a second, then return to yours, asking without words.

And then he just leans in.

The kiss is impossibly soft.

Tentative at first, like he’s afraid of breaking the quiet you both cherish. His lips are warm and gentle against yours, tasting faintly of the tea you shared earlier. There’s no rush, only tenderness. One of his hands comes up to cup your cheek with feather light care, thumb brushing your skin.

Your eyes flutter closed. After a heartbeat of surprise, you lean in and kiss him back, your hands rising to rest lightly against his chest. You can feel the steady, slightly faster beat of his heart under your palm. The kiss deepens just a little, still soft, still slow.

When you finally pull apart you’re both breathing a little heavier. His forehead rests gently against yours for a moment, eyes closed, as if he’s savoring the closeness, and you can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, then reaches for his phone with slightly unsteady fingers.

Hyunjin: I wanted to do this since the moment I saw you in front of that painting.

You smile, cheeks flushed, and you grab his phone to type back

You: I wanted you to do this since that moment too, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.

His eyes are warm and shiny as he reads.

Hyunjin: I don’t want to scare you with how much I already like you. But being here, in your space, seeing your art… it feels like I’m seeing the real you. And I like her so much.

Your chest tightens with a sweet ache.

You: I’m not scared of you.

The hour now has grown late, and Hyunjin glances at the time on his phone, reluctance clear in his expression.

Hyunjin: I have early practice tomorrow… I should go. Thank you for letting me into your world tonight.

You smile at him as he touched your face one last time, and you walk to the door together. He puts his coat back on and pulls the mask and cap from his pocket, preparing once again for the outside world. Before he steps out, he turns to you one more time.

He leans down and presses a final, tender kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a few heartbeats, and you melt completely. Then he pulls back, eyes soft.

You sign “Goodnight” slowly as you mouth it, and he repeats the sign back to you with a smile.

You stand there for a long moment, fingers touching your lips where he kissed you, the warmth of his presence still lingering in your small apartment.

_

The next afternoon you stepped out to buy groceries, still carrying the warm glow from last night’s kiss. Your steps felt lighter. The world seemed a little softer, and you wanted more than anything to make soup.

You loved soup, and you loved making it. It felt so cozy to make soup. Mushroom soup, carrot soup, chicken soup, onion soup. You’ve tried everything, all of it equally delicious.

You got your groceries and you decided to go home from a different route, to walk around a little longer since the day was so nice. You turned the corner onto the main street, and right there as you looked up, you froze.

There, towering over the busy intersection was a massive billboard. Bright, impossible to miss. Hyunjin’s face, the face of the boy who was in your apartment last night filled most of it, sharp eyes, styled hair, wearing a striking outfit, promoting a luxury brand.

Your bags slipped from your fingers.

The world tilted. You stared, frozen on the sidewalk as people walked past you. Your chest tightened painfully. That was him. Your Hyunjin, splashed across a building like he belonged to everyone.

What the fuck? Is this actually him? Or is this a sick joke? Does he have a fucking twin or something? No. There’s no way that’s him.

_

The groceries hit the floor the moment the door of your apartment closed, milk carton cracking open, vegetables rolling across the tiles.

You didn’t care.

Hands shaking, you opened your laptop and typed “Hyunjin” into the search bar. You didn’t even know his last name, there’s no way anything will come up with just his name.

The page loaded.

Thousands of results.

Photos. Videos. News articles. “Hwang Hyunjin” — Stray Kids. Born March 20, 2000. Main dancer, rapper, visual. Millions of followers. Fancams. Magazine covers.

His face was everywhere.

You clicked frantically. More images flooded the screen, him on stage, glowing with confidence, blonde hair in older clips, intense expressions, surrounded by seven other men. He looked so different yet the same. Powerful. Distant. Like a completely different person from the man who had kissed you so tenderly the other night.

And then the betrayal hit and you felt tears running down your face.

He had lied to you. Not directly, but by omission. While you poured out your world to him he had hidden this enormous part of himself. The cap, the mask, the faraway tea house, the sudden disappearances… it all made brutal sense now.

Is he really that ashamed of me?

The thought tore through you. That’s why he hid his face whenever you were together. To protect himself. So no one would see the famous idol standing next to the deaf girl.

Tears burned hot down your cheeks.

You curled up on the floor beside the spilled groceries, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. The apartment felt too small, too quiet, too full of him. You cried until your eyes ached and your chest felt hollow.

How could he do this?

_

The next morning your phone lit up.

Hyunjin: Hey. I keep thinking about your paintings… and you. How are you today?

You read it. Your thumb hovering over the keyboard, but you can’t bring yourself to answer. The hurt is too raw, too fresh.

Twenty minutes later, another message.

Hyunjin: Did you sleep well? I know I left late the other day, I hope I didn’t mess up your sleep schedule. if you’re busy, it’s okay. Just let me know you’re alright?

Read. No reply.

An hour passes.

Hyunjin: Is everything okay? I’m getting a little worried. Did I do something wrong?

You still couldn’t answer and the tears came again. Why was he doing this? What did he want from you? Why is he texting you acting like he cares if he’s so embarrassed to be around you to the point he has to hide under masks?

Then, late in the afternoon another message.

Hyunjin: Please talk to me. Even if it’s just one word. I can’t stop thinking that I messed up the moment I left your apartment. You’re important to me. I don’t want to lose this.

Something inside you snapped. You typed with trembling fingers, vision blurred

You: Are you embarrassed of me, Hwang Hyunjin? Is that why you were hiding your face every time we were together? What do you want from me exactly?

The message sent.

You saw the “Read” notification almost instantly.

He didn’t reply.

_

You feel slightly calmer now after getting that out of your chest, calm enough to look him up again. With a clearer head now, not filled with shock. You searched his name once more and click on a music video titled “God’s Menu.”

The video starts, and you can’t hear a single note. Hyunjin appears on screen, younger, with striking blonde hair, moving with fierce, sharp precision. His expressions are powerful, almost predatory, completely different from the gentle person who had crouched in front of your paintings to look. There were seven other men with him, all radiating raw energy and charisma. The choreography was intense, synchronized, explosive.

He had opened up to you about dancing, about how it made him forget everything. But he never told you this was his life. Why? Why were you not allowed to know about this?

Fresh tears slipped down your cheeks. The disappointment felt heavier than the anger now. You had trusted him, but he hadn’t trusted you with this.

It was past 9 p.m when your phone buzzed again.

Him.

Hyunjin: I’m outside your apartment. Please… can I come up and explain? Just five minutes. I’ll leave right after if you want me to.

Your heart clenched. Part of you wanted to ignore him. The bigger part, the one that still remembered his soft lips kissing you, made you walk to the door. You were angry, but you were mostly curious. Curious to know what the fuck he wants from you and why he hid this.

Hyunjin stood there in the dim hallway light, mask pulled down, eyes wide with worry and something else.. fear?.

He looked exhausted. He stepped inside carefully when you moved aside, and the moment the door closed he started typing frantically, then stopped and tried to speak slowly so you could read his lips.

“I’m not embarrassed of you,” he said clearly, voice careful. “Never. Please believe that.”

You stared at him, arms wrapped around yourself.

He continued, typing and showing you the screen.

Hyunjin: My company has very strict rules. Idols aren’t allowed to date publicly. If fans see me with someone, especially if pictures get taken, it can turn into a huge scandal. It could hurt my members, my career… and the person I’m with. I was trying to protect you. Your life and identity. I don’t want cameras or hate coming after you because of me. I was going to tell you. I swear. I just… I wanted you to like me for me, the guy who sat next to you in the museum.

His eyes were glassy and he looked genuinely devastated. Breaking your heart seeing him like this even though you were still upset with him.

“I’m so sorry,” he mouthed. “I never meant to hurt you like this.”

You felt your own tears return. The anger cracked, leaving only hurt and sudden guilt.

You didn’t know any of this. You weren’t familiar with idol culture, hell, you couldn’t even listen to music.

You typed with shaky hands.

You: Okay, I get that, I’m sorry for reacting like this. I saw you on a billboard and then I googled you. So many people know you. Why do i not deserve to? I just instinctively thought you’re embarrassed of me because of my disability.

Hyunjin shook his head fiercely and pulled you into his arms without hesitation. He held you tight, one hand gently cradling the back of your head. You clung to him, face buried in his chest, shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. He rubbed slow circles on your back, patient and warm.

After a long while, he pulled back just enough to type.

Hyunjin: I really like you Y/N, and I don’t give a fuck that you’re deaf. It’s just another beautiful part of you, nothing more, nothing less.

You read the text and looked up in his eyes, more tears forming in your eyes, in his too. And you hugged again, tightly, as he kissed the top of your head.

After a while like this..

You: I saw the music videos. You look so cool, and you dance so unbelievably great. I wish I could hear your music

The sadness in your own expression was impossible to hide. Hyunjin’s face softened and he cupped your cheeks gently, thumbs brushing away your tears. He leaned in and kissed you, soft, deep, full of apology and longing. You kissed him back desperately, clinging tighter, your hands fisting in his shirt as if he might disappear.

The kiss grew heavier. Your body pressed closer to his, seeking comfort, connection, anything to fill the ache. Your hands slid under his coat, under his sweater, touching his waist and now actively pulling him toward the bedroom as you kiss.

Hyunjin understood immediately and he stopped you gently as he smiled, breaking the kiss, forehead resting against yours.

He shook his head no, breathing uneven, cheeks flushed.

“Not like this,” he mouthed slowly, making sure you could read his lips. “You’re upset. I don’t want you to.. regret it later.”

And his words are kind but they still hit you like cold water. Your hands loosen from his sweater immediately, heat rushing to your face. Embarrassment floods through you so quickly it almost hurts. You pull back a little too fast, avoiding his eyes.

Of course.

Of course you misread everything and embarrassed yourself again.

You stare at the floor, fingers twisting together. You type quickly on your phone, movements slightly clumsy.

You: I’m so sorry. That was stupid. I didn’t mean to-

Before you can finish, he gently catches your wrist. His expression changes instantly, concern replacing surprise.

He shakes his head, almost panicked.

“No,” he mouths quickly. “No, no.”

He takes your phone, typing himself.

Hyunjin: Hey. It’s okay. Really. You didn’t do anything wrong. We can do that some other time, when you’re feeling better. I want it too.

He looks at you and smiles, warm, reassuring, the kind of smile meant to pull you out of your own thoughts. He’s still standing so close and it doesn’t help that you’ve touched his bare waist. You’re still embarrassed, and you don’t know what to do with your hands for the first time maybe ever.

His hand lifts slowly, hesitant, giving you time to pull away if you want.

You don’t.

His fingers tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Then he leans in again. Gentle, soft kiss, slow. Not desperate or overwhelming, reassurance pressed quietly against your lips.

When he pulls back his forehead rests against yours again for a second, both of you smiling a little shyly now. The tension melts and you breathe out a small laugh, still embarrassed but lighter. And he smiles at the sound you made.

He gestures towards the couch and you nod.

You sit side by side, knees touching, your shoulders brushing occasionally as you both pull out your phones to talk. The room feels calmer now. Safe again.

You glance at him, then type.

You: So… idol.

He groans immediately, covering his face with one hand, and you grin.

You: You hid that pretty well.

Hyunjin: I wasn’t trying to lie. I just… wanted you to meet me first.

You tilt your head, teasing.

You: So you’re secretly mega famous and thought I wouldn’t notice?

He laughs, shoulders shaking.

Hyunjin: You didn’t notice.

You nudge his arm.

You: I thought you were just suspiciously pretty.

He pretends to look offended, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. You both laugh, the last bit of awkwardness dissolving between you, but your next message is softer.

You: I was really hurt yesterday. It really shocked me and my mind went to the worse case scenario.

His smile faded, replaced by something serious.

Hyunjin: I know. I’m really sorry. I should’ve thought of the possibility of hurting you like this.

He looks at you while you read it, eyes vulnerable in a way that doesn’t match the polished image he probably shows the world.

Hyunjin: I was scared you’d treat me differently or feel like my life was too much.

Your chest tightens. You don’t type this time. You just lean in and kiss him. A quiet answer. Forgiveness. When you pull back he looks stunned and then relieved, smiling wider than you’ve seen all night.

You stand up suddenly and he blinks in confusion. You gesture toward the kitchen.

“Tea” you mouth, and sign it at the same time.

His face lights up immediately.

He watches you move around the kitchen, comfortable in your own space, sleeves pushed up as you prepare tea. Something about the normalcy of it seems to calm him more than anything else tonight. When you return handing him a warm cup his fingers brush yours deliberately.

He mouths thank you, and he tries to sign it from memory. His movement is a little clumsy, but you help him get it right as you both smile.

You grab the remote and put on some anime show you’ve left unfinished, looking at him to make sure he’s also cool with your choice, and his eyes widen in excitement as he nods immediately.

As the show starts playing quietly the screen colors flickering across the room. He keeps glancing at you more than the show at first, like he’s still grounding himself in the fact that you’re okay, that you’re still here with him.

Eventually you settle closer. Your head rests against his shoulder and his arm hesitates only a second before wrapping around you carefully, pulling you into his side.

He’s warm. steady, safe.

You both watch episode after episode, occasionally passing the phone back and forth to comment or joke. At some point you stop typing altogether. You’re just… comfortable. Your breathing slows and your body grows heavier against him, and a few minutes later he looks down and realises you’ve fallen asleep on him, your cheek pressed against his chest as one of your hands loosely hold his shirt.

His expression softens instantly and he stays still for a long time, unwilling to disturb you, watching your peaceful face like it’s something fragile.

After an hour he carefully shifts, sliding one arm under your knees and the other behind your back as he lifts you. You stir slightly but don’t wake, instinctively leaning closer into him.

He smiles at that. Finding it adorable.

Carrying you to the bedroom feels strangely intimate, more intimate than any of the kisses you’ve shared. He lays you gently on the bed, pulling the blanket over you and tucking it around your shoulders. He just stands there for a moment, watching you, memorizing your face as his fingers brush lightly against your hair.

He mouths quietly, though you can’t hear it,

“Goodnight baby”

And he hesitates… but then leans down and presses one last soft kiss to your forehead before he leaves. And the apartment returns to silence but holds all of the warmth he left behind.

_

Morning arrives slowly.

Sunlight slips through your curtains in golden lines, warming the blankets tangled around you. For a moment you don’t move, you just lie there, half awake, wrapped in the lingering feeling of last night.

Then memory returns all at once.

Hyunjin, the apologies, what almost happened but he’s just so sweet and considerate, the couch, the tea, his arms around you, falling asleep against him.

Your eyes snap open and you sit up quickly, looking around your room. Deep inside you hoping he’s here. A small flicker of disappointment rises… until your phone lights up beside you.

Hyunjin: Good morning! You fell asleep during episode four.

Your heart jumps, and you open the messages immediately. A smile spread across your face as another message appears.

Hyunjin: I carried you to bed. I hope that was okay. I had work pretty early today so I had to go.

You press your lips together, warmth blooming in your chest at the thought.

Hyunjin: Also… I just wanted to say that I’m sorry again for upsetting you. I never want to make you feel unsure of my intentions again.

You reread that one twice. Your fingers hover over the keyboard, but before you can answer, another message arrives.

Hyunjin: I have an idea, and a feeling you’re going to like it. Can I pick you up later?

You don’t even realize you’re smiling until your cheeks start hurting.

You: You don’t have to apologize anymore Hyun. And yes, you can pick me up!

Hyun.

He smiles at the nickname.

He’s down horribly and he knows it.

_

You notice immediately that this drive feels different. He looks excited but nervous too. His fingers tap lightly against the steering wheel while he glances at you every few seconds, like he’s waiting for your reaction before the surprise even happens.

The car stops in front of a large building and you tilt your head questioningly. He grins, a little shy, a little proud over his idea, and gestures for you to follow him.

You immediately realise you’re in a company building. The hallways are never ending, and staff members bow politely as he passes. You notice it, the familiarity, the respect, the way people instantly recognize him. This is his world. Some of them look at you with a strange look on their faces, but they don’t try to interact with you at all, so you simply follow Hyunjin.

He opens a door carefully.

A.. studio?

You’re suddenly inside a huge recording studio. And right there in front of you is another man who looks back at you and Hyunjin and smiles fondly. Does he know you?

Hyunjin signs slowly as he points at him for you to look:

“Friend”

Chan immediately mirrors the greeting, giving you an enthusiastic wave. His smile is kind, gentle in a way that eases your nerves instantly. He types something quickly on a tablet and turns it toward you.

Chan: Hi! I’m Chan, Hyunjin’s bandmate. Hyunjin talks about you a lot. Welcome to our studio. It’s nice to finally meet you”

You smile at him and nod.

He talks about you? He’s.. talked about you to his members? To his group?

Suddenly Hyunjin takes your hand and leads you towards an enormous speaker setup. Huge. Almost intimidating. He suddenly looks nervous, searching your face for trust.

He signs slowly so you can follow every movement.

“I want you to feel my music.”

Did he do research? How does he know how to signs sentences all of a sudden? Your head is already spinning at the fact he’s fully signing before what he actually said even registers.

He guides your hand gently toward the large speaker, an enormous one that’s resting against the wall.

The music starts, and..

BOOM.

A deep vibration surges through the speaker and travels straight into your palm. Strong and alive and you gasp, eyes widening.

The bass pulses again, and again and again. You feel it climb up your arm, into your chest, into your bones. Instinctively, your other hand presses over your heart. The beat syncs beneath your palm. You’re feeling it. Feeling him. His art, his effort. His voice translated into movement, into vibration and emotion.

Your smile grows uncontrollably and you know your eyes are shinning, and then tears spill before you even realize you’re crying. Hyunjin freezes when he sees them.

For one terrifying second he thinks Did I overwhelm her? Did I do something wrong?

But then you laugh silently through your tears, gripping the speaker tighter, shoulders shaking with emotion. And he understands. You feel it. You feel him. He steps closer, overwhelmed himself now, and gently cups your face. His thumbs wipe your tears away one by one, and then he leans down, kissing them softly from your cheeks.

Behind you Chan quietly smiles, and without a word he slips out of the room, closing the door, giving you privacy, protecting the moment.

Hyunjin rests his forehead against yours, the music still pulses through the floor, through your hands, through your heart.

He signs slowly, again: I wanted to share my world with you.

You squeeze his hand, pressing it over your chest so he can feel your heartbeat racing beneath his palm and you kiss kid knuckles.

That’s your answer.

He exhales shakily, overwhelmed by how deeply this moment means means to him, and scared of how much you mean to him.

The tears on your cheeks had barely dried when something shifted in the air between you. His breathing grew heavier, you could feel it. His thumbs stroked your skin once more, then slid down to your jaw.

He kissed you again, hard, passionate, desperate.

It wasn’t like his usual gentle kisses. This one carried everything he had been holding back, longing, fear, and overwhelming want.

His lips moved against yours with urgent hunger, tongue slipping into your mouth as his hands slid into your hair, tilting your head exactly how he wanted and you whimpered into the kiss, hands fisting in his shirt.

He started to guide you to the couch now, and he locked the studio door with one hand without breaking the kiss.

He sat down on the wide, comfortable studio couch and pulled you with him. You climbed into his lap without thinking, knees bracketing his hips, straddling him. The moment your bodies pressed together you both instinctively moaned. And oh you were needy. So needy. And so was he. And the little sounds you were making were driving him crazy.

Your hips started moving on their own, grinding down against the growing hardness in his pants. The friction was delicious, and you rocked against him again and again, chasing the pressure. He groaned deeply, the sound vibrating against your lips as his hands gripped your waist, guiding your movements.

“Fuck… baby,” he breathed against your neck, making sure you could feel the low rumble of his voice. “You’re so eager for me…”

You answered by rolling your hips harder, desperate little sounds slipping from your throat. The music continued to pulse around you, deep bass thumping through the couch, through his body, into yours. Every beat seemed to sync with the way you moved against him.

Hyunjin’s hands slid under your shirt, palms hot against your bare skin. He helped you pull the fabric over your head, then leaned forward to kiss and bite softly at your neck and collarbone while you continued grinding down on him. The humping grew more frantic, and your breathing was ragged, thighs trembling around his hips as you rubbed yourself against his clothed cock again and again.

He was breathing hard too, forehead pressed to your shoulder, groaning every time you rolled your hips just right.

After several long minutes of this, he finally slid one hand between your bodies. His long fingers slipped under your skirt and into your panties, finding you already soaked.

“So wet for me baby” he said, making sure you read his lips, and his words made you shiver.

He circled your clit slowly at first, then faster. Two of his long, elegant fingers pressed inside you, curling gently, opening you up. He scissored them slowly, stretching you, stroking that sensitive spot inside while his thumb continued rubbing your clit.

You clung to his shoulders, hips rocking desperately onto his fingers, soft whimpers turning into broken moans. Hyunjin watched your face the entire time, eyes dark and full of adoration, occasionally leaning in to kiss you deeply whenever your sounds grew louder.

When he felt you were ready, trembling and dripping around his fingers, he pulled them out gently.

He quickly opened his pants, freeing himself. His cock was hard, flushed, already leaking at the tip. He looked up at you, breathing heavily, eyes sparkling and asking for permission even now. And you answered by lifting your hips, pushing your panties aside, and slowly sinking down onto him.

The stretch was intense.

You gasped, forehead falling against his as you took him inch by inch. Hyunjin’s hands gripped your hips tightly, but he didn’t push, he let you control the pace, groaning deeply every time you sank a little lower.

When he was fully inside you, buried to the hilt, you both stayed still for a moment, breathing each other in.

Then you started moving.

Slow at first. Rolling your hips in deep, sensual circles. Hyunjin’s head fell back against the couch, lips parted, low groans spilling from his throat and you wrapped one arm gently around his neck so you could feel every groan, every moan through your palm. And every time you felt it you’d squeeze him inside you so deliciously.

His hands guided you, helping you ride him harder, deeper.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groaned, looking at you straight in the eyes as he spoke “So tight… so warm… all mine. My perfect girl.”

Your pace quickened. You rode him with desperate need, breasts bouncing slightly with every movement, hands clutching his shoulders for balance. Hyunjin met every roll of your hips with upward thrusts, fucking up into you while keeping one hand on your lower back, pressing you closer.

When you finally came it hit you so hard. Your body clenched around him, a silent cry tearing from your throat as waves of intense pleasure crashed through you. Hyunjin followed right after, pulling out of you quickly, a shuddering groan you felt vibrate through your entire chest. His arms wrapped tightly around you, holding you against him as he spilled on his stomach.

You looked down at the beautiful mess he had made in himself, and you picked some of it with your finger, bringing it to your mouth.

His head was going to explode. The expressions on his face priceless, making you wet all over again by just how hot he looked looking at you.

His hands started to stroke your back slowly, tenderly. He pressed soft kisses to your sweaty temple, your cheek, your lips. His fingers brushed damp strands of hair away from your face with such gentle care it made your chest ache.

“I think i’m falling in love with you” he mouthed and touched his heart.

Your eyes widened, a smile you couldn’t control. You fell on his chest and kissed him, and you could feel each other’s smiles through the kiss

“Me too” you mouthed back.

You buried your face in his neck, arms wrapped tightly around him, heart still racing.

_

The award still feels unreal in his hands even hours later.

Even after the stage lights, the cameras, the cheers vibrating through the arena floor, the weight of the trophy resting beside the table keeps pulling Hyunjin back to reality.

They won.

The restaurant is loud, warm, crowded with late night laughter and clinking glasses. The members insisted on going out if they won, no managers hovering too closely tonight, just eight exhausted men finally allowed to breathe.

Chan lifts his glass.

“To surviving another year”

Everyone cheers. Glasses collide.

Hyunjin smiles, but his mind drifts elsewhere, and across the table Chan watches him carefully. Too carefully. He knows him too well.

Chan leans forward slowly, eyes narrowing in playful suspicion.

“Why do you look like you’re remembering something illegal?”

Laughter erupts instantly.

Changbin snaps his fingers. “He’s been smiling at nothing all night!”

Han points dramatically. “You can’t possibly be this happy over the award you little fuck, just tell us”

Hyunjin groans, dropping his face into his hands.

“I hate all of you.”

Felix grins. “No, no. We love you. That’s why we investigate.”

Seungmin tilts his head. “It’s her, right?”

The table quiets just slightly. Not teasing now, all of them genuinely curious to know.

Because they know.

They’ve watched Hyunjin change the past few months, softer rehearsals, distracted smiles, the way he stays up texting. The way he just looks happier now, more content, complete.

Chan leans back, arms crossed.

“The museum girl.”

Hyunjin exhales, there’s no hiding he’s down bad for her, they already know, he’s already told them, so what’s the point of shying away now.

His voice comes quiet.

“…Yeah.”

Immediately, smiles spread around the table. Jeongin kicks his leg under the table. “Finally.”

Changbin laughs. “So you’re officially together or what?”

Hyunjin shakes his head, embarrassed but smiling anyway. “I don’t know. Yes? I haven’t asked her to be her boyfriend but do I even have to? We both said we’re falling in love with each other.”

He looks down at his glass, thumb tracing condensation along the edge.

“I think…” he hesitates, searching for words. “…I think she sees me. Who I am, who I really am you know?.”

He thinks about how you looked at him before knowing who he was. How heartbroken you were because you thought he’s embarrassed of you, when the thing he wanted to do the most was yell from a rooftop about you.

“I mean, to find someone like her, so kind, so talented, and to not care at all about this life.. this is one in a lifetime”

His friends have long stopped teasing and are now listening to him, some of them smiling, others almost looking proud.

“When I thought I lost her I was a mess”

Felix nods gently. “But you didn’t.”

Hyunjin shakes his head, a small smile forming.

“No.”

Chan watches him carefully, then grins slowly.

“…So.”

Everyone leans in. Chan’s voice lowers dramatically.

“You brought her to the studio yesterday.”

Groans and laughter explode immediately and Hyunjin’s face turns bright red.

“Hyung...”

Chan points accusingly. “You never bring anyone to the studio.”

Changbin slams the table. “Oh my god, you fucked in the studio didn’t you?”

Hyunjin hides his face again, shoulders shaking with mortified laughter.

“That’s none of your goddamn business idiots.”

“Oh my god they did. They fucked in our studio.”

The reaction is instant chaos. Han nearly falls out of his chair. Felix covers his mouth, laughing and Minho claps like someone just scored a goal.

Chan leans back triumphantly.

“I knew it.”

Minho has been itching to ask this, and he finally does

“So, did you have her sign an NDA?”

Hyunjin looked at him like he had asked the craziest thing in the world. Almost disgust forming on his face

“Dude what? No. She will never do anything shady. She’s not like that”

Changbin nudged him. “You waited forever to meet someone like that.” shifting the conversation, knowing how Hyunjin gets with the whole idea of NDAs.

Felix nods warmly. “You deserve someone who understands you.”

Chan’s teasing fades into something softer. “You look lighter,” he says. “On stage today too. I noticed.”

Hyunjin looks at him and smiles, “Really?” he hadn’t realized it himself, but it was true. The performances felt more free lately. The pressure quieter. Because for the first time since forever.. he has somewhere to return to emotionally. Someone who knows him when the lights turn off and loves him anyway for who he really is.

He smiles to himself.

“She felt our music yesterday, that’s why I took her to the studio. She wanted to know, and that’s the only pleas for her to do that.” he says softly.

The table stills again. They are all so curious about how Hyunjin makes it work considering her deafness. He tells them about your hand on the speaker, the way your smile broke open, how you cried while feeling the rhythm through your body.

No one interrupts. Even Changbin grows quiet.

Chan exhales slowly, clearly moved.

“…That’s beautiful, man.”

Hyunjin nods.

“I think… I think this is serious guys. I’m like.. genuinely in love with her.”

Then eight matching grins spread around the table, and Han raises his glass again.

“To Hyunjin finally being in love.”

Glasses lift. They all cheer loudly as Hyunjin blushes, and he doesn’t deny it. How could he when it’s the truth.

He’s so madly in love with you.

Because when he checks his phone under the table and sees your name lighting the screen with a simple message —

Did you eat? Congratulations on your win, I saw you on tv!

— his chest warms in a way no award ever could ever make him feel.

He types back instantly.

Yes. I miss you already.

He doesn’t notice Chan watching him fondly from across the table. Doesn’t notice the knowing smiles exchanged between the members. They’ve seen Hyunjin chase perfection for years. Seen him doubt himself. Seen loneliness hide behind beauty and talent. Tonight he looks peaceful.

And that matters more than any trophy sitting on the table beside them.

[fics-lovebot]

do not fuCKING tag it as “angst” if it’s not ANGSTY!

I don’t wanna see no smut with a slightly sad plot while I’m looking for some heart shattering life ending angst ffs!

[mybodyfails]

3racha | pepero challenge

[sithskz]

TWENTY-FOUR SEVEN

♫ any time, all day, every week for ya.

୨୧ summary: even though you broke off your friends with benefits arrangement with chan, he’ll still be there whenever you need him. ୨୧ pairing: reformed fuckboy!bang chan x fem!reader ୨୧ genre: college au, angst, fluff ୨୧ word count: 3.8k ୨୧ warnings: 18+ (no smut but there’s explicit sexual language so MINORS DNI), toxic men & a shitty date (not chan!!), poor communication, jealousy, fwb -> lovers, small argument, confessions, pet names (baby, princess, pretty) ୨୧ author's note: working on a long fic that’s beating my ass icl so here’s something short in the meantime!! ♡

chan is always right. even when you want so desperately for him to be wrong. 

he was right about being “the best fuck of your life”, he was right about you falling for him, and now, he was right about the classmate you agreed to go on a date with. you were hoping for a distraction and only ended up back where you started: in the arms of the man you fell for when you promised yourself you wouldn’t. 

it seemed like an alright idea at the time. your classmate was sweet, always offered to send the notes, greeted you as you walked into the room, said all the right things that made you believe his intentions were pure and good. and since you had officially ended your arrangement with chan, you were free to pursue whoever you wanted. 

so you did.

you decided on dinner, and he picked you up right on time with flowers, the false gentleman persona on full display. guilt was beginning to tug at you for entertaining him when you weren’t all that interested. 

that guilt was misplaced and short-lived, though. once he had paid the bill and you both quietly accepted that the date was over, he asked if you wanted to go home with him. it sounded gentle, but your rejection shifted his tone into something spiteful quickly.

this was supposed to help you get over chan, and at first, you could’ve almost been convinced that it was working. you laughed heartily, smiled genuinely, flowed through conversation easily. but his question wiped all of that away instantly, a pit settling deep in your stomach. because the last person you slept with is chan — the only person you’ve slept with in almost a year.

and as his face unfurled into disgust, you realized chan was right all along. all the times you’d mention your classmate sending you the notes unprompted or asking if you were okay on days you were absent told him one thing: this guy expected something from you, and he was only doing what he needed to get it. call it cynicism, call it intuition, call it whatever you want; chan was firm in his opinion. 

you had never listened, though, laughing at him for being silly and jealous, brushing it off like nothing would ever come of it.

if only you had listened. 

maybe then you wouldn’t be sitting dejectedly at the table he left you at, hardly registering the past few minutes. your date — your ride — had just up and walked off like you were nothing. like the past months he’s spent being the nice guy were just a ploy. they were.

too much time passes with you stuck in your seat numbly. you’re not sure you can will any of your limbs to move. your waitress even comes over and asks if you’re okay, all pity and soft smiles. she promises you can stay for as long as you need, but you know that’s only a comforting lie. 

on your way to the exit, you call the one person you know will always be there, no questions asked. no expectations. even after telling chan it’s over, he’ll come to your rescue whenever you need. because he’s nothing like him; he’s real in everything he portrays, and his kindness isn’t rooted in anything selfish or superficial.

before sex entered the equation (a mistake, perhaps), you were friends, so of course he still cares about you beyond it. but not in the way you care about him. not in the way that craves for more than just physicality, that refuses to be confined by rules and limitations. 

just in the way that you know he’ll answer. he picks up on the second ring.

“y/n?” he greets, voice a little groggy, and it makes your heart drop stupidly. he almost always naps after sex; he’s probably still laid up in bed with someone else, and here you are calling him because your date left you stranded.

it’s still nice to hear his voice, though. that’s how badly you’ve fallen. 

“hi,” you breathe out. “are you busy?”

there’s rustling on the other end and then his voice comes out clearer, more intentional. “no. no, not busy…just dozed off is all,” he assures.

right. dozed off. it’s not abnormal for a human being to nap, but your brain has already come to its own conclusions. you suddenly wish you had called one of your friends instead. 

“oh.”

you don’t try to hide how deflated you sound, and he notices right away. he can read you like a book without even being in your presence. 

“what’s up? are you okay?” he asks quickly. each word is laced with sincerity and it reminds you of why you fell for him to begin with. chan is caring, attentive, gentle (when he isn’t fucking you like he has something to prove). 

that same sincerity, coupled with the night’s events, brings tears to your eyes. you squeeze them shut to stop them from falling. “i’m okay,” you lie, “i just need someone to pick me up…you were the first person i thought to call.”

too honest. he’s either going to wonder why you called him first, or, worse, feel way too smug that you did. 

“where are you?” 

or he’ll just ignore all of the obvious questions in favor of the only one that really matters to him. the semantics can come later. it’s clear you need him, and that means he has one single priority right now. 

“at some restaurant. i don’t know, he picked it, and i—” you begin. in your distress, you can’t even remember the restaurant’s name. quite frankly, you never want to come here again, anyways. 

he interrupts you swiftly, latching onto one specific word in your ramble. “‘he?’” he questions, and you can picture his face. eyebrows furrowed, mouth downturned, staring right through you.

“yeah,” you say quietly, trying to avoid the inevitable. might as well get the hard part over with now. “that guy from stats.” the one you warned me about. multiple times. 

“y/n,” he sighs. he doesn’t even sound angry; he just sounds disappointed. which is ten times worse, because you can handle anger, but you don’t know how to navigate disappointment. 

“i’m sorry,” you mumble.

it’s the only thing you can think to say. you aren’t even sure if he heard it over the boisterous laughs of patrons entering the restaurant and the whir of cars in the parking lot. 

but he heard you clearly, and it broke his heart. “baby, don’t apologize right now. just send me your location and i’ll be there as soon as i can, alright?” he soothes, already shrugging on a hoodie and slipping on a pair of shoes.

the pet name rolls off his tongue so smoothly he doesn’t even realize he probably shouldn’t use it anymore. and he certainly doesn’t realize how it unravels you, your heart still fluttering like it did the first time he’d called you something affectionate.

“okay,” you pull your phone from your ear and oblige, “i sent it.”

he’s walking out his door and heading for his car shortly after, all of his movements on fast forward since you’re involved. you’re about a twenty minute drive from him and he curses internally, wishing there was a way for him to get to you faster. 

“i’ll be there real soon. wait for me, okay, pretty?” 

you nod like he can see you, and then the call ends, and you’re left with only the night air and the chatter of strangers. 

it’s a colder night, the wind adding a harsh chill that nips at your face and bare legs. there’s the obvious option: go back inside until chan arrives so you aren’t suffering unnecessarily. but you dread even the thought of stepping foot in there again, no matter how warm it may be.

so you stand in place, arms enveloping yourself to contain some of your body heat, wishing you had never fucking smiled at stats guy that first day in class. 

meanwhile, chan’s gripping the steering wheel so hard it almost hurts. he’s desperate to get to you, so he isn’t driving reckless, but he’s definitely taking the speed limit as a suggestion. 

truthfully, his friends would probably judge him heavily right now. you’re the girl he’s head over heels for that ended things just last week. there’s no reason for him to still be so whipped for you, especially to the point of picking you up from a shitty date with another man. he’ll never feel bad for being someone you can count on, though. not even when you left him feeling this empty. 

it’s partially his fault. he should have known he couldn’t do no commitment, no feelings sex with you. his friend — his beautiful, funny, stubborn friend. you’re different than the other girls he kept around for only days at a time. 

a twenty minute drive becomes thirteen, seven minutes shaved off by his haste and the lack of traffic, thankfully. you recognize his car the moment it pulls into the parking lot from all your past experiences. all the times he picked you up in it and all the times he fucked you dumb in it. 

“you look good, princess. shame it was for him of all people,” he says as you climb into his passenger seat. 

you roll your eyes and settle into the warmth, pretending to not notice his eyes dragging over you. “thanks,” you force out, “for picking me up.” 

not a thank you for the compliment, no need to let him know how much his words affect you.

“so talk to me. what did that asshole do?” he asks, jaw clenched. he’s tried to prepare himself for it, but he feels an entirely new wave of anger wash over him now that you’re right next to him. still an angel, the last person any guy should dream of mistreating. 

“typical asshole shit,” you shrug, hoping you’d seem less bothered than you are, “just walked out when i wouldn’t go home with him.”  

he’s quiet, fuming with anger but determined to not take it out on you. his suspicions were correct, and he hates that they were. hates that someone hurt you, hates that some idiot didn’t see how fucking lucky he was that you gave him a chance. 

“i told you that guy was a fucking loser,” he finally growls. it’s far more filtered than what he’s truly thinking. 

“yeah, i know. can we save the ‘i told you so’s for later, please?” you sigh.

the car comes to a red light and he looks over at you, face illuminated perfectly by the light shining through the windshield. you tear your eyes away because looking at him is a stark reminder. his hand comes to rest on your thigh as if he was silently telling you he’d always be there. 

even if you look away, he’ll remain in the shadows of your mind ever-presently. you proved that by calling him today.

you both glance down at his hand, and when you make no attempt to move it, a sly smile spreads across his face. “i’m not gonna rub it in your face, baby. you know i’m not like that,” he promises.

something about hearing the word “baby” fall from his lips now — no longer over the phone but right beside you — unsettles something you tried to ignore. the ease and confidence with which he said it along with his satisfied smirk makes the question tumble out before you can bite it back.

“did you call her that, too?”

utter confusion. that’s the best way you could describe his expression right now. because he is confused, completely dumbfounded as the prospect of there being any “her” that isn’t you. 

“who?” he asks, wondering where that notion even came from. 

there’s been no one but you for a year. no girls coming in and out of his apartment, no drunken kisses at parties. his friends have tried to introduce him to other girls, hoping to revitalize the “fun” chan they once knew; he’s cut them off every time, throwing out quick greetings before taking off to find you.

you have a chance to turn back. to tell him you were joking and that you don’t care, anyway. for some reason, you dive forward into the conversation that’ll either break you or your secrets.

“the girl you were just with,” you answer matter-of-factly. 

“what?” his body nearly jerks back in his seat at the absurdity, his hand yanking away from your thigh at once. “i wasn’t with anyone.”

it’d be difficult to fake a reaction like that, so you know you’re wrong. you feel stupid for letting your assumptions have so much life, but being in love with someone you weren’t supposed to be in love with would make anyone a little irrational.

“i just assumed…because i woke you up.” god, now you even sound stupid. add napping to the list of things that apparently have secondary implications. 

chan pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales deeply. you really drive him crazy — in the best and worst ways. “jesus, y/n, just because i was taking a nap doesn’t mean i fucked someone,” he huffs.

“god forbid a girl notices a pattern,” you attempt to joke, but it comes out flat. he doesn’t even crack a smile. 

“you just ended things last week,” he reminds, “do you think i’d move on that fast?”

are you supposed to answer that? because the answer would be yes, yes you do. you’ve seen it before, when you were just friends and he’d have a different girl on his arm every weekend. why would you be any different? just because you happened to be regularly fucking for a year — longer than chan’s kept anyone else around?

no. no way. chan doesn’t do relationships or commitment and he certainly doesn’t do love. that’s exactly why you were trying to bury yours so far back you could pretend it never existed. 

“wouldn’t be the first time,” you scoff. “plus, it was just sex.” 

the dagger that pierces both of you. ouch. you, because it’s such a horrible lie it barely can find a voice outside your chest. him, because he thinks it’s your truth, and that tears him apart. 

he pokes his tongue in his cheek and shakes his head in disbelief. “okay,” he laughs dryly.

“what? am i wrong?” you shoot back. there’s a breaking point only each of you can bring the other to, and you’re both nearing it. usually it’s a game, but right now, it’s a warzone. 

“yeah, you’re dead wrong,” he snaps. his intensity startles you, so much so that you can’t even register his words. “i ‘sleep’ after we have sex because it feels like the only way i can get you to stay,” he continues, softer now but still with a lingering edge. 

you tilt your head and pout, fully committing to the battle. and you’re not even sure how you got here — things just seem to spiral with chan. that’s how you went from fucking to falling in love, and how so many nights you went from casual teasing to being driven into the mattress. 

“aw, you want me to stay, chan?” you taunt. “wanna cuddle and hold hands after you cum so you can pretend you’re this lover boy that you’re not?”

“god, you’re so annoying,” he groans. you don’t even realize that the car’s stopped moving. the tension in the small space has completely clouded your brain. 

“please, go on. really making my night so much better,” you retort. 

now that he’s no longer driving, he doesn’t need to keep his glances quick and sharp. he can stare right at you as much as he wants, and he’s taking full advantage of that. because he’s all too aware of what just a stare can do to you. a man conscious of his own power is dangerous. 

“you’re funny, y/n,” he chuckles, but there’s no humor. “you asked me about another girl. why is that? if it’s just sex, why do you care?”

fuck. him. seriously, fuck him for always being right and always seeing right through you and always knowing exactly how to leave you answerless.

“i was just curious.”

he laughs again, and this time it almost sounds genuine. sympathy laughter. “you’re a bad liar. and you drive me insane twenty-four fucking seven,” he huffs. “yeah, i want you to stay. at least i’m honest. you’re always trying to leave so quickly, and sometimes i’m not strong enough to watch you walk out the door.”

his voice shifts to something raw and unguarded, and you wonder if you’re misreading this. but if he wants honesty, fine, you’ll give him honesty and suffer with the consequences after. 

“i leave so quickly because if i don’t, i’m scared you’ll see,” you whisper. 

“scared i’ll see what? baby, i’ve seen every part of you. what are you trying to hide?” he questions, practically begging. 

it’s almost comical how fast you two switch from sarcastic quips and meaningless insults to gentle vulnerability. this is the perfect glimpse into the past year — the desperation that often unfolded into something you couldn’t quite fathom. 

all the times he’d bring you a towel to clean up with and then fall back into bed beside you, draping his arm across you and drifting to sleep with a quickness you envied. and you’d allow yourself the pleasure of staying a little longer while he slept, praying he wouldn’t wake up to notice you slowly cracking.

you wish you could hate him. there’s plenty of reasons for you to. like him being so certain that you’d catch feelings (and seemingly doing everything in his power to assure that you do), or pulling you out of deep study sessions because he “needs you.” 

but he’s begging, and you can’t hate him when he begs. 

“the part that’s so fucking desperate for more,” you choke out. his eyes go wide and you can’t tell with what — pure shock, horror, relief? it doesn’t matter; the truth is out, and you’re letting it all spill now. “that’s why i said we had to stop. because we promised no strings attached, but somehow you knew i’d fall for you and you were right.”

“y/n,” he says sharply. 

you hear him, but you continue as if you didn’t. now that you’ve finally confessed what you’ve swallowed back for so long, your lips won’t stop moving. they’re greedy, taking every single word you’ve kept from them at the back of your throat. 

“so i had to end things. i know we were just ‘friends with benefits’ or whatever and i’m an idiot for catching feelings, but—”

he interrupts you again, louder now. “y/n,” he repeats, dropping his hand on top of yours as it rests on the center console. hopefully his touch would be enough to pull you out of your rant. and it is. you fall silent abruptly, the weight of your confession sinking in. “i was wrong,” he corrects.

“huh?”

god, you’re cute. confusion written all over your perfect face, mouth slightly agape while you await an explanation. but now that he has your attention, he’s finding it rather difficult to find his voice. 

you fell for him. just like he predicted. what he didn’t predict, however, was how fucking happy he’d be when you did. 

because he fell for you too. against his rules, against his own will, he fell stupidly, madly, wholly in love with you. and now he can't hide it anymore. he doesn't need to hide it.  

he takes one deep breath before beginning his own ramble — his final breath before everything changes. hopefully. 

“i was wrong because i told myself you were just another girl,” he admits shakily, “and you’re not.” you interlock your fingers with his, and suddenly it’s all too easy to keep going. “you’re the girl i’ll always pick up for. the girl that doesn’t ever listen and yet i love her more for it. the girl i pretend to be asleep with just so she’ll stay a little longer.”

you blink at him slowly. “you were pretending?” 

out of all the things he just said, that’s what you choose to focus on? his frequent scheme to get you to stay by playing pretend? if he didn’t just reveal that he loves you, he’d probably call you annoying again.

“not always!” he defends. “just…sometimes. did you really not notice all those times i was smiling like an idiot while i held you?”

“no…” you trail, and he can’t help but laugh. how oblivious you’ve both been. 

“shit. i guess we’re just two clueless idiots.”

two clueless idiots who broke the rules and hopelessly fell for each other. and you realize that now. 

“wait,” you begin again, “you love me? like, you’re in love with me?”

please say yes, you chant internally. 

instead, his lips curl into a smug smile. “are you not in love with me?” he teases. 

“don’t be a child.”

“say it.”

his hand is strong against yours, trying to squeeze the words out of you. 

“fine,” you roll your eyes, “yes, i’m in love with you, stupid. and the sex. mostly the sex.”

definitely not mostly the sex. it was a plus — a huge one, sure. but it’s not what made you fall for him. 

you fell for him during the nights when you’d stay and watch his chest rise and fall (which you now know may have been partially a lie). you fell for him when he’d answer every call and every text no matter how late or how trivial. 

“trust me, you moan too loud for me to not know that,” he quips.

nevermind. you hate him.

“chan,” you deadpan, and he leans in closer.

dropping his voice to a whisper, he adds, “oh, yeah. i’m in love with you too,” like it’s an afterthought. messing with you is too fun, even as you’re spilling your hearts out to each other. he mostly just likes the trouble it gets him into later.

“fuck you,” you scowl, but your expression softens quickly. he’s so close now, and oh how you’ve missed his lips.

“promise?” he grins, breath hitting your face as he speaks. 

when you kiss, it’s like everything you remember yet something entirely new. it’s a kiss that has something to prove, something to say. 

i love you. i’m so in love with you.

and when you climb into his lap and it only plunges quickly from there, it’s clear it’s not just sex. was it ever, really?

for once, chan was wrong. he does do relationships, commitment, love, the whole damn thing. but only for you. only for you would he break every single rule he’s ever set. 

lord knows he’s already broken most of them.

[changbunnies]

If You Call Me (18+)

♡ Pairing: Bad Boy!Bang Chan x Fem!Reader

♡ Genre: heavy angst, fluff, very slice of life at times, strangers to friends to lovers, mutual pining, college au, slow burn, eventual smut, kind of love at first sight?, basically my take on the ever classic misunderstood bad boy x good girl trope

♡ Word Count: 43.8k

♡ Summary: After spending much of her high school life mercilessly bullied, Y/N hoped that going to college would finally allow her to move on from her past and put the pain behind her. Her hopes are crushed when it becomes apparant that the biggest perpetrator doesn't intend on letting the past stay the past– that is, until she gets unexpectedly rescued by the one person her past bullies seem to fear messing with, and he promises to protect her whenever she calls him.

♡ Warnings: flashbacks to bullying, physical assault, implied sexual assault (nothing is explicitly written, only described vaguely), past / referenced parental death (not described), chan has more than a bit of a savior complex tbh lol, self-worth issues and self-destructive behavior, an abundance of strong language, discussions around depression / being depressed, brief descriptions of blood and injury, theft.

♡ Smut Warnings (contains spoilers): petnames (baby, angel), implied loss of virginity (reader), as usual for my works there is so much kissing, nipple play, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), handjob, multiple orgasms, protected piv (shocking)

♡ Notes: please keep in mind that heavy topics and traumatizing events of various type are a main theme of this fic, so please read with discretion! heed the warnings and don't force yourself to read something you can't handle and won't enjoy! other than that, you can also read the story on my a03 where it is divided into chapters here updated 08/30/24: formatting fixes, slight changes to scenes and dialogue for improved cohesion

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

Isolation, exile, a profound sense of loneliness. Those are the feelings you are used to, the feelings that have permeated your being and seeped into the very foundations of who you are as a person. And you weren't always this way– in fact, you can pinpoint the exact moment in time where a sad, loathful existence became all you knew.

It began a little over 3 years ago, when you started your first day of high school. That first spring semester came upon you quickly, and while you were anxious to begin, there was an almost equal level of excitement. You unfortunately were arriving alone, with your friends from middle school having spread out to various different schools that suited either their families or their own ambitions for their future.

While you would have liked to go to the same prestigious schools as some of your friends, your father simply didn’t have the money to pay for that sort of thing. On top of that, admissions were fiercely competitive, and being intelligent didn’t matter if you weren’t in the top 1% lucky enough to earn yourself a scholarship. You needed to be perfect in every single way to be considered for the honor, and that’s something you simply weren’t, and would never be.

Maybe that was bleak, but you preferred to keep your hopes and expectations grounded in realism. You wouldn’t say that you lacked confidence necessarily– just that you know what is a realistic outcome and what isn’t.

And realistically, what were the chances of a miracle happening? Slim to none. So you tempered your expectations, you kept your hope on a leash, and you continued to have mundane hopes and dreams.

So it wasn’t arriving at your new, average school alone that made you the way you are now; you’d made your peace with that long before it happened. Sure, you would miss the friends you made in your younger years, but high school is supposed to be the place with the most opportunity.

As long as you gave it your best effort, you’d make new friends and new memories. You’d discover what your goals for the future are, you’d work towards them with earnesty and diligence, you’d make your father proud.

At least, that was your mindset going into it; and maybe those thoughts were a bit more optimistic than your usual, but they weren’t unrealistic by any means. All those hopes were tangible and achievable, nothing about them should have been out of reach or unobtainable.

And it wasn’t like you were losing contact with your friends forever– cellphones existed, and it would only be a matter of time before a free weekend arrived for you to meet up with them again. So all in all, you’d felt good. Sure, your circumstances weren’t the most ideal, but you were more than capable of making the best of them.

That’s what you thought at the time, anyways. Despite the perceived realism of your wishes, it quickly became clear to you that life had other intentions for you in the name of Park Jaehyung. A boy in the same class as you, who took a keen interest in you for reasons beyond your understanding.

It started with you noticing that he was often looking at you. You’d look up from your textbook or notes, eyes aimed at the board or your teacher for further instruction, and you’d notice his gaze in your peripheral vision. It didn’t bother you necessarily; you were friendless after all, and you thought maybe he was just trying to figure out if he should approach you.

You knew first hand how shyness or doubts could make a decision you really wanted to make more difficult than it needed to be, and the simple act of approaching a person for friendship could become the most nerve racking experience of your life.

You even considered approaching him first to make it easier on him. There were plenty of times you were able to be the brave friend simply because you wanted to help, moments where all anxieties were trumped by the simple desire to help a friend.

However, he ended up approaching you first in the end, on an otherwise uneventful Friday. Most of your classmates left quickly, eager to get a start on their weekends or meetup with fellow club members for practice for their upcoming events.

You were nervous as he approached but not necessarily in a negative way; at the time, you had no reason to believe he had any bad intentions with you. In fact, you were excited at the prospect of finally making a friend in your new environment after weeks of being awkward around everyone.

You were so ignorantly optimistic.

When you finished tucking your things away and lifted your head to look at Jaehyung, you met him with a smile. The conversation was pleasant at first, albeit a bit mundane. Simple small talk such as “how did you do on the test,” “how do you like the school,” and things of that nature.

You don’t remember how long you two talked like that, but what you do remember is the shift in atmosphere when his friends came into the room looking for him.

“What are you still doing in here, Jae? We’ve– Oh?” you remember one of his friends saying as he stepped into the room, pausing his sentence when he noticed the two of you stood at your desk talking.

The shift in Jaehyung’s expression was shockingly instant, the positivity of the boy in front of you quickly warping into an animosity that you could hardly comprehend. The friend, who you recognized as a boy who sat in the back of the classroom, let out a laugh as he stood in the doorway.

“I knew it! You do like her,” the boy chuckled with a smug expression. Jaehyung scowled as he turned away to face his friend's direction. “I told you, I don’t. I was just telling her to stay away from me,” he spits at his friend, “She’s obsessed with me.”

You were stunned, blood running cold as you looked at him in bewilderment. You just spent the last several minutes talking pleasantly and laughing, and now he’s lying about it right in front of you? So blatantly? Why?

Before you could even open your mouth to defend yourself, his friend laughed loudly. “I told you, you need to stop playing with the easy ones. They get way too attached, man.” He’d said as Jaehyung stepped away from you quickly, making his way to the door with haste.

You simply watched, the words playing in a loop in your brain. Jaehyung took one last glance at you before the pair of them exited the room, leaving you by yourself with your thoughts running a mile a minute. Easy? Easy how? Because you were alone all the time? Because you’re shy?

You didn’t really understand why his friend said that, or why Jae’s attitude changed so quickly. Naively, you started to think that maybe it was all a big misunderstanding, and you could clear it up on Monday when you saw him again. It was unlikely, but the shift in tone was so sudden that you really had nothing else to grasp onto to make sense of it.

But Monday came, and it was immediately clear to you that the pleasant Jaehyung you’d known for a short time was entirely fake. He’d approach you with venom, antagonize you any chance he got, his friends always cackling in the background. He’d call you names and push you around, a sick enjoyment clear on his face every time.

You’d wondered if this was his intention all along; to make you like him, to spend time with you because you were vulnerable before he’d turn it all around on you and embarrass you. His friend walking in on you in the classroom probably just sped things up a bit, and made him lose the need to build trust with you first.

Some days you’d be lucky, able to avoid them by bolting out of the room the minute the bell rang. Of course there were still times they caught up to you or got you into a corner, but for the most part, the strategy had worked.

Eventually though, that method became nearly impossible as they got used to the trick and found ways to get you in a corner consistently. You only ever managed to catch a break on days that they needed to stay behind for detention or to be disciplined by the staff.

You hoped, you prayed, harder than you ever had for anything, that one day they would grow tired of tormenting you and just leave you alone. That staff would actually help you instead of turning a blind eye, only intervening when the boys’ actions inconvenienced their ability to work. You prayed they’d get suspended, expelled even– an unrealistic hope you knew would never come true, as little of a priority to the school’s staff as you were.

But hope was all you had then. In those incredibly dark days, where your life was the hardest it had ever been, you’d started to see the appeal of having outlandish dreams. It was comforting to imagine a world where everything about your life was perfect, where you'd easily obtained your goals and led the life you had always dreamed of, free of hurt and sadness.

There was no comfort in being a realist, no solace in the tangible. And you were tired. Not the physical kind of tired that came with a hard day's work, but mentally.

You were exhausted from the constant abuse, the unending loneliness, the hopelessness that was laid out so plainly in front of you. And so you would hope; hope for a better day, an easier existence, a friend.

You hoped that you’d be a braver person than you were the day before, hoped that one day the school would finally take action, hoped that one day Jae would get bored of you and finally leave you alone. You knew painfully well how improbable it was, but it was all you had.

All of it was out of your control, no matter what you did or how hard you prayed; it didn’t matter, it wouldn’t change, but even still you couldn’t let go of that hope. It was around that time however, that you realized there was something you could control– your academic scores. If you just devoted yourself to studying, to doing well on tests and keeping up your GPA, you could get yourself into a good school and put all this behind you.

You didn’t get into as good of a school as you would have liked, the strain that Jaehyung’s bullying put on your brain made studying a herculean effort, but you managed to do well enough to get accepted into a decent college just outside the city. It was enough- as long as you stuck to campus, you’d likely never see Jae again. He’d stay in the city, doing god knows what, and you’d get the fresh start you desperately needed, away from the person that made you miserable.

It's been 6 months since you moved into the campus dorms and began attending classes. Your roommates already knew each other, having been childhood friends who promised to go to the same school, but they never made you feel left out or like an outsider in your shared dorm room. They were kind, funny, and outgoing, and it would be no exaggeration to say they adopted you, bringing you out of your shell bit by bit and helping you return to the person you used to be.

There’s still pain, sadness, and loneliness, of course. Those feelings don’t just go away, but for the first time in years you began to feel.. Happy. Like things were finally going your way.

You could breathe without needing to constantly look over your shoulder, or be perpetually afraid of when a moment of happiness would inevitably crumble. You could finally live. The universe seemed to want to have a laugh at your expense, however– because what would be more ironic and tragic than bringing you back to the person you hate most.

You’d never been to a party– not entirely by choice, but because the opportunity had never come your way, solitary and friendless as you were. And now that you were in college, where the surroundings are rife with parties and carefree nights, it just felt.. Unnatural for you to be involved.

Like you were trying to blend where you didn’t belong, and that everyone would see through you. They would recognize you for what you were all through high school; a girl desperate for friends that no one ultimately cared about.

But your roommates, the social butterflies that they were, insisted that you come with them after excitedly telling you of the invite they received. You protested at first, feeling like you'd be much too awkward and out of place in the situation to have any fun, but they were tireless in their efforts to convince you to go with them.

And really, you couldn't blame them for trying so hard– you'd told them about your desire to branch out, to make more friends and experience new things, and a party was arguably one of the best places to do that. So you conceded in the end, letting them help you plan your outfit and be your guides through what was supposed to be a fun, new experience. 

And it was fun– for a time. Your friends helped you come out of your shell the most you’d ever had, introducing you to other people they knew either from their classes or from the clubs they were part of. You felt included, like you were finally part of a group, like you no longer had to be the person who watched from afar while others mingled and laughed together. 

It’s almost funny how that feeling of belonging and joy you finally felt came crashing down on you in an instant. You didn’t see him at first, and if you had, you definitely wouldn’t have separated yourself from your friends. You were supposed to be gone just a moment, a quick run to the bathroom and refresh of your drink before you’d rejoin them.

But there Jae was, standing near the stairs that led up to the bathroom, chatting with the same group of friends he’d had in high school. Your mind reeled, blood chilling as your eyes settled on him for the first time since graduation. You stood frozen for a moment, body being bumped by those trying to dance or move past you as the music continued to blare.

You suddenly became conscious of every little thing– the volume of the music in your ears, the amount of people standing between you and him, how the hairs on your neck and arm began to stand on end. You could feel the way your palms clammed up as you closed your fingers into a fist, and the thumping of your heart became loud and erratic, to the point it began to drown out everything else.  

You tried to rationalize with yourself, to calm your screaming nerves and bring your racing heart under your control. He hadn’t noticed you, and if you were lucky, and quick, he wouldn’t at all. Besides, you weren’t the same person you were in high school. You had friends now, a new home and a new life. He couldn’t torment you anymore– you wouldn’t let him. 

You take a breath, steeling yourself to walk past the man who brought you so much misery, and hope for the best. Your legs felt like lead, each step taking excruciating effort to complete. You try to keep your head down, letting your hair fall over your face to hide your recognizable features as much as possible.

You look up as you reach the steps, realizing that you’re unconsciously holding your breath as you do. Your eyes meet– not Jae’s, but his friends. And you can tell by the way he laughs, one of disbelief as much as it is amusement, that he recognizes you easily. “What?” you hear Jae question as he turns his head to see what his friend is reacting to, his eyes landing squarely on you. 

Dread is the only word that can be used to describe what you feel when his eyes meet yours. Your reaction is immediate, panic settling in as you rush past them, and dart up the stairs. You just had to make it to the bathroom, and then everything would be fine. And you do, closing the door shut quickly behind you and locking it with a loud click.

You take a moment to breathe, to think with clarity now that you were within the safe space of a closed, locked room. You’re not proud of the visceral reaction seeing Jae gave you, the way you ran as soon as soon as his gaze locked on you.

You wonder how you looked to the others settled around the steps– hopefully, just like a drunk girl in desperate need for the bathroom, instead of a dreadfully panicked one. Regardless, your dash up the steps was certainly unceremonious and embarrassing, and you hate the thought that it gave Jae or any of his friends a laugh.

You let out a sigh, pulling out your phone to text your friends, hoping they’re not too drunk or that the music is too loud for them to hear their phones. You do your business, wash your hands, check your appearance in the mirror. You check your phone, and then check it again, and then once more, but no response from your friends ever comes through. 

You sigh, knowing you can’t camp out in the bathroom much longer than you have already. There are loads of people here, and someone’s going to need it sooner or later. And besides, he surely wouldn’t still target you now that you were all grown adults, right?

It’s likely he didn’t even follow after you, and is just laughing that even now you’re still afraid of him. You moved on, and surely he has to– you can’t let your fear of him control you the way it did when you were in school together. 

With another breath to calm your nerves, you unlock and open the door, and see that a small line did in fact start to build in front of the bathroom door while you were holed up inside of it. You offer an apology to the people waiting as you move past to allow the first person in, making your way quickly back towards the steps in the hopes that Jae is either no longer in that area, or has no interest in you anymore, and that you can return to where your friends are without issue. 

But of course, he’s there, standing at the top of the steps, very clearly waiting for you. Your heart sinks to your stomach, the smile that spreads on his face making you sick. “Long time no see, huh?” he says as he takes a step closer to you, his light, airy voice a stark contrast to the intentions you know he has. You don’t respond, which he takes as his sign to continue. “I didn’t expect to see you here. Don’t you want to catch up?” 

“I need to get back to my friends,” you say, finally finding your voice after the initial shock. It’s not as strong as you’d like, but considering you’ve never stood up for yourself before now, it’s enough to show how much you’ve changed since he last saw you.

“Oh, you have friends now? That’s interesting,” he responds easily, taking what little pride for yourself you fostered and crushing it beneath his heel. Before you realize it, your back is pressed against the nearest door, Jae closing the distance between you with proficient ease.

Your breath catches in your throat, eyes darting to the side where the line for the bathroom remains unchanged. If you made a scene, would they help you? You honestly weren’t sure; they were all strangers to you, with varying levels of intoxication affecting them, and from their perspective, you and Jae could easily appear to be a couple sharing an intimate moment before trying to sneak away to a room. The thought alone makes your stomach churn. 

“Oh don’t worry about them, they won’t interrupt,” Jae says, that same sickeningly smug smile on his face as he seemingly has the same thought you just had. You know what comes next- his hands on you, a contact you loathe above all else, that makes your skin scream and recoil.

Things were supposed to be different now. You weren’t supposed to ever see him again, but maybe you were a fool for believing that you created enough distance from him for that to be the case. But you didn’t come this far to be the same person you were then- you were supposed to be different, to be strong.

You want to be strong, to have the courage to stand up for yourself and tell him to go fuck himself. If you don’t act now, then what was it all for? You can’t let yourself go back to the meek person who just accepted it whenever she was hurt. You clench your fists, you gather your courage, and for the first time ever, you raise your voice to him. “Don’t fucking touch me.” 

He doesn’t take you seriously in the slightest, laughing as if your words mean nothing as he reaches his hand out to touch you. In a moment of unparalleled bravery on your part, you slap it away, conveying clearly that you won’t allow him to torment you anymore. There’s surprise in his eyes for a moment, though it fades as quickly as it appeared, replaced by seething anger.

He wraps your hair in his fist, holding your head back with so much force that a searing ache spreads over your scalp. “You wanna try that again? I don't think you're thinking clearly." Jaehyung's voice is dark and threatening as he holds your head in place.

So now he’s taking you seriously, huh? You glare at him, tears pricking the corner of your eyes as your fists tremble, 3 years worth of contempt rising forth all at once, practically begging to be set free, to be unleashed on the awful man before you who made your life a living hell. 

You were still scared of him, if you were being honest with yourself, but you had to be different. You had to. He was much stronger, his grip on you was painful, but if you gave up now, then what was it all for? Your perseverance had to mean something, it had to lead you to somewhere better, to help you become someone you were proud to be. You can’t let it be meaningless. 

You’re about to open your mouth to scream, determined to make a scene that can’t go ignored by anyone in the vicinity, when a voice you don’t recognize calls to Jaehyung, taking you both by surprise. “What the fuck are you doing?” the unfamiliar voice call from the direction of the stairs, and you’re able to turn your head just enough to see someone standing at the top of them, arms crossed with an incredulous look on his face.

“Shit,” you hear Jaehyung mutter under his breath when he turns his gaze away from you, looking at the man who is (thankfully) interrupting the moment. “What are you doing here?” Jae asks as he slowly loosens his grip on your hair, his teeth clenching as he begrudgingly releases you from his grasp.

“Don’t tell me you came to this party not knowing you’re in my fucking house. That’s my room you’re blocking, so move,” the man says, voice stern and unflinching. Jaehyung’s expression in response is strange– he’s very clearly annoyed, angry, but there’s something else there too that you’ve never seen on him.

He’s… intimidated? “Oh c'mon, man. You don’t mind letting an old friend borrow your room, right?” Jae’s voice turns jovial, a vain attempt at familiarity and friendliness. The stranger’s expression changes, a scoff leaving his lips as he looks at Jae in disbelief. 

The man looks at you next, observing your body language and quickly processing what it tells him. You’re very clearly distressed, body trembling, eyes angry and glossy with unshed tears; you want out of this, and now.

“Doesn’t seem to me that she’s into you,” the stranger says matter-of-factly, stating the truth of the matter as he sees it. “And you’re insane if you think I’m letting you use my room for this shit– or anyone’s for that matter.” 

“She’s just shy, isn’t that right? You’re not used to us being interrupted?” Jae says it with a sickly sweet smile before he turns his gaze back to you, leaning closer as his next words leave him in a whisper intended for only you to hear, a not so thinly veiled threat for you to play along with him, “I’m not done with you yet.” 

If it were the you of half a year ago, you probably would have buckled under the pressure, yielded to whatever it was he wanted from you. You would’ve been too afraid of the repercussions that would follow if you didn’t, afraid of what worse action he’d have in store for you if you didn’t listen to his commands. 

And that’s what Jae wants– he wants to put that fear back inside you, to remind you of all that he made you feel, all that he caused you to lose, to turn you back into the person he knew and expected you to be.

You refuse to give him the satisfaction. “Get the fuck away from me,” you say, doing your best to make your voice as steady as you can possibly make it. You can feel the rage radiating off him, and you have to admit, it’s extremely gratifying to watch him struggle, to see him flounder after being challenged.

He storms off, anger and bitterness seeping off him, as the man who saved you steps aside to let him pass– though Jae still manages to shoulder checks the stranger angrily on his way out. A sigh of relief leaves you once your tormentor is out of sight, thankful for the ordeal to finally be over.

“Are you alright?” the stranger who evidentially lives here asks as he takes a tentative step closer to you, clearly not wanting to make you feel boxed in and cornered the way Jaehyung had.

“Yeah, I’m fine, thank you,” you say as you separate yourself from what you remember is apparentally his bedroom door, fixing your clothes in the places that Jae caused it to crumple. 

When you look up, you see that he is looking you over for any noticeable injury– whoever he is, it’s apparent he knows who Jaehyung is and how he does things. It also makes you curious about how they know each other, and what it is about him that made Jae leave without putting up a real fight. 

He has dark curly hair that pairs well with his piercing gaze, but you didn't find him particularly frightening based on appearance alone. In fact, you actually thought he'd look sweet if he wasn't frowning so hard right now.

He did seem quite athletic though, and you could see how bulky his arms were underneath the sleeves of his black tee. Maybe it was the difference in strength that deterred him? Jae is stronger than you, sure, but he wasn’t as built as the stranger who saved you.

Or maybe Jae is simply all bark, and no bite? That’d be ironic– your biggest tormentor being someone who is inherently a coward. But isn’t that how it usually goes? The weak preying on the weaker for the sake of gratification and a sense of superiority they wouldn’t otherwise obtain.

And who better to play that role for him than you? You, who was lonely and eager to make a friend, who was too timid and kind for her own good, and without the inner strength to fight back. 

“You’re welcome to join me in my room, if you want. Uhm, not in like, a weird way or anything– just to make sure Jae will leave you alone if he's still around. We’ll leave the door open so you’re comfortable and– uh, yeah.” You can’t help but smile a little following his suggestion– it’s a little awkward, but well intentioned, and you appreciate the attempt he’s making to comfort you following a tense interaction. 

You follow him inside, and true to his word, he makes no move to close the door behind you, leaving it wide open and looking out into the adjacent hallway. Looking around, you notice that his room is more.. Minimalistic than you would’ve expected from a college aged guy. A decently sized bed, a bookshelf that contained more empty space than anything, a desk that held only a laptop and a rather old looking stuffed wolf toy that you assumed was from his childhood. 

There was no clutter, no mess, no decoration– nothing that tells you a guy in his early 20s occupies the space. Apart from the led lights circling the ceiling, the walls are bare, with no pictures or posters to give insight into his interests or personality. “You can sit wherever,” he says, intending to let you have first pick for comfort’s sake. 

You decide to sit at his desk, concluding that it's the better of your two options, and he flops on his bed, eyes on the ceiling as a slight sigh leaves his lips. “Regretting throwing a party?” you ask, noticing how exhausted he seems to be– dark circles under his eyes serving as a clear sign that something in his life is causing him fatigue and lack of sleep. 

“It’s not my party, it’s my brothers. The whole party thing isn’t really for me, but he wants the “whole college experience” or whatever, so, you know.. Yeah,” he closes his eyes for a moment as he speaks, seeming to think about what he wants to say before he continues to speak. “He won't have time for things like this once the fall semester starts, so why not let him have his fun until then? That’s what I think, anyways.” 

You nod, silently wondering if his brother is anyone you met downstairs, though you don’t recall meeting anyone that looks similar to him. “Do you both go to school here?” you ask, thinking it’d be nice if they do– you could do with some more friends in your life, especially ones that go to the same campus you do. 

“Oh, no, I–” he hesitates a moment, an almost indiscernible look on his face as he slightly tenses, just enough for you to gather that this topic is a bit tense for him. “I dropped out. Of high school, I mean. The whole school thing doesn’t suit me– got enough bills to pay and things to take care of without that added expense and worry, you know?”

You get it– you honestly do. Dropping out is a hard decision to make, one that society doesn’t understand comes with great personal grief and difficulty. Most people who drop out don’t do it because they want to, but because they have to, or feel there’s no other choice in the face of whatever it is they’re dealing with.

There was even a time you considered it; when your bullying was at its worst, and before you found solace in pouring all your energy into studying. “I completely understand; I almost dropped out too. And I wouldn’t even be going to school now if it wasn’t for my scholarship.”

“Really?” he sits up now, surprise written on his face as he looks at you. “Yeah, I– ..didn’t have the best high school experience,” you sigh, hesitating to meet his gaze right away. He’s a stranger to you, you don’t know what happened to him, and he doesn’t know what happened to you, but there’s a strange sort.. Connection you feel? 

Like kindred spirits– two souls who lived different lives, who are on a different path, but somehow are still the same. You look at him again, realizing you don’t feel the need to hesitate or hold back your words. There’s something about him that seems trustworthy, and the sincere empathy in his eyes makes you believe that he’s someone you can confide in without regrets. 

“I was depressed, alone. I had no friends, and I don’t mean it felt that way, I literally didn’t have anyone. And Jaehyung, he– well, you saw. It was like that every single day, unrelenting. Studying was the only thing I had to escape my thoughts and feelings, so I poured everything I had into my grades. I started to view college as an escape– like if I got accepted, all my problems would be solved. I could start over, be a different person,” you swallow, emotions threatening to choke you up as you talk about your experience, but you continue on despite it. 

“Unfortunately, schools are competitive, and recruiters could easily see that despite having good enough grades, I didn’t have the confidence or social standing to back myself up, so they chose other people. But the school here accepted me, and even though it’s still close to where I grew up I hoped it would be enough. I could meet new people, get away from everything that brought me down, and become the person I always wanted to be. And I have– you know, for the most part anyways.”

There’s a silence that lingers for a moment, one that makes you start to feel stupid for deciding to unload all that information on someone you just met, but when you meet his eyes again you no longer feel shame. As before, there is a sincere empathy, an understanding, a care, that you’d never experienced before now. 

You never talked about Jae to anyone new you met, and even your friends only know about him in the vaguest of terms because it was so hard to relive and talk about openly. But the person you met today– he saw it, in its rawest, unfiltered form, and he cared. Genuinely cared. And when you think back to all the times someone saw what was happening and ignored it, knew you were suffering and didn’t think twice about it, that care matters. 

He looks contemplative as well; like he’s thinking carefully on his words, and what impact they’ll have, as if formatting the perfect response to your admission is of crucial importance to him. And in a way, it is, because even though he’s just met you, he sees you for who you are– someone like him. Damaged. Lonely. Yearning for a connection that doesn’t yet exist, but could if you found the right person. 

He opens his mouth to speak, the words he wants to say on the tip of his tongue, but is quickly interrupted and drowned out by your phone suddenly ringing. You pull it out of your pocket quickly, and see your friend's name and photo brightly illuminated on the screen.

“Y/N? I’m so sorry, I just saw your text! Are you still upstairs? I’ll come get you–” your friend comes through loud and urgent, doing her best to be heard over the loud music that surrounds her downstairs. 

“I’m fine, I promise! Where are you right now? I’ll meet you,” you assure her as you stand up from your seat, preparing yourself to leave the room. The conversation ends quickly, with you confirming with each other that you’ll meet at the base of the stairs and then head home together. 

“I’ll get going now, my friends are waiting for me, but.. before I go I just wanna say thank you for tonight, uhm..” your sentence trails off as a realization hits you. Right. You still don’t know his name yet. Thankfully, he seems to know where you’re going, and offers his name to you before you have to ask. “Chan,” he says simply, “I’m Bang Chan.” 

You smile as you repeat his name, offering your own afterwards to which he acknowledges with a nod. You make it to the door before you stop, turning back to look at him one last time before you go. “I’ll see you around..?” you ask, hoping you don't come across as too desperate to meet him again. 

“Mm, yeah, sure,” Chan replies nonchalantly, though the corners of his mouth raise in the hint of a smile. And though it’s only a slight display, it makes you smile back at him. Because even though he comes across as aloof and reserved, you've gotten the impression that he's a nice person underneath his layers. 

You found yourself thinking a lot about him when you were in bed that night; wondering about who he is beyond what you initially see, about what makes him who he is and drives what he does. Someone who is clearly empathetic beneath their rough exterior, who has compassion even for those he doesn't know, someone you want to befriend. You hoped you'd meet and talk to him again soon. 

You sigh as you approach Sunshine Cafe, your go-to stop for coffee and a sweet breakfast before beginning your day in earnest. The fall semester has spared you no mercy since it began weeks ago, with your new professors hitting you with an increasingly grueling workload and frustratingly tight deadlines.

You’ve barely had time for anything, and your daily coffee is truly the only thing getting you through the immense amount of homework and academic papers that’ve been dropped into your lap. It also occurred to you that you greatly overestimated your ability to run into Chan again.

You thought it’d only be a matter of time, at first. Though he doesn’t attend the local college like you and his brother do, he still has a house near campus, and even if meeting at another party was unlikely, there were still plenty of places you could end up seeing one another. And yet, either due to the amount of work that needed done keeping you home, or Chan himself also having a busy schedule, that time never came. 

Should you have just asked for his number before you left? It’s something you’d think about since that night, wondering if that would’ve been too forward or made him uncomfortable, because who knows if he wanted to be your friend as much as you wanted to be his. There was a lot you liked about Chan following your first interaction with him, but was there anything he liked about you? 

It was hard to say; you certainly hoped so, but you weren’t exactly confident in your ability to make connections with people. Apart from that, a search of his name online didn’t lead to any social media platforms you could add or follow him on.

A bit strange for someone his age to be completely void of a social media presence you might think, but he didn’t really seem the type to spend his days scrolling instagram or writing personal posts on twitter in the first place. 

And honestly, wasn’t it silly to be so stuck on someone you’d met and talked to so briefly? You were broaching pathetic territory if you were being honest with yourself, but you truly couldn’t help it. There was something different about him, and not in that corny love at first sight way your friends might assume if you brought the issue up to them. You could see it in the way he interacted with you and listened to you. 

The more you thought about it though, the more embarrassed you felt about it; why did you unload your deepest feelings on a stranger? Because having a little bit of alchol in your system made you uninhibited enough to feel the need to bare your entire heart? Because he was nice to you?

That’s so pitiful, you’d laugh at yourself if it wasn’t so depressing. Even if you did run into him again, it’d probably be best to avoid his gaze, and save yourself from the realization that he actually thought you were a fucking weirdo, and only listened to you to be polite. 

God, you were spiraling– one minute thinking it’d be best if he never saw you again, and the next praying he’d show up in your life regardless, even if just for a moment. But really, you just wanted to know– know for sure if you just imagined the way he cared to make yourself better, or if what you felt then was real. And if it was real, why? 

No one ever protected you before, and it was hard for you to imagine a world where someone would do that for you purely out of the kindness of their heart. You know selfless, compassionate people exist, but not for you.

Even with the friends you had now, you’d hesitate to believe that they’d do anything for you beyond the surface level of friendship. And that was no fault of their own, of course; you knew it was a response to your own trauma that led you to think that way. But now that you were met with the evidence that someone could be kind to you purely for the sake of it, you struggled to grapple with it. 

You could argue that your friends are nice to you purely because you’re also assigned roommates, and you needed to have a good relationship for your home life to be copasetic. They introduced you to the people in their life because living in their space meant you’d be around them as well, and by extension they were only nice to you because they needed to be. But Chan– what reason did he have to do anything for you? To listen to you or offer kindness? 

He wasn’t the first person to show you kindness after you came here, but he was the first to do so with seemingly no explanation behind it. To be kind and help you just because it was what was right, and for no reason other than that– that’s what made him different, and made you want to see him again, to get to know him.

Another sigh leaves your lips now as you stand in line, waiting to order. You really need to stop dwelling on it and focus on more critical things at hand, i.e your paper that's due tonight and still needs to be proofread.

Yes, it’s best to do what you’re used to doing, and pour all your frustrations and worries into getting yourself the best grades you possibly can. You’ll head back to your dorm as soon as your coffee is in hand, and spend the rest of your morning (and a good portion of your afternoon) into ensuring that your paper is as perfect as it can be. 

Felix, the blonde, freckled barista who has come to memorize your order, smiles sweetly as soon as he sees you. “Here’s your usual,” he says as he hands it over to you the moment you reach the counter; benefits to being a regular, and a creature of habit, you suppose– he always has your order ready for you by the time you make it to the front of the line. “Thanks, I really need it today,” you reply as you put your card in the reader to pay. 

“Professor still kicking your ass?” he asks as he confirms the payment on his screen, letting you take your card out swiftly and fit it back into your wallet. “Pretty much,” you answer, though it’s not entirely true anymore; the amount of work you need to complete is definitely a major stressor, but it’s your brain’s fixation on Chan, and your subsequent worry about how you were perceived by him that plague yours thoughts and makes finishing your work much harder than it needs to be. Felix doesn’t need to hear about any of that, though. 

You thank him for serving you before you step away to allow the line to continue to flow, and he wishes you luck with the rest of your day before he greets his next customer. You scarf down your doughnut before you step outside to leave the building, the crisp fall air instantly helping to bring your mind back to a place of normalcy. A few small sips of your drink, a tossing of your trash in the public bin, and you’re ready to make your way back to your room to tackle the behemoth of a paper you wrote that needs reviewing. 

You make it only a few steps before you’re stopped by a voice you dread hearing saying your name from behind you, one that the universe seems to love to remind you that you can’t run away from. “I’ve been looking for you,” he smiles as he steps in front of you, cutting off your path and making you stop walking.

The blood in your veins feels ice cold, the alarms in your brain deafeningly loud. Fuck. How did Jae find you here? 

Stumbling upon each other at a random party, as unpleasant and unfortunate as it was, was at least feasible. College parties weren’t limited to the host’s affiliation; word of mouth took campus parties to new heights, their friends invite their friends who then invite theirs, turning what one might intend to be a simple get together between close friends and roommates into something much larger than the host ever intended. 

Yes, as much as you hated it when you ran into him, the party setting you were brought into made the most logistical sense. But here? At a small off-campus coffee shop at 9am? What the fuck was he doing here?

Surely if this was a place he frequented you wouldn’t have gone so many months without coming across one another. Which leaves you to think only one thing, that you desperately hope isn’t true- he sought you out on purpose.

“I don’t want to see you,” you say, voice as stern as you can possibly make it despite the way your nerves threaten to eat you alive. You’re doing your best not to panic, reasoning with yourself that things on your side in the situation; you’re in a public space, on a fairly active street with plenty of witnesses, and lots of options for safety. As long as you don’t freeze up or mentally shut down, you’ll be okay. 

You take a step in an attempt to walk past him, but of course, he doesn’t want to allow you to leave so easily. “C’mon, don’t be like that,” he says in a tone that’s supposed to portray himself as innocently pleading for your time, but his smirk deceives his intentions. You opt to ignore him, shifting to the side to once again make your way past him. 

He reaches out to grab your arm, instantly stopping you in your tracks. “Let go of me!” you protest, trying to pull yourself out of his grasp, but to no avail. Your eyes scan the area, seeking a way to get yourself out of this situation as quickly as possible. As if sensing this, Jae pulls you towards the nearby shop alley, dragging you into it with him. 

Your coffee falls to the ground in the struggle, splashing your legs and drenching the soles of your shoes. Your eyes water, race burning red as a wave of emotions washes over you– shame, anger, misery, all of which make him laugh.

“It’s a shame we were interrupted last time, isn’t it? And you don’t have your guard dog here to protect you, how sad,” he taunts, infinitely condescending in the way he speaks to you, “Go ahead and cry, he’s not gonna save you this time.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying your hardest to suppress the rising panic. You need to will yourself to move, to be loud, to make it impossible for him to take advantage of you any further. You take a breath and open your eyes, surprised to see someone standing directly behind Jae– Chan.

He’s yanked away from you in a sudden motion as a hand grabs his shoulder, stumbling backwards and landing awkwardly on his right foot, clutching you tighter in his hand to try and steady himself. “Wha– who the fuck?” 

“Fuck off. Don’t make me teach you a lesson again,” Chan’s voice is low as he grabs Jae by the wrist and twists it, causing him to grit his teeth and finally release you from his grasp. Jae scowls as Chan’s grip on his wrist loosens, curses and insults quickly being muttered under his breath as he shoots you both furious looks.

“You heard me. Go,” Chan says, eyebrow raised with a look that says ‘test me and you’ll regret it.’ Begrudgingly, he retreats while calling you both less than kind names and rubbing his wrist. Chan hears them of course, but making sure you’re okay is more of a priority than fixing Jae’s loose mouth.

“You alright..?” he asks, looking you over for injury as he did the first time he stopped Jae from harming you. You stayed silent however, your brain struggling to process the fact that Chan is here and helped you again– and he eventually frowns. Jae may be a fucking imbecile, but he was smart when he wanted to be; he didn’t hurt you enough to leave any marks– at least not anywhere Chan could see clearly. 

On top of that, you still hadn’t responded yet, and he wasn’t entirely sure when your altercation even began; it was pure coincidence that he turned the corner to reach Sunshine Cafe and saw you being pulled away to the adjacent alley.

But he heard what he said as he approached; “guard dog,” Jae called him. Yeah, that’s exactly what he’ll be if Jae refuses to leave you alone– your personal guard dog, ready to attack as needed.

He cautiously taps your shoulder, his eyebrows knitting together in a clear sign of concern, “Hey… you okay..?” You nod, swallowing the lump that formed in your throat. You were in shock more than anything, you think. Jae tormented you for years, and you’d grown used to it over the years. Hair pulling, tripping, slapping, dumping water on you.. Things that though you hated, you were used to and came to expect. 

But now? Now that you’d left that behind, began to live your life with a sense of fulfillment and joy, were away from all that once dragged you to the depths of despair.. You realized how much those things still hurt, how the time and distance didn’t cure or absolve you of your pain.

And you hated that he found you, hated that his presence still had an effect on you, hated how easy it was for him to reverse all of the positive progress you made. Most of all, you just hated Jae– truly, deeply hated him.

You could tell you were shaking, felt the tears in the corners of your eyes threatening to fall, embarrassed by the fact that Chan once again has to see you at your lowest when you’ve just barely formed a friendship. It’s humiliating in a way that’s hard to explain to anyone who hasn’t felt it themselves– the shame that comes with feeling inadequate, in looking weak in the face of someone you don’t want to see you that way.

Chan looks down, seeing what he assumes is the remnants of your fresh coffee spilled on the concrete, whipped cream and caramel splattered in all directions from the impact they made with the ground. He kneels down, grabbing the plastic cup and turning it to the front, confirming what he already suspected; your name, written in big, black letters with a sharpie, followed by a sticker with the specifics of your order.

He looks back at you as he stands back up, still holding your cup in his hands despite how sticky it’s become from splashed coffee. “Hey, look.. I’m sorry– Jae was pissed that I helped you last time, right? It's my fault, so why don’t I buy you a new coffee?”

“Huh?" you blink, surprised by his offer; once again, he's helping you when he has no reason to, and trying to process it makes your brain lag. "Oh– you don’t have to do that! It’s not your fault at all, he’s always treated me that way. He probably would’ve done this again even if you hadn’t helped the first time,” you respond after a moment, not yet meeting his gaze. 

Chan frowns at your answer; he knows Jae well enough to know that’s true, but it doesn’t piss him off any less. He’s always been like that– a coward in wolf’s clothing, always preying on whoever wants and thinking he can get away with it. “Unlock your phone and hand it to me,” he says, holding his hand out to you expectantly.

You furrow your brows in confusion, but do as he asks regardless, fishing through your pocket and quickly putting in your password before passing it to him. Chan locates your contacts page easily, adding his number to the relatively short list. “Call me next time,” he says as he hands it back to you.

You stare at your phone for a few moments, processing the information slowly before you look up at him. “You.. I can call you?” “Of course.” His response is nonchalant in tone, but you can tell he’s being genuine, just as before.

You don’t understand why he’s consistently so kind to you, someone who is effectively a stranger, who he has no reason to look out or care for. Stopping a bad situation he came across once made enough sense, especially since it was happening in his own house, but to devote himself to regularly helping you was completely different. Was he really that selfless? 

“What if you don’t answer..?” you finally ask, still struggling to make sense of his kindness towards you. “I’ll answer,” he replies easily, as if that’s the only option there is. “What if Jae takes my phone? Or I can’t reach it?” you continue, because surely he can’t be serious.

Why would he do that for you? Chan’s expression shifts to one you can’t read, full of thoughts and emotions you couldn’t possibly read before he speaks again, “Yell if you have to. If you call, I’ll hear it. I’ll come running as soon as I can.”

You tear up for the second time today, though this time for a reason completely different from before; you’re grateful to have someone who wants to be there for you unconditionally. After suffering for so long, you began to believe that you were beyond selfless kindness, that it was something you would never experience or have offered to you. And in your current state, it seems that even the smallest ounce of it is enough to make you emotional. 

“H-Hey, don’t cry!” Chan’s voice is suddenly filled with worry, a stark contrast to the aloof tone he seems to typically have. And really, he isn’t sure what to do– he’s never had to comfort a girl who was crying before.

You wipe your face, trying your best to calm down quickly and offer him an appreciative smile. “Sorry, this is actually super embarrassing..” you awkwardly laugh as you rub your eyes dry, hoping that he won’t change his mind and decide you’re not worth it. 

“No, it’s okay.. You’ve been through a lot on your own,” his tone softens, clearly trying to relay sympathy for you. You nod, steadying yourself with a deep breath before you finally look at him directly, without embarrassment or shame for your feelings. “Thank you, Chan.”

“Of course,” he says, giving you a small pat on the head in the same way he used to do to comfort his brothers when they were upset. “Let’s get you a new coffee, yeah?”  

You nod again, deciding to take him up on his offer and let him buy you a new coffee. “Just stick close to me, okay?” Chan reaches his free hand out to you, offering for you to take it if you’d like to. And you do, deciding to ignore the way your heart picks back up in speed when your hand is in his.

You know there’s no romantic intent, but that doesn’t stop the butterflies from erupting in your stomach at the contact. You can tell he’s just a sweet person, that there’s nothing special about this interaction, that he’d likely do this for anyone in a similar situation to you, but regardless of your rational thoughts, you can’t calm your heart, or prevent it from skipping a beat when he gives it a reassuring squeeze before leading you out of the alley.  

It doesn’t take more than a few moments to reach the cafe again, the line having drastically shortened since you were here minutes prior. Rather than wait in the line however, Chan walks directly to the counter, with you nervously in tow. The waiting customers shoot you both angry looks, but they ultimately choose not to say anything about your transgression.

“I’m sorry, I need to take care of this real quick,” Felix says to the angry girl waiting at the front that Chan just caused you to cut off, giving her an apologetic look before turning to the both of you. “Channie-hyung! And Y/N..?” He looks puzzled to see the two of you together, and really you can’t blame him. You were just here, and now here you are again, with a guy you’ve never brought up, and–

Wait. Channie-hyung? They know each other?

“Felix, can you make her another one of these? I’ll pay for it,” Chan says, holding your ruined coffee cup to the poor barista to look at. “Don’t worry hyung, I know her order. And you don’t have to pay! I’ll take care of it,” Felix says as he takes the cup from Chan’s hands, tossing it in a bin underneath the counter before he turns to make you a new drink. Chan grumbles something under his breath about how Felix should let him pay, a subtle frown growing on his face.

“Chan,” you speak up, and he turns his head in your direction, a small “hmm?” leaving his lips. “Your other hand– it’s sticky from the coffee, isn’t it? Do you want to go rinse it off?”

“Oh– yeah, uh, I guess it is,” he says, clenching and unclenching his fist as if he only just realized when you brought it up. “I’ll be right back,” he says, letting go of your hand to make his way to the public bathroom on the other end of the cafe.

You breathe a sigh of slight relief, because as much as you enjoyed holding his hand, it made your heart feel like it was going to burst out of your chest. “Here you go,” Felix says as he holds your newly made drink out to you, though instead of his usual smile, he’s looking at you full of curiosity.

“How do you know my brother?” he asks, and wow, does that take you by surprise. The cute, freckled boy who takes your order everyday and serves you with a sweet smile is Chan’s brother? You honestly can’t believe it.

“I, uhm, met him at a party. Wasn’t it your party?” you ask, remembering how Chan told you it was his brother’s and not his. Though as you recall, you didn’t see Felix there, and you definitely would’ve remembered if he was. “Oh, no! It wasn’t mine, it was Changbin’s!”

Oh, so Chan has more than one brother then? You’re about to ask to confirm, but the lady you cut off clears her throat impatiently, clearly fed up with waiting.

“Sorry ma’am, I’ll be right there!” Felix tells her politely before shifting his focus back to you, “Well, gotta get back to work, but I hope you’ll come by the house when I’m there next time! So we can talk more and be friends outside of the cafe!” 

He then waves goodbye to you with a bright smile, turning his attention back to the customers in line while you’re left more than a little stunned. You always thought Felix seemed extremely sweet and fun to be around, so you’re definitely not opposed to seeing him outside of getting your morning coffee, but you didn’t expect a friendship to happen like this.

Chan returns shortly after, and though he isn’t smiling, he does seem glad that you have a fresh coffee in your hands. “You gonna be okay? Don’t need me to walk you to class or anything?” Chan asks and you shake your head, though the fact that he even asked practically makes your heart erupt.

“N-No, I was just gonna head home, I have a paper I need to work on and turn in tonight,” you explain, and he nods in acknowledgment, thinking a moment before he speaks. “I’ll see you around then. And uh.. you know. Let me know if you need anything, yeah?” 

“I will,” you smile, one that he returns ever so slightly. You thank him before you say your goodbye, waving as you make your way out of the door and back out onto the street. You take a sip of your coffee as you take your first steps back to your dorm, finding that it tastes much sweeter than the first one you had– and you like that.

Everything in your life has been that way; sweeter, more enjoyable, with Jae absent from it. And you hope that with your new friends by your side to help and support you, it will stay that way.

Chan is late getting home that night, the shit he had to do for work tonight being beyond exhausting and dirty. The first thing he does is shower, eager to get all the grime off his body so he can eat dinner and hopefully relax, if his brain and body will let him. He eats a microwave meal in relative silence when he’s clean, thinking about all that happened before he set off to work. 

He knew it was only a matter of time before he met you again, but he didn’t expect it to be in negative circumstances again. He had a job in the area that day, and figured he’d stop by Sunshine Cafe to see and get a coffee from Felix before getting things done, only to stumble on the sight of Jae dragging you off against your will. 

Without even thinking about it, he ran– he didn’t know how far Jae was going to take you, what he planned to do with you, and so he wasted no time to catch up to where he saw you go. Jae has a knack for pissing him off, but this went beyond a feeling as simple as that.

What Chan felt instead was disgust. He thought that Jae was easily the most reprehensible person he’d ever met, and that if he has nothing better to do than harass women, then he deserves to get his teeth knocked out of his skull– and Chan would happily be the one to do that. 

And that’s what he planned to do when he pulled Jae back, but when he saw the look on your face, your eyes full to the brim of unshed tears and fear, he stopped. He didn’t want you to see his violent side, he realized.

The side of him that will punch and maim and hurt, that left people bloodied and bruised. When he told you that he was a drop out, and you didn’t judge him, instead offering your understanding and shared your experience with him, he knew you were someone compassionate and good.

Why did people like you always get hurt? He’d seen it countless times, and it always made him sick with anger. And everyone in his life knew that about him, saw first hand the things he was willing to do to protect someone, but for some reason he didn’t want you to see it.

Was it because he didn’t want to taint your impression of him? Because there was a part of him that was afraid that if you knew the kind of things he’s done, that you’d retract any desire to form a friendship with him? He wasn’t sure, but what he did know is that for whatever reason, he wanted you to see him as someone better. 

It’s just past 11:30 when he flops down the couch with a sigh next to Hyunjin, who has some drama Chan doesn’t recognize playing on the tv. It was nights like tonight he wished he could turn his brain off, and not worry about what people think of him, nor be plagued by the memories of horrible things he’s done just to survive. 

Checking his phone in hopes to find something else to focus on, he sees he received a few texts whilst he was busy– most from clients, a few updates from Changbin, who was complaining about the group project he was assigned from his professor and how he’s staying out tonight to complete it, and a few more from an unsaved number that he can safely assume is yours. 

Hi Chan, it’s Y/N! 

Thank you so much for everything. I really appreciate it <3

If you’re still sure, I hope it’s okay to rely on you while I keep gathering my courage

9:12 PM ✓

it’s fine rly i’m not gonna let some dickhead like jae do whatever he wants

you can rely on me as long as you want i don’t mind

call me anytime you need

11:34 PM ✓

“What are you smiling about?” Hyunjin asks as he peers over Chan’s shoulder to take a peek. Chan jumps slightly in surprise, locking his phone screen before sliding it into his pocket. “I wasn’t smiling.”

“Uh-huh, sure you weren’t. I believe you,” Hyunjin laughs in response. Chan sits there in an awkward silence for a few moments, before he glances over to see Hyunjin looking at him with a grin. “What?” Chan questions and Hyunjin lets out another small laugh.

“Y/N, huh? Is that the girl from Changbin’s party?” Chan wants to be angry that Hyunjin saw the name on his phone and is asking about it, but honestly, he’d be curious too if it were the other way around, so he can’t fault him for asking.

“Yeah. I saw her again today and gave her my number. Jae was harassing her again, and it pisses me off when he gets away with shit, so. You know.” He’s leaving out the part about his complex, unfamiliar feelings towards you, but Hyunjin doesn’t need to know them, he thinks. Better to leave those unsaid until he figures them out for himself.

Hyunjin meanwhile clicks his tongue in disapproval, displeased to hear that Jae’s up to his usual bullshit. “What’s wrong with that dude? He and his prick friends need to get a job or something and leave everyone else alone.” 

“Well if at this point he still doesn’t get the hint, he’s an even bigger dumbass than I already think he is,” Chan says and Hyunjin laughs, agreeing with the sentiment instantly. Chan feels his phone vibrate against his leg as Hyunjin shifts his attention back to his show, and is surprised to see its response from you this close to midnight. 

Don’t say that, I might rely on you for a long time then!

11:47pm ✓

i said i don’t mind

i’m here for you okay? 

11:48pm ✓

The two of you continue to text, and unbeknownst to himself, Chan has a small smile on his face again, that definitely doesn’t go unnoticed by Hyunjin. However, rather than tease his older brother again, he decides to let it be. As fun as it is to poke some fun, he did genuinely like seeing Chan smile. It felt so rare these days to see happiness on his face, and he was grateful to see it now, even if it was only by a small margin. 

Chan glances up from his phone to see if Hyunjin is still peeking at him, and is relieved to find that he isn’t. It’s not that he’s embarrassed to be seen texting you, but.. Before he dropped out, he had a reputation in high school for being a bad guy, with all kinds of rumors being spread about him during his freshman year.

And while a lot of them weren’t true, he didn’t mind leaning into them and letting people believe whatever they wanted to if it meant he was left alone. He had no interest in the things his classmates were interested in; grades, exams, college applications, after school clubs… None of those things mattered. 

He was forced to grow up quickly after his parents passed away, and it left him jaded to the worries someone his age would typically have had. And while he encouraged his friends-turned-brothers to do well and go after anything they wanted to, he couldn’t find it within himself to care about such fleeting things after all he’d been through.

At the time, all he wanted was to coast until graduation, and then start working full time to support himself and help his found family reach their goals. As long as the people he cared about had a chance to lead a better life than him, that was enough. 

Chan figured then, and especially when he dropped out and started working full time, that he wouldn’t have time for new friendships until much later in life, and he made his peace with that a long time ago. However, he couldn’t deny the possibility that perhaps he pushed down the idea that he did want someone to spend time with that wasn’t from his own bubble.

Someone he could talk to about mundane things, who lived a normal life with normal hardships, someone who knew nothing about the shady shit he had to do to survive, and who could distract him from the weight of his responsibilities. And maybe it was okay to let you be that friend for him. 

He was sure the others would tease him and say he has a crush, but honestly, his intentions are nothing like that. Despite what rumors would lead you to believe, he’s always been the kind of person to lift up those who needed help, and give them a place next to him. Anyone who had been dealt bad cards in life, he would help if he had the means to, because he knew how awful it felt to be alone with no one to turn to. 

Regardless of gender, you both needed someone. And if you could be that someone for Chan, he would be that someone for you, because that’s just the kind of guy he is. As long as you needed him, he’d be there for you, he’d protect you, he’d be your friend. And he hoped you’d be his friend too, and that you’d never stop needing him. 

Hiraeth; a deep sense of longing, a deep-rooted desire to return to home that no longer exists, or never existed to begin with. A homesickness tinged with grief and sorrow over what is lost and cannot be regained. A word that encompasses Chan in his entirety, though he’d be loath to admit it to any who asked, emotionally solitary as he is. 

When others feel nostalgia, there is an associated happiness– that even though they miss or long for that period of time in their life, they accept that they cannot return to it. They look back on it fondly, happy to have those memories and able to appreciate what they had.

They miss the joy they felt in those simpler times, the days where they were taken care of and pampered by their parents, where every meal was provided for them and they spent all of their free time worry free, watching their favorite cartoons on tv or playing video games for hours on end. 

But what do you do when your only memories of childhood are encompassed by an overarching sadness? When what should be happy memories are tainted by the knowledge that you lost your joy too young, that fate held no mercy, not even for a child so young- what do you do?

Chan wished he knew, because the reality is that even nearly 15 years since the day he lost his parents he still doesn’t know how to cope with his grief. And those are the thoughts that kept him up at night, his insomnia complexly woven with heartache and melancholy, unable to be separated no matter how hard he tried.

He doesn’t dare check the clock, knowing that whatever number he sees reflecting back at him will just add to the misery he feels. He shifts onto his back with a sigh, eyes now pointed directly to the bare ceiling. 

How different would his life be now if his mom and dad were still here? It was no use thinking about it, it didn’t accomplish anything other than making the ache in his chest grow tighter, but he couldn’t prevent it from happening anymore than he could turn back time and change it. There was no way to make the impossible possible, and there was equally no way to prevent his brain from fixating on the what if's and should be's of his life.

There was a part of him that felt selfish for not being happier– like he was asking for too much, expecting some sort of retribution for all the suffering he’d endured, though such a thing would assuredly never come. It wasn’t like he was always miserable, either– he had so many people in his life he cared about and made him feel sane when life was running him to the ground, he had enough money to afford the things he needed and keep everyone afloat, he was strong and (mostly) healthy.

He should be grateful for all those things, and he certainly is, but just.. It’s hard. You never stop missing the people you lose, he supposes. Even when you’re grateful, even when you’re happy and smiling, even when everything is seemingly perfect, the pain is still there.

Lingering in every interaction, present in every moment, sometimes ignorable but never forgotten, always reminding him that the hole in his heart exists, and will only ever grow larger, impossible to fill. That’s what Chan feels. 

Fuck it. 

He reaches for his phone on the coffee table, bright light immediately straining his eyes as he unlocks the device. 2:14 a.m– not the worst it could be, thankfully; it means he’s only been stuck in his head for a little over an hour. Should he text you and see if you’ve fallen asleep yet, he wonders?

No– better not to disturb you, and risk himself saying too much about what he feels due to lapse in judgment. The thought of telling anyone about how sad and lonely he is inside makes him physically ill– he dreads the feeling of vulnerability, hates the way his emotions catch in his throat and eyes fill with tears whenever he tries.

He’s always regretted sharing in the past, not because of the fault of anyone he told, but purely due to his own inability to not feel shame and embarrassment when he lets someone in. His friends, brothers, found family, whatever you wanted to call them– very few of them saw Chan at his worst, but in an ideal world, none of them would’ve seen it.

He can still remember the look on Minho’s face the first time he broke down in front of him, and it plagues him. He couldn’t control it– the tears just wouldn’t stop coming no matter how hard he tried to keep them in, choked, broken sobs leaving him uncontrollably as his body shook and trembled. 

Minho comforted him, of course– he wasn’t going to leave Chan to suffer alone after seeing him in such a state. But when the moment passed, there was no comfort or consolation within him to be felt– just the shame and embarrassment that twisted itself into a gnawing self-consciousness.

And the thought of being in that state of self-doubt and hatred in front of you was even worse, because you were the absolute last person he wanted to see him that way. Maybe one day, but not now– not when your friendship was still relatively fresh and being built upon. 

But.. even if he’s not ready to share his deepest thoughts and feelings, he still wants to talk to you now. He wants to see you smile at him, he wants to listen to you talk about what your plans are for when the winter semester is over and the weather starts to become warm again.

He wants to see the twinkle in your eye when you talk about what your newest favorite song is, wants to your your thoughts on whatever new meal you tried out for dinner. Because as silly as it is, in the few months it’s been since he first became your friend, those are the things he’s come to enjoy most and look forward to. 

Are you still awake now? Are you staring up at his ceiling the way he is now in the living room? Is his bed comfortable enough for you? Did he leave you with enough blankets?

He could text you so easily to find out, but for some reason the thought of it makes him extremely nervous. You’ve been to the house plenty of times now since becoming friends with not only him, but Felix, Hyunjin, and Changbin, but this is the first time you’re staying overnight. 

You initially came at the request to help Changbin, who is currently taking a class you took last semester but is struggling with the material, and needed assistance to understand the concepts he was being introduced to. You brought your laptop with you, using it to show Changbin the detailed notes you took and offering him copies of the study guides you made, and it truly made Chan happy to see you helping his brother out so diligently. 

After a couple hours, Changbin let you off the hook, citing that his brain was tired from the overload of information and he’d be hitting the gym to let off some steam. “Oh my god, it’s this late already? I still have to work on my discussion post for this week,” you groaned, evidently dreading the work you’d have to put into making it decent enough for your professor’s obnoxiously high standards. 

“I can help you,” Chan offered without even thinking, and God, why did even do that? Because how was he, a high school dropout with no GED, realistically going to help someone as smart as you?

He wasn’t dumb by any means, but what kind of input could he even offer that would benefit you? But despite the way his brain made fun of him for his lapse in judgment, and convinced him that you’d absolutely refuse his help, you smiled at him.

“Yeah, okay! We should get some food too, I haven’t had dinner yet and I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” you spoke cheerfully, opening up a new tab on your laptop to check over the delivery options in the area. He was stunned for a moment, feeling like his entire nervous system was zapped the moment you accepted his offer.

There was no hesitation, no doubt in your mind that he could help despite what you know of his education history– why did that make him feel so warm inside? 

The corners of his mouth tugged in a smile as he helped you pick out a restaurant to order from, the two of you munching on burgers and fries as he listened to your thoughts on what your discussion post should be about. You bounced your ideas off him, and while he wasn’t knowledgeable on the subject you needed to write about, discussing it with him still seemed to help you.

It was kind of like thinking aloud; like voicing what you thought worked and what didn’t, what you thought your professor would like to see and what he wouldn’t helped you to formulate a more cohesive outline in your mind. Chan watched as you typed furiously, tongue slightly poked out and brows furrowed as you concentrated on the screen in front of you.

You’d occasionally seek his input, asking things like “does this make sense?” or “do you think this is too much or not enough?” He was entirely out of his depth if he was being honest, but he was happy you wanted his input regardless, and enjoyed seeing a side of you he didn’t typically see. 

With Chan’s (albeit limited) help, you managed to finish before the midnight deadline, hitting submit on your post with just a few minutes to spare. You stood up and stretched your arms and legs, feeling stiff from all your time spent hunched at the same spot, a sigh of relief leaving you shortly after.

But then there came the next dilemma– getting home this late into the night. Chan didn’t live far from campus, and thus was near the dorms as well, but the thought of you walking home in relative darkness by yourself didn’t sit well with him. 

“You can stay here if you want. You can take my bed, I’ll stay here,” he suggested. You blinked, staying silent as you processed the offer. Chan, who took the quiet as discomfort, was quick to speak up again and try to remedy it, “Or uh, I could walk you back if you’d prefer that–”

“N-No!” you quickly blurted out, face reddening slightly as you cleared your throat to speak more calmly, “I mean– I’ll stay.” Chan nodded, standing up to go up to his room with you; you didn’t need to be led there of course, you already knew where it is, but Chan needed to at least grab a few things for himself before leaving it to you for the rest of the night.

A pair of clothes to sleep in, a blanket, a pillow, his phone charger, and he’s all set. You watched him move about the room while sitting on his bed, nervously fiddling with your fingers as you did. “I’ll see you in the morning, uhm– let me know if you need anything, yeah? I’ll be on the couch, so.. Yeah, good night,” he said with a slight smile before he departed, doing his best to close the door behind himself despite how full his hands were.

Another sigh leaves his lips now, followed by another check of the time; it’s already 2:30 a.m. He doubts you're still awake, and even if you are, he's decided he won't bother you. But if he’s going to lose sleep no matter what, he hopes it's from thinking about you comfortably wrapped in his blankets upstairs, instead of any of the other things that attempt to gnaw at him.

How on earth were you supposed to sleep?

You were in Chan’s bed, surrounded by the smell of his cologne, his stuffed toy wolf clutched closely to your chest because you always held something to fall asleep, but obviously didn’t have any of your own plushies here to do so. And God, your heart absolutely refuses to be still no matter how mundane of a situation you’re in.

Who cares if you’re spending the night in the bed of the guy best friend that you’ve started to develop a crush on? It doesn’t matter! You’re going insane, you think– you can’t take it.

You’re stupid, delusional, thinking about how it'd be if he was still here with you, what it’d be like if he were laying down next to you. Wrapping his arm around you, pulling you against his chest, speaking to you in a gravelly, tired voice and– please brain stop!!

You pour all your mental effort into stopping yourself from thinking about it any further as embarrassment flushes over you. Isn’t this kind of cringey..? Getting a crush on the first guy to ever be nice to you seems so.. Cliche? Pathetic? What is even wrong with you? But when you look at him, you can’t help it. 

He may look intimidating to others, but you’ve seen the truth of him since becoming his friend. Maybe it’s just puppy love that will fade with time, but you can’t help but admire him. And maybe that admiration is being fueled by the fact that he’s also incredibly handsome, but that’s besides the point. Underneath the aloof exterior, he’s sweet, caring, humble, generous.. How could you not like him? 

And you think about the first time you saw him smile– really smile, full and bright, teeth showing and eyes crinkled as a laugh escaped him. It was so beautiful, you felt like time slowed down around you.

You learned that he had dimples that day; cute ones that made his smile endearing beyond explanation, and that you hoped you’d see again and again and again from that day forward. You loved the way he looked when he was happy, when his hard exterior melted away to reveal the soft features he hid underneath.

Every day spent with Chan was full of a joy you thought you’d lost the capability to feel. You found yourself endlessly enamored by him, by every thing you learned about him; every interaction you had with him, intensified the feeling that welled in your chest.

He was so considerate of you, always watching out for you and making sure you were okay when you were out together. Like the time a few weeks ago when all of you were out together, celebrating Felix’s birthday.

You also met the other guys Chan considered his brothers that day; Jisung and Seungmin, who also had birthdays very close to Felix’s, Minho, who was close in age to Chan and equally as aloof in appearance, and Jeongin, the youngest of them all, though only by a small margin. It was fun to watch them all interact together over dinner, their dynamics quickly becoming apparent.

Changbin, who was typically loud to begin with, became even more so in the presence of Jisung, the pair becoming so explosively loud and chaotic that even the quieter ones like Chan and Minho would end up roped into whatever shouting was currently taking place. You’d laugh as you observed the chaos, and you enjoyed seeing a new side of Chan– one who let loose and had fun, who smiled freely and laughed just as much, who was beautiful beyond words. 

You learned a lot about them that day too– about how Minho moved to the opposite end of the city to go to vet school and how Jisung moved into a small apartment with him to make sure he was taking care of himself (and to help care for the cats the older had adopted shortly after.)

Hyunjin, who you already knew was an avid painter, expressed his desire to own a studio some day, and Felix, your favorite barista and baker, talked about all the times he failed at a dessert and forced the others to eat them anyway so they wouldn’t go to waste. 

Seungmin was scouted to play baseball, and so moved pretty far away from the others now, but still loved to come back to the city and visit when he could, often with a camera in hand to capture moments he found beautiful. Jeongin was taking a gap year before going to school again, trying to make sure that he was sure about what he wanted to do with his life before committing himself to the hours of work and money spent. 

You were in awe of them, truly; they were all so different, yet came together and loved one another so genuinely, as real brothers would. And they all unanimously agreed that Chan was the one who held them together, the one who supported them through everything and helped them during the hardest times in their life.

You loved how anytime someone praised him, or had anything even remotely positive to say about him, his ears would light up red with embarrassment as he turned his gaze away from them. You knew Chan was softie underneath, that was obvious to you from the day you met him, but it was still nice to have your opinion of him affirmed by others, to know that was the kind of person he always was.

And he expressed that he didn’t see his actions as praiseworthy, always feeling awkward when it was brought up. To Chan, it was just human decency to help someone if he had the means to– a feeling that stemmed from the time he spent alone and in need of help when he was a child. 

He was well acquainted with that pain, knew how miserable it was, and he didn’t want anyone else to experience it. He couldn’t ignore someone who was clearly in need, so he always helped; even if he wasn’t in the best of circumstances himself, he would do whatever he could for them, no questions asked. And he never asked for anything in return, because to him, seeing the person back on track and happy again was reward enough. 

You knew every kind thing they said about Chan was no exaggeration, knew first hand that he truly was the kindest person you’d ever met. He put on a mask of toughness, sure, but there was no one in the world who was as generous and caring as him. You looked at him with pure adoration, which certainly didn’t go unnoticed by Hyunjin, who smiled to himself whenever he saw the way you’d blush or smile whenever Chan looked back your way. 

And when you were leaving the restaurant together, each saying your goodbyes as you readied yourselves to head in your separate directions, you saw him. It was pure coincidence– Jae was across the street, talking with some friends as he stood outside the bar smoking, completely unaware of the fact that you were even in the area.

Chan looked at you, noticed the way you suddenly stopped in place and just stared across the street, and he followed your gaze to the culprit. He stepped close to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and pulling you closer to his body.

“It’s okay, he didn’t see you,” Chan comforted you, bringing his other hand to your face, directing you to look away from Jae and at him instead, “and even if he did, I’m right here. Just stick close to me, okay?” You nodded slowly, wondering if the thumb that rested on your cheek could feel the way heat rose to it.

The others who were there, a group consisting of just the 3 who lived with Chan, just observed, not daring to step in until the moment was over. They all knew Jae well, and were also well aware of the things he’d done to you, at least on the surface level, and they promised that they’d look out for you too. 

You thanked them earnestly at the time, honestly unable to think of a single time you’d ever felt such solidarity, deeply appreciative of them, and of Chan, who brought you all together. But now, as they all stood there watching, they felt it’d be best to leave it to Chan, who you quite obviously had feelings for. Hyunjin and Felix shared a knowing look, deciding to drag Changbin down the street with them before he’d have the opportunity to accidentally interrupt your moment. 

Butterflies erupted in your stomach as he squeezed your shoulder, leading you to walk away from the area with him. There was no romantic intent, you knew that– he was keeping you close to make sure you were okay, to ensure that you were within his reach should anything happen. Chan was a kind hearted person who did anything needed to protect others and there was nothing special about this interaction, you knew that. 

But regardless of all those rational thoughts you were repeating to yourself, you couldn’t stop the way it made your heart skip a beat, couldn’t help the way his care for you made your knees weak and face hot. Because even if he never liked you the way you liked him, he still cared about you, and that was enough fuel for your growing crush on him, enough to make your heart beat out of control. 

Was he still awake? Chan told you before that he was an insomniac, so it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that he was just as wide awake as you are. Should you go check?

There was certainly no harm in it– if he did happen to be asleep, you’d just quietly slip back to his room and let him get some much needed rest, while you'd try again to get some sleep. There was really no reason not to go. 

Carefully, you rise from the bed, wolf plush tucked safely in your arms and blanket wrapped around you, quietly opening the door and exiting out into the hallway. You’re careful not to make the stairs creak as you make your way down to the living room where Chan is supposed to be, and he immediately comes into view once you’re at the bottom.

It’s obvious he’s awake, phone screen brightly illuminating the otherwise pitch black space. He hears your footsteps as you step closer, lifting his head just enough to see who is approaching him this late at night.

He looks surprised to see you for a moment, an emotion you can’t read in the relative darkness on his face for just a second before he’s sitting up and scooting to the side to make room for you on the couch next to him. “Can’t sleep either, huh?” he asks as you plop down in the spot he’s provided for you next to him, “Is my bed uncomfortable?” 

“Oh, no! Your bed was fine, it’s just..” I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and it was driving me crazy, you think, but don't admit, “.. a lot on my mind, I guess.” He hums in acknowledgment, definitely feeling the same way; but he didn’t need to drag you down with all that.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he offers, but you quickly shake your head, mortified at the thought of revealing your crush on him. That’s the last thing you should do. “Thanks, but no, I just want to take my mind off it.” 

He chuckles a little at your response, opting instead to change the subject, “I see you have Wolf Chan with you.” Wolf Chan? You look down at your arms, the cute wolf toy’s head peeking out from between your arms.

“Oh, he has a name?” you ask and he nods, smiling ever so slightly as he speaks. “Yeah, kinda embarrassing but I had a huge wolf phase as a kid, so my mom and dad got me him for my birthday. Named him after myself cause, you know, kid brain thought it was cool.” 

“That’s cute! When is your birthday?” you ask, hoping that you’d have the chance to plan something nice for him as thanks for all he’s done for you in the time you’ve known him. “October 3rd,” he answers swiftly, and you frown.

“..What? It already passed then? Why didn’t you tell me?” your frown transitions into a pout, sad at the realization that you all celebrated his brother's birthdays but not his. 

“I.. don’t really celebrate it. Wolf Chan– he was the last gift I got from my parents, the last birthday I had with them before.. Yeah. So I just.. Don’t acknowledge my birthday anymore, I guess?” Your heart sinks, not only because of how sad that is, but because you’re holding something clearly so important and personal to him without even having known it. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know– should I go put him back?” 

“Nah, don’t worry. I like it actually,” he smiles softly, sincerely, “I haven’t touched him in a long time myself, so.. He needs the attention. I’m sure he was feeling neglected.” You smile back, relief washing over you instantly, thankful that you didn’t unintentionally make a drastic error. “Well I hope you know, I can’t let your birthday go ignored now that I know it.”

“I expected that,” he replies, knowing full well you’d share that sentiment with his brothers. They still always wish him a happy birthday and get him a gift despite how often he expresses that they shouldn’t.

“Can I ask you something? It’s okay if you don’t want to answer,” you ask carefully, voice quiet and unsure, an underlying worry carried in your tone. Chan swallows, already anticipating what the question will be, the same questions he’s answered countless times, but never gets any easier to talk about.

“What they were like? You must still think about them a lot.” Oh. That wasn’t the question he was expecting. He’s used to being asked what happened, how he's coping, if there’s anything he needs– no one has ever asked about what they were like when they were still here.

He anticipates pity, or a sympathy that while mostly appreciated, makes him feel incredibly awkward and uncomfortable. Even with practice, there’s still times where he doesn’t know how to react, a terse, “I’m fine, thanks,” leaving him as he plots the quickest way out of the conversation. 

Safe to say, Chan isn’t good about talking about his feelings, or even feeling them to begin with for that matter. Apart from moments of weakness, when his facade cracks due to the mounting pressure and overload of emotions, he shares only what he deems necessary, never offering more than the minimum of what is needed.

Even when it came to his brothers, who he trusts more than anyone else, it was hard for him to go beyond his practiced response, taking him a great amount of emotional effort to do so. And he's not confident he can talk with you about how good they were without breaking down, but he can still share a little of how he feels, can't he?

“I do,” he answers after a moment, voice ever so slightly wavering. It's a simple response, sure, but not for Chan– nothing related to this topic is ever simple or easy for him. But somehow he feels comfortable enough to try.

And maybe that’s because it’s encroaching 3am and lack of sleep really takes a toll on one’s mental defenses, but he doesn’t think that’s all there is to it. He trusts you, as he does anyone he’s grown close to, but it takes more than trust alone to be able to open up.

You could trust someone with your life and still struggle to express an emotion, still have the words you want to say die in your throat. Maybe it’s because of what else he feels when he’s around you– an unfamiliar emotion that encroaches on his chest whenever you’re in the room with him. 

The one that intensifies his desire to protect you from people like Jae, the one that leads to him wanting to talk to you at all hours about any and every thing that comes to your mind, the one that makes his heart pick up when you smile at him and always makes him return the smile despite himself.

He wants to share with you, he realizes; share everything he can, from his happy moments to his sad ones, his thoughts, his feelings, his entire life even. He wants nothing to be off limits, to be his authentic self before you, even if who he is deep down is ugly and scarred.

“Even just before you came downstairs, I was thinking of them,” he continues, his honesty unfamiliar to himself but not unwelcome; it’s not that he’d lie about anything he felt, but he was just.. Avoidant. He didn’t want to talk about it, refused to even, most times.

But you– you make him want to be honest, not just with you, but with himself. Maybe it’s because of the feelings for you that have begun to accumulate in his heart, or maybe because he knows how similar you are. The circumstances were different, but the feelings were the same; isolation, sadness, hopelessness.

No one to turn to, no one to rely on, fighting all by yourself, with only your own ability to pick yourself back up to carry you forward. Chan knew first hand how painful that existence is, how much it hurts to have nothing, no one. He’s also come to learn, time and time again, that even when you’ve found your place in the world, the void lingers.

The hole in his chest never closes– even if he can stop it’s growth, it never shrinks, never collapses or recedes. There’s reasons for that, he knows; it’s his own fault for not allowing himself to feel, to share, his hesitancy to allow anyone past arm’s length or to chip at his walls.

He doesn’t want that with you– if he wants something with you beyond this, beyond the boundaries of simple friendship, he needs to do more, feel more, share more. It was something he thought he would be terrified to do, an irrational fear that your opinion of him would change if he wasn't as strong as he appeared to be; but now that he's met with the opportunity, instead of fear, he feels.. safe? 

“I lost them really young, you know; I was just a kid with a lot of grief he didn’t know how to handle, and the people who took me in didn’t care. ‘Suck it up,’ ‘get over it,’ ‘stop being a baby and grow up,’ shit like that. Didn’t matter that I was only 7 and lost everything, I should just be grateful they gave me a place to sleep and eat."

"Got emancipated at 16 to get away from them, dropped out of school cause I couldn’t balance it with how much I had to work, and I wasn’t gonna miss it anyways. And here I am now,” Chan is hesitant to meet your gaze when he finishes talking, worried about what feeling it might conjure in him when he sees your eyes laden with sympathy. 

Normally, the sympathy of others make him feel sick. He hates the pity, hates the attention that comes with having his vulnerabilities on display, hates the words they offer as consolation. But he doesn't hate it for you– the only thing you ever make him feel is warm. So, so warm after a lifetime of cold.

You move across the couch and wrap your arms around him in a hug, an action he didn’t expect– it's the first time you're hugging him. “That must’ve been so hard..” you say softly, care and concern for him evident in the way you speak to him.

He blinks, a lump forming in his throat that normally he’d try to ignore, to push away and act as if he’s fine, but this time he doesn’t. He’s choked up, he’s emotional, and for once, that’s okay. 

Carefully, he wraps his arms around you as well, his head resting atop yours as he lets out a shaky exhale. “Can we stay like this for a while?” he asks quietly, his fingers clutching at your shirt, as if afraid you’ll leave him the moment he lets go.

“Of course,” you assure him, moving just enough to make yourself more comfortable and settle in against him, “as long as you need.” He mumbles a ‘thank you’, to which you hum in response, following his lead as he lays back and settles with you in his arms. 

You stay like that for a long time– long enough for your breathing to slow, eyes closed and arms beginning to fall from the hug as you drift off. Your head has sank to his chest, his heartbeat, that started fast and erratic, has slowed to a comforting, steady rhythm that lulled you to sleep.

Chan is careful to pull the blanket up to your shoulders, ensuring that you at least are covered and will stay plenty warm until you wake up. He closes his eyes, keeping his arms wrapped around you under the blanket, wanting to keep you close and not let go.

He doesn’t know if he’ll always have this with you; this close comfort, this feeling of peace and calm, of having you in his arms and being able to be held by you, while holding you in return. He likes it, wants it engraved in his memory in case it never happens again, to always remember the way you felt, the way you cared, the safety he felt with you. A small, but cherished moment, special and important to him beyond words.

Was it okay to be this happy? It’s something Chan thought about lately, whenever he had finished spending a day with you, laying in his bed and playing them over in his mind, making sure every little detail was memorized.

The way you smiled, the way you laughed, the feel of your soft skin when he touched your hand or you hugged him tight, the way your perfume lingered in the room long after you’d left it. Did he deserve to be happy?

He certainly didn’t feel like he did, but he welcomed it all the same, too selfish to let go of the small piece of joy he’d obtained. His feelings for you had grown considerably, and he was sure it was obvious to his brothers, who never failed to notice the way he'd change when he was around you; they just knew him too well and were around him too much to not notice something different about his behavior. 

He liked you a lot, and there was certainly no way he’d be able to deny it if they asked about it. They didn’t overtly ask about it though of course, more often opting to make subtle nods to their knowledge of it or make suggestions like ‘wouldn’t it be fun if Y/N came too? You should invite her!’ when they had plans together.

Sometimes they even lightly poked some fun, one instance that sticks in Chan's mind being when Hyunjin wanted to show him what he called an “adorable picture.” It was of you and Chan, asleep on the couch together that first time you stayed the night.

Your head on his chest, his arm loosely wrapped around you, blanket having fallen from your shoulders just enough to make Chan’s hand on your back come into view. His face flushed when he saw it, ears burning as they turned red. Hyunjin was right, it was an adorable picture, and Chan was embarrassed beyond belief to see the moment captured. 

Hyunjin giggled in a mischievous sort of delight upon seeing the older’s reaction, evidently very pleased with the result he obtained. Chan's typical response in a situation where his feelings are exposed like this would be to play it cool and act like it’s not a big deal, which truthfully, he didn’t want to do.

Why should he pretend he doesn’t like you as much as he does? Especially after he’s decided he’ll do his best to be honest with himself, and by extension, the others in his life (you especially.) Even if it’s embarrassing, or uncomfortable because he’s not used to his emotions being obvious and out on display, it’s what he wants, needs even.

He needs to let them out if he’s going to be a better man than he was the day before, to be deserving of you when the time is right. So instead, he does what would normally be the unthinkable– he owns it. No denial, no avoidance, no playing it off as less severe or important than it really is to him. 

“Can you.. send it to me? I– I want to keep it,” Chan asked, easily the most shy and embarrassed to ask a question he had ever been in his entire life. Hyunjin blinked, initially surprised, but then immediately smiled. “Of course Channie-hyung! You should send it to Y/N too, I’m sure she’d like it,” he said as he eagerly opened his message tab, clicking Chan’s name to send the photo he took. 

“You could send it to her,” Chan responded before the words following fully sank in. Would you? “You think she’d want it too?” he asked, wondering if Hyunjin could tell how much hope lied in his question.

“Why wouldn’t she? You’re friends, aren’t you? And it’s a cute memory,” Hyunjin said, doing his best to convey why he thinks you’d want it without revealing that you absolutely have as bad of a crush on Chan as he does on you. (And it’s not like you explicitly told him either; it’s just that you’re as obvious about it and easy to read as Chan is.) 

“Right, yeah, of course.” Was it silly to hope that Hyunjin would say something like ‘obviously because she likes you!’ …Yeah. Definitely. But when he looked at the picture, it gave him hope that maybe you felt the same way; and if you didn’t, that maybe you would in the future, after he gave his earnest effort to be someone good. 

His next bit of hope came during a get together for Hyunjin’s birthday. The weather had just begun to turn warm, the days slowly getting longer and longer, allowing for more frequent outings. Thus, by Hyunjin’s own request, you went to have some fun downtown, hitting up local art scenes and scouting out opportunities for the birthday boy to get some fresh, new supplies.

It turned out to be a long day, with Hyunjin’s interest piqued towards various different places and sights, and as night rolled in most of the group had empty stomachs and aching legs. You all settled for having dinner at the house, picking up takeout and a birthday cake on the way back.

You seemed different after eating dinner, Chan noticed. You were sitting alone on the couch away from the group in the kitchen, who were crowding around the birthday cake waiting for a slice. You were watching them with an almost somber expression, and Chan could’ve sworn your eyes were fixated on him in particular. 

Had he done something to upset you? There was nothing he could recall, but he wasn’t exactly well versed or experienced with understanding or handling the complexities of feelings. He could easily imagine a world in which he unintentionally said or did something wrong, but he hoped that maybe you were just tired, and Chan only thought you were looking at him in sadly, when in reality, exhaustion was just catching up to you. 

And really, you were staring at Chan, but not for the reason he feared; he hadn’t done a single thing to upset you– quite the contrary, actually. He was good– not just to you, but to everyone. You watched the way he’d shoulder everything, how he’d support endlessly and rarely accept anything back, always so selfless and caring, withstanding anything thrown his way with generous consideration. 

You learned a lot about Chan in your time with him; about his youth, what his family dynamic used to be like, how even before he dropped out he had a bad reputation at his school for appearing stand-offish and cold. That reputation followed him for a majority of his life after leaving as well, with most people who knew him having a great dislike for him due to their perceived vision of him and the half-truths (or outright lies) they believed in.

It was only people like you and his brothers, who took the time to know him beyond the superficial front, that knew what a great person he truly was. And truthfully, it angered you; why were people so quick to judge someone they didn’t know?

Chan was the exact opposite of what people made him out to be. He wasn’t violent or cruel, nor was he scary or someone to be avoided at all costs. He was just a boy, now a man, who had suffered far too much pain and cruelty for someone his age, who was just doing his best to navigate the world with the limited resources he had. What was so wrong with that? 

But despite all the misconceptions of others, the burdens he carried, or the responsibilities he had, you never once heard him complain about any of it, or show any sign of annoyance. Because despite what people might think about him, the people close to him knew who he truly was– someone who lived his life with compassion and kindness, who was misunderstood but not ill-intentioned, always trying his best despite the difficulties that came his way. 

Sometimes you would wonder, though– is he really okay? Chan had dealt with so much, enough to easily break down even the most resolute of people. And as much as he shared, there was equally as much that you didn’t know; about what he felt, if he ever received as much as he gave, if he was truly happy.

You did your best to ensure he was. You always returned whatever favor he gave you, strived to be a reassuring presence for him as much as he was for you, but it was hard to know if that was enough.  You wanted to ask, but you didn’t know how best to broach the subject, or if he’d even be willing to talk about it if you did.

He had opened up to you before, during late night chats or if something he saw reminded him of a memory he held, but the moments themselves were quite fleeting, and you worried about him. You always worried about him, no matter where you were or what you were doing, because simply put, you loved him. 

You weren’t in love with him (you definitely were), but he was an undeniably important person in your life, who you had a lot of love and care for. He was your friend, and you wanted the best for him.

You’d never force him to share with you or tell you anything he didn’t want to of course, but you hoped he knew that he could if he wanted to. You hoped he knew that he never had to be scared or uncertain when it came to opening up to you, you hoped he knew that you would always listen to him and be there for him. 

Chan approached you carefully, working up his courage to talk to you and see if you were okay, and to know if there was an apology he owed you for some unknown grievance. “Are you okay? What’s got you so deep in thought tonight?” he’d asked, trying his best to not show how nervous he felt; you’d stopped looking at him, but he could tell even from afar that you were focused on something.

“Oh, I..” You hesitated a moment, wondering how you should best phrase what your honest thoughts were. You took a quick glance towards the kitchen where everyone else was, noting that everyone still seemed to be involved in their own conversations and antics, not paying any mind to the two of you. That made it a little easier; you think you’d die of embarrassment if they heard what you planned to say next. 

“I was thinking about you actually,” you said quietly after turning your gaze back to Chan. What surprised him wasn’t just how openly you admitted it, but how you didn’t seem the least bit angry or upset with him like he was worried you were.

So.. what about him had you so deep in thought, then? “What about me..?” he asked hesitantly, hoping for the best but still slightly scared he was reading you completely wrong. 

You swallowed before continuing, worried that you were somehow going to offend him by bringing up what you were thinking. While you felt like you knew Chan fairly well at this point, people can still become defensive or agitated when asked about something personal, and that’s the last thing you wanted him to feel.

But he’s looking at you expectantly, eyes fixed solely on you as he waited to hear what you had to say, so there was no getting out of it now. “I was wondering if you are okay lately. Like.. really okay, and not just saying you are so we don’t worry about you.” 

Oh. He was completely stunned by your words, unexpectedly taken aback. No one had ever said that to him before, and he didn’t know how to respond to such earnest concern for him. Obviously, he had been asked if he was okay plenty of times in his life, but never in a way such as this, that insinuated there was a lot more hiding below the surface.

And there was. Deep buried feelings gnawed at him, begging to be acknowledged, but he always pushed them down further, reasoning that now wasn’t the time and he’d confront them later, when the time was right. 

But when was the right time? It never came, no time ever feeling like the right one. Or maybe Chan just spent so much time avoiding his feelings that now he didn’t know how to confront them anymore. He was so used to sharing so little, that even his earnest efforts were still small in comparison to what most others were able to do.

But how did you realize that about him? Was it just coincidence, or were you already so acclimated to him that you could recognize the way his brain worked? “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” you said after his prolonged pause, worried that you did in fact make him uncomfortable as you feared.

“I– No, I was just surprised,” he finally responded, turning to look in the direction of his friends just as you had done a moment prior. They were all joking around, laughing loudly as they made the birthday boy wear a stupid party hat they picked up and putting frosting on his face, leaving Chan in his own little bubble with you. 

He turned his gaze back to you, wanting to say something, anything, but finding it difficult to speak, as usual. His words were trapped in his throat, refusing to come to the surface no matter how much effort he poured into trying. You took notice of his hesitancy, and decided to speak again in the hopes of giving him some comfort.

“I just– you’ve done a lot for me since I met you, more than anyone ever has, so… I want to be there for you too. If you need it, I mean, because I really, really care about you..” Your face heats up a bit when you’re finished speaking, feeling nervous from the admission. 

This must feel so out of the blue from Chan’s perspective, and that thought made you feel silly for bringing it up in the middle of a birthday party in the first place. And on top of that, you’d openly said how much you care about him, which is embarrassing all on its own. Even if it’s not a love confession by any means, it feels similar enough that it makes your heart pound like crazy. 

Chan’s face grew hot, positively burning, heart rate picking up drastically. He hopes you don’t notice the obvious red creeping on his features, or hear how fast his heart is beating against his chest. It wasn’t just the fact that he hadn’t expected this moment to happen that made him react this way, but the way you expressed your concern for him.

You wanted to support him, you wanted to make sure he was okay, you were thinking about him. Normal things, sure, but when coming from someone you have undeniable feelings for, it’s enough to make your blood pressure skyrocket. 

He swallowed, preparing himself to make another attempt at speaking. “Thank you, I really appreciate that,” he said, offering a timid smile your way to ease your growing anxiety as he continued, “It might be hard for me, but– but I’ll try, at the very least.. To tell you if I’m not okay, I mean.”

You returned his smile earnestly, evidently pleased with his response. You couldn’t ask him to open up easily or suddenly share all his close-held concerns and deeply buried thoughts, but the fact that he’d try and was open to it was what’s important. If he could trust you the way you had grown to trust him, that’d be more than enough for you to be happy.

From a distance, Felix had taken notice of the way you and Chan hadn’t joined in on the chaos of chasing Hyunjin around the kitchen to cover him with icing, and paused to look in your direction. The others stopped too when they noticed his pause, following his gaze to be met with the same sight of Chan’s burning face and the beaming smile you held towards him. They had hope, as much as Chan did, that there would come a day where the two of you would become a couple. 

Was it okay to be this happy? Was it okay for Chan to hope that you returned his feelings? Was it okay to plan his confession, to wonder how his life would look if you said yes, to picture himself kissing you and holding you close at all hours of the day?

There were still things he had to do first, things to get out of and people to get away from, but you were his driving force to do that. You were the motivation to turn his life into something better, the hope he needed to get through it all. 

Even if he didn’t deserve it, you made it worth trying. His life, which was plagued with bad memories and remorse for actions taken, became brighter and more livable when you were there to share it with him. Maybe it was okay to have someone to lean on, someone to confide in and share his burden with, someone to ground him and remind him that happiness is possible for him, and that it doesn’t always have to be a fleeting hope or dream. 

That’s what you were for him– hope in human form, a dream come true. Everything he wanted, everything he needed, beautiful and perfect in every way. And if you accepted his feelings, he’d never stop showing his appreciation to you, he’d shower you with all the love you could handle and then some, making sure you always knew just how much you meant to him.

There were many things in this life that left Park Jaehyung feeling resentful; the way adults expected absolute obedience from him, the way he was expected to be an exemplary student with no flaws, and the way society projected their version of ‘success’ onto him. He wanted to do what he wanted to do when he wanted to do it, with no one to tell him what is or isn’t proper.

All he wanted in life was to have fun and live by his own terms, consequences be damned. If he wanted to smoke, he’d do it. If he wanted to party, he’d do it. And if he wanted to get with a girl, even one who absolutely loathed his existence, he’d do it. So, what by far angered him more than anything else was the way Bang Chan had thrown himself into your life. 

Jae would say that he knew Chan and his crew fairly well, often finding themselves within the same spaces. And from an outside perspective, comparisons definitely could be made between them; after all, how different from each other could some ex-school delinquents be from a shady drop out that no one gave a shit about, and his friends that followed him around like lost puppies?

They’d often find themselves rooted in the same places, attending the same parties, pissing off or scaring the same people; but that was the extent of any similarity between them. Contrary to what an outsider may believe, Jae absolutely hated Chan, and anyone who would look at them and come to the conclusion that they were friends were blatant fucking morons. 

From Jae’s perspective, Chan was pretentious and irritating; he always had a holier than thou attitude, looking down on Jae and his friends as if he was any better. Who was Chan to preach about morals and principles? Who gives a fuck about any of that bullshit?

Jae certainly didn’t, and he was tired of being told he was ‘in the wrong.’ If Chan wanted to spend his whole life worrying about whether or not what he was doing was right or wrong, he could, but Jae wasn’t going to listen to it. Besides, it was pretty fucking ironic to get lectured by a “professional fixer" of all people. He really should drop the “I’m better than you” act.

But for the most part, Jae could live his everyday life without interacting with Chan, or seeing any of his loyal idiots. The occasional glare on the street or punch thrown at a party was the extent of their relationship, if you could even call it that. As long as both sides minded their own business, there wasn’t much conflict to be had.

Sure, Jaehyung would love to instigate a problem given how much he disliked them, but he wasn’t stupid enough to start a fight he wouldn’t assuredly win. Some might accuse him of cowardice, but he would argue that it was just being smart. There was nothing to be gained from a losing battle; it was better to bide his time, and wait for the right moment. And there was a critical piece missing in the “right moment” that he still needed; you. 

For as long as he could remember, Jae found school pointless. It was repetitive, boring, and everyone around him was exceedingly fake. They all wore such obvious masks, trying (and failing, in Jae’s opinion) to appear without fault. No one was perfect and he found it pitiful to even try and pretend they were.

No matter who you are or what you do, something will be flawed. There will always be something wrong with you, always something there for someone to criticize. So what was the point of it all? By the time he entered high school he was used to this monotony and the ignorance of his peers. 

And that’s when he saw you for the first time; shy, vulnerable, unmasked you. You weren’t trying to project anything to anyone that wasn’t authentically you, though at first he couldn’t tell if that was intentional or not. Maybe you simply had no reason to, or you were comfortable not to, or maybe didn’t even realize how different you were amongst the people he’d grown to hate.

Whatever the reason, he was intrigued by your ‘realness’ in a sea of two faced, judgemental people. You were smart but not boastful, kind but not pretentious, beautiful but seemingly modest; and he liked it. 

At first, his fixation with you started with simple curiosity driven observation. You were always at the top of the class but never once looked down on anyone below you. And while he personally found studying incredibly tedious and pointless, he did oddly admire how much you devoted yourself to it.

You weren’t born smart, at least he assumed so from how often he witnessed you studying, rather you reached your heights through effort and determination. And instead of finding it a worthless effort like he would if it were someone else, he found himself meeting a strange feeling he couldn't name. 

He wasn’t sure why, but watching you give your earnest effort to your studies didn’t piss him off like it did with everyone else. Normally he’d tell someone like you that they were wasting their time– studying was stupid, school was stupid, and anyone who cared about it was stupid as well. So why didn’t he have that same sentiment towards you? Why did he want to encourage you? 

Why did he want to always look at you? What was it about you that infatuated him so much? He could have any girl he wanted, ones who lined up with his view of the world and he could woo as easily as he could tie his shoe, but instead he always found his gaze landing on you.

To like someone like you went against everything he ever told himself, but maybe that was okay. Maybe you could change his perspective, make him the kind of person that could care about the shit he's supposed to.  

That’s why he approached you that day. He didn’t tell any of his friends what he was feeling or about his intentions to get to know you– it was something he wanted to do for himself. He didn’t want to look at you from afar anymore, he wanted to be next to you. He wanted to talk to you, get to know you, find out what makes you the person you are. 

And then his friend fucking ruined it. Maybe it was Jae’s own fault for always putting himself in the leader position, for being the kind of person who can’t let someone else take charge, because that meant he had people waiting on him.

In hindsight, it was obvious someone would notice his absence from the group and come seek him out, but it still pissed him off. And what pissed him off even more were the words his friend spoke. 

“I knew it! You do like her!”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Now what was he supposed to do? His friend’s smug fucking grin was infuriating. Who was he to look at Jae like that? He couldn’t admit he genuinely liked you or say he wanted to get to know you, he had a reputation to maintain.

So, he did the opposite of what he truly wanted to do. He treated you the same way he treated the girls he had flings with, acting like you were some lovesick puppy who couldn’t handle that he didn’t like you the way you liked him. 

You were going to hate him after that, he knew it; and maybe he was stupid for even thinking he could have genuine friendship with someone like you given the kind of guy he was. And why should he want that?

He doesn’t do shit like that, he never has, and the fact that you even managed to get into his head and make him doubt the way he’s lived so far pissed him off. You were just a girl, at the end of the day. 

And so his complicated, unresolved feelings of frustration and hatred were endlessly unleashed upon you, the undeserving outlet for his confusion and stubborn desire to never change his ways for anyone. He’d live his life the way he wanted, regardless of what anyone had to say about it, and like-minded people could come along for the ride as long as they recognized him as the one on top of it all. 

And you, the one he liked for a fleeting moment before it all came down on him; he wouldn’t let you go. Because whether you liked him or hated him, you wouldn’t be able to ignore him. As long as you felt something for him, even if that feeling was hate, fear, or dread, it was a feeling for him, and he’d take anything from you he could, because that was the best he was ever gonna get. 

When he saw you at that party, it felt like fate. God didn’t do favors for men like him, but maybe he could start to believe in shit like that if he kept getting blessed like this. When graduation day came, he was sure he’d never see you again. You were moving to god-knows-where, while he’d stay stuck in this shitty city with his shitty friends, doing the same shit he always does. 

Well, his time with you couldn’t last forever; this was the inevitable conclusion, after all. He’d just crash wherever he felt like it, work when he felt like it, and maybe get a girl on his arm to take your place when he felt like it. But then he saw you, at this random ass party he went to by chance, purely cause his friends were going and booze was promised. 

You hadn’t moved all that far, it turned out. You were still within his reach, and he had you now. Oh, and the look you gave him when your eyes met; he knew he missed it but damn, did it light a fire in him. He had you again, he had you, and then Chan fucking ruined it, like he ruins everything he comes in contact with. 

It was okay, he thought. There would be more chances, and Jae could be assured of the fact that no one fucking likes Chan, and you wouldn’t either. Now that he knew you weren’t all too far from where you grew up, he could find you again, and relive his glory days before they ever even faded. But every fucking time he saw you again, Chan was there, ruining it. 

Fuck, it infuriated him. And the way you looked at him? What the fuck was that? The way you smiled at him made him absolutely sick; Jae never knew you could smile like that, and why would he? He never did anything to warrant something like that from you. But if he didn’t get to have it, then why did Chan? Chan didn’t deserve shit, and especially not you. 

You smiled at him like he was the world, stared at him with twinkling eyes and a flushed face, let him wrap his arm around you and hold your hand with the most shy delight Jae had ever seen. And it all went to Chan? All your pretty looks and radiant smiles were for him? No, he couldn’t take that. If there was one thing Jae was going to do, it was going to be making sure he ruined it for Chan, the way that Chan ruined everything for him. 

And finally, his patience was rewarded, because he sees you walking alone in a shopping plaza not all too far away from where you go to school. It’s a popular spot for the local college students, carrying everything they need to get through their daily lives, as well as a few luxuries.

It’s not all that busy at this time of day however; it’s still fairly early on a Friday evening, and if Jae had to guess, that’s precisely why you’re here now, instead of an hour or two later when there will be a rush of students all looking to do some shopping or have a bit of weekend fun. 

He wasn’t here for you, having come instead to look for a hook-up, but he’s not going to ignore a perfectly good opportunity when it’s presented to him. He wastes no time in approaching, smiling as he does, eager to put a plan in motion to bring everything Chan wants crashing down on his fucking head.

You freeze when he calls your name, heart sinking as you register the voice you’re hearing. You know it all too well, never able to forget it. Despite your better judgment screaming at you to just keep walking, you turn in the direction you heard the voice to see Jaehyung standing against one of the plaza’s many support beams.

What was he doing here? You want to believe he didn't come out looking for you purposely, but you wouldn't put it past him; he's certainly capable of it. “Long time no chat, huh? Have you missed me?” he asked with the signature condescending tone you were once so familiar with. 

“What do you want?” You ask sternly, deciding you absolutely will not entertain any of his mocking. “Wow, so hostile already,” Jae fakes a disappointed sigh as he crosses his arms, “That’s pretty brave of you given your guard dog is nowhere in sight.”

You glare at him as you stick your hands in your pockets, wanting to have your phone at the ready in case he tries something with you. “If you touch me you’ll regret it. Chan will know it was you,” you say, trying to sound braver than you feel. You had no doubt that Chan would kick Jae's ass if he did anything to you, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t try anyways if he really wanted to. 

“Yeah, you’re right, which is why I’m not gonna do any of that shit. I just wanna talk to you," Jaehyung says, and your brow immediately raises in suspicion. He just wants to talk to you? Yeah fucking right. “Talk about what? There’s nothing I want to hear from you,” you counter, and he chuckles, having fully expected a reaction like that. 

“Just hear me out. How well do you know Chan? Like really know him?” he counters back. “..Why?” you ask with a frown. You wanted to say you knew Chan well, but the truth is that there’s still a lot about him you don’t have insight on.

Despite that, you’re sure that anything Jae has to say about him isn’t going to be the truth, and you certainly won’t let anything from Jae’s mouth change how you feel about someone. Especially not Chan. 

“Mm, I see,” Jae responds, seemingly amused at the way you refuse to offer anything up. “How about this then, do you know what he does for a living?” You narrow your eyes at his question. What is he getting at by asking you something like that?

“He works at a convenience store,” you respond flatly, not wanting to give away anything you feel from his pestering. “Oh, does he? Are you sure about that?” he responds with a sarcastic smile that leaves you feeling uneasy. “What are you insinuating?” 

“Do you really think that the money he makes at a convenience store earns him enough money to pay for that big ass house he lives in? All the food they eat, their bills, school expenses, everything? Even with a hell of a lot of overtime and his friends pitching in, that’s a bit unrealistic, don’t you think?” he once again counters your question with one of his own, clearly trying to plant seeds of doubt about Chan within you. “Cmon, you’re smarter than that, why don’t you think about it harder?"

You glare at him again, refusing to listen any further or reach whatever conclusion he is attempting to bring you to. “Whatever you’re trying to say about Chan, I don’t care. Tell it to someone else.” You start to turn to walk away, feeling fed up with his game at this point, but he quickly grabs your arm to stop you. 

“Let go,” you protest as you try to tug your arm away, but he tightens his grip. “Just listen,” he says as he keeps a firm hold on you, “Chan isn’t as good as you think he is.” You scoff at his words. As if someone like him was any better?

You’d take Chan over him any day, no matter what it is you don’t know about him. “You’re going to lecture me on good people? After all you’ve done to me? Whatever Chan may or may not be involved in, I’d take my chances with him rather than spend even another second around you.” 

Jae’s face contorts in anger at your words, and he roughly throws your arm back at you. “Fine, go fuck your piece of shit criminal boyfriend and see where it gets you!” 

…What?

Jae sees the shock and confusion clearly on your face, and his usual smug smile replaces the scowl he held just a moment ago. “What, you didn’t know? He does some real bad shit in his free time, sweetheart. I wouldn’t be surprised if he gets arrested one of these days,” he returns to his mocking tone, clearly trying to get even more of a reaction out of you. 

“I don’t believe you,” you respond and he laughs, as if he expected to hear that. “Of course you don’t. But I can prove it to you.” “Prove it how?” you question despite your better judgment. You know you shouldn’t indulge Jae by leaning into whatever he was trying to make you think, but if there was some semblance of truth in his statement.. What would that mean for Chan? For his brothers, and for you?

“Meet up with me later, you’ll see then,” he says plainly and you frown in response. “I trust you even less than I believe you,” you say as you cross your arms and Jae laughs again; you certainly have gotten more of a spine since the last time he saw you. "Like you said, they'd know it was me if something happens to you. I really have nothing to gain from tricking you unless I have a death wish.” 

You narrow your eyes, contemplating the situation before making any definite decision. You supposed what he was saying is true at least; anything he tried would get back to the guys, and they’d make him regret it with no hesitation.

But even so, you were still hesitant to go along with this. You really didn’t want to give him any satisfaction by buying into whatever he was trying to tell you, but now there was a gnawing feeling in the back of your head telling you that if it was true, and Chan is a criminal, you needed to know. 

“..Fine, but don’t expect me to go anywhere private with you,” you finally say, a knot building in your stomach as you commit to seeing what Jae thinks is so terrible about Chan. “Fine with me, princess, just show up where I tell you to and you’ll see everything you need to,” he smirks at you and your stomach churns, both from the smug look on his face and the nauseating nickname.

“I’ll reach out, so don’t chicken out, ‘kay? I expect to see you,” he grins before he turns away, leaving you to resume your evening. As he gets further away, guilt and uncertainty begins to creep up on you. What if this is something you and Chan can never come back from? What if you can never trust each other again? Is it worth potentially losing someone so special to you? You hope beyond words that this isn’t a decision you’ll come to regret.

It takes Jae a week to reach out to you again, doing so on social media cause there was absolutely no way in hell you’d ever give him your phone number. You also didn’t see Chan much that week, the guilt and worry eating away at you every time you looked at him, knowing that at some point, Jae was supposedly going to present you with evidence of Chan being a bad person. You still don’t believe that he is, but you need to put this to rest yourself, and not give room for any doubts about Chan to live in your head. 

The address Jae sends you is indeed a public one, a relatively large park just outside of the city that you imagine is popular with the families that live close to it. At the time you’re going though, there definitely won’t be any families there. You have reservations about meeting up with Jae at night, even if it’s at a public place, but he insists that night is the only time that’ll work because “people don’t do shady shit during the day” apparently. 

Begrudgingly, you go to the park well before the appointed hour, passing the time on a bench until Jae shows up, having your phone at the ready just in case this is all some sort of elaborate plot to get you where he wants you. He grins when he sees you, shooting you a wave that you don’t reciprocate. “Nice to see you,” he says with a smirk as he walks up to you. 

“Can’t say the same about you,” you respond flatly, “let’s just get this over with.” “Gladly,” he responds, motioning for you to stand up. You do, hesitantly, and he walks over to a small hill at the edge of the park, walking up it and expecting you to follow.

“What are we doing?” you ask, cautiously taking steps to reach the top. “Look there,” Jae points across the street, where street lights illuminate a rather empty street, with a small alley just within your line of sight. “Just wait, this won’t take long,” he says, holding his characteristically smug smile as he leans his weight against a tree.

You frown as you turn your attention back to the street, looking around for anything you’re supposed to be noticing but aren’t, but you don’t notice anything in particular of importance. On top of that, your mind is at war with itself, one part scolding you for really following along with this, while the other demands you see it through so you can put any doubts about Chan’s character to rest.

“There we go,” Jae says enthusiastically as two figures appear on the street walking next to each other, one man that you don’t recognize and one that you definitely do- Chan.

“What is this?” you ask, not sure what’s so critically important about watching Chan walk the street with some guy you don’t know. “You’ll see, just don’t take your eyes off him,” Jae responds, pointing forward and urging you to not look away for even a moment. 

The pair step into the alley, and while there’s no light to illuminate them fully when they’re off the main street, you can still see them well enough. They’re talking, you think, calmly at first, but then it becomes more animated, with the stranger becoming increasingly more expressive with his arms and hands.

He’s.. panicked? He takes a step back, trying to put distance between himself and Chan, but then it happens- a punch thrown, by none other than Chan himself. He hits the man hard, and he crumples to the ground instantly, arms coming up to protect his head after he’s hit the floor.

That should be it, you think, but no, it continues, with Chan throwing punch after punch, unrelenting. You can hear the main cry out in pain now, his voice carrying easily to you in the otherwise silent area. You don’t understand- what is Chan doing? You’ve never seen him like this, but surely there’s a reason, right? 

Chan reaches into the man's pockets now, fishing for something, and he finds it soon enough- his wallet. You watch in disbelief as Chan takes the money and shoves it in his own pocket, throwing the wallet back at the man as if it’s worthless now. When he emerges from the alley, it’s even worse- you can see the blood on his knuckles, can see how it drips down to the ground, evidence that there was no mistake in what you saw. 

“Chan!” Jae calls out enthusiastically, rushing down the hill to make his way to him, “Thanks for the show!” Chan looks visibly surprised to see Jae running up to him, but then sighs, rolling his eyes as Jae approaches him.

You move down the hill hesitantly, not sure if Chan has noticed you’re here too, but hoping for some kind of explanation. “Why were you watching?” You can hear Chan question as you start to get to the bottom of the hill. 

“What, can’t a guy watch? It’s entertaining seeing a shitty guy get what's comin’ to him,” Jae answers and Chan scoffs before he holds his hand out to Jae, clearly waiting to be given something. “Ironic coming from you. But whatever, I did what you asked, so just pay me so we can get out of here.”

“Yeah, yeah, good doin’ business with you and shit,” Jae smiles as he reaches into his pocket, putting a large stack of bills into Chan’s hand. Jae looks back at you then, who is still standing across the street at the bottom of the park’s hill, confusion and disbelief threatening to rip your brain apart as it tries to make sense of everything.

“There you go princess, all the proof you need,” he says with a smirk; he accomplished exactly what he was hoping to- anything you had with Chan is ruined. Chan is clearly confused, and follows Jae’s gaze straight to you, who he realizes just witnessed the entire exchange. His face changes in an instant when his eyes meet yours, blood draining from his face and eyes going wide.

Jae says something to him then, but he says it so low that you can’t hear it, and Chan’s gaze remains fixed on you, as if Jae isn’t even there anymore. “Well, I’ll leave you two to sort this out. And don’t worry about the guy in the alley, he’s a good friend of mine so I’ll get him home,” he says in a smug tone, clearly happy with the situation he’s created. 

“Fuck you Jae,” you bite as you shove past him, rushing up to Chan who has begun to hurriedly step away from the scene. You hear Jae laugh behind you, but you ignore it, fixed on your goal. You need to talk to Chan. “Chan, please wait!” you call to him, doing your best to keep up with him despite how much faster he is than you.

You know what happened just now is wrong, that whatever is going on with him is bad, but you need to hear him tell you why he’s doing it, you need to know what’s going through his head. “Chan-” you’re about to plead again but he stops, allowing you to catch up with him.

He slowly turns to you, hesitant to meet your gaze even as you look up at him. Fuck, he felt so stupid. How could he believe you'd never find out about his secret life? How could he believe that one day you'd be with him happily?

He was so incredibly naive, and he hated it, hated how he had tricked himself into believing he could have normalcy and happiness with someone else. Who was he kidding? There was no way he'd ever be allowed to live a life like that. 

“..I need to call Changbin, and then I’ll take you home,” he says lowly as he takes his phone out of his pocket, and you watch as he puts some distance between you, not trying to get away from you but just far enough to have as private of a conversation with Changbin as he can.

“Hey hyung, what’s up?” Changbin’s voice comes through jovially on the other end, but he can tell immediately something is wrong when all he hears is a shaky exhale as Chan tries to find the words. “Hyung, what’s wrong?” A million possibilities race through Changbin’s mind; he knows what Chan does for extra cash, and he knows the dangers that can come from it.

He’s trying not to assume the worst, but fuck, whatever happened must be bad if Chan is choked up on the other end. “I’m gonna be late coming home tonight. I, uh.. I need to take Y/N home. She’s with me,” Chan says and Changbin is quiet for a moment as he processes the information he was given. “I thought you had a job tonight, though. Are you saying..?”

“Yeah, she saw me,” Chan interjects, not even needing to let Changbin finish his question. “Fuck, okay, just.. Take your time, alright? Don’t rush to come home, we’re fine. I’ll let the others know you'll be out a while, just take care of Y/N.”

“Yeah, I will.. Thanks, I’ll see you later,” Chan mutters into the phone before he hangs up, stuffing it back into his pocket and taking another shaky breath before he turns back to you. “Chan-” you start when you see him walking back over to you, but he quickly cuts you off.

“Let’s get you home, I didn’t park my car too far from here,” he says tersely, walking briskly towards the end of the street. You frown, but decide not to dwell on it too much; you can’t imagine what he must be feeling right now, and the last thing you want to do is make the situation even worse than it already is. 

You follow him swiftly, trying not to be concerned about the silence between you. It doesn’t take long for you to see his car, parked in a nearby empty parking lot, the only car in sight. Chan doesn’t drive much, his car basically reserved strictly for work and emergencies, so you’ve only been in it a handful of times.

You wonder now though if this is the reason he only uses it when he has to– do police know his license plate? You don’t know if you’re ready to find out the answer to that question. 

When you reach his car, he unlocks it wordlessly, and you both enter quietly, neither of you uttering a single thing even as he starts the engine and pulls onto the street. You want to try talking to him again but you aren't sure if you should even try yet; he's very clearly upset but if he's not ready to talk about it yet then there's nothing you can do. 

Truthfully, Chan desperately wants to say something, hating the silence he was subjecting you to, but found himself at a loss for words and stuck in his own head. Jae's words before he walked away rang in his mind over and over again. "If you think a good girl like her can fall in love with trash like you, you're pathetic." And it was true, he was pathetic.

It was pathetic to pretend he could have a better life than this. Pathetic to think you would always be with him. Pathetic to think anything about him was worthy of love. What kind of happy life was he hoping for when this is what his life was truly like?

He knew there was no easy way out of this kind of shit once you entered it, but at the time he really had no choice. He tried everything else possible and there was nothing left; and even with how dangerous he knew it could be he was resolved to see it through because when he began he was just a kid in desperate need of cash at any cost.  

He wishes things could be different now. He didn't want you to ever see this side of his life, to see the kinds of things he had to do to afford all of the things a person needs to survive. And while the rational part of Chan's brain was telling him there was no way you'd just walk away or hate him, it was overpowered by the wave of self loathing washing over him. 

Because even if you didn't hate him after this, could you love him? Could you even still look at him the same way you could just last week, when you gave him that bright smile you always did. Would you still want to confide in him? To rely on him? To let him rely on you? He doesn’t know if you realized it, but Chan has come to rely on you a lot. 

Not in the overt ways like asking for help or opening up about his deepest thoughts, which he only did on occasion, but in the normalcy you offered him. In your presence, Chan felt like the life he wanted was attainable, like he could leave all the bad behind him and have something good.

You were always there to distract him from the life he led privately, to give him a sense of peace. He could be comfortable around you, and allow himself to relax. He could be carefree and live in the moment instead of being stressed about what the future held for him. He could forget about all his regrets just from seeing you smiling up at him.

Late at night when insomnia was gripping him, he would look over your messages fondly and wonder what it would be like to share a bed one day. For you to be next to him on his worst nights and help lull him into a peaceful sleep that he wasn't normally rewarded. To kiss you awake and bask in how beautiful you’d be naked with the morning sun glowing around you. 

To Chan, any chance of that future with you was taken away the moment you saw the ugly truth of his life. Even if by some miracle you decided you still wanted to be around him, he knew it wouldn't be the same. There was no way your view of him wouldn't be tainted after this.

You'd become strained, being pulled away from each other little by little until nothing was left of the friendship you once held, or of the feelings he'd hoped to admit to you when he was able to leave behind the things that bound him. He should just leave your life now, before things get even worse; the pain he'd have to endure if he held on now would become unbearable.

You'd distance yourself from him, you'd meet a good guy who actually deserves you and fall in love, you'd forget all about him.. And that's how it should be. You deserved better than him; he knew he had nothing of worth to offer you. 

And he was sure in response you'd bring up how he was there for you and supported you, but anyone could do that. That was the bare minimum of a relationship. What did he have to offer you other than support? There was nothing he could think of that felt good enough or like he was worthy of anyone's time, much less yours.

It was better to get the heartbreak over with now.. it would hurt, but much less so than if he prolonged the process. He needed to just rip the bandaid off now and get it over with for both your sakes. He couldn't delay the inevitable.

You felt stiff, the silence deafening as he drove you to your dorm. You couldn't tell what Chan was feeling anymore, his face completely void of anything, as if he turned his emotions off entirely. You didn't know what to do; he cut you off when you tried to speak to him earlier, and now it seemed like anything you said now wouldn't reach him. It was as if he was running on autopilot, like he wasn't truly there with you anymore. 

It didn't take all that long to reach your street given that you were traveling by car, and you felt dread welling in your gut. You wanted to talk to him, to tell him you know he must have his reasons, that you understand that life is cruel and he's probably just doing what he has to, to tell him you understand why he didn't tell you but that you want to hear him out and be there for him regardless. You were approaching your dorm now, and you turned to look at him once again. 

He was so close but felt so far away, his face remaining devoid of emotion. His gaze didn't meet yours, instead he stared straight ahead at the street even after he parked, as if purposely avoiding your eyes. "Chan.." you start again, hoping he'll finally respond to you. You see him swallow and his hands tense up, clutching the steering wheel tighter now. 

His lower lip begins to tremble, but he tells himself he can't give in. This is what is best for you, he's sure of it. Just rip the bandaid off now, it'll be better that way. He can't make your life worse if he steps away now. He can't give himself false hope if he lets you go now. "Chan, I–" "Just go inside," he cuts you off, the pain evident in his voice despite how hard he's trying to mask it. 

"But I–" "Don't. Please don't. Just go." Tears well in your eyes, but you obliged, feeling like now isn't the time to push him on anything. Chan doesn't watch as you exit the car, nor does he acknowledge the way you look back at him one last time before you enter your dorm.

It's better this way. It's better this way. It's better this way. He lowers his head to the steering wheel, resting his forehead against his shaking hands. And for the first time in years, he really cries, knowing that you'll never look at him the same again. 

You woke up the next morning with the hopes that Chan was ready to talk to you. You texted him when you were in bed last night, telling him that you care about him and that you just want to talk to him, but he left you with no response.

You reasoned with yourself that he’d need more time; Jaehyung unveiling Chan’s deepest secret to you must have shaken him far more than you can imagine, and it makes sense that he’d need time to process. 

Chan led an undeniably hard life, you knew that well at this point; he lost his parents young, his adoptive family were terrible to him, and he dropped out and left them behind to try to make it on his own. He never shared any details about the things he had to do as a child to get by, just leaving it at simple statements that offered no further context.

And you weren’t deluded into expecting anything from him; regardless of details he did or didn’t share, you knew he had been through a lot and you weren’t going to ask anything of him that he wasn’t prepared to offer up himself. 

You figured that one day, when Chan had grown comfortable enough and was assured that you were a safe person to share the details of his life with, he’d break down his barriers on his own. All you had to do was be there for him, be consistent with your words and actions, and offer him a safe space to be his authentic self; whatever that self may be. 

And while this wasn’t the outcome you had expected, you hoped that all your efforts up until now had shown him that you were someone he could trust. You weren’t going to judge him, you weren’t going to abandon him, your opinion of him hadn’t changed with the truth. And you told him as much through messages, hoping that when he read them that he’d believe your words.

When he didn’t respond you were saddened, but it had only been a few hours since everything took place so you didn’t fault him. You were sure he just needed time, and you didn’t want to put any further pressure on him when he was clearly upset, so instead you just offered kind words to assure him everything was okay. 

However, as the days passed on, you began to lose hope that he’d ever respond. You did your best to stop the sadness encroaching in your heart, telling yourself that there could be a ton of reasons he isn’t speaking to you right now. You shouldn’t jump to conclusions, there was surely a reasonable explanation.

His life didn’t revolve around you after all, and a small break in communication shouldn’t linger over you like this. You continued to comfort yourself with rational explanations as you went about your days, hoping with all your heart that you weren’t just deluding yourself.

Felix, who saw you most days due to your routine of coming into the cafe he worked at, could see the toll it was taking on you to have Chan not talk to you. He didn’t even know what exactly happened; Changbin said the two of you had a tiff, but that it should resolve itself after a bit since the two of you cared so much about each other.

But as time went on, with Chan so distant and holed up in his room unless he was working, he wasn’t so sure that whatever went on between you was something minor. And then when you stopped in one morning, you confirmed what Felix already feared; that Chan’s isolation didn’t extend to just them, but to you as well.

He wasn’t replying to any of your texts, and that made Felix’s concern for the two of you grow tenfold. So he talked about it with the others in the house, and the 3 of them agreed that you should come over to try and make whatever happened right. And besides, all of you were friends, so it only made sense to facilitate a resolution between you. 

They ask you over on a friendly pretense; it’s been a while since you all hung out together, and some fun seemed like it was much needed. You were nervous given the state of your friendship with Chan, but ultimately agreed because you really did miss them as well.

Changbin was the one to answer the door when you arrived at their house, smiling and easing your anxiety by making casual conversation with you. Hyunjin and Felix smiled as well when they saw you, greeting you warmly and offering you hugs before you sat down on the couch. 

Hyunjin sat next to you, while Changbin and Felix sat on the chairs nearby. “Is Chan here?” you asked, nervously fiddling with your fingers as you glanced toward the stairs. “Not yet, but he will be soon! While we wait, we should figure out dinner. Anything you want?” Felix suggests and you smile as you nod, feeling comforted by the fact that you have such good friends. 

Chan walks into the house not much later, freezing up once further inside and seeing you sitting there with his brothers. “Hey hyung, we’re just ordering some food before we have a movie night! You should join us,” Felix smiles, hoping that once Chan sees you all together, he can put aside whatever made him so upset and can go back to how things were before. 

Your heart breaks when you look at him, noticing that his dark circles are worse than before, hurt by the knowledge that he must’ve lost even more sleep than he already does, and it’s all your fault. He avoids your gaze, looking instead at his brothers; he knew this was bound to happen, you became friends with them just as much as him, after all.

And while Changbin knew the real reason behind Chan’s distance from you, the other 2 didn’t, so of course they’d invite you over to the house and try to rebuild the bridge that he’d burnt. But he couldn’t take it; the way all of you stared at him, expecting something from him.

You swallow, trying your best not to cry as you look at him, waiting for him to say something to ease all the sadness and anxiety within you. “..No, thanks,” he mutters, going quickly up the stairs and straight to his room, the sound of his door closing clearly heard once he’s reached it. Dejection settles in your gut, your heart shattering into more pieces than you could possibly count. 

Changbin, who is sitting directly across from you, is the first to see your crestfallen expression, and he tries to offer you words of consolation, but you can barely even hear them. You stare down at your lap, trying to blink away the tears that welled in your eyes. Would he never speak to you again? Did you irreparably damage his trust in you? Why wouldn’t he say anything to you?

He was the first person in your life to ever see what Jae was doing to you and help, and he brought with him the kindest people you had ever known. He supported you through your tears, he protected you from the people who wanted to hurt you most.

He listened to you as you talked about your life's worries, even when it was something silly like not wanting to do the night's homework. Chan became a constant in your life, truly living up to his promise to be there for you during any and everything, both good and bad. And now that same person was pulling away from you for reasons you couldn’t understand. 

The tears begin pouring before you can even try to stop them, falling to your lap and darkening the fabric of your pants where they fall. Hyunjin notices right away, and pulls you into a hug, trying his best to comfort you by assuring you that nothing happening was your fault.

“It is my fault,” you choke out between sobs, burying your face in Hyunjin’s shoulder as sobs escape you. Felix quickly moves in next to you as well, rubbing your back and offering just as much kindness as his brother. 

Changbin’s expression turns into a grimace as he listens to you sniffle and sob, how you blame yourself for everything that was happening despite his brother’s best efforts to calm your aching heart. What the fuck is Chan doing? 

Felix watches him stand, a look of concern painted on his features; nothing good happens when Changbin is angry. “I’ll be back,” he says with irritability clear in his voice, stepping away from the chair and to the stairs. 

He reaches Chan’s bedroom door in a matter of seconds, trying the door knob without hesitation and is pleasantly surprised to find it unlocked. Good, so he didn’t have to pound at the door and make him come out then. He opens it swiftly, met with the sight of Chan simply sitting on his bed, doing not much of anything.

Chan frowns as he turns to his now open door, but isn’t all that surprised at this turn of events. He knew one of them would confront him eventually, and Changbin wasn’t one to hold his tongue if something was on his mind. It was only a matter of time before Chan got what he was anticipating.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Changbin questions, wasting no time at getting straight to the point. Chan expected that Changbin wouldn’t waste any time dancing around the subject, but he still wasn’t prepared to unearth the extent of his self loathing.

Was he really going to admit how pathetic he felt out loud? Admit to how much he hated himself? Admit to how he felt unworthy of anyone’s time? The silence only served to spur on Changbin’s annoyance, and he crosses his arms as he steps closer to Chan. “Are you really not going to say anything?” 

Chan looks up at Changbin from his seat, meeting his accusatory gaze. “It’s better this way.” he says and Changbin scoffs in response, clearly finding his answer unsatisfactory. “Oh yeah? Y/N crying her eyes out because you refuse to acknowledge her is better?”

Chan’s heart squeezes in his chest at hearing that you’re crying, but he still knew it was for the best. After the initial pain she’ll move on and forget about me like she should. She shouldn’t want someone like me. She shouldn’t support someone like me. I have nothing. I am nothing. 

“Yeah, it’s better.” Chan manages to force the words out. “What about what you promised her? Are you going to sit around and do nothing if Jae targets her again?” Changbin’s voice raises, not quite a yell but still louder than his previous speaking tone.

“She still has you and the others.” Chan frowns as he answers. It’s not like he was leaving you completely alone and defenseless; his friends were your friends too now, and he knew they wouldn’t let anything happen to you. 

“We’re not the ones she wants,” Changbin nearly shouts, and Chan tenses at this, the statement clearly striking a chord in him. “That’s the whole problem! I shouldn’t be the one she wants!” Chan shouts suddenly as he stands from his bed now, seemingly unable to control the sudden outburst.

He freezes after realizing he just said what he was thinking out loud for Changbin to hear; now he knows how pathetic and cowardly he truly is, and there would be no taking it back. Changbin’s brows furrow in bewilderment as he stares at Chan.

He understood that what Chan did to make money has risks, and he understood why he wouldn’t want you to be a part of that. What he couldn’t understand was why Chan was shutting you out now that you knew about it. Why was he needlessly subjecting you to pain when, in his opinion, you could simply talk it out? 

From Changbin’s perspective, everything would be okay. You clearly didn’t think negatively of him after the reveal, you were still seeking him out and wanting to be near him regardless of what you’d found out about him. And even if you did harbor some ill feeling about it that Changbin couldn’t notice, you were at least trying. 

You weren’t going to let something you cared about go over a single event, unlike Chan, who was acting like a fucking coward right now. He was throwing everything away, and for what? He just couldn’t wrap his head around it.

“You’re being a fucking idiot,” Changbin scowls. “You just don’t understand,” Chan counters and Changbin scoffs at the statement. “Then make me understand. What am I not getting here? I’d love to know.” Changbin challenged him, words dripping with frustration. 

You don’t understand that she’s too good for trash like me. What is there to love about me? What can I offer her that couldn’t be given by someone else? What kind of life can we live together with the things I've done? She’s smart, ambitious, beautiful..

She can strive for better life and a better person. Someone with high aspirations. Someone who has a better education. Someone who didn’t lead a dangerous life and could put her in danger just by association.  

But instead of saying all that he just averts his gaze, stepping down from Changbin’s challenge without a word. “Fine then, you can have fun with your pity party by yourself, cause I’m not staying to watch it,” Changbin bites as he swiftly turns his back to Chan, preparing to leave his room.

“You may be willing to treat a promise like it’s nothing, but don’t expect the rest of us to be okay with it.” He leaves as soon as he’s finished, slamming Chan’s door behind him as he goes.

Right. This is what he deserves. To have nothing and no one, just like before. Because why should he have anything good after what he’s done? He wanted to be the good person you saw him as, but he just isn’t.

He’s the worst kind of hypocrite, his virtue circumstantial and fleeting. The good things he did for the people he cared about didn’t cancel out all the bad that came before it, forever staining him no matter how many layers he scrubbed. 

He tried to comfort himself by saying he did it because he had to, because he had no other choice and couldn’t afford to live otherwise, but did it matter? Could he say he lived a life his parents would be proud of? No, but you made him want to try.

And he was trying, so, so hard; to leave all that bad shit behind, to be someone worth caring about, to be better. But there are some things that never change, some things that can’t be left behind or escaped from no matter what you do, and he supposes this is just another reminder of that lesson. 

The weeks that followed Chan’s refusal to see you were easily the most painful of your life. You’d never experienced a heartbreak like this before, any pain you thought you felt before paling in comparison to the utter anguish you felt from the loss of Chan in your life.

At least before, when you had become distant and separated from friends, you still had contact; you could message each other freely, you could meet up during school breaks or even weekends if time permitted, you still had your bond despite being in different places. But with Chan, it felt like he burnt every bridge he ever had with you. 

You gave up trying to talk to him all together, letting the amount of messages you’d send in a day fizzle more and more, until they inevitably reached zero. In your daily life, you still had the others, but it didn’t feel the same; you felt like an intruder now, like you were encroaching on their space.

You felt like you would just cause strife by being there, so eventually you stopped accepting invitations to hang out with them. Even when you saw them away from the house, you couldn’t meet their smiles the way you once had, because all it did was deepen the ache in your heart.

You wanted to appreciate it, to thank them for trying to keep your friendship alive, but every time it just served as a reminder that Chan wouldn't be there for you anymore. You also felt at fault for causing a rift between them.

Though you stopped staying around the group pretty soon after Chan made it clear he wanted nothing to do with you, you could tell things weren’t the same between them anymore. Changbin especially always seemed to be upset with him, calling him an idiot or a coward, making his distaste for what happened well known.

Hyunjin would continue to assure you that nothing was your fault, that Chan just had complicated feelings to work through, but despite his words, you couldn’t stop yourself from feeling at fault regardless. If Chan had never helped you in the first place that day he saw Jae on you, their friendship wouldn’t be in this state.

If you were a stronger person back then, someone who could handle things by herself, then he wouldn’t have had to step in. And now even Felix makes an effort to comfort you all the time, going as far as to give you an extra cookie and discounting your coffee whenever you’re in his cafe.

They always showed you just how kind they were, compassionate beyond words and so patient (well, maybe except Changbin, who definitely was not patient.) Truly, you admired them, and Chan above all, who they credited for bringing them together and making them who they are in the first place.

But now that same person who you had quickly grown to admire so much was avoiding you on all fronts, leaving you with nothing else to do but move on or wait for him to come to terms with whatever he was struggling with.

And truthfully you didn’t want to move on, but waiting wasn’t becoming any easier. Despite the fact that he was within reach, there was nothing you could do. Every glimpse you caught of him or reminder of his absence from his friends left your heart aching in your chest. 

Before you realize it, your last class of the day has ended, and you sigh as you look down at your nonexistent notes. You found it difficult lately to focus on your work with your mind cycling through all its thoughts about Chan.

You used to find an escape in your school work; even if everything was crashing around you, you could pour your energy into your work, and find some satisfaction with the good grades you got in exchange for your efforts. But now even that was difficult for you, and you sighed as you knew you’d have to play catch up in your spare time if you wanted to maintain your grades. 

It was the first time in your life you’d ever felt so inadequate; even though it was merely a stress induced performance loss, it still tanked the confidence you had in your ability to succeed, which was the last thing you needed to add to your growing list of problems.

Your only saving grace at this point was that Changbin agreed to help you out, and that your professors were gracious enough to let you re-do assignments or get in some extra credit (which they only did because of the good track record you had before your personal life tanked.) 

Truthfully, you felt terrible requesting Changbin’s help to catch back up in your classes, but he didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. He thankfully agreed to study away from the house so you wouldn’t risk seeing Chan, and having your heart shatter again after having just managed to start picking up the pieces.

You text him now that your class has ended to make sure the study session is still on, and with his confirmation, you decide it’d be a good idea to head back to your room and prepare to meet up with him. It takes you no more than 15 minutes to get back to the dorms from where your last class was, and you spend a decent amount of time cramming your bag full of all the textbooks and supplementary materials you’ll need for the evening.

The plan was to study together at Sunshine Cafe, where the two of you could sprawl your belongings out on one of the coffee tables towards the back and sit on the comfort of the couch, while Felix would provide you with snacks and drinks to get you through the brain overload you’d certainly begin to feel. 

It’ll still be some time before Changbin meets up with you given that your class schedules don’t entirely align, but it’d still be good to head out and get some self study in until he gets there. And you could really use a change in secenery given that all you've done lately is go to you classes and then straight back to your dorm when they were over.

Once assured you have everything you need tucked in your bag, you sling it over your shoulders, letting your roommates know you might not be home till late before you head out. Walking to the cafe with all the extra weight on your back and shoulders certainly isn’t pleasant, but you’ll just have to deal with it if you want to make sure you do well on your catch-up assignments and upcoming exams.

And all in all, you actually feel pretty good right now; your friendship with Chan and emotional state might be in shambles, but at least you’re trying your best to pick yourself back up, and that’s what matters most, right? 

But all that positivity you feel is drained in an instant, when at the end of the street you’re on, you see Jae standing right in your path, looking at you with a smile once he notices you’re there. You curse, knowing you still have a few blocks to traverse before you reach your destination, and that anything could happen in the time it takes to get there. 

He starts to approach you, smirking as he does- you don’t know what he has planned when he reaches you, but you don’t want to find out. Did he know that Chan stopped being there for you? Does he think that now that Chan is out of your life he can do whatever he wants? Or was it a cruel coincidence that he saw you here, a coincidence that he now plans on taking advantage of? 

You still have the others, but it’s extremely possible that Jae either doesn’t know, doesn’t care, or is willing to risk it now that Chan being out of the picture takes away one of his biggest threats. There’s a slight hope that maybe he just wants to say something, rubbing salt in your wound by saying “I told you so,” and then he’d go on his way, but the look in his eyes tells you otherwise.

He has the same insidious look you saw every day when you were in school together, the twisted delight in his eyes that told you whatever you were in for wouldn’t be pleasant. You quickly turn the other direction, ducking into a side street you’d passed moments prior, hoping that you can either use the side streets to make it to the cafe or make Jae lose sight of you.

If you were lucky, you’d make it there with no problems, and Felix could shelter you in the cafe until Jae left on his own or Changbin showed up and made him leave. You hear Jae’s laugh behind you, and you panic as you notice that he’s catching up to you much quicker than you’d hoped, the weight of your countless textbooks and study materials definitely not doing you any favors. 

Shit- what do you do now? It becomes increasingly apparent that Jae catching up to you is inevitable, and there is nowhere for you to turn to escape him. As quickly as you can, you grab your phone from out of your bag, hoping that Jae doesn’t realize what you’re doing.

You needed to call Chan; you weren’t even sure if he’d uphold the promise he made to you at this point, but what other hope did you have? Chan was the person who said he’d always answer if you called him, and you wanted to believe that. No, you had to believe that. 

Not wasting any further time thinking about it, you send Chan a ping of your location before promptly pressing the call button on his name, haphazardly shoving your phone back in your bag and praying that Jae doesn’t notice as thing when he reaches you. 

Chan frowned as he sat on his couch, once again thinking about you despite his best efforts to get you off his mind. Despite how much he knew it was best to detach himself from you, he still found himself unable to do so easily.

Maybe it was his underlying selfishness that didn’t want to let you go, or that his feelings for you had just grown far too much to be quashed, but he couldn’t help but continue to worry about you every day. He felt stupid being so upset about a decision he made, that he truly felt was the right thing to do, but the right decisions are never the easy ones, or so the saying goes. 

But still, the gnawing feeling continued to eat away at him day after day. ”You’re seeing Y/N today right?” he couldn’t help himself from asking Changbin before he left for the day, and he rolled his eyes, giving Chan an incredulous look.

“So you care all of a sudden, huh? Heard me talking about it with Felix? Yeah, we’re meeting up when my classes are over. But don’t worry,” Changbin says with a mildly sarcastic tone before he continues, “I’ll do a good job of looking after her since you won’t.” 

Chan frowned at Changbin’s tone, but he knows it isn’t entirely undeserved given the circumstances. You’re their friend too after all, and he wouldn’t talk kindly to this either if the roles were reversed and it was someone else doing this to you.

“Binnie-hyung is still giving you a hard time, I see,” Hyunjin said as he stepped in from the kitchen, sitting next to Chan with his breakfast in hand. Chan just sighed in response, closing his eyes and letting his head hit the back of the couch. 

Was he really doing the right thing or was he just deluding himself into thinking so? Even putting aside the fact that he hasn’t loved himself a day in his life, isn't it just objectively true that you should want nothing to do with him? He knows you care about him, but it’s not exactly uncommon for good people to put their love in the wrong places, and Chan is definitely one of those wrong places.

“It’s not too late to make up with Y/N if you want to, you know,” Hyunjin spoke carefully, hoping that at the very least Chan would openly admit and talk about what went so wrong instead of keeping everything so bottled up inside. 

Time passed, and for a moment Hyunjin thought Chan wouldn't say anything at all, before he suddenly spoke up. “I.. don’t know about that. I’m not sure if I even want her to forgive me.”

“Why not?” Hyunjin asked, taken aback by the admission. Chan sighed again, self-doubt and anxiety making their presence obvious as they always did when he was dealing with complicated emotions. Truth be told, there was a lot of lingering doubt about his reaction towards you that Chan was scared to confront. 

Should he stop being so stubborn and talk to you or should he be assured in his decision and maintain his distance? He heard multiple times that he was an idiot for detaching himself in the first place (mostly from Changbin, who was the most outspoken with this thoughts), and though he felt like it was the right decision at the time given all his faults and self-doubt, he couldn’t fight the way he missed being around you every day.

He knew how much it would hurt to separate himself from you, but it’s what felt right at the time given the tirade of self-hatred that told him he had to. He knew the guys didn't agree, and he knew it hurt you just as much as it hurt him, but how was he supposed to explain to everyone how much he hated himself?

How much he loved you but knew he would just hold you back? You deserved better than to fall in love with a criminal for hire with no future ambitions. You deserved better than someone who was just coasting through life until the day no one needed him anymore and left him behind.

Not to mention that the only ones who knew the full extent of what he did in secrecy were Changbin, Minho, and now you. And he would've been okay with anyone else finding out the depths of terrible deeds, anyone of the other people he cared about but you. Just not you, anyone but you.

He used to not think at all about what it would be like to fall in love with someone; he assumed he could just figure it all out when the day came, even if it was years down the line. His mental health was in the gutter and life was hard, but when isn’t it? Aren’t most people unhappy?

Besides, he still had his friends, and that was good enough for him. And he didn’t want it to sound like he was never happy, or always miserable, but it wasn't until he spent more and more time with you that he realized how much he yearned for a deeper connection with someone.

Sure, being with his brothers made him happy, and the time he spent with them was valuable and irreplaceable to him, but what would happen in the future when they had their own lives? He barely sees half of them anymore, and soon the other half will move on too, following their dreams, meeting more and more new people, making new friends and building families.

And what would Chan have at the end of it all? Nothing, he had come to realize. He would have absolutely nothing. 

No goals, no ambitions, and nothing to offer other than the bare minimum. And he knew you well enough now to know you would say that it's enough, but he just couldn't agree; to Chan, it was nowhere near enough for you, enough for anyone.

Becoming your friend opened his eyes to how many mistakes he’d been making, made him confront the reality that feelings and wants you bury deep down will always resurface, and he knew he couldn’t avoid all the things he’d been trying to anymore. 

A lifetime’s worth of sadness, more regrets than he could count on his fingers, and a longing for connection with someone who would love him as he was, faults and all, and help him become better. He had that chance with you, and he blew it.

And then, instead of trying to make it right, he retreated back into the very shell he tried so hard to break out of. Instead of putting out the fire that had grown, he watched it burn, telling himself it was better to let everything become ash than risk the burns he would suffer from trying to salvage what little he had. 

In the end, it’s all excuses. He didn’t want to face the fact that he was scared, or admit how little his self-worth he really has. So he fled the scene, and when he was called out, his arguments rang hollow, because even Chan himself knew how little his words could actually be believed.

It was true that Chan didn’t believe he deserved anything good, but maybe it was okay to let people care about him regardless. Maybe he needed them to, so that he could finally allow himself to be happy. 

And so he talked to Hyunjin; he told him everything, about what he did, how he felt then and how he feels now, and about how much it hurts to be away from you when he’s so fucking obviously in love with you but feels too worthless to be around you. It was a lot of information to take in, but Hyunjin was truly happy he was finally doing something that was long overdue.

Chan had spent so much of his life avoiding his feelings and keeping his thoughts to himself, that Hyunjin expected him to dance around it, but he hadn’t. It was proof of the positive effect you had on him, evidence that Chan needed you even more than you thought you needed him. 

Chan didn’t cry, though he certainly felt like he would at times, and Hyunjin truly was proud of him. Sure, he learned some things about Chan that definitely came as a shock, but he had hope that once Chan was done processing all his complicated feelings and getting himself out of the bad shit he no longer wanted to associate with, the two of you could go back to the friendship you once had. 

He’d left Chan alone after that, citing that he had commissions to work on, though really he just thought it would do Chan some good to have some time to himself. He needed to let his thoughts and feelings settle, and hopefully get another step closer to reconnecting with you.

Chan himself was still on the couch, thinking a lot about what he should do going forward. Why did everything always have to be so complicated? He’s there for a while, cycling between various thoughts related to you and his feelings, when his phone suddenly buzzes from within his pocket.

He pulls it out, immediately being met with a message from you, the first you've sent in weeks. But it’s… your location? You’ve never sent him it before, and the fact that you did so without any other context spreads worry through him.

And before he can even react to receiving the message, a call comes through, caller ID clearly displaying your name. Out of all the time you'd known him, this was the first time you were actually calling him. He swallows before he answers, nervous as all hell but knowing he shouldn’t hesitate if you need help. 

“Hello..?” Chan answers carefully, unsure if he should speak at full volume until he knows what kind of situation you’re in. His hand immediately clenches around his phone when he hears Jae’s voice clearly taunting you on the other end; it’s muffled, your phone’s speaker clearly blocked by something, but the voice Chan hears is unmistakable.

He curses under his breath as he moves the phone from his face to mute himself, not wanting to accidentally make Jae aware that you managed to call him. Chan refused to risk Jae finding out and ending the call before he can find out what exactly he’s doing to you. 

"Aww, crying already?" he hears Jae's voice patronizing you. Chan scowls, fully aware that there’s no time to waste. He gets his shoes on as quickly as possible, sprinting out of his front door and rushing down the street in a matter of seconds.

The location you sent him is on a side street not all too far away from the house, and he hopes that Jae hasn’t dragged you too far away from the spot you sent him. The city is huge when you’re in the heart of it after all, and there would be more possibilities than Chan can count as to where you would be if you’re no longer there. 

He runs as fast as his feet can possibly carry him, not wanting to waste even a single second in getting to you, or give Jae the opportunity to do something terrible. He holds the phone to his ear even as he runs, desperate for a sign that you’re doing okay despite whatever situation you’ve been put in.

“Chan taking you away from me really pissed me off. I like you a lot, you know,” Jae’s voice comes through the phone again, and his tone makes Chan grit his teeth. He wants to rain absolute hell on Jae, make him regret ever laying a single hand on you, but he knows he likely won’t get that chance.

Making sure you’re okay and getting you away is his priority, and as much as he wants to obliterate Jae, it will have to wait until after he takes care of you. No matter what Jae deserves, no matter how much he hates him, you are his one and only priority right now, and he will protect you. 

You stare up at the bright blue sky, eyes fixed on the fluffy, passing clouds above you, and you don’t react. You’re limp against the cold, unforgiving wall you’ve been pressed against, completely numb, blocking out everything around you.

You hear Jae’s voice but his words don’t register, his hand on your body but your skin no longer reacts to what it feels. Your vision has blurred from tears in your eyes that haven’t fallen, but you continue to stare upward, making no effort to blink them away. 

You had no words to describe the way you felt; it was a devastation so deep that it turned into nothingness, a void. You knew Chan wasn’t coming to help you and you shouldn’t have hoped for it.

All you did was set yourself up for the worst heartbreak of all, an incomparable feeling of betrayal and hopelessness, the solidification that this was your reality now, and you just had to face it instead of holding onto hope that it would be different. 

But despite it all, you can’t really blame Chan for not being here. You knew you were weak, and you knew you were a target, but that isn’t Chan’s fault or responsibility. It must be a burden to worry about you all the time, or annoying that you don’t stand up for yourself nearly as much as you should.

Your few moments of strength get reduced to nothing in mere seconds, and you always revert back to the scared person you’ve always been. And no matter how foolish it is to hope for, all you can think about is how you wish Chan was here.

You hoped he’d be here, hoped he’d reassure you. You wanted to feel his gentle embrace and hear his voice, knowing he’d console you with tender words and a soothing tone. And most of all, you really just missed him, missed him more than anything, so, so much.

The way he smiled at you, the way his expression changed when he was embarrassed or being teased, the way he cared for everyone and everything more than you’d ever think a person capable of. Though he certainly did bad things, his kindness towards you was radiant.

You didn’t want to define him by what you saw, because you knew him beyond that. You knew how sweet he is, how caring he is, how much he wanted to help others. He understood the value in a helping hand and offered it freely to anyone who needed it without a second thought.

You couldn’t find it within yourself to feel anything but compassion for him even with how alone you felt from his absence. Your glimpses into his life allowed you to see him for who he was beyond what his appearance would suggest. You knew there was more to him than you even learned, hidden parts of his past, his life, and his feelings that you hadn’t yet uncovered.

So even when he distanced himself from you, you couldn’t hate him. You knew there was a reason, knew there was something underneath that he was scared to share with you. Chan wasn’t the type to leave someone behind nor break a promise, you refused to believe that he was. 

You just wished he was here, wished that he’d share his thoughts and feelings with you. Wouldn’t things turn out differently if he had? You wanted to support him as much as he supported you. You wanted to encourage him and cheer him on.

Even with Jae’s words circling around you and his touch against your skin, your mind was consumed by Chan. At this point you felt you were crying more from his loss than from anything Jae was doing to you. He had just become a catalyst for your feelings to burst, his presence feeling almost nonexistent against the yearning you felt for Chan. 

You loved him. Truly, and above all else. And you knew that no matter what, it wouldn’t change. Chan’s presence in your life irrevocably changed you; he supported you when no one else had, and you loved his personality and his endearing smile.

You loved the contrast between his tough exterior and his sweet characteristics. He was simultaneously strong and gentle, both cold and warm, sunshine and rain wrapped into one person. And you loved him, for all that he was.

"Get your fucking hands off her!" You hear Chan's voice shout and you blink in confusion, allowing the tears that were stuck to fall. Is he really here? Or are you in so much pain that now your brain is tricking you, trying to comfort you with a lie? You don’t know, but you welcome it all the same, because even if it is just a trick, it’s the best one you’ll ever be given. 

Your body barely registers the feeling of Jae's weight being shifted off of you, Chan's voice having a chokehold on your senses. Your gaze shifts from the sky to the right; you see Jae, who has evidently fallen backwards onto the floor, the left side of his face a stark red from what you assume was an impact.

He’s clearly shocked, but the emotion quickly changes into one of pure hatred directed to the presence left of you. You swallow as you shift your gaze to the left, heart squeezing in your chest when you see Chan, more tears welling in your eyes. He's really here? He really came for you?

Chan's fists are clenched, gaze piercing into Jae with disgust and vitriol. He wants to fucking kill him if he's being honest, but he has to do his best to keep a level head for your sake. He has to get you out of here, keep you safe.

"You ever fucking touch her again, I promise you'll regret it," Chan spits at Jae, stepping closer to him and giving one more punch for good measure, assuring he'll stay down and not follow your exit. "Y/N, don't let go," Chan says as he turns to you, taking your hand in his.

The moment still feels surreal to you, but you do as he says, keeping your grip tight as he runs with you, leading you quickly away from Jae. You run for what feels like ages, but you surprisingly don’t feel tired; must be adrenaline coursing through you, or maybe the emotions you feel right now are preventing you from noticing any sort of ache in your legs. 

The next thing you know, you’re at his house, with him leading you up to the safety of his room. You collapse to his bed the minute you’re fully inside, trying to catch your breath after all the running as you still hold tightly to his hand.

“I’m just gonna close the door, okay? I’m not leaving,” he says when he notices the way your hand clings to him when he tries to separate, not wanting to let him go. You hesitate, hand trembling as you hold onto his. Everything still feels unreal, like if you let go he’ll vanish from your sight, and you’ll wake up in the same place you were before, with none of this having happened. 

You look at his face, taking in his soft but serious expression. You feel the warmth in his hand, see the care in his eyes, and you know– you’re okay now. You don't have to be scared anymore. So you eventually nod as you let go, watching as he closes the bedroom door before returning swiftly to your side.

He examines you carefully, scowling at the disheveled state of your clothes but overall relieved to see no injury. He steps away for just a moment to rifle through his drawers, pulling out a shirt and handing it carefully to you. 

“Here, put this on,” he says, and it prompts you to look down at yourself for the first time. The buttons at the top of your blouse are almost entirely undone, with some buttons completely missing and leaving your bra partially exposed.

You frown at the realization that with the buttons missing you won’t be able to button up your blouse again and it’s effectively ruined, but you’re thankful that Chan is offering you something to wear in its place. He turns his back to you to let you change in peace, and he doesn’t turn back around until you’ve made it clear that you’re done.

“Are you okay..?” he asks softly now as he kneels in front you, eyes fixed straight on you. You meet his gaze, lip trembling as you look at him. You feel overwhelmed, confused, relieved.. Where do you even begin? You look down, swallowing the lump in your throat as more emotion threatens to spill out from your eyes. 

"I'm sorry," he breaks the silence, and you look up, blinking away the tears in the corners of your eyes. "I– I should've been there for you. I shouldn't have let that happen to you.. I'm sorry," Chan tells you, voice shaky through his apology.

He feels so fucking guilty. He wished so badly he didn't let the voice in his head affect him, that he didn't self-destruct so badly and drag you down with him. "It's okay," you say, reaching your hand out to grab his, and Chan shakes his head, voice breaking as he talks to you.

"It's not okay, I– I broke my promise to you." "You didn't," you say with a small frown and Chan's brows furrow in response. "Yes I did, I–''

You shake your head, cutting him off with your own words, "Do you remember what you told me when we first became friends? When you put your number in my phone?" 

Chan swallows as he thinks back to nearly a year ago, when he found you cornered and vulnerable, Jae tormenting you and expecting to get away with it. "I.. told you to call me," he says after a short moment.

"Call me next time, I'll answer. If you call, I'll hear it. I'll come running," you quote him, the words having engraved themselves in your memory. They were probably small to Chan but they meant so much to you. You'd never experienced such kindness before, such an earnest care for your wellbeing, and from someone that was basically a stranger to you. 

That was your proof that he was a good person; someone who deserved kindness and appreciation just as much as anyone else. He was kind, caring, and selfless even to a fault. And you knew Chan didn't believe he was, didn't think anything he did was special but it was.

You want to repay all the care he's shown you, in any way you can. "That was your promise," you continue and Chan's breath hitches in his throat at your words, "I called and you came, just like you said you would, so.. You don't have to apologize. Not for that."

He curses, turning his face away from yours with a small chuckle of disbelief. "I should be the one comforting you right now," he says and you smile softly as you respond. "No matter what you might think, I'd never hate you. Never. And I forgive you." You squeeze his hand in reassurance, trying to convey the sincerity of your words.

"I.. don't think I deserve that," he whispers, swallowing as he tries to control the shakiness in his voice. You're forgiving him this easily? He hasn't earned that, doesn’t deserve it.. You should be furious with him, you should hate him. So why don't you? "I can't think of anyone who deserves it more than you, Chan," You say and his lip trembles, eyes squeezing shut as he tries not to embarrass himself by crying in front of you. 

He’d grown a thick skin in his life, built his walls sturdy and high– or at least he thought he had. But there you always are, tearing his barriers down so easily, prying open the confines of his heart with the simplest of words and actions. And that's the feeling of love and connection he'd been missing in his life, isn't it? The one he’d be yearning for despite all his doubts and concerns? 

All he can think about when he looks at you is how much he hopes you'll always be with him, even if it's just from afar. He wants to protect you, wants to hold you close, wants to laugh with you on good days and support you during the bad.

Even if he never gets the courage to tell you just how much he truly loves you, he'd be happy just being near you. And that’s why he owes it to you to be better, reaffirms his desire, his need, to be honest and open about everything.

“I should.. Be honest with you. About why I was avoiding you,” Chan says after a shaky exhale, and you nod, ready to hear him out. “I was.. Ashamed, when you saw me like that. I never wanted you to see it, you know? I was– I still am, trying to get out of it, and I hoped that when you did know about it, it’d be like.. A thing that happened in my past that you’d never have to worry about. So when you saw it, I just.. I freaked out. I didn’t know what to do, and so I just..” 

Oh no. He’s tearing up again, and the empathetic look in your eyes continues to chip at his walls. He almost can't take the way you look at him, the way you hold and squeeze his hand as he speaks, the way your eyes water with his, as if it’s just as emotional for you to experience as it is for him.

It probably is, to be fair; you cared a lot about him, cried a lot because of him, tried countless times to support him even when he was closed off, hesitant and scared to try. He’s still struggling to believe he deserves to receive your compassion and understanding, but he wants to accept it regardless.

He wants to let you care about him, to let you console him, to let you be his comfort, his home. And he’d be that for you, he’d give you back all you gave and more, all to make sure you would never cry because of his actions ever again. 

“I just-” Chan tries again, falling short as the words get stuck in his throat. You’re patient though, giving him all the time he needs to collect his thoughts and put the words he wants to say together. “I just.. Everything felt like it was caving in on me."

"When it started I was just a kid desperate for money, you know? No one wants to pay a livable wage to a 16 year old, they think you don’t need it, assume you still got your parents and a cushy bed to go home to. So when the offer came up for me to make some quick, good cash in exchange for a favor, I took it.”

“The favors.. What I’d do depended entirely on the person making the request, but they were never good. Usually it was something the person desperately wanted, but couldn't get their own hands dirty to get, and they look for someone to do it for them under the table. So I got mine dirty in their place, and got paid well doing it. And I truly fucking regret it,” Chan spills it all out for you- the woes of his life, his bad deeds and regrets, all for you to see and judge. 

But you don’t judge him; you never would, even if he deserved it. What he said is what you expected– that he wasn’t given a real choice, his circumstances unfair and the world before him too cruel. It hurt your heart to know someone as kind and caring as Chan was forced to do things he hated for money, things that plagued his mind with guilt and tanked his already low self-esteem to new depths.

This wasn’t a case of “ashamed only because he got caught”; his shame and guilt was true, the resentment he felt for himself complexly interwoven with his human nature to survive at all costs. It was a dilemma that no one should have to face, but that he was forced to time and time again. To say it was unfair felt like an understatement, but it was all you had to describe what life had offered him. 

And still, you admired him; you hear all the time how the circumstances of one’s life changes them, how good people can only tolerate so much pain before it warps them into someone unrecognizable. But through it all, he was still someone full of compassion, of tenderness, who was doing his best to make amends with himself and make up for what he’s done.

It wasn’t your place to tell anyone to forgive him, nor would you tell anyone affected by his actions that they should. But you hoped that one day Chan could be free of the shackles of that weighed him down, both physically and mentally. 

The world doesn’t exist in black and white; good people do bad things, make mistakes, and hurt others, often even without meaning to. What truly makes a person good isn’t whether or not they’ve never hurt someone before– it’s whether or not they’re truly sorry.

No one can exist without making mistakes, without hurting feelings and having theirs hurt in return, the human experience is far too complex and not meant to be perfected. No one is perfect, but imperfection is what allows you to grow. 

The things in your life that you regret, that make you feel embarrassed, ashamed, sorry– they make you human. They make you someone worth loving, someone deserving of compassion and empathy.

To be human is to love and forgive, to make mistakes and pick yourself back up and try again to be better, to connect with others and build a life with them that makes you happy and proud to be where you are. And it’s what Chan deserves to have a chance at, just as much as anyone else in the world does. 

“You can cry if you need to. I’m here for you, Channie,” you offer, holding your arms out for him to accept a hug if he wants one. It’s a promise, really. A promise that you’ll always be here for him, because he’s the person you love most.

“I might take you up on that,” he says as he accepts your hug, his tone the most light-hearted you’ve heard all evening, but you can tell he’s grateful. He squeezes you close, and you can feel his body start to release all its built up stress as he relaxes against you. 

He needed this; needed the reassurance that unconditional love is available to him and obtainable, that happiness was something he was allowed to have, that he wasn’t an irredeemable person doomed to endlessly suffer.

“There’s something else I should tell you,” he says after a few moments, voice soft and a bit timid, his arms still holding you firmly. You hum in acknowledgment, pulling back from his embrace just enough to look at him. “Whenever you’re ready,” you encourage him, and he smiles just a bit before taking a breath to steady himself. 

“I love you. And I didn’t want to tell you that until everything was behind me, because I thought you wouldn’t return my feelings if you knew about it. If it was just a part of my past, and not something I was actively involved in anymore, then maybe you could, but– I didn’t think you’d ever love me otherwise, so.. That’s the other reason why I freaked out.. I thought I ruined any chance I had at being with you.”

Oh. Did you hear him right? He loves you? He wanted to be with you? Wants to be with you? Romantically?

“You don’t have to return my feelings, I just.. Wanted you to know, because it played a big part in why I acted like I did to you. You didn’t deserve to be ignored just because I didn’t know how to deal with my feelings, you know?” Chan elaborates, your silence making him increasingly nervous.

God, he hopes you respond soon, even if it's a rejection, because the silence is killing him. “You didn’t ruin your chances,” you finally say, a shy smile on your face that instantly fills Chan with relief. He smiles too, and you settle fully back into his embrace, your head against his chest as your arms hold him close.

You hear the thumping of his heart, the evidence that his feelings for you are indeed real- that he loves you. Maybe this happiness is more than Chan deserves, and maybe you’ll change your mind about him someday, but for now.. He’s happy, and that’s all he could ever ask for. 

Chan spent the rest of the evening glued to your side, the two of you only separating from each other if you had to. You canceled your study session with Changbin for the night as well; way too much happened today for you to be able to even remotely focus on school work. He understood completely though, and was more than relieved that you and Chan were talking again. 

You had dinner together, all of you, and you finally started to feel like your fractured relationships could be pieced back together. There were still lingering questions, a litany of things to still discuss together, but now that you knew you could, there was a sense of calm you felt; like no matter what happened going forward, everything would be okay because you had each other, and neither of you would let that change again. 

Even in a group, your eyes would always unconsciously find their way back to Chan, and he’d smile back at you. Not a big, toothy smile, but a small, soft one– a special one just for you. He loved you, and you felt it; and you knew without a doubt that this is where you belonged. In their group, among the kindest people you’d ever met, with Chan by your side.

When night settled in, he did everything possible to ensure you were comfortable, such as offering you another change of clothes if you wanted it, or to take you home if you’d prefer that. But honestly, you wanted to stay with Chan as long as possible, not just because of your desire to stay at his side, but because of how safe being with him always made you feel.

You always felt secure in his presence, like any problem you had just melted away when he was hugging you or holding your hand. And despite the good turn the day had taken, you could definitely still use his comfort. “Wait,” you called to him when he was going to turn to leave, his plan the same as the other times you stayed the night; he’d be on the couch, while you took the comfort of his bed.

“Did I forget something you need?” Chan asked, quickly surveying the bed; you had plenty of pillows, and you weren’t too in need of blankets given that it was approaching summer now, but he wouldn’t put it outside the realm of possibility to forget something you needed. 

“No, it’s not that,” you say, and you can see the gears turning in his head, mild confusion mixed with concern appearing on his features. “What’s wrong then?” he asks carefully, stepping away from the door and back to you.

“I.. want you to stay. Here, with me,” you mutter, shyly looking down at your lap and his face flushes as he tries to blink away the initial shock. “Like.. until you fall asleep, or..?”

“N-No,” you look at him, a bit hesitant to meet his gaze due to your nervousness but doing it anyway, “like.. Sleep with me..?” Fuck. He knows you don’t mean it like that but what the hell, you’re gonna give him a heart attack.

“Are you sure? You won’t be uncomfortable?” Another careful step closer, watching you closely for any sign of hesitation, wanting to make 100% sure that you really want him next to you all night. You nod, scooting to make space for him so he knows you mean it.

He swallows before he crawls in next to you, doing his best to settle in comfortably despite the way his body tenses from laying so close to you. What makes it even worse is that instead of laying with your back facing him like he expected, you’re turned towards him, looking straight at him. He’s never been this close to your face before, and he feels like his heart is going to erupt. 

“Don’t need Wolf Chan?” he asks after you’re settled, noting the fact that you don’t have him in your arms as you normally did when you spent the night. “Not when I have you,” you reply, and thank God he turned off the lights before he got into bed with you, because you definitely would’ve seen the blush on his face burn tenfold.

“Chan..” you breathe out, your voice slightly hesitant and tense, and though the room is dark, his eyes have adjusted enough to see you looking at him nervously. “Yeah..?” he asks softly, and carefully you reach out to him, your hand lingering on his arm.

“I want you to promise.. That you’ll keep trying to get away from the people who have you do bad things, and that you won’t do them anymore once you’re out,” you say, eyes still nervous and desperate to find reassurance. That’s exactly what he planned to keep doing anyway, but hearing you say it just reaffirms his choice– he’ll get out of it no matter what, for your sake. 

“I promise. You’ll be the first to know too, I promise,” he affirms, and you finally smile, fully believing in him. “I’ll make a promise too! That once everything is settled, I’ll officially be your girlfriend.” Chan chuckles at your statement, pulling you into a hug as he does.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” he tells you, smiling at you fondly as he pulls you in closer. “If it’s okay.. Can I kiss you?” he asks softly, and you nod, heart racing in anticipation.

Your first kiss- soft and sweet, his touch light and gentle, your stomach erupting in butterflies. Again, again, and once more, both smiling when you pull back. You’ve never felt so warm, pure elation in your veins as he holds you close.

“I love you,” you tell him as you settle your head against his shoulder, closing your eyes and basking in the joy and comfort you feel. “Love you more,” he says, landing a soft kiss on the top of your head, “Goodnight, Y/N, sweet dreams.” 

Was it okay for Chan to be this happy? Was it okay to have the things he dreamed of? Regardless of the answer, he was thankful. There were few things in this world that Chan allowed himself to crave selfishly, you being the most primary desire of them all.

Did he deserve you? Maybe not now, but he would someday soon– he’d make sure of that. He’d keep his promises, make sure he became someone worth being around for, someone that you could be proud to say is the person you love.

6 months since the day Chan told you he loved you and made you his girlfriend. Well, maybe not officially one might argue, since he still had a myriad of promises to uphold before then, but as far as Chan is concerned, it counts!

And to the credit of his point, you still acted like a couple most of the time, all sweet touches and bashful glances whenever he was near you. Neither of you could help it, really; how do you resist in that scenario? All he ever wanted to do was shower you with affection any chance he got, and why would you deny the opportunity to experience it? 

Chan’s duality also extended towards your romantic relationship, in ways that endlessly endeared and fascinated you. He adapted to the boyfriend role well all things considered, or maybe his kind hearted and compassionate nature made him naturally good at caring for you.

He was extremely open with his love for you, full of soft touches and charming words. That was always in private however; when around his friends he was much less.. Sauve, you could say. He was shy, simply put; his face and ears burning red whenever you kissed him for all to see, bashful giggles leaving his lips whenever you complimented him or told him you loved him so, so much.

You always loved seeing his cute dimples show up whenever he was happy, and knowing you were the person making it happen filled you with more joy than you could express in words. But the biggest display of his duality would always come when he felt the need to protect you– all his shyness would melt away, his desire to keep you safe and close much stronger than anything else.

Whether it was holding your hand as you walked through crowds of people, directing you away from the edge of the sidewalk when you walked together, or kept an arm snuggly around you when belligerent, overconfident men approached you at a party– he was your protector above all else, and he made that clear to everyone. 

He was perfect in every way, at least to you. It’s not to say that he was suddenly without fault, and he certainly wasn’t absolved of all the wrong he’d committed in his past, but his growth and earnest effort didn’t deserve to go unrecognized.

He was the sweetest, kindest person you’d ever known, and every day he showed his resilience and determination to make a better name for himself. That alone made him perfect to you. 

Chan worked hard to get away from what kept him connected to the dark underside of the city, and it didn’t come without its sacrifices, but he did his best to make it work and come out of it all ready to wash his hands clean of the past.

He made substantially less money now, but it was a fair exchange when you consider that the money he made going forward was through honest means. He agreed to share the burden as well, to accept help and not take on so much responsibility all on his own. 

He was used to taking the brunt of everything, shouldering it all for the sake of everyone else around him. He thought that's what made him useful, what made others want to be around him– what use did he have as a person if he wasn’t providing something for them? Chan was a pillar; one who didn’t want to acknowledge that his foundation was inherently broken, and not built on solid enough ground. 

Slowly but surely however, he began to see his worth beyond the material, and stopped seeing his friendships as ones that could easily be stripped away from him by superficial means. It’s not that he thought the people in his life were shallow either, it’s just..

When your self-esteem is so low, and all you’ve ever known is pain and sadness, where the people that were supposed to care for you were either gone or didn’t give a shit, it’s hard to see yourself in the same lens that the people who love you do.

It’s nearly impossible to shake doubt once it has its grip on you, hard to convince yourself people mean it when they say they care when you’ve only ever experienced the opposite. You can’t explain what it’s like to have a brain at war with itself, and he imagines that the only ones who would ever truly understand are the people like him, who have experienced it for themselves and truly know what it means to be lonely. 

But he had come to realize that he wasn’t as alone as he felt; he had countless good people in his life, and all he had to do was open the door and let them in. It wasn’t easy to unlearn all the things Chan had told himself over the years, and there were still many days where he struggled with his self-worth and having compassion for himself, but the people he loved made it worth trying his hardest. 

And you, the person Chan loved most of all, was the catalyst for the change he needed. You pushed him in the right direction, opened his eyes to all the feelings and wants he tried to push away and made him face them head on. He was endlessly grateful to you, and he wanted to show you just how much; which is why now, on your 6 month anniversary (which was actually more like 3, officially speaking), he wanted to do something special. 

But what should he get you? What would be good enough? He knew you’d appreciate the sentiment of his gift more than the price tag of it, but he still felt stuck when considering what would be best for you. He could take you out on a date, but what he really wants is the chance to be alone with you. As much as he loves his brothers, and loves that you’re all friends and get along well, if they interrupt or crash his alone time with you one more time he might burst a blood vessel. 

Theoretically he could do some research and find somewhere for the two of you to be one on one, but his career change didn’t leave him with much of a travel fund (or a gift fund, for that matter.) He could always ask the guys to make themselves vacant for a night, or to just please let him have some alone time with his girlfriend, but God, he could already picture how they’d tease him for asking. Or worse, ask him what his intentions are and make him embarrassed in the process. 

In the end however, Chan swallowed his pride, and asked his brothers kindly but firmly to let him have the house to himself so he could spend his anniversary alone with you. He did get some teasing and embarrassing questions, but overall not as bad as what he anticipated, thankfully.

Did he want to have sex with you? Yes, obviously. Was that the reason he was doing this? Absolutely not. That’s not to say he wouldn’t welcome it if it happened of course, but it was in no way his sole motivation.

He hadn’t done that with you yet, and though he wanted to, he was in no way going to rush you into it. Sure, it drove him a little crazy every time you stayed the night and he had you pressed up against him, but he was a gentleman above all else. He had self control.

What he didn’t know though, is that you were also being driven a little crazy by him. The first time he called you “baby”, your stomach did full on somersaults, and if he called you that before he kissed you? Your heart went absolutely crazy!

Then, the first time he removed his shirt to sleep you nearly had a heart attack. He was so toned, and well, you figured he was from how strong he appeared to be, but actually seeing it with your own eyes made your heart race unbelievably fast.

And then, one night when you were lying in his bed together, your back pressed against him as you watched a movie on his laptop, and he leaned forward to kiss you, but the kiss landed on your neck– oh, it was over for you. 

You bit your lip to stop yourself from making an embarrassing sound, face flushing and growing hot. And lately, you came to realize more and more how bad you wanted Chan more intimately. Every time his hand lingered on your waist, every time you felt his body pressed to yours when you hugged, every time you were laying together and he had his arm wrapped around you– you wanted him. 

But how do you go about admitting that? You’d never done this sort of thing before, nor had you been faced with such a strong desire to be intimate with someone before being with Chan.

But now, that it was your 6-more-like-3 month anniversary, you thought maybe now might be the right time to talk about it. It might be difficult to do so without getting shy or embarrassed but you definitely wanted to, and to find out if he ever thought about you in the same way.

Much to Chan’s delight and relief, you didn’t seem at all upset that his plans with you involved having a date at home. His gift to you was a cute, new wolf plush; and while it was certainly was no Wolf Chan, he hoped would comfort you when you weren’t with him. You loved it, instantly hugging him and promising that you’d sleep with Wolf Chan Jr. (as you promptly named it) every night that you weren’t with Chan. 

He put on a movie that you’d once said was a favorite of yours but that he had never seen, and it warmed your heart that he remembered and wanted to watch it with you. He ordered your favorite take out meal, spent the entire evening cuddled close to you and sweetly reminding you how much he loved you.

When night settled in and you began to grow tired, you changed into your pajamas separately before you went to his room. And still, the question was weighing on you– does he want you? Will you be able to tell him that you'd been giving having sex with him a lot of thought?

And then you walked into the room after finishing changing, and saw that he planned on only sleeping in some sweatpants, you internally lost your mind. No way would you be able to sleep if he was next to you looking that good and while your mind was plagued with less than innocent thoughts.

So when the lights were off, and you were laid next to him, you conjured all your bravery to speak your mind. “Chan.. can I ask you something?” He sat up a bit upon hearing you, finding your eyes in the darkness to give you his full attention.

“Of course, what is it?” He asks and you swallow, taking a moment to steady your voice before you come right out with it. “Do you ever.. think about having sex with me?” Holy fuck. That is the last thing he was expecting to hear.

“W-What? I-I– well–” he sputters nervously, his face growing hot within seconds. “I-I just.. I have so.. I thought I’d ask..?” you mutter shyly, hoping you won’t be faced with a mortifying rejection. 

Oh no. That admission makes his brain short circuit for a moment, mind reeling as he processes what you’ve just said. You’ve thought about it? With him? You want to… with him?

“O-Of course I have, I just didn’t know if you wanted to, a-and I didn’t want you to feel pressured if I instigated so..” he trails off, hoping that he didn’t unintentionally make you feel undesired by holding off on touching you more intimately. 

Relief rushes through you, happy to be reminded what a gentleman your boyfriend is and to know that he wants you too. “I-In that case.. do you want to tonight?” you ask, and you feel him suck in a breath before he answers.

“I– y-yeah, I want to,” he says, shy but honest as he seeks out your hand, “as long as you’re sure you’re ready.”

“I’m sure, I really want to,” you tell him, squeezing his hand and offering him a smile. Chan gets up from the bed to turn on some dim mood lighting, because he definitely doesn’t want his first time with you to be in complete darkness– he needs to see you.

You sit up, watching him in nervous excitement before he sits next to you. “I’ll– I’ll take care of you so.. Just let me know if I’m going too fast or you need to stop, okay?” he asks and you assure him that the minute you feel even slightly uncomfortable, you’ll let him know.

He smiles, a shy and cute one, guiding you to turn so both of your bodies are facing each other before he lets you know, “I’m going to kiss you now.” His hand rests just below your ear, fingers on your neck and his thumb tracing circles on your cheek as he leans in to kiss you.

The kiss is slow– much slower than all the others you’ve shared with him until now. It’s sensual, each kiss soft and languid, pulling away for only a second before he connects his lips with yours again. You can feel the butterflies flutter in your stomach as he deepens the kiss, his other hand carefully landing on your waist. 

Your hands sit awkwardly in your lap at first, not quite sure what you should do with them and what’s okay. But to your surprise, the more Chan kisses you, the more you find yourself naturally following his lead, as if this isn’t something entirely new to you. He tilts you back, carefully guiding your back to the bed, his body finding its place between your legs. 

You bring your arms around his neck, urging him to press his body closer to yours and leave no free space between you. You want him as close as possible, to feel his weight on you, to be enveloped by him and feel him all over.

You’re so responsive to his touch that it drives Chan crazy with want; the way your body shivers when he runs his hand down your waist to your hip, the way goosebumps rises on your skin when his fingers linger near your waistband, the way your mouth opens for him when he licks your bottom lip– he loves it all. 

A soft sound escapes your throat when he lets his tongue in your mouth, your arms moving from around his neck to let your hands explore his body, running down his chest and feeling his abs under your fingertips.

Feeling his tongue circle around yours, his breath being shared with you and yours with him, it’s enough to make you dizzy already. You’ve never felt a desire like this before, this overwhelming want to have his hands explore every inch of your skin. 

When he pulls away from the kiss, wow, he’s breathless just from the sight of you. Your lips red and glossy, your eyes hazy with need, your hair having fallen around you like a halo; his angel– you’re forever his angel.

Chan caresses your lip with his thumb, wanting to stare at you for just a moment longer before he diverts his attention elsewhere. He smiles when you kiss his thumb, finding the action cute (and hot if he’s being honest, but he’ll explore that thought later.)

He lowers his head back down to you, giving you one more kiss before he leans towards your neck, kissing just under your ear before trailing hot, open mouthed kisses slowly down the expanse of your jaw and to your neck.

Some of them tickle, making you giggle softly in response, but he knows he’s found the right spot when instead of giggling, you gasp, eyes fluttering closed as you tilt your head to the side, allowing him to have more access to your sweet spot. 

You can feel him smile against your skin before he resumes his wet kisses and licks, latching his mouth to the spot that makes you react the most and sucking gently. The noises that leave you are intoxicating and addictive, soft breathy little moans that almost get completely drowned out by the sound his kisses leave on your dampening skin.

His hands travel to the hem of your shirt, and he separates from your neck, looking at you for any sign that you want him to stop before he begins to pull it up. You look shy, maybe a little nervous, but not at all hesitant or scared of his touch. You welcome it, letting him strip you of your top and toss it to the floor.

You’re not wearing a bra, you never do when you go to bed, and while Chan suspected that to be the case, he never asked or commented on it, because admitting that he noticed a difference would also mean admitting that he’d look at your chest. But now, he'll be able to do so freely, to stare at you openly (and hopefully not be too embarrassed about it.)

The way he stares in awe of you makes you blush, and when he calls you beautiful on top of it, you almost want to cover your face from how shy you feel. He can’t compliment you while you’re exposed to him like this, you don’t think your heart can take it. Your reaction makes him smile, but he hopes you know that he means it; Chan isn’t saying you're beautiful just to say it, you truly are– the most beautiful person he’s ever met, both body and soul. 

“Is this okay?” he asks, hands lingering patiently near your breasts, not wanting to touch them until you give him clearly spoken permission. You nod, but he still hesitates until you say it, which you simultaneously appreciate but feel extremely embarrassed from. Chan rewards you with a kiss, another long one meant to ease away the embarrassment and put your focus entirely on enjoying the moment. 

Your breath hitches when he finally touches your breasts, your body quivering when his calloused thumbs brush over your nipples. He lingers on every kiss so sweetly, every touch of your body slow and careful, not just for your comfort but also to commit it to memory, to ensure that he always remembers what his first time with you was like. He kisses down your neck again, and you watch with bated breath as he draws closer to your chest. 

Chan takes his time fondling your breasts as he covers them in kisses, squeezing gently and listening intently to all the sounds he draws from you. He takes one of your nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it and spending some time softly sucking before giving the other an equal amount of attention.

The more attention he showers your breasts with, the wetter you become, your panties becoming increasingly drenched with your arousal. If he wasn’t between your legs, you’d be pressing them together in a desperate attempt to gain some relief, your pussy aching to be touched but at the same time wanting to let Chan take his time making you feel good.

He doesn’t separate from your chest until he’s satisfied, starting to trail kisses down your stomach, stopping to look up at you once he’s at the waistband of your shorts. “Still okay?” he asks and you nod (perhaps a bit too eagerly), lifting your hips up so he can easily pull your clothes down your legs. 

He hooks his fingers into your shorts and panties, hands slightly trembling as he pulls them down your thighs and then off your legs, discarding them off to the floor with your top. Now that he sees you fully exposed to him, Chan feels like his heart is going to beat out of his chest, his cock unceremoniously twitching as he stares at your body.

You can see how hard it’s grown from beneath his sweatpants, and God, you can already tell it’s big. You sit up, this time being the one to initiate a kiss as you tug at Chan’s sweatpants, not so subtly asking him to help you take them off.

It’s his turn to feel shy, face starting to burn to the tips of his ears as he separates from you to remove them more easily. The way you attentively watch him certainly doesn’t help, nor the way you overtly stare at his cock when it’s freed from his clothing. 

You look back to his face, and though he’s feeling shy, he offers you a smile, one that you return just as timidly. Another kiss before you lay back again, your heart racing as you watch him resume his earlier path, placing kisses to the soft expanse of your skin. From your cute tummy down to your thighs, it’s driving you crazy how close his face has gotten to your core without having given it any attention yet. 

He carefully spreads your legs further apart, swallowing when your pussy comes entirely into his view. So cute and dripping wet, all for him, because of him– God, you’re perfect. As he’s done with every inch of your body up to this point, his first course of action is to kiss. Your hips jolt when he kisses your clit, and when he flattens his tongue and licks, oh, you’re in heaven. 

You’ve never felt anything as good as this, your entire body shuddering as you sink your teeth into your bottom lip. The slow pace he starts with drives you wild, taking his time familiarizing himself with the way you taste, the motions you like, and indulging in the pretty sound of your whimpers and moans.

Chan picks up the pace when he finds what you like, alternating from pushing his tongue as deep into your hole as it can go and then back to your clit. He uses his hands to keep your legs spread, can feel the way they tremble and twitch as your orgasm grows closer.

Your hands clutch at his bedsheet, desperate mewls growing in volume as the knot in your stomach builds. He directs all of his attention to your clit, keeping his pace steady as he squeezes your thighs in his hands, his eyes closed as he focuses entirely on getting you to cum all over his tongue. 

He can’t help but groan when your hands move to his head, your fingers tangling in his hair and tugging just enough to cause a slight sting. “C-Close, so close-” you warn and he hums, ready and eager to taste your release.

You cum with a choked cry, your entire body trembling as the blinding white pleasure courses through your veins. Your heart pounds, chest heaving as you try to collect your breath, mind hazy from your post-orgasm bliss. 

You don’t even register that Chan has moved from his spot between your legs until he kisses you, tasting yourself on his tongue bringing you back to reality. Seeing you like this not only fills Chan with an insane amount of want, but also with pride, knowing that he’s the reason you’re in this state.

“Baby,” he calls to you, urging you to look at him. His face flushes when you do, cause fuck, you’re so pretty like this, but no use getting shy again now. “I– I want to get you ready to take me, i-is that okay?” Chan hates that he stutters a bit while asking, but he can’t help it when he’s this worked up and you’re laying there looking pretty beyond words.

“Y-Yeah, please,” you practically beg, and fuck, he’s weak for that. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to resist giving you whatever you want if you make begging like that a habit of yours. He carefully moves from between your legs to be next to you, kissing you sweetly as he rubs his fingers between your folds.

You can feel his erection pressing against your thigh, hard and leaking, his pre-cum smearing on the skin it touches. “C-Channie–” you call and he immediately comes to stop, looking at you in concern. “What’s wrong, angel? Change your mind?” he asks, brows furrowing in worry. 

You quickly shake your head, trying to dispel any concern before you speak up again, “I want- Can I touch you too?” You can feel his cock twitch from your question, his face flaring and ears burning.

“Y-Yeah, of course,” he says, adjusting his position enough for his cock to be within reach of your hand. He can’t help but shudder and gasp when you bring your fingers to his flushed tip, coating your fingers in pre-cum and spreading it down the length of his shaft. 

Your hand is so much softer than his, so warm, and fingers barely able to wrap fully around due to how thick he is. He can’t help but get lost in watching for a moment, eyes transfixed on the way your hand slowly moves up and down. You look at Chan, watching the way his expression changes as he bites his lip– how does he look so gorgeous and sexy at once? 

Regaining his focus, he prods at your hole with his fingers before he slips the middle one inside. God, you’re so warm and wet and tight, that the thought alone of being inside you is enough to make Chan want to cum. He can’t wait to fuck you, to feel you squeezing him, and to find out what noises you’ll make when his cock is touching the deepest parts of you. 

But first, he needs to prep you well– so he starts by moving his finger in and out slowly and carefully until he’s sure you can take another. You whimper when he adds a second finger, your motions on his cock stopping for just a moment as you adjust to the new sensation you’re feeling. His fingers are much longer and thicker than your own, and it sends ripples of pleasure throughout your body with every move they make. 

You match the pace of your hand with that of his fingers, mirroring the slow movements, but adding pressure by squeezing your hand around him. When he picks up his pace, you do as well, and your stomach flips when he curses under his breath and groans.

You’re mesmerized when his head falls back for a moment, his breathing becoming heavier and his stomach and thighs flexing from the pleasure he feels. But when his fingers curl, your concentration breaks, the spot he touches making you see stars as loud a moan falls from your lips. 

It feels so good you almost can’t breathe, head falling back against the pillows and your eyes rolling back as he prods it over and over again. Your pace on his cock loses its rhythm, trying your best to keep steady through the immense pleasure you feel but failing at the task miserably.

Chan doesn’t mind in the slightest– in fact, he welcomes it, because he doesn’t want to cum before he's had the chance to be inside you. He brings his thumb to your clit, applying pressure as he draws circles over it, and that’s enough to make you entirely crumble. “Oh my god–” you gasp, your hand falling away from his cock as you succumb to what he gives you.

You’re cumming before you can even really process it, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as your body trembles. He doesn’t stop until he’s sure you’ve come down from the high, carefully sliding his fingers out of you and licking them clean. 

Your eyes are closed, breath shaky as your heart pounds, and you feel so good. Chan carefully pushes the hair stuck on your face with sweat away, and you smile at him when you open your eyes. “Felt good, huh?” he asks with a shy smile of his own, “Do you still want to keep going? Not too tired?”

“Wanna keep going, wanna feel you inside me,” you answer, and you can feel him twitch against your thigh again, evidently excited by your words. He stands from the bed to rifle through his nightstand, pulling a condom from the drawer as you settle comfortably in the middle of the bed.

Chan takes his place between your legs, and you watch as he opens the package and rolls the condom on with no trouble (despite how much his hands are trembling from the anticipation.) He takes his cock in his hand, lining himself up with your entrance and then looking back to your face. 

“You’re still sure?” he asks, and you nod without hesitation. “Mhm, I love you so much Channie, wanna do this with you and only you,” you assure him, and wow, does that make him positively melt.

“Such an angel,” he tells you before he kisses you, happy beyond words, “my angel.” He slides inside with relative ease given how slick you are, the only resistance he meets being from how tight you still are even after having gotten his fingers. 

He watches you the entire time, stopping when he notices you wince, and only resuming his slow push when your body starts to release its tension. Chan kisses you, holds your hand and lets you squeeze as hard you need, not moving a single inch until you’re ready for it. To your surprise, it doesn’t take all that long for you to adjust to the stretch, and soon enough you find yourself eager for stimulation. 

You don’t verbally say it, but Chan can tell you’re ready by the pleasured whimper that pours into your kiss when you feel him twitch inside, and how you unconsciously move your hips to try and seek the friction you crave. He starts slow, for his sake as much as yours, because he’ll cum much sooner than he wishes to otherwise.

He’s still kissing you, swallowing your soft moans and letting you consume his low groans. It takes him a moment to find your spot with just his cock, but he can tell he’s got it when you loudly gasp and clench tightly around him. 

He moves his hands to your hips and then to your legs, holding them in his hands and using them for leverage when he starts to pick up his pace. Your hands are on his face, holding him close as you continue to kiss and muffle each other’s noises that are beginning to grow in volume. You’re glad Chan asked the guys to leave for the night, because with how good it feels you couldn’t possibly keep your voice down, even if you wanted to. 

“Fuck, baby, feel so good, ‘m gonna cum,” Chan tells you between breathy groans and your stomach flips, eager to find out what he looks and sounds like when he’s cumming inside you. He brings two fingers to your clit, rubbing in quick circles to ensure you cum again too and that he doesn’t leave you wanting. You whine, sensitive from all the attention you’ve received but still feeling way too good to ask him to stop. 

“Cum again for me, please angel, need you to so bad, please-” Oh, that really does it for you. You cum hard, making a mess of his fingers as you do, clutching tightly to his arms as your head falls back. Chan’s high follows close behind, his thrusts turning sloppy as he chases it, his cum spurting into the condom in quick bursts.

The two of you stay like that for a time, breathing heavily as you come down from your highs together. Chan pulls out slowly once he’s caught his breath, quickly removing the condom and tying it off, disposing of it in the trash can at the foot of his bed before he lays down next to you.

You immediately turn towards him, wrapping your arm around him and pulling him into a hug. “We should get cleaned up but.. Wanna cuddle first,” you say and Chan smiles, always finding it so cute when you’re clingy towards him, and even more so now after an intimate moment. 

He rubs soothing circles on your back and kisses the top of your head, watching you fondly as you yawn and snuggle as close to him as you can. “Baby, you’re gonna fall asleep if we stay like this too long. Let’s get you cleaned up before you get too cozy, yeah?” Chan reasons and you pout, knowing he’s right but not wanting to leave the comfortable, blissful place you’re in. He chuckles when you look at him with that pout, so adorable and cute in his eyes. 

“C’mon, won’t take long. And we’ll go straight to bed as soon as we’re done, promise,” he tries again and you reluctantly agree, begrudgingly tearing yourself away from your boyfriend's warm embrace.

Your legs are a bit wobbly, so Chan helps you stabilize yourself, walks you to the bathroom and helps you in the shower. He takes his time to dry you off well and get you dressed in fresh clothes, and helps you back into bed.

You yawn and snuggle into Chan as soon he’s settled next to you, eyes heavy and body beyond exhausted. You’re a little sore, but so happy, and Chan took such good care of you that you feel relaxed despite the aches.

He holds you close, whispering a soft ‘I love you’, smiling when you sleepily mumble it back. He’s so lucky to have you, so blessed to have you here in his arms, loving him in both his good moments and his bad, never giving up on him even when you likely should have. 

You saw how flawed of a person he was and loved him regardless, knew of his mistakes and regrets and supported him anyway, encouraging him every step of the way on his road to change. There were so many times he felt he didn’t deserve the love and compassion he received, so many times he felt worthless and miserable, and you graciously helped him to see that he was a person worth more than he gave himself credit for. 

It was still hard at times to have love and compassion for himself, to extend himself the care he freely offered to others, to believe it’s what he deserved, but he’d never stop trying. Until the day came where he could confidently say he loves himself, that he believes in his heart that he’s not someone worthless, he’ll keep trying.

And you’ll be there, holding his hand, giving him the safe space he needs to cry and to feel, your unconditional love giving him the reassurance and hope he needs to live a life he can be proud of– a life he promises to always share with you.

[ybklix]

new pov unlocked BOOMSHAKALAAAAAAA LETS GOOOOO

[3rachahyune]

Bang Chan Fic Recs Pt.2

🌸 = personal favourites

Pt.1

Oneshots

Domesticated by @/mostlycompetentwriter 🌸🌸🌸

Better or Worse by @/jl-micasea-fics 🌸🌸🌸

Saviour by @/jl-micasea-fics

I Really F**king Like You by @/jl-micasea-fics 🌸

The King of the Forest by @/therhythmafterthesummer 🌸🌸

Runaway Princess by @/therhythmafterthesummer

Wolfsbane by @/healinghyunjin 🌸

Promise This by @/changbeanie 🌸

The Eclipse by @/changbeanie

From Grace by @/changbeanie

Non Ducor Duco by @/chanluster

When the Clocks Stop Ticking by @/chaninfused

Waiting For Us by @/j-0ne25

SURFIN’ by @/j-0ne25

From Eden by @/lvandrmoon 🌸 🌸

Fragments by @/petrichor-han

Between the Lines by @/straylightdream 🌸

Almost Losing You by @/straylightdream

Outta my Head by @/straylightdream

Where Were You? by @/straylightdream

No Place For You Here by @/kpopsfic

Illicit & Priceless by @/missinghan

My House by @/formidxble

Parasitic by @/luvknow

Falling Rain by @/staytheword

The Chance of Love by @/maatryoshkaa

Of Floral Lace by @/setsugekka

Domestic Disturbance by @/huenjin

Enemies-to-Lovers by @/taelme

Priceless by @/chaoticminhos

Thinning by @/seospicybin

Kill Me Slowly by @/inkedtae 🌸

Gold Rush by @/koorminii

Mayhem by @/kpopchangedme

Yours by @/imhereforbrownies

MANIAC #1: Chris Bang by @/cb97percent

Where The Train Never Stops by @/hanibalistic

amethyst by @/pucchinpurinracha

pieces of you by @/astraystayyh

Connected by @/changbunnies

If You Call Me by @/changbunnies

I Wanna Be Yours by @/hyunniesgirl

diving records by @/luvstaymin

night again by @/chahnniesroom

coming up roses by @/chahnniesroom

[fics-lovebot]

stray kids fic recs pt. 1

main masterlist

· ♡ · · tysm to the amazing creative minds of the writers for giving me sevaral moments of joy reading your creations

pls reblog if you like any of my recs and don´t forget to support authors!❤️

such a nice guy - ( @bambizeld ) smut, perv roomie!jeongin. "Jeongin, who prays religiously to God for blessing his gratuitous life, that you both share a bathroom" LMAOOOO, why is he like that

only yours - ( @lovecase ) fluff, angst, hurt/comfort. idol!ot8 x gf!reader. "the world has a way of trying to make you feel small. but no matter what it is, they'll always remind you (and everyone else) that in their eyes, you're the furthest thing from "average." this is so :((((( i LOVE IT, so cute and so sad at the same time

secretly a freak - ( @jj-one ) smut, freakbob acting out. "“stop hovering, i said sit.” !!!!! RIGHT HERE, OFFICER

caught crying after giving head - ( @jj-one ) smut, fluff, college au, loser virgin nerd!han (YUHHH) x popular!reader, THEE BEST NERD!HAN SERIES OUT THERE, TRUSTT!!!, when you´re done read THIS, THIS, THISSSS AND THIS ONE TOO

work, doll - ( @chanifesto ) smut, handyman neighbour!hyunjin x fem!reader. THAT ONE VIDEO OF HIM AND CHANGBIN FIXING SHIT ON THAT APT DOES SOMETHING TO ME! that´s a whole man fr UGHHHH, this is so goooood

you talk in your sleep - ( @undiagnosedcruelty ) fluff, bf!jisung. reader talks in her sleep and calls him a loser lmaooo, not him crashing out

the secret hwang - ( @hanniebaeee ) angst, fluff, crack, second chance rom, idol!hyunjin, pregnant staff!reader, yess gawddd, we love an angsty fic, also, not felix and lino fighting for who´s the fake daddy 🥴

flowers - ( @bandgie ) smut, pussy-creazed!hyunjin (!!!) x gf!reader. "hyunjin invented pussy worship" IKTR. not him painting flowers based on his gf keWCHIE AND POSTING IT I- he´s so romantic

like father, like son - ( @linoxpudding ) fluff, crack, dad!lee know, mom!reader, married with kids au. not minho´s son fighting at school and him being proud, such a him thing to do lmao

dimple - ( @forlix ) fluff, crack, implied sex, crack. frat pres!chan, fuckboy!chan turned doting, college au. sooo chan is a fuckboy and nobody believes he´s acc dating somebody sdjslj this is so cute and fun

unexpected pregnancy - ( @skzophreniic) fluff, lowk angst, very suggestive, idol!chris, pregnancy trope, father-to-be!chris. this one´s so cute and so real tbh, i feel like this would deff be how he would handle the situation. also, him liking the whole pregnant wife look is canon idc

inexperienced - ( @seungisms ) smut, inexperienced!jeongin x experienced!reader. "jeongin has a big dick but doesn´t know how to use it" I BELIVE THIS WITH MY WHOLE CHEST. this was gewd af, i love me a loser bf

push me further, pull me closer - ( @cattolino ) smut, fwb, idol!chan x mua!reader. nottt felix trying to be cupid lmao, i feel like this is something that could be happening at jyp building rn, ik that man is nAWT single

she said she was virgin on vc - ( @jj-one ) smut, virgin gamer!jeongin x gamer f!reader, fake enemies to lovers. THIS IS SOOO !!!!!!!!! my gawddddd, loser virgin gamer i.n stans ASSAMBLE

lamborghini car keys - ( @jj-one ) smut, car sex, idol!bin. CHANGBIN WITH A FUKCING LAMBO ISTG I- dont EVER let that man near me i might just get him prEGNANT. the visulas i got from this JESUSCHRISTTTT, not the tight button up with the slicked back hair lawwdddddd and he´s smooth with it too sTOP

[lynsbng]

❛❛ BACK TO YOU … ❜❜

˚ ༘ 🎞️ ⸝⸝ ⋮ in which a prodigious medical student has her world upended when she comes across her estranged high school sweetheart, who is now a global k-pop star—a revelation that forces her to confront a simple yet terrifying truth: the feelings had never changed.

han jisung x medical student f!reader · category : (mostly) angst & fluff · contents : high school sweethearts to strangers, eventually to lovers. jisung was a skater. reader is referred as y/n. depictions of social isolation, academic pressure, high parental expectations, sleep deprivation, insecurity, strong language, reader’s discretion is advised. · word count : 9.9k

💬 … lynsbng speaking ⸝⸝ coming back with a long fic! i sincerely apologise for the extremely long wait! we’re back!!! this is an anon request, tysm for requesting! requests are open!

proceed to navigation? < yes. >

SEOUL, 2020

SEOUL’S RAIN WAS A PALE IMITATION OF THE STORMS YOU HAD WEATHERED THROUGH MEDICAL SCHOOL. it was a slow leak, a persistent, misty drizzle that blurred the sharp edges of the gangnam skylines into a watercolor smear of gray and electric blues. the rain didn’t cleanse, it made everything within your peripheral vision a poorly maintained aquarium. it was a fitting backdrop for what your life had become. successful. lonely. efficient. damp.

you were born academically gifted. your life had always revolved around the architecture of achievement. every milestone was a blueprint you drafted yourself: valedictorian for three consecutive years, flawless academic transcripts, your successful entry into korea’s most prestigious medical program at seoul national university. you didn’t just achieve, you wanted to prove your worth. to earn your father’s approval.

your father, a respected neurosurgeon, had maps of your future framed in his mind before you could walk: to be his legacy. to pursue a brilliant career in neurosurgery, following in his celebrated footsteps. you were to be the perfect daughter, the flawless extension of his will and intellect.

you wouldn’t dare to disappoint him. you followed his map diligently, until the road led you here, to the loneliest summit you could imagine.

the medical college was a temple of silent, cutthroat ambition. you were surrounded by hundreds of korea’s brightest, all aiming for the same narrow pinnacle. in this environment, friendship was a liability most couldn’t risk. sure, you had acquaintances, whether they were study group or lab partners. however, you barely had friends. you didn’t really have the energy nor the chance to get to know people.

your social circle consisted of polite nods in the hallway, brief exchanges about class notes, and the shared, grim understanding in someone’s eyes during ‘boring’ lectures. those were the only times you felt a flicker connection, a silent acknowledgment that you were all suffering the same beautiful yet grueling fate; a camaraderie born out of shared trauma.

and it evaporated the moment the lectures ended, with everyone retreating back into their own cages.

you ate lunch alone, often with a laptop propped open, because joining a table felt like an intrusion into someone else’s time, or worse, an invitation for your own focus to be diluted.

you told yourself it was efficient. that the relentless focus was necessary. however, sometimes, on your walk back to your apartment, you would see a group of students from the liberal arts college. they walked together, talked over each other, shoved playfully, shared food without a second thought. you would watch them—and just for a moment, you could feel a strange ache unfolding within your chest.

it wasn’t jealousy, not exactly. it was more like a realization. a recognition of something you had willingly traded away.

it was during one of these robotic routines that you broke. the text on your study materials began to swim before your eyes, allowing a defeated sigh to escape your lips as you traded your study materials for the world beyond the window. your head throbbed with the phantom ache of a two hours sleep, an obvious sign to take a break.

for a moment, you did nothing but exist, suspended between the pressure of your future and the gray, damp inertia of an afternoon in seoul. you watched a droplet cling stubbornly to the glass pane, before finally succumbing to gravity.

“y/n? is that you?”

the voice was bright, familiar in a way that made your body instantly freeze, every muscle tensing, akin to a deer caught in the unexpected glow of headlights. slowly, you turned from the window, your gaze landing on the woman standing a few steps away.

it was her. yujin. a classmate from your high school. her smile was wide, genuine, and held none of the feigned expression and the coldness you had grown accustomed to seeing in the eyes of your peers. you knew, distantly, that she was enrolled at the same university, majoring in business administration—a path so divergent from your own it might as well have been on a different continent. hence, you rarely crossed each other.

a jolt, something between shock and faint excitement, sparked within your chest.

“yujin-ah,” you greeted, your own voice sounding surprisingly stiff and unfamiliar in your ears, “hi...”

“oh my god—long time no see!” she didn’t wait for an invitation, sliding into the chair across from you with an ease that spoke of a life less rigidly scheduled. you couldn’t help but to envy her.

“i was sorta’ debating whether to approach you or not, you looked really out of place.” a soft chuckle, “but anyway! how’ve you been? med school must’ve been hell, huh?”

“well, i can't lie… it’s intense,” you managed a small, tight smile, “but i’m still holding on.”

“girl, tell me about it! i have a couple of friends planning to drop out, you’re definitely god’s strongest soldier—anyways! my marketing professor’s trying to kill us with these assignments…” yujin launched into life updates, filling the space between you with light gossip about mutual acquaintances, her professors, and embarrassing moments that happened during her presentation.

you listened, nodding, the simple act of catching up on trivial life details feeling strangely illicit and deeply soothing. for a moment, you were able to breathe, pushing your academic burdens off the table.

then, as she took a sip of her iced americano, her expression shifted into one of delighted gossip. she leaned forward, a mischievous smile plastered across her lips.

“okay, random, but you won’t believe who i just saw all over the internet!” she paused for dramatic effect, her teeth peeking out of her lips; a cheshire cat-like grin, “you heard about jisung? our class’ han jisung?”

BOOM.

his name hit you with the force of a physical blow, landing directly on the flesh, tender bruise of your recent memories. the atmosphere in the cozy café seemed to warp, the warm light turning clinical, the gentle hum of conversations morphing into a distant, meaningless roar. you could feel all the air leaving your lungs in a silent, stricken gasp.

han jisung. a name that you never thought would ever come across you again.

han jisung. a name that you wanted to forget.

han jisung. a name that you wanted to…

you could feel the heat of a blush—shame, longing, regret—creeping up your neck. every synapse in your brain short-circuited, flooded instead with sensory overload from the past: the savory smell of spicy ramyeon from a convenience store, the gritty texture of his skateboard grip tape under your palm as he tried to teach you a stance, the sound of a laugh that was too loud for any library.

for a moment, you were sixteen all over again. the class president, always ranked first, the girl with her crazy (yujin, 2016) five-year plan already neatly detailed in your bullet journal. the weight of your future was a familiar, almost comfortable pressure on your shoulders, something you wore like a badge of honor. you were in control. you knew who you were.

then, han jisung had skated into your periphery, a delightful yet frustrating chaos agent. he was the sole variable your flawless equations couldn’t solve, an absolute pain in the ass.

yet, you still fell for the bait.

it wasn’t a dramatic fall, it was a slow, insidious tilt. it started with the reluctant respect after your rescue from the alley, where he played hero.

SEOUL, 2016

“YO, CLASS PREZ! WHAT A SURPRISE!”

his voice was all sharp, easy confidence, a familiar sound that sliced through the cold dread pooling in your gut. you were trapped in a narrow, dimly lit alley between your school and the subway station, a shortcut you would normally take to save another ten-minute walk.

three older guys, their uniforms from a less prestigious school, had you cornered against a graffiti-tagged wall. your pride was immediately swallowed by fear as their leader invaded your personal space, a lit cigarette laying betwixt his fingers. your mind, so adept at solving complex equations, had gone terrifying blank.

the leader, with a sneer, turned toward the interruption. “mind your own business, punk.”

han jisung didn’t flinch. instead, a faint smirk played on his lips.

“see, that’s the thing,” his tone deceptively light, jisung rolled his skateboard to a stop, the gritty sound echoing in the confined space. he didn’t even bother to pick it up, the skateboard now a barricade at the alley’s entrance. “you’re blocking the way. i’m already running late for my tutor and it’s gonna’ be your problem.”

under normal circumstances, his voice should’ve irritated you. it was the same exact tone he used to deflect questions in class, to argue with the teachers, to charm his way out of trouble, to exist just outside the rules you lived by. it was the soundtrack to his chaos, and you weren’t a fan of it.

however, this is barely any normal circumstances. the atmosphere in the alley itself was already beyond suffocating, and his voice was the only thing holding the panic at bay. the absurdity of his excuse barely registered. all that mattered was that he was here, talking his usual nonsense–or rather, his strategy to rescue his beloved class president.

“you threatening us, pretty boy?” one of the three frowned, all nervous energy. everyone in the neighborhood had heard about the troublemaking, skater boy. han jisung had been expelled thrice in his life, all for the same reasons: bad manners and regular involvements in violence. he never started them, the stories always clarified, but he always, definitively, finished them. he was a ghost of bad news in a crisp uniform, and life immediately flashed before the nervous boy’s eyes.

jisung took a step forward, his hands coming out of his pockets, knuckles cracking. they weren’t in fists, but open, loose, a placating gesture that somehow felt more.. dangerous. his eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, were flat and dark, moving between the three boys with a calculating stillness you had never seen in him. he was a complete different person, and he might have looked scarier than the delinquents.

“i’m serious,” he warned, his patience a thin veneer over something much harder. it was the calm before the storm, and everyone in the alley felt it. your eyes widened, throat sand-dry as he continued, his voice dropping to a low, chilling rasp that seemed to absorb all other sound. “you lay a single finger on my girl, and i’ll have you laying in a street bleeding out until you are found unidentified.”

my girl.

the words detonated in the silent alley, leaving a ringing in your ears that had nothing to do with fear.

oh, he’s definitely lost his mind.

mentally, you cursed him out. what the hell is he saying? he doesn’t get to just… say that! we’ve exchanged maybe fifty words total per day, most of them with him bragging about his skating skills! such audacious presumption of it should have made you furious. it should have been the most irritating thing he had ever said to you, topping even the time when he had accidentally knocked your bag into a puddle.

however, as you watched the color drain from the leader’s face, as you saw the three delinquents unconsciously shrink back from the terrifying promise in jisung’s voice the heat of your imagined anger didn’t come. instead, a traitorous warmth spread through your chest, melting the ice of your fear. because in that moment, his insane, possessive lie didn’t feel like a lie at all, it felt like a shield; a reckless, stupid and butterfly effective shield.

the leader’s bravado crumbled into dust. he muttered something unintelligible, a pathetic attempt to save face, and jerked his head for his subordinates to leave.

“fuck.. let’s go.” they shuffled past jisung, giving him a wide berth, their earlier menace evaporated to non existence.

jisung didn’t watch them go. his eyes were on you, the terrifying flatness in them softening into something more like concern, he waited until the sound of their retreating footsteps faded, then let out a long, controlled breath you hadn’t realized holding,

“you okay, prez?” his voice back to its normal timber, though a little rough around the edges.

you just stared at him. what just happened? did they really just leave? was it that easy? since when did he care?

he misinterpreted your silence for lingering terror. his brows furrowed, “hey, it’s okay. they’re gone. they won’t bother you again, i’ll make sure of it.”

a nod. you could barely manage that. your limbs felt detached, your mind a scrambled mess of adrenaline and confusion.

he seemed to understand that words were beyond you at this moment. he shifted his weight, glancing from you to the alley mouth and back. his confidence were nowhere to be seen, replaced by a palpable awkwardness. he scratched the back of his neck, a gesture so ordinary it was jarring after the fierce performance he had just given.

“uh, look,” he started, his voice tipping into something softer, almost hesitant. “it’s kinda cold here, don’t you think? you wanna…” he trailed off, his eyes darting to a brightly lit convenience store sign a block away. he swallowed, the motion visible in his throat, “get some ramyeon or something? to… y’know, warm up or whatever.”

he said it like it was the most ridiculous suggestion in the world, like he was already expecting you to scoff and walk away. he had found himself adapted to your theatrics, the perfect, good girl class president who wouldn't associate with a roach like him. he had noticed every dismissive glares you’d ever shot his way in the hall, every exasperated eye-roll whenever he made a joke or a wrong answer, the way you would physically recoil if his skateboard got too close to your brand new shoes.

the offer itself nearly made you chuckle. not out of mockery, but out of surreal absurdity. here you were, minutes after a genuine scare, your heart still thumping against your ribs, and han jisung, the human tornado of your academic life, was awkwardly inviting you for instant noodles… like he was asking you out on a date.

shut up, y/n. he’s just being nice.

he wasn’t looking at you anymore, his focus on retrieving his skateboard from the ground, his movements stiff. you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he was already preparing for your refusal.

ramyeon sounded nice. the cold was seeping into your bones, and the thought of going home to your controlling parents was suddenly far more frightening than the idea of sharing a steaming, savory bowl with the boy you had spent a year professionally ignoring.

you took a shaky breath, the air crystallizing in front of you.

“okay,” you agreed, your voice steadier than you felt. “i could… i could use something warm.”

his head snapped up. he blinked, his expression cycling through surprise, disbelief, and… hope? you honestly didn’t know, but the look on his face made your chest tighten. the defensive hunch in his posture eased a fraction of your anxiousness.

“yeah?” he softly exhaled. then, as if remembering himself, he gave a quick, jerky nod. his signature playful smile plastered on his lips, “cool! right after you, your royal highness.”

he gestured grandly toward the glowing convenience store with a flourish that was pure, performative han jisung. yet, the tremor in his hand gave him away. his confidence was back, but it was thin, a familiar costume pulled on over raw nerves.

you rolled your eyes, the motion almost automatic. however, there was no heat in it this time. “don’t call me that,” you muttered your complaint, yet finding yourself already leading the way.

THE FLUORESCENT LIGHTS OF THE CONVENIENCE STORE HUMMED OVERHEAD, casting a sterile glow over their table. Steam rose in twin spirals from two foam cups, weaving together in the warm air. the initial silence was broken not by conversations, but by the slurp of noodles, a shared, humble communion.

han jisung dreamt of being a musician–no, scratch that, he wanted to be one. he talked with his hands, sketching invisible melodies in the air as he described the music in his head–not just songs, but worlds. his eyes, which you had only ever seen glazed with boredom or sparkling with mischief, burned with a fervent, focused light. he spoke of the lyrics he wrote during break time, his songs, his favorite musicians, his future plans that felt certain and dazzling all at once. it was the first time you had ever heard him talk about something he truly loved, and the passion caught you off guard at first.

when it was your turn, you found the words flowing easier than expected. you spoke of the profound privilege of healing, the reasons behind your goal and motivation, the confession that you still looked up to your father despite his harsh expectations towards you. he was the standard, and you wanted to meet it, to earn your place beside him. you saw his gaze sharpen. it wasn’t pity or boredom, yet a deep understanding. the mutual respect that settled between you was something you admired, warmer than the steam emitting from your ramyeon cups. it was the foundation upon which everything else was built.

the rain started as a soft patter, then it grew into a steady drum on the store’s awning. your text to your brother was met with a certain promise to pick you up, but not for another hour. time suddenly became a gift, you found yourself not minding the wait. you wouldn’t have minded if he had said three hours. you stayed, refilling your tea from the self-service machine, the conversation meandering from terrible teachers to favorite street food spots to the existential dread of university applications.

he eventually made you laugh. a real, unguarded laugh that started in your stomach and made you snort into your drink. the sound itself seemed to startle you both, with his eyes slightly widening as he watched you cackle, offering you a much warmer, genuine grin.

he saw the girl who could recite the periodic table also had a wickedly dry wit for bad mouthing the school principal, you saw the boy with the skateboard scrapes had a quiet, observant kindness, asking about your brother’s car brand–not with envy, but with genuine curiosity.

a pattern emerged since then. rainy afternoons found you under the shelter of the school’s back steps, a biology textbook in your lap, his english notes scattered between you. sunny weekends saw you in a nearby skate park, your hands gripping his forearms for balance as he guided you on his skateboard, your terrified shrieks echoing off the concrete. his house was a warm, noisy place that smelled of garlic and kimchi fried rice, where his mother would pass extra dishes and fruits into your bag.

the rumors started the moment your classmates saw you walking into class with him, ten minutes late. your hair was slightly messy and his sleeve dotted with the same drizzle that dampened your uniform. you had gotten caught in the sudden downpour, and in the frantic, laughing sprint to shelter, you ended up under his jacket, huddled together as you dashed through the gates, his arm was firm across your back, steering you, and you had clutched a fistful of his shirt for balance. you arrived breathless, sharing a single, oversized blazer that smelled like rain and his cheap cologne. it was a massive bomb dropped into the stagnant pool of your high school year.

you spent the first week vehemently stamping out the gossip, cheeks flaming.

“it was raining! he was just being what a gentleman should be!”

and han jisung on the other hand, could give less care for that. he never confirmed, but he never denied it either. he’d just sling an arm around your shoulders when someone catcalled, or dramatically fan you with his notebook when they found you blushing, leaning into the joke in a way that somehow defused and fueled it all at once.

after a while, you stopped fighting, the talks eventually became background noises, a static hum you learned to tune out. what mattered wasn’t the label but the reality: you were with jisung, and you were happy. the denial faded, replaced by a simple, unshakable truth. he became your ride or die, the person you would solely look for in a crowded room. and you were not complaining.

the feelings didn’t come in a rush. they seeped in slowly, warm and inevitable, like the sun finally breaking through a long winter, the cherry blossoms slowly blooming as the season changes.

it started the day your legs gave out during the brutal final laps of physical education class, you were unfortunately hit with a combination of exhaustion and low blood sugar. before you could even stumble, he was there, hooking your arm over his shoulders.

“hop on, prez.” he insisted, his tone light and differing from his solid grip as he half-carried, half-dragged you to the bleachers, “i’m taking you to the infirmary.”

and when you protested, he would simply turn his back and gestured over his shoulder. “just get on! come on!”

the feel of his back beneath you, steady and sure as he piggybacked you to the nurse’s office, made your heart do something unfamiliar yet thrilling; it didn’t just skip a beat, it started thumping rapidly, and your head found itself resting comfortably against his back. you weren’t conscious enough to see the satisfied smile on his lips.

from then on, the skips became a regular occurrence. it was the brush of his fingers when you passed him a pen. the way he would remember your immense hatred towards onion and meticulously pick them out of your jajangmyeon. the focused frown he got when he was trying to explain a skateboard trick, his entire world narrowed down to you.

your heartbeats crescendoed on a cold february afternoon. he shuffled up to you at your locker, uncharacteristically quiet, and thrust a small bouquet of pink tulips, your favorite flower (you had only mentioned about it once, and it was already months ago), into your hands.

“someone told me that she’s spending her valentine’s alone so… this is me asking her to spend it with me,” he mumbled, the words tumbling out into a rushed, nervous jumble. already turning away to fiddle with his lock, his ears burning red. you stood there, with the softness of the tulips against your fingers. a real, unguarded smile would broke across your face, so wide it felt unfamiliar.

“hannie…” the personalized nickname, one you had only ever used in your thoughts, slipped out of your lips softly. it stopped him dead, his muscles tensing. he slowly turned back to face you, the defensive hunch gone from his shoulders, replaced by a vulnerable anticipation.

holding the tulips close, you took a small step forward, closing the distance he had created. “yes,” your voice clear and sure, “i’ll spend it with you.”

that evening, you went to an arcade with him. It was a world away from your usual life; loud, silly, perfect. You raced cars, beat him at air hockey, and crammed into a photo booth, where the pictures caught real smiles shared just between you, not for the camera. He also won you a stuffed animal from a claw machine, presenting it with a triumphant grin.

walking back to the subway, he carried the tulips so he could slip his free hand into yours, the contact was simple, yet it changed everything about your friendship. your fingers laced together naturally, his palm warm against yours. the squeeze of his hand, the weight of the stuffed toy under your arm, the memory of your time in the photobooth… it was a moment that you promised to never forget. it was simply… perfect. in that short moment, holding hands with han jisung felt everything.

THEN, THAT MOMENT CAME… the moment your father locked eyes with han jisung, the distance began.

it happened on a rare evening where jisung walked you to your doorstep, his usual boisterous laughter from a story you had shared still fading in the crisp air, your father’s sedan glided into the curved driveway. the tinted window descended. for along, frozen second, your father’s gaze passed over jisung. it took in the artfully distressed jacket, the skateboard under his arm, the dirty shoes, and the easy, unpolished way jisung stood. it did not take in the kindness in his eyes, or the gentle way he had just been listening to you.

the window slid back up the moment jisung bowed, a polite, instinctive gesture that was met with nothing but tinted glass and the soft hum of the engine. the silence it left behind was louder than any shout.

jisung straightened slowly, his brow furrowing in pure, uncomprehending confusion. his gaze averted back to you, his expression inquiring a silent ‘did i do something wrong?’

you stood frozen, a cold shame creeping up your neck. deep down, you knew that meant trouble. you knew that you would be expecting a 1 on 1 ‘therapy’ session with your father.

“he’s.. he’s probably just in a hurry… sorry,” you mumbled, the excuse pathetic even to your own ears.

jisung didn’t push. he just nodded, the confusion in his eyes melting into something like pity. and that made you feel even worse.

“alright then,” he exhaled softly, his fingers giving into the impulse he had clearly been fighting. they came up, gently ruffling the top of your head, “i’ll see you tomorrow, princess.”

you watched as he turned and walked away, his figure growing smaller and smaller until he disappeared around the corner.

a defeated sigh escaped your lips. you already knew what awaited you inside, and you hated the cold, creeping dread that came along.

“THAT BOY…”

your father’s voice was calm and measured, greeted you as you entered his study. he simply looked up from his medical journal, his gaze lack of warmth but authority, “stay away from that boy. he’s a bad influence, and i will not have my daughter’s future compromised by this nobody.”

you tried to argue, defending jisung with all your might, the words tumbled about, about his kindness, his dreams, how he helped you see the world differently. most importantly, how he was anything but a nobody, you might’ve been just a teenager with no real experience and uncertain decisions, however, your loyalty to him was the most certain thing you had ever felt.

yet, of course, your father would not listen.

“being with a boy like him will not get you anywhere, y/n.” his fingers would reach the bridge of his noise, pinching it, “he’s nothing but a waste of time. you mentioned that he’s planning to be a rapper, yes?”

a nod. you didn’t notice that you were holding your own arms, your fingers digging into your sleeves, in attempt to hold yourself together,

“a rapper,” your father repeated the word without inflection, letting its perceived absurdity hang in the cold atmosphere of the room, “he will go nowhere with that career choice. he will be a failure, i don’t want you getting near and share his poison.”

he leaned back on his chair, his stern gaze now dissecting you, “ you will be a doctor, y/n. you’re already granted an easy path to walk through me. you will be very much respected. don’t you dare waste that chance away.. i will not have this daughter of mine invested in becoming an object of pity because of a useless street performer.”

useless street performer. that landed like a harsh slap. your hope was no longer to be seen, you were defendless.

“you will end this–you must end this. i don’t want to see that boy stepping into my property ever again. if i see or hear of you with him again, i will ensure him leaving the school. permanently. do you understand the position you are putting him in by persisting?”

“father–”

“do you understand, y/l/n y/n?”

you immediately nodded, you understood him with terrifying clarity. your father was a man that would go to any lengths to secure his daughter’s future, or rather, for the future he had built for her. his words left no room for objections, you could only obey.

the execution of his order was a slow self-destruction. you became a ghost in jisung’s life. you let your eye glaze ver whenever he tried to catch your gaze in class. you left him increasingly confused, then worried, then confronting texts on ‘read’ until the notifications stopped altogether. you would cancel your study sessions with flimsy excuses, you would avoid sitting on the same table as him during lunch, you would find yourself seated in your car instead of going for the subway, mentally cursing at yourself as you watched him following your car with his skateboard.

you saw the effect in real-time. the easy warmth in his eyes froze, hardened into confusion, then crystallized into a betrayed, simmering anger.

the confrontation came after class. he had you cornered, his voice low and strained, demanding answers. the lie you had rehearsed felt like acid on your tongue, your expression coerced into a cold one, meeting his hurt-filled eyes with a blank stare.

“ever since we became friends, i was… no longer serious about my studies. my scores are starting to decline and it’s hurting me. you.. you’ve been anything but a bad influence to me! the problem! i regret every second i wasted on you.” you forced the words out, hoping he couldn’t hear the slight tremor in it, “so please, just… l-leave me alone!”

you saw the exact moment the words landed. the familiar light in his eyes flickered,dimmed, and died out completely. he didn’t yell, he didn’t argue. he didn’t even flinch.

he just… shut down.

in that moment, you no longer saw the boy you fell for. he was a stranger. his expression smoothed into an emotionless mask, all the vibrant, chaotic life drained out of it. it was the most terrifying thing you had ever witnessed; you were the cause of it.

“...got it,” he gave one slow, final nod. your heart crumpled the moment he said his last farewell, “goodbye, y/n. it was nice knowing you.”

then he turned and walked away.

for the first time, he didn’t look back.

and you knew, there was nothing you could do about it. you had ultimately, inevitably, ruined it.

SEOUL, 2020

“...AND THE SONG JUST WENT VIRAL! can you believe it? our class’ han jisung! god’s menu is literally everywhere!”

yujin’s voice was a bright, excited buzz in the cozy cafe, her hands animated as she scrolled through her phone, showing you fancams and chart rankings. the screen glowed with his face–sharper, more confident, blazing with stage presence you once saw flashed in the school courtyard.

you stared at the pixels that formed his smile, a familiar ache unfolding beneath your ribs. you couldn’t help what came afterwards; a soft, sade smile touched your own lips. he had done it. he had truly made it. the dream you had always supported came true, with an extra bonus of being internationally famous,

then, the guilt settled in, a permanent, cold companion to your pride. you had always welcomed it ever since the last time you shared an interaction. it was during the graduation ceremony, where you, the class president, had to present his award on “the most creative” category. you remembered it all too well. you remembered the pain as you called out his name, noticing a hush falling over the section where the less academically stellar students sat.

you remembered him walking up the steps, his eyes immediately holding yours in place.

they were empty. there was no anger, no sadness–just… a chilling indifference.

swallowing your growing anxiety, you handed him the cheap plastic trophy with shaking hands, and skin contact was made. he didn’t flinch, deciding to not acknowledge the contact. he just took it, gave the slightest, professional nod, before turning to walk offstage without a single word, without a single glance back.

that was the last time. the last picture you had with him: you in your perfectly ironed uniform, handing the prize to the ghost of the boy you fell for, his indifferent expression confirming the final consequence for your betrayal. you had welcomed because you deserved it. it was the only piece of him you had left.

“woah.. girly.. you okay?”

yujin’s excitement had dropped to a hush the moment she read your expression. she watched as your composure shattered for just a second. it was in the slight tremor of your chin, the way your eyes glistened before you quickly blinked the moisture away, the chuckle you let out to disguise the sob caught in your throat. you weren’t doing a great job in hiding your feelings, and worse, she was completely clueless as to why, which only seemed to heighten her panic.

“yeah… i’m okay,” you managed, the lie thin and transparent as you swiped hastily at your eyes. “my eyes often get irritated, it’s all good.” another lie.

yujin studied you, her own smile gone, replaced by wide-eyed concern. “you sure okay?”

“i’m fine–”

“are you a hundred percent sure–” she pressed, leaning forward.

“yujin!” the name came out as a snapped please, more desperate than anger.

she flinched back, her hands coming up in immediate surrender. “sorry! sorry... you don’t wanna’ talk about it, do you?”

you shook your head, diverting your gaze to the shut laptop before you, its surface a dark, reflective void that mirrored the faint outline of your own troubled expression. the sleek metal felt cool under your fingertips as you traced its edge, muttering a small “no”.

it was quiet yet final. it was a conversation that you physically couldn’t have. you had lived to no longer dwell in the past, and so be it. you barely had the energy to even reminisce of it.

you knew that yujin had a lot of questions in her mind. however, to her immense credit, she let them all die unspoken. fortunately, she chose kindness over curiosity, and you were more than grateful for that.

“okay,” she breathed, the single word a promise of safe harbor. her expression softened from shock into something far more tender; a deep, intuitive understanding. “okay, no problem.”

you let out a shaky breath you didn’t realize you had been holding, the tightness in your chest loosening a fraction as she diverted your attention to her own chaotic, colorful present.

“forget i said anything. i can be such a blabbermouth sometimes,” an apologetic smile, her voice now buoyant with deliberate ease. “anyway! moving on! what are you planning to do for summer break? we gotta do a girls trip!”

“a girls trip?” you repeated, the words feeling foreign and wonderful. “i.. i haven’t even thought that far. i mean… i was planning to just stay home and–”

“see, that’s the problem! we’re going to fix that!” yujin declared, her entrepreneurial spark fully ignited. “let’s go to jeju! please, y/n, you gotta come! y’know, consider this as your healing trip–with me, of course!”

you managed a genuine smile this time, tiny but steady. “jeju… that does sound nice.. i’ll think about it.”

for the next two hours, yujin held you hostage in that cafe. she bombarded the space with bright, easy chatter: dreaming up reunion trips, dissecting the latest campus drama, planning the outfits for your upcoming trips. it was the kind of light, unfiltered talk that you had missed out on, the sort that belonged to a simpler, less burdened version of life. this was girlhood, and you were more than proud to indulge in these moments.

THE DENSE, CLINICAL TEXT OF THE CLINICAL NEUROANATOMY SWAM UNSYSTEMATICALLY BEFORE YOUR EYES. you had been staring at the same paragraph detailing the corticospinal tract for over twenty minutes, yet the words just wouldn’t stick. The stillness of your apartment, usually a necessary backdrop for intense studies, felt heavy and lonely instead.

frustrated, you snapped the hefty book shut. enough. your brain was already a saturated sponge, and more information would just leak out if you kept going. you needed a break.

without thinking, you picked your phone and started scrolling through social media. you skimmed past group chats, seminar announcements, instagram posts. then, your thumb froze.

a video popped up. a fan edit. a fan edit of han jisung.

the video compiled several montages of him: on stage, in the studio, backstage, fan meetings.

you knew you should keep scrolling. this was a bad idea. yet you find yourself looping the video over and over again. there he was. older, sharper, but undeniably him. the boyish softness you knew had been carved away by time and discipline, leaving behind striking, defined features that the camera loved. his expressions were more controlled, yet when he laughed, it was the same gummy smile you remembered, and it made your heart clenched further; in both guilt and admiration.

you watched, unable to look away, as the video highlighted his talent. his rap verses were intricate and powerful, his stage presence magnetic, his vocal tone richer and more controlled than the raw voice you remembered from his early demos. he was not just good, he was exceptional. he deserved the stardom. you always knew that he would make it.

and, he was able to prove your father wrong.

you didn’t realize the shift as it happened. one moment you were watching a fan edit of him, and the next, you were typing “stray kids” into the search bar.

it started with curiosity. you watched their most popular music video. then the videos before that. you found a guide to the members, learning their names and faces. you watched their interviews, you listened to a title track, then a b-side. then, the entire album.

the heavy textbook sat forgotten, basically a paperweight on your desk. the scheduled study block in your planner was ignored. the silence was now filled with a pounding bassline, complex harmonies, and the powerful, chaotic energy of eight voices.

you weren’t just watching jisung anymore. you were learning about the entire group. you watched their reality shows, finding yourself laughing at their brotherly bickering. you felt a strange surge of protectiveness when you watched their pre-debut survival show, sympathizing with their early struggles. you found yourself replaying a specific vocal part by seungmin, or laughing at a variety show moment with changbin.

the guilt over neglected studies were no longer there, easily drowned by the opening synth of god’s menu or the upbeat melodies of miroh. this wasn’t just a trip down memory lane anymore. unbeknownst to you, you had become a fan. a stay.

when you finally looked up, hours had passed. the sun was already rising up. your phone was warm in your hand, a playlist of their discography still humming softly. your textbook was exactly where you left it, cold and unopened.

a wave of pure, panicked disbelief washed over you. you had a lecture at 8 a.m in the morning, and you had just spent the entire night falling down the “stray kids” rabbit hole instead of locking in. you were simply fucked.

you scrambled out of your chair, your body stiff from hours of stillness. you rushed through shower, your mind a frantic checklist: coffee. notes. did i even finish reading? I’m so cooked.

however, as you hastily threw on your clothes and gulped down bitter, instant coffee a strange calm settled beneath the panic. you didn’t regret the marathon, not a second of it.

the colorful energy of their music was still thrumming in your veins, a definite contrast to the cold dread of your looming lecture. investing most of your time in stray kids had not felt like a waste. it had felt like feeling something, deeply and vividly, for the first time in months. for years, maybe.

SEOUL, 2024

THAT DAY CAME FASTER THAN YOU THOUGHT, you finally went to their concert. it started with a scream in the middle of the cafeteria. your phone had vibrated with a message from yujin: a screenshot of two confirmed front-row tickets for the stray kids’ dominate tour in seoul, with a string of heart eyes and fire emojis. the sound that ripped out of you was pure, unfiltered joy, shattering the usual hushed atmosphere of clinking cutlery and murmured study discussions. a dozen heads swiveled your way, their faces a mixture of shock and judgement.

what’s wrong with her?

you didn’t care. you clutched the phone to your chest, beaming, because yujin had just performed a miracle.

after years of sold-out notices and hectic schedules that always seemed to clash, yujin, through the combination of frantic clicking, a presale code from a relative, and what she referred as “manifestation”, had done the impossible. the tickets felt less like paper and more like holy relics in your hands.

the weeks leading up to the concert were a surreal double life. by day, you memorized your study materials for your upcoming block exam. by night, you memorized fan chants and watched their recent contents, your once-secret lightstick now standing proudly on your desk beside your anatomy model. you had even participated in the global fan project, filming a short, yet heartfelt message that you were sure would be lost in a sea of thousands.

the journey to the dome was a blur of subway rides and buzzing anticipation. yujin, being the extrovert she was, chattered non-stop, while you sat in a quiet storm of your own, listening to their latest album through an earphone, each song a familiar road mapping the nervous excitement in your veins.

stepping into the enormous jangsil dome was like crossing into another universe. the sheer scale of it, starting from the deafening roar of the crowd, the futuristic stage, to the sea of lightsticks, they single-handedly dwarfed the quiet, controlled world of libraries and lecture halls that you were used to. finding your seats was a shock factor, you could closely see the texture of the stage, the scuff marks on the floor, and the wires connected to the speakers. it felt so surreal to know that he would be right there, performing right in front of you.

when the lights dropped and the opening cinematic boomed through the speakers, your heart hammered a frantic rhythm against your ribs. the eight of them erupted onto the stage in a blast of light and sound, and the world suddenly dissolved into a glorious, deafening chaos. the music was a physical force, a wall of bass, and screaming you felt in your bones.

and there he was. han jisung. han of stray kids.

he was a comet; all sharp edges, explosive energy, and magnetic stage presence. they boy you knew had been refined into a superstar. yet, in the way he laughed at a member’s joke, or the particular tilt of his head when listening, the ghost of your past flickered. you screamed every lyric, your voice disappearing into the collective roar. for nearly three hours, you didn’t think about the past or the future. you just existed in the deafening present.

during god’s menu, he stalked to the edge of the stage, his gaze sweeping over the screaming front rows. it passed over you, then jolted back as if snagged, he froze for a full beat, missing his cue. your heart stuttered as the two of you made eye contact, his wide, disbelieving eyes locked directly onto yours.

then, bang chan’s hand was on his shoulder, pulling him to the other side of the stage where a hilarious banner, of course targeted to him, needed attention. the moment was gone, buried under the boisterous roar of the crowd. you stood trembling, wondering if it was real or a trick of the blinding lights.

later, during a tender ment segment, the massive screens shifted to the fan project video. a beautiful cascade of faces from across the globe, sharing love. throughout the video, you found yourself smiling, touched.

it was until your own face filled the screen. your recorded voice, clear and trembling with emotion, echoed in the colossal space.

“jisung-ah,” you said, and the intimate name seemed to hush the stadium. “how are you doing? i… i just.. need you to know how incredibly proud i am. watching you up there, it feels so surreal. i always knew that you would make it. i just… i just want to let you know that.. wherever you are, i’m always on your side. always stay healthy, jisung! until then. stray kids, fighting!”

the message ended, cutting to the next fan.

however, in the silence that followed your words on the massive speakers, the air in the dome felt charged, different.

on stage, jisung, who had been sitting with his legs dangling over the edge, slowly straightened. he didn’t look at the crowd nor the screen. he stared at the floor, his breath visibly hitching. then, as the speakers played your message, he found himself folded. he brought his knees up, burying his face in his arms, and his shoulders began to shake as he silently sobbed, lee know was at his side in an instant, wrapping an arm around him, pulling him close.

“don’t cry! don’t cry!” the crowd’s chant rose in a warm, protective wave, thousands of voices trying to comfort their idol from a distance. yet it only seemed to make him curl in tighter, lee know’s arm a steadfast barrier against the well-meaning noise.

in the front row, the chant echoed around you. and you were trapped in a bubble of silent horror. you had wanted to send love, to give support. you had not meant to break him on stage in front of everyone.

a choked sob finally broke free from your own throat, the sound lost in the roar of the crowd yet deafening in your own ears. tears spilled over, blurring the devastating image on the stage into a smear of light and color.

beside you, yujin immediately wrapped her arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a tight, sideways hug. a pout manifested on her lips, her own voice thick with emotion, “it’s okay, y/n…”

the guilt was a cold, heavy stomach in your guts, you buried your face in yujin’s shoulder, your body shaking with silent cries as the crowd continued their gentle chants.

the concert director, sensing the moment, smoothly transitioned the program. the lights shifted, music swelled for the next number, and the other members moved with professionalism to cover, their smiles a little strained but unwavering. lee know helped jisung to his feet and guided him gently off to the side of the stage, shielding him from view as the members began their conversation again with the crowd.

the show went on. you saw jisung walking back into the stage after being absent for five minutes, wearing his usual cheery demeanor. he immediately threw himself into the remaining songs with a frantic, almost desperate energy, as if trying to outrun the motion that had just flattened him. you watched, your own tears drying into a cold, tight feeling on your cheeks, your heart aching with every smile he forced.

when the final encore ended and the members took their bows, jisung was last to take his leave. you could see his eyes wandering around your section, searching, before he waved at the crowd, finally turning and disappearing into the shadows of the backstage.

then, the house lights snapped on, a harsh glare that felt like an intrusion. the magic was over, replaced by the tedious reality of thousands of people searching for the exit sign. you found yourself lost in the excited chatter around you about the concert as a whole, remaining frozen, until yujin gently shook your shoulder.

“come on, y/n. we gotta’ move.”

you let her pull you along with her and into the stream of people flowing towards the exits, you were almost to the concourse, the noise of the crowd swelling around you, when a staff member a few meters away raised a megaphone.

“miss y/l/n y/n? is miss y/l/n y/n here? please come forward to meet our staff!”

the voice, amplified and official, cut through the din. people around you glanced around curiously. your blood immediately ran cold, yujin’s eyes widening in panic. “that’s you! do you go? what if it’s a mistake?”

“miss y/l/n y/n! please come forward to meet our staff! thank you!”

“girl, go!” yujin gently pushed you towards the staff, propelling your forward before you could second-guess yourself. you stumbled slightly, raising a tentative hand. “i’m.. i’m here!”

the staff member spotted you, his expression shifting from impatience to relief. he lowered the device. “this way, please.”

he didn’t wait for a response, turning on his heel and striding toward a staff-only door. you threw one last glance at yujin, who gave you an encouraging wave, before you eventually hurry after him.

the door shut behind you, muting the crowd’s chaos instantly. you found yourself in a corridor that smelled of concrete and cleaning supplies. the staff member walked briskly, his shoes echoing, and you followed, your mind an absolute whirlwind. what the hell is going on? am i getting into trouble? what did i do?

after several turns, he stopped at a door. your eyes widened at an unmarked door. he knocked once, opened it just a crack, and nodded for you to enter.

“go on in,” the staff member instructed, his tone unreadable.

you took a deep, shaky breath, and pushed the door open.

the room was small and quiet, lit by a single floor lamp in the corner. you assumed that it was a spare lounge, decorated with a worn couch, a table with water bottles, and a vanity.

and there he was.

han jisung was sitting on the couch, hunched forward with his head in his hands. he had changed out of his glittering stage clothes into a plain black hoodie and grey sweatpants. he looked smaller, more real, and utterly exhausted.

he didn’t look up at the sound of the door.

you stood frozen just inside the threshold, the door clicking shut behind you. the silence was so thick it pressed against your eardrums.

slowly, as if the movement cost him great effort, he lifted his head.

his face was bare, cleansed of makeup. his eyes were red and swollen, the skin beneath them shadowed. he stared at you, and for a long, suspended moment, there was no recognition; just a blank, weary stare.

then, it flickered. his breath audibly hitched.

his gaze sharpened, focusing, searching your face as if deciphering a code. the weariness cracked, and its place flooded a wave of recognition; shock, pain, and a longing so profound it stole the air from the room.

“jisung… hi.”

the sound of his name on your lips, spoken for the first time in years, seemed to break a dam within him. the hard, pained lines of his face dissolved, his expression softened, crumbling into something heartbreakingly vulnerable.

he didn’t speak. he just moved.

in one fluid, desperate motion, he was off the couch and crossing the space between you, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a tight embrace. he buried his face in the curve of your neck, his entire body trembling.

you stiffened, instinct and a wave of crushing guilt making you resist. you didn’t deserve this; his forgiveness, his warmth, his embrace after you had left him. you tried to pull back, a small, choked sound escaping you.

“no,” he murmured, his voice muffled against your skin, his arms tightening further. “don’t… please.”

a ragged breath, “i missed you so much, y/n. just… just stay like this. please.”

i missed you so much. that easily shattered your last defense. the fight drained out of you. a sob wrenched itself from your chest, and you broke, completely. your arms came up, circling his waist, clutching the soft fabric of his hoodie. you buried your face in his shoulder, the familiar, comforting scent of him overwhelming your senses. your body shook with the force of your tears, years of loneliness, regret, and hidden love pouring out.

“jisung… i’m sorry.” the words were a broken whisper against his shoulder, soaked with your tears. “i’m so sorry. for everything.”

he didn’t let go. if anything, he held you tighter, his own breaths coming in shaky hitches against you. he pressed his forehead to your temple, murmuring, “i know. i know you are.”

he pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands coming up to cradle your face, his thumbs wiping clumsily at your tears. his own eyes were streaming, yet he was trying to smile; a wobbly, heartbreaking thing. “i knew even back then, i think. in some part of me. i knew it wasn’t really you saying those things–you would never say those things.”

a fresh wave of sobs shook you. he pulled you back against him, rocking you gently, murmuring gentle reassurance into your hair. it was a reversal of roles; the boy you had once comforted over bruised knees and failed tests was now the man holding you together as years of pent-up feelings finally spilled over.

“i didn’t have a choice,” you choke out, the confession you had carried finally dislodged. “my father… he said he would do anything to make sure you would leave. i had to push you away…”

jisung went very still for a moment. then, a low, pained sound rumbled in his chest. “i understand, y/n. i should have stayed. i should have fought harder.”

“you couldn’t have,” you sighed, finally finding the strength to lean back and look at him. “i made sure you couldn’t.”

he searched your eyes, seeing the truth of it, the years of your own private penance written in your face, the last of the anger in his gaze melted away, leaving only a profound, aching sadness… and love. an old, stubborn love that had never really gone away.

“well, it doesn’t matter anymore,” he whispered, his voice firm despite its tenderness. his thumb would find your cheek, gently wiping away your tears. “all that matters is that now you’re here. with me. and i…”

he took a shaky breath, his gaze holding yours with an intensity that felt like a promise. “i don’t want to waste another second. i don’t want to just be a memory to you.”

he paused, his free hand now holding your hand, stroking the back of your hand as if memorizing the feel of you under his hands again.

“be with me, y/n.” a heartfelt plea, warmth cascading through you as he continued, his voice steady, “i want you in my life again. i want you to be by my side. i don’t care if we have to start from zero. i just… i just need you, please.”

tears blurred your vision again, but they were different this time; cleansing and hopeful. you leaned forward, closing the small distance between you, and rested your forehead against his. the gesture was more intimate than any kiss could have been at that moment. it was a surrender, a homecoming.

“i never really left,” you whispered, the truth of it settling into your bones. “i’ve been right here, hannie. just finding my way back to you.”

a shuddering sigh of relief escaped him. he pulled you into another embrace, this one less desperate, more certain.

“awwww, i knew it!”

a familiar deep voice, bright and unmistakable felix’s, shattered the stillness of the room. before either of you could react, the door swung open fully, revealing a tangle of members: felix with his hands clasped over his heart, hyunjin peering over his shoulder with a dramatic, tearful expression, changbin trying yet failing to hide a massive grin, and bang chan looking both apologetic and deeply amused from the back.

jisung flinched, instinctively tightening his hold on you for a second before groaning and burying his face in your shoulder. “someone is getting fired,” he mumbled, his voice muffled against your shirt.

“c’mon, man! you can’t hide her!” felix chirped, bouncing into the room. “we have a right to know! gotta’ meet the muse in your songs!”

“what muse?” jisung grumbled, lifting his head, his ears flushed a deep pink. you couldn’t help your chuckle, leaning against the man as his arm remained firmly around your waist. “you’re such a menace!”

hyunjin swooped in, striking a pose. “but this is a historic moment! our han jisung, finally winning back his first love! what did he say? be with me, y/n. damn bro, that was sick!”

changbin sauntered over, giving jisung’s shoulder a firm, brotherly shake. “we’re proud of you, jisung! congrats!”

you felt a wave of heat rush to your own face, but to your surprise, it was accompanied by a bubble of laughter. their intrusion, while chaotic, was devoid of malice. it was pure, unfiltered affection for jisung, and an overwhelming curiosity about the girl who had never left his mind, the muse of his lyrics.

bang chan finally stepped forward, gently pushing hyunjin aside. “alright, alright. give them space.” he then offered you a warm, dimpled smile that immediately put you at ease. “ hi, y/n. nice to meet you, i’m chan. you can refer to me as chris as well. sorry about the mob. they have zero chill, especially when it comes to our jisungie.”

he shot a fond but exasperated look at the others, “we’ve heard a lot about you–”

“nothing bad, really!” felix added quickly, hos eyes wide and sincere. “just… important.”

jisung exhaled a deep, frustrated sigh, the tension finally leaving his shoulders as he accepted the inevitable. his eyes found yours yet again, his gaze full of admiration. “sorry. i know it’s a lot. they’re very annoying–”

“ouch!” both changbin and hyunjin collectively gasped, shooting a side glare towards him.

the tears in your eyes had dried, replaced by a newfound warmth. this was his world. it was not just the stages and the lights, but this: a family of chaotic, loving, incredibly loud boys who clearly adored him. and instead of feeling overwhelmed, you felt a strange sense of fitting in. this was the vibrant, noisy reality he had built, and he was asking you to be part of it.

you gave jisung a small, reassuring squeeze before turning to face the room. “it’s nice to finally meet you all.” a tiny smile now playing on your lips, genuine, “i’m a fan myself.”

“ooooh, then, who’s your bias, y/n?” changbin’s eyebrows shot up, a slow, mischievous grin spreading across his face, “is it me?”

“no! it’s me, hyung!” hyunjin protested, “right, y/n?”

“hey–hey! this is my girl you’re talking about!” jisung snapped, pulling you just a fraction closer in a move that was equal parts possessive and playful.

“welp, this is getting interesting!” felix commented, looking over to their leader.

“...here we go again,” bang chan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with a mixture of exasperation and deep fondness. he gave you an apologetic smile that seemed to say. welcome to the circus. the tickets are unfortunately non-refundable.

© lynsbng 2026

[lookitsjess]

The face card in question :

Literally, SHUT UP.

[axel-skz]

When I find you Christopher-

[hyunjinspark]

star lost with you | hyunjin au | part 20

pairing: idol! hyunjin x artist! reader

genre: friends to lovers, so much angst, smut, fluff, set in the idolverse, mutual pining, unrequited love, forbidden romance, slowburn (!!!) soulmate au, star-crossed lovers

synopsis: working in a quaint little art store, you’ve had the honor of meeting all kinds of people, but you’ve never met somebody like him. there were many reasons hyunjin returned to his hometown; a getaway from the ephemeral and fast-paced life of the city, so he could fall in love with life again. he thought he was prepared for everything, to study art in the way that he’s always wanted to, but what he didn’t anticipate was meeting you. hwang hyunjin realises that sometimes, the best things in life happen unplanned. 

word count: 33K

warnings: mature content, angst, sexual tension, a lot of making out, kissing, mature language, explicit scenes, dirty talk, oral, a lot of fluff, cheesy in love stuff

a/n: hi. it’s been a long time. i didn't even realise how long, and to all the people who waited and still sent me texts: thank you. I can't believe there are people still interested in this story. life has been so insanely busy, in a good way, and i have had a lot of things going on, the kind of things i write about here, and time slipped away from me and im so sorry about the wait. even worked on a ridiculously cool project for fandoms and fanfiction (can u believe it?) at my job, which was crazy. i missed hyunyn and started writing this again sometime last year and finally got myself back into their love story. ive been out of kpop for long but i couldn't stop thinking about them this whole time, and i had to come back to do the rest of their story. they mean a lot to me and it seems like hyunjin's doing amazing things. he's forever inspiring to me. i hope you enjoy this chapter. and I hope you reread the story so it brings you back into this world. thank you for still being here, and being so patient. i promise the next wait won't be so long. and i hope the wait was still somehow worth it! you can listen to my star lost playlist here!

important: all works are fiction, and do not in any way represent the real personalities or real people, they exist only as faceclaims, and are fictional characters.

masterlist

You were so lucky. 

You must have used up all of the luck in the world. Every birthday wish over the pink candles your friends would get you, each penny in the Daejon wishing well that you swore you didn't believe in, every 11:11 had come together to give you this. 

It was just past three am and Hyunjin had texted you, "Come downstairs."

No explanation. Nothing else. Hyunjin, usually a man of many words, was uncharacteristically cryptic. But you…you were a lovesick idiot, so you obeyed anyway. Leather jacket half-zipped, hands still stained from paint from earlier, you all but ran down the six flights of stairs.

Under your apartment, his car was parked. The engine idled in the snow, his hoodie pulled low over his head. He was a mere dark shadow, leaning against the passenger door, hands casually tucked into his jeans.

The street lights barely illuminated the sidewalk, but you could still make out the smile that formed on his face when he saw you.

He looked impossibly good for this hour. A red scarf curled around his neck, a black hoodie clinging to him, thin silver glasses on. He dressed like he came straight from the runway, even though he was just in the streets of your very simple Ikseon-dong neighbourhood.

Yeah. Nothing good ever started with a text at three in the morning, except maybe this.

Just to be careful, you looked around for wandering cars or people - for stragglers coming home late from the bar, or snoopy neighbors taking out the trash. It would quickly become a habit - to keep this a secret, it was necessary. You could never be too careful after all. To your relief, the street was empty except for him. It was safe. 

He opened the passenger door for you, a quiet laugh slipping out when you nearly tripped on the curb in your rush. Maybe it was the sudden cold clouding your senses, or the excitement of seeing him at this unexpected hour. It was just his car, but your stomach jumped and dropped like you were on a rollercoaster. 

It felt forbidden. It thrilled you. 

"Hey." Your voice was quiet as a whisper, as if you were still hiding, while you settled into your seat. You were thankful he'd left the heat on, and you glanced around the unfamiliar car. "This isn't your car."

He got in, a surprised look on his face as if he didn't expect you to catch onto that so quickly, "It's not."

"Please don't tell me you stole it."

"If I did, would you get out right now and go back to bed?" He asked, an eyebrow raised. A smug look was painted on his face, like he knew that you wouldn't care. He was teasing you, at this ungodly hour. Confidence looked good on him. You shrugged, nonchalant as you leaned back into your seat, eyes intense on his, "No, I would totally become your accomplice. I'd just… like a heads up."

Hyunjin laughed, eyes crinkling, "Knew I could trust you." He turned the knob on the radio, turning it down, "I rented it, actually. Under an alias. Didn't wanna risk showing up in my own car."

Right… Of course there were people out there who would recognize his fucking car, of all things. Nothing about his life was private. Which is probably why you were meeting him in the dead of night when most of the city was asleep. Your eyebrows shot up, "They let you rent a car under a fake name?"

"Yup. Done it before. Usually our managers figure that out for us to keep our schedules private. I found loopholes," he stated. So, he was really breaking the law to be here. It was kind of insane and romantic. You wondered if his managers knew that this is what he was doing with the liberty they gave him. Taking you on a joyride at 3 a.m., when the city was under a cover of cloud and snow. He reversed out of your street, hand behind your headrest, glancing at you, "Did I wake you?"

This felt dramatic. It felt like you were sneaking away to meet your high school boyfriend that your parents would never approve of. You'd never had that experience, so maybe this was making up for it. "No…I was just on my phone, watching videos. I went down a rabbit hole. You know how that is.” You said. He smiled, "What kind of videos?"

"Just fun stuff to do in the city." You admitted, running a finger over your chin, "I think I need to go out more, I've been sulking in my apartment for too long. Ugh, I need some inspiration. Where does one go to be inspired in this city?"

"I mean, your apartment's great.” He said. You shook your head, laughing, "It's really not….I want to do something crazy. Something I've never done in Daejon. Anything that kickstarts this creative block."

"Well, they make drugs for that."

You squint at him, "Funny. I saw a record store in Hongdae. I want to go there."

"Do you own a record player?” Hyunjin glanced your way. You stretched in the passenger seat, extending your arms in front of you, "No but hey, I could. I could be that girl."

He laughed, "Yeah. You can totally be that girl. You're already an artist living in Seoul, think you're halfway there."

"You're so right.” You giggled. He stopped at the light, glancing over at you, "I forgot something."

"What?" Your eyes narrowed and before you could question him further, he took you by surprise, leaning over in an instance to press his mouth to yours. 

Your stomach jumped as you returned his kiss, tilting your head to meet him halfway. It hadn't been so long since the last time you kissed him, but every second apart had felt like eternity. Every time you did this felt like the first time. Electric. New. Scary good. Your hand came to rest on his thigh, squeezing his leg. 

You were glad the windows were tinted, so he could do this. You were glad you were at a redlight so you couldn't take this further than you wanted to. If there were strings within your body, they were always pulling you to him. Reluctantly, he pulled back a breath, eyes hooded, "You taste like tiramisu."

You bit your lip. "I had some for dessert." 

The light changed to green, and he pulled back completely, foot on the gas pedal. You looked out the window, a smile forming that made your cheeks hurt. Light snow scattered across the city, settling on the windshield, settling into the crevices of the windowpane. It was so calm out there, and you glanced at the boy in the drivers seat. Hyunjin had his glasses on — the ones he only put on when he was driving. You didn't know that he needed them, as much as you needed them on him. He licked his lips, as if still cherishing your taste. Even now, as his face rested, he looked deep in thought. It suit him so well. Gnawing on his bottom lip, he navigated through the late-night traffic. He was driving fast, street lights bouncing off the windshield, colors scattering over his skin. You wish you had a camera so you could —

“You’re staring,” he broke the quiet and your chain of thoughts. He didn’t need to look at you, he could feel your gaze burning into him, the air humming with your want and unspoken desire. Just a week ago, you’d have been embarrassed to be caught, but now you met his eyes, "Yeah. I am," 

It felt unreal, him being here with you. Less than forty-eight hours had passed since Kairi's dinner party, yet the planet seemed to have spun on a new axis since then.

After all these months pining after him, wishing to be near him, you finally were. You didn't know how to comprehend all these new feelings. It felt like your heart had grown in his presence, stretching to accommodate this flood of emotions. He looked at you at those words, almost surprised by your newfound boldness, "You haven't even asked me where I'm taking you. I fear you're still half-asleep."

"I'm just thinking." You countered, eyes flicking between him and the blur of the city through the glass. "And obviously, I trust you. Surprises can be good for inspiration. Gets my brain thinking." His glance cut toward you. “What are you thinking about?”

Outside, groups of friends were walking home from bars, bottles in their hands. Even in the cold, the city nightlife thrived. Warmth coiled in your chest and you held onto it — this unfamiliar comfort of being beside him. “Just… happy I stayed. Happy I went to Kairi’s dinner.”

Because what if you hadn’t? What if you’d caught that train to Daejon instead? What if Hyunjin hadn't come to your doorstep and convinced you to stay? What if you'd never had that conversation in Kairi's house?

His words from that night came back to you:

I’m saying that if we really do this, there’s going to be a lot of discretion. It’s probably going to be difficult and frustrating as fuck, and we’re both going to have to be really careful. Is that really okay with you?

»»————- 48 hours ago.

He was still wiping lipstick stains off his jaw. You watched him from where you sat, on the marble counter. Your dress was soaked from the wine still, but you didn't feel it anymore. To give your attention to anything but him right now would be a sin. His sweater was untucked from his jeans, belt buckle hanging loose. You liked seeing him like that. Disheveled. He was always so perfect, it was nice that he was only a mess because of you.

If you and him were to be together, it could only be a thing of secrecy. You were still reeling from the high of kissing him but this was a conversation you needed to have. 

"So what does this mean?" You had asked. He'd been out of your life for so long, it was weird to imagine what could be normal now. He glanced at you, a curious look on his face, "You mean for us?"

"Yeah. What does this mean for us…going forward?" You hated how it sounded so sterile. You continued, “I missed what we were in Daejon. I missed how we were. Does this mean we can go back to that? Can it…can it still be like that?"

His expression softened, and it was as if you could watch your memories replaying in his eyes, a film reel of you and him in your little hometown, “That doesn’t have to change. We can still be like that."

A wild rush surged through your veins, and your heart felt unstable. This was everything you wanted, everything you’d been denying yourself until now. What would it even mean to be Hyunjin’s girl? Did it mean you could see him anytime that you wanted? Without making up a stupid excuse, but just because. After all this time, you could stop doubting if he wanted you the same way. You finally knew he did.

You thought hard, picking the right words to say, trying not to give yourself away. You had so many questions, "We have to keep this a secret. Does that mean we're not telling the others…your friends?"

You shouldn't be trying to find logic in this new relationship. You should fuck logic and just enjoy this, but you needed to make sure you were both on the same page. It seemed like he didn't have the answer to that. You'd caught him off guard. He paused, hands resting on the sink, "Maybe. I… don't know."

"But I don't want you to have to lie to your friends because of me." You wanted to slap yourself for coming up with problems right after finally getting what you wanted.

Hyunjin took a breath, then stepped closer to you, hands resting on your thighs, “It sounds bad but if we do this, we’re going to have to lie. To everyone. To a lot of people we care about, at least for a while…while we figure this out. I know they'll be supportive, Chan and the boys, but…they're going to worry. They think of me as some… emotional, sensitiveboy who thinks with his heart, not his head and they will worry. I don't want their stress to rub off on me. Not yet. Not when I finally have you the way I want."

But you are a sensitive and emotional boy who thinks with his heart. You bit your words back. It was a happy moment but having him hide it from the people closest to him made it seem like it wasn't. It's like he could read your mind, or at least he was trying to. His hand held up your chin, so you could look him in the eyes, "Hey. Don't worry about it. It's… not a bad thing, it's just how my world works. It's ridiculous sometimes. We'll tell them. In time."

"Right." Guilt bridled your tone as you looked into his eyes. You didn't want to come between him and years of friendships. But you were already taking a huge plunge and risking his entire career just because of your feelings for him. What was one more thing to that?

Hyunjin's voice softened, "Is it that bad to want you just to myself for a little while?"

You could tell he was trying to lighten your mood. It worked. A small smile crept up your face as you said, "No. I want you to be my little secret too. It's…kind of hot."

"Is it?" He laughed, eyes crinkling in the way that you so loved.

"Mmh. Like it's forbidden…the stakes feel so high." It made your feelings for him tenfold more intense — he was yours and nobody could know that. Nobody deserved to have that part of him. You'd never felt territorial before in your life but this was probably the beginnings of it. Hyunjin's gaze dropped, his hands settling on your hips, "You're right. The stakes are high."

"And I happen to be a great liar, so this should be a real piece of cake." You smiled. He laughed, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear, "Do you still have that phone I gave you?”

A few weeks ago — on the night he convinced you to stay in Seoul — he'd given you a burner phone, so you could communicate only to him. You nodded, "I still don’t understand why I need a decoy phone. I’m not famous. Shouldn’t just you having one be enough?”

He answered as if he expected your question, “I don’t want anything to be traced back to your real number. There’s a lot of crazy, messed-up people in the world.”

The thought was scary, that someone out there would deliberately want to track you down . “Right… Is there anything else I should be careful about?”

He took a moment to think about it. There was a magnitude of things you couldn’t do and very, very few that you could.

You could only text him on his decoy number.

You couldn't follow him on any social media.

You couldn’t really go out in public together.

You definitely couldn’t go to his and the boys' apartment. It was public knowledge where they lived; it would be too risky to be even seen in the neighborhood. Their managers lived across from their apartment and watched them closely. That shocked you. They were grown adults who didn’t need constant supervision. It just seemed like one of the many things you’d have to get used to, being part of his life.

“And…I definitely can’t be seen with your lipstick prints all over my face.” He had added. You narrowed your eyes, tugging him closer by the collar of his sweater, "Not your face. So only the parts of you that won't be seen by the public."

Your hands drifted up his sweater, tracing the shape of his chest and feeling his heartbeat quicken beneath your touch. He laughed, clearly affected by your gesture. Your fingers hovered over his ribcage, and you asked, "How about here?"

He smiled like this didn't bother him, but his eyes betrayed him, a carnal desire swirling through them. "As much as I would want that…It'll get us into trouble."

You dropped your hands from his skin, “Well…I won’t let you get into any trouble. Not because of me. Never ever.”

He smiled, eyes crinkling at your earnest admission, "I know you won't."

"Are you scared?" The question escaped before you could stop it. You flinched, feeling like you’d cracked open something raw and dangerous. Each worry felt like opening Pandora's box, like this would be it. This would be the thing that'd make him change his mind.

An eyebrow shot up, "Scared?"

"That this could ruin everything? That I could?" You asked, wishing you could bite your tongue. It was stupid to say this. Did you want to push him away?

His eyes searched yours, matching the vulnerability on your face, and his voice was soft as a whisper, "I would say… you're just about the only person in the world I trust with my life."

His words went straight to your heart, embedding them deep like a promise. He was trusting you, with everything, with his life that he'd built up over years and years of hardship and training.

You could never betray that trust. You'd protect him and your big little secret with everything you had. Even if it was hard, and even if it could possibly hurt you. You'd do that before you let anything affect him. You'd get hurt a million times before letting it ruin his life.

"Thank you. For trusting me." 

His eyes roamed your wine-soaked dress. He tilt his head, "You wanna change out of that now?"

Right. The drink you'd spilled as a stupid ploy to get him to follow you in here, to get him alone. It was stupid but it had clearly worked. “I should.”

He reached for you, hand on your waist to help you off the countertop. Your stomach turned at the simplicity and kindness of his gesture. You'd missed how this felt. He pulled you away from the bathroom into Kairi’s room across the hall. You'd already forgotten about the group of friends downstairs waiting for you to return. You searched through her closet for something simple to wear. A soft, fuzzy, blue sweater stood out. You unzipped your dress, careful not to make too much noise, your ears burning at the thought that Hyunjin might be watching. 

Subtly, you glanced over your shoulder to check if he was looking at you, curious about his reaction. He wasn't watching you change; instead he stood by the door like he wanted to give you privacy. The room was dark, and he was only illuminated by the hallway light. His arms were crossed as he waited, leaning against the doorframe, eyes unfocused as if deep in thought.

There was a sudden quietness to the two of you now. A calm that only came with getting what you wanted. When you finally had what you'd fought for all this time, what did you have left to do? 

You pulled the sweater over your head, and slipped on a pair of Kairi's baggy pants. It didn't match with your dolled up hair and your kitten heels. “So… do you like my fit?” You stepped close to him, revealing your outfit in the dim light. He looked at you, gaze raking over you, smiling, "Very much."

He then took a step to you, voice low, “I’m really happy you came tonight.” That was right. If you hadn’t made the last-minute decision to come, none of this would have happened. You smiled honestly, “Me too.”

Even in heels, you had to stretch up to kiss him. It was so nice… to just kiss him like this without pretending. It still felt far out but you had to remind yourself — this whole game of charade you'd been playing was over now. He pressed his mouth to yours, tender, hand grazing the small of your back, mumbling, “We should get back before they think something's happened to us.”

You didn't have the heart to tell him that they probably thought you were up here fucking. After, you had slipped out back to Kairi’s living room. All of his friends lay in wait for you — Chan, Jisung, Changbin and Kairi gathered around the coffee table. The television was on in the back, a muted news channel talking about the sudden snowstorm that hit Seoul. “There you two are.” Kairi had exclaimed, eyes drifting to the sweater you had on, "We were wondering if you were ever coming back."

"Sorry." You apologized, settling back on the couch as Hyunjin went over to Jisung. They talked in loud whispers, and you tried to focus on what Chan was saying to you but it was hard. Nobody else knew about the conversation you’d had with Hyunjin, the decision you’d made to explore this — to finally give each other a chance, all strings attached.

You think it was obvious on your face what had just occurred. Something electric had rewired your very core.

When you were thirteen, your friends would obsess over comic books, and you always thought it was funny how the main character was always hit with something - a spider, radiation, a freak accident - so they could become a superhero. That's kind of how you felt right now, like your very own DNA was rearranging itself. 

Your body felt reinvented, as if your cells shifted to accommodate the truth that Hyunjin was now yours.

Maybe that was an extraordinarily crazy way of looking at it, but nothing about you and him had ever been ordinary. 

»»————- now.

You still felt like that now, forty-eight hours later, sitting in the passenger seat of Hyunjin's car. Liquid fire in your veins from sitting so close to him. He had been quietly humming along to his playlist. Casually perfect, casually yours. 

You watched him so intently, wanting to memorize the way this moment felt. You didn't notice you'd arrived to your destination. He eased the car into a nearly empty parking lot, headlights dimming. "We're here."

The neighborhood was usual, a blend of clubs and apartments. Bars and pubs lined the streets, playing loud music to drunk crowds. But of course, you weren't going into the bars, there were far too many people there who could recognize him.

You followed him into the cold night, zipping your jacket up to the top as he pushed open an unassuming door on the street. Up a narrow stairwell that smelled of wood and dust. You didn't expect the climb and you quietly followed him to the top floor. A neon sign read 'Emergency Exit' above the door. He took in a breath, pushing it open. A gust of wind blew over you, and you realized he had led you to a rooftop.

Tentatively, you stepped out. The rooftop overlooked the city of Seoul. The view was insane. "Whoa…" You puffed your breath, a cloud of cold air escaping, stepping forward onto the gravel. "This is…ridiculous."

You were looking out at an expanse of skyscrapers, lights, highways in the distance with lights threading in red and yellow traffic. Before you could even take in the view, Hyunjin grabbed your arm, pulling you towards him. You laughed, "What are you doi—" But then he was kissing you. 

You obliged him, arms coming up around his neck, meeting his mouth in the middle. 

He kissed you like he hadn't in forever, hands holding your body, fingers digging into the leather of your jacket. He was urgent, frantic, like he'd been waiting to do this. Like everything he'd been holding in this entire time had exploded into this desire right now. 

You had so much to ask him, so much to talk to him about, but you let yourself get lost in the moment. This is what it meant to date Hyunjin. His hands sank into your hair, tugging at your roots. It triggered a moan, your mouth falling open. You couldn't help it, a giggle escaped you at this sudden passion. This all felt very teenage. Hyunjin pulled back, eyes narrowed in confusion. You adjusted your jacket and it was all bunched up from where he was gripping it, "Sorry. I…Did you just bring me up here to make out? Not that I mind…" 

He shook his head, eyes narrowed, cheeks red, "No…I wanted to see you." He cleared his throat, "Wanted to talk to you."

"Mmh." You smiled, stepping back, "That was some great talking." You didn't want to get all hot and bothered, not here, not like this. You looked around, trying to not focus on how good it felt to kiss him, observing the single clothesline that hung across, and discarded cigarette butts that lay on the gravel. There was a fresh one, and you crushed it with your boot, "Are we even allowed to be up here?" 

"One of my friends lives in the building. He's brought me up here before." 

"What friend?"

Hyunjin rest his head against the door, eyes glazing over your form, like he was still disappointed you'd pulled away, "Just another trainee from Pegasus."

“Does he know we're up here?" You crossed your arms to warm yourself. Hyunjin's eyebrow shot up, intimidatingly hot, "Does it matter?"

Your eyes widened, "I didn't know you were such a rebel. Trespassing onto rooftops, renting Ford mustangs under fake names…"

He had a boyish grin on his face, like he felt proud of the fact, "You'd be surprised what I'm willing to do."

He walked over to the edge, joining you, snow crunching beneath his feet. So easily, he then stepped up onto the parapet. Your heart skipped a beat at his nonchalance. He looked back at you over his shoulder, "Don't worry. There's a ledge right under.” He sat down like it was the most natural thing in the world, legs hanging off the edge, "Come here."

You looked over the edge. It wasn't too far a drop, the ledge safely jutted out underneath, almost like it was made for lovers to rendezvous in the night. Your gut twisted, but you swung your legs over, joining him. He steadied you with one hand on your back, the other gripping you firmly until you settled beside him. "Careful…" He murmured, arm brushing yours as you shifted closer.

"Phew." You puffed your cheeks, trying not to look down, "Didn't know you'd be getting me out of bed for a near-death experience."

"I would never let anything happen to you."

"Do you come up here a lot?" You tried to focus on the view of the city — it was gorgeous. The recent snowstorm had left everything in a cover of white, like you'd dropped white paint all over a fresh canvas.

"I used to come up here a lot when I moved back from Daejon. It was a nice place, to think, to watch the leaves change in the fall. It wasn't as cold either." He answered.

"What trees?" You joked, hands digging into your jacket pockets, looking out at all the steel and concrete that dominated the Seoul skyline. He smiled at the jab, and then looked at you, frowning, “You’re shivering.” 

“No, I’m fine.” 

Without a word, Hyunjin untangled his red scarf from his neck, holding it to you. You started to protest, but he was already draping the red wool around your neck, fingers tucking it gently under your chin. You snuggled deeper into the scarf’s warmth, mumbling, “If I’d known you were dragging me up here, I’d have worn something warmer. Now you're gonna be cold instead of me. How's that a fair trade off?"

"And maybe I'd prefer to freeze to death before letting you shiver."

You looked at him, eyebrows shot up, "You're so romantic."

He chuckled, "I'm sorry it had to be this late. Just had a crazy day and I really wanted to see you. I couldn't think of anywhere else we could go and… once I remembered this place, I had to text you. I'm very bad at holding back on my urges."

"Oh, are you?" You teased, swaying your legs in the wind. His mouth quirked. “If I’d gone home and gone to bed, I’d have regretted not texting you.” 

"You love getting what you want."

He let out a soft sigh. “Well, Changbin says he admires that about me.” 

"Of course Changbin would.” You mumbled. Hyunjin laughed, "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means they've spoiled you. I don't blame them. Saying no to you would kind of be impossible." You said, and your laughter betrayed you. He scrunched his nose, reaching for your hands suddenly as if to change the topic, "What even is that? Charcoal?"

“Yeah. I was sketching earlier. Trying a new medium.” You admitted. His fingers on your wrist turned your hand up; his thumb brushed along the lines of your palm. “You have soft hands.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the sudden observation, "Thanks."

"How are you?" He then looked up to you, eyes sincere. That came out of nowhere. You blinked, meeting his gaze, "How am I?"

He didn't let go of your hand, and you think maybe he just needed an excuse to hold it. 

"You've had a rough couple of weeks." He sounded guilty, but he was not.

"That's not on you."

"I guess." Slowly, he intertwined his fingers with yours. It sent different kind of shivers down your spine. His palm was softer than you could ever imagine yours being.

"Kim Jieong's the asshole…you couldn't have known that.” You said. His gaze searched yours, "But I wasn't exactly the best to you, I cut you off —"

"You don't have to explain yourself to me again, Hyunjin. I…get it." You squeezed his hand, "And as to your question, I'm much better. I think I needed to give myself some time to process what happened…and move on. I think I could be meant for cooler things than Kim fucking Jieong. Like I've been thinking… I would love to work at a place like The Chateau was back home…to help people, just bond over art. I don't really wanna compete to prove myself. I don't think I'm cut out for it. It's harsh even to make it as an artist and it just doesn't make sense to fight others for it."

A relieved smile broke across his face, as if a weight had lifted off his shoulders after hearing your words, "I think you'd be pretty great at something like that."

You brushed your thumb against his hand, "And what about you?"

He looked at you, tilting his head, "Did I tell you I'm a Hermes ambassador now? Crazy…They're sending me to Copenhagen for that." 

"What? That's…amazing. When?" Turning to face him, you crossed your legs on the little ledge. He said that so casually.

"The winter fashion week. They want me to sit in the front row." He laughed, nervous, "I don't know why. I'm not an expert on fashion. I'm kind of nervous."

"That sounds really fucking cool. Is it your first time there?”

He nodded. “And my first solo appearance overseas. My manager says it’s good for publicity. I like their style, so… maybe I’ll enjoy it. Who knows? That's in a few weeks, so there's been a lot of preparation around that.”

"Why are you nervous?" You whispered. He shrugged, drawing little circles on your hand, "I'm representing the group at the event. It just feels like a lot. I'll have to make small talk with everyone. I'm supposed to be 'networking' I'm kind of dreading that. And I also don't enjoy the long travel days…"

"How long is that flight, like 10 hours?"

"A little over, yeah."

"That sounds tiring."

He thought about it, "It can get tiring yeah, but…I also am excited to see the city. I've heard a lot about their architecture and I'm excited to photograph the streets, to try new food, I tell myself it'll be worth all the jet lag. I think one day when I'm too old for this job, I'll move to a countryside near there and just paint all day.”

You smiled at his words, "I could totally see you as a recluse." 

"Right? And…nobody would know me." He then looked at you, "We could be just about anybody. Go anywhere."

"Wow. That sounds tempting. I wouldn't mind doing that." You added. It felt crazy to talk about your and Hyunjin's future together so normally, like in twenty years you could both do that. For the first time, it felt tangible. You could see your life with him flash before your eyes. Perhaps you were getting too ahead of yourself.

"Really?" He tilt his head, "I see you as someone who'd travel the world when she gets the chance, not settle down in some nowhere town."

You laughed, "You're right. There are so many places I want to see before I…become a hermit like you." He smiled at that. You continued, "I could imagine it changing my perspective. Sometimes, I think my world is so small. It opened up a bit more when I moved here, but I know there's so much more to see and fall in love with. Especially when all my favorite artists are from there."

Hyunjin was listening to you carefully, lips twitching into a smile, "Have you ever flown out of the country?” 

“Just once. With my family, like ten years ago. There was a wedding in Sydney. I don’t remember much though.”

"Did you like it?"

"I'm sure I did…I still have all the souvenirs and bus tickets at home, but yeah, those dreams are all for later. Maybe in ten years I can gift myself a birthday trip to a place like that. For now…" You looked out at the view that you had grown to love, "For now, Seoul will do."

“I mean, it's nice to be able to travel for work, but most of the time we don’t even see the cities. We’re just… rushed from one schedule to the next. I guess I should take it more as a blessing and not complain so much.”

You laughed, "And how are the boys doing?"

He sighed, shoulders sinking, "Overworked. Working on our next album. The company wants us to do a pop album, but it's so different from our current sound…so it's kind of hard to try that out while still trying to be authentic to ourselves."

"The company gets to decide that?"

"Yup. Since they're paying for it. Right now, literally everybody else in the industry is doing pop. I guess it's our turn." He said. You frowned, "Isn't that more reason not to do it?"

Hyunjin scoffed, "You would think. The company executives work in mysterious ways that us humans could never understand."

"Right. Us mortals aren't privy to the way the big corporations' brains work."

He laughed but you could feel the passion in his voice, "They think if we do a pop album, it proves to the investors that we're worth spending all their money on. It's a lot of pressure for Chan…"

"I can imagine…"

He took a breath, and continued, "And I want to help him. But of course I have to go sit front row in a fashion show. I don't even know much about fashion! Surely they could have picked someone else. I'm only there because the label has money to send me…and I guess cause I have the most… followers." He said the last part quieter, like he was embarrassed, "That kinda shit matters to them a lot. We have so many obligations now. I guess I just feel like a sellout. I'm sorry, scratch that. I didn't bring you up here to rant."

“Hyun…” You reached out to his arm, stroking it, “Don’t be sorry. Thank you for telling me that. You could talk to me about anything, you know that.”

He glanced at you, lips twitching into a smile, "I know. But I don't want to talk to you about just my problems."

"Well. I don't know much about the industry, but I know that they'll love you at the fashion show, and I know that if you do end up having to make a pop album, it'll probably be the greatest of our century."

He looked adorable, a shy expression, and it was much nicer to see that then the furrows in his brows or the frown in his smile. You leaned over, to press a sweet kiss to his cheek, "You're incredible."

Hyunjin's cheeks flushed. You pulled back, just a bit, eyes hovering over his. He stared back at you in silence, intense gaze and then whispered, "I can't believe you're here."

He leaned forward to kiss you. His hand landed on your thigh, the other on your chin. He tilt your head to match his pace and the rooftop was dead quiet except for the sounds of you kissing. Heat coursed through your veins, and your heart beat faster with every kiss. This was the stuff dreams were made of. The kind of love people wished on shooting stars for. You wish you could pinch yourself to remind yourself that this was real, not a dream. Each moment with Hyunjin, you'd be pinching yourself every day for the rest of your life.

He pulled back to breathe, "With all this stuff the company makes us do…that's why you're so important to me. I give up so much for this life and…"

You stilled, curious to hear what was next.

"I look at you and I'm like, finally. Finally I'm doing something for myself."

Your eyes widened. You were his one thing. The words made your heart swell, and you smiled so big your cheeks hurt. It was crazy to believe you meant so much to him. You observed his face, the sincereness in it, the beauty behind it. It was unfathomable how you'd found someone like him in your simple, little life. Pinch.

"And hey, maybe if we do get big enough internationally, we could have more say in things and more control." He added. You nodded, still feeling drunk off his kiss, your words overlapping with his as you added, "And you will be so big, and so successful, and they will be so proud of you. I already am."

"I guess the only downside to that is I wouldn't be able to hide anywhere."

Your hands settled at the nape of his neck, playing with his hair. Like habit, he relaxed into it as you said, "The world is so big. I'm sure you'd find a town where they don't care about boyband music at all and you can still live your dream life."

He laughed, eyes flickering to yours, "Thank you for humoring me."

"Always." You smiled at him. Always, as in forever. Could he feel that through your words, through your gaze, through your eyes? You meant it. 

You shifted closer to him, dropping your head on his shoulder, watching the snowflakes drift down. He had chosen you for himself. It was a crazy thought. If only your teenage self could see you right now. She would have had less days chasing after boys who didn't want her, and wondering when she'd be with the one who truly cared for her. Or maybe all of that had to happen for you to appreciate the sanctity of this moment. Character development.

You sat silent for a while. 

Faint music was playing from the bars downstairs. English songs from the 80s. It was a nice vibe. It was exactly Hyunjin's vibe. "I love this song." He noticed. A romantic song was playing. With or Without You by U2.

You smiled, "It's nice." Hyunjin started mumbling the words, singing along under his breath. His voice was soft and breathy. His accent was restrained, subtle. The song got louder, as if the bars knew you and him were listening to it, like they were only playing this for the two of you. He suddenly started to stand up, back from the ledge. You looked at him in confusion, "What are you doing?"

"Come on. I love this song." He repeated, extending his hand to you. Tentatively, you grabbed his hand to step back onto the roof. The snow crunched under your feet. It had started piling up more and more. Hyunjin pulled you close, one hand slipping around your waist. You giggled at the realization, "We're dancing…?"

"That's a word for it." He smiled, dimples in his cheek, slowly swaying you around. 

It was silly. You were both bundled up in winter coats. At first, you couldn't help but be self aware, smiling at the thought of it all. He was more reserved, watching you, focused on the music. The snowfall was slow, and your cheeks were both red from the cold.

The song played in tandem with your footsteps. Your heart beat in tandem with his. Silly. No one else on the planet you'd do this with. 

Hyunjin knew the words and mumbled them under his breath every so often, but mostly he just looked right at you. You looked at him too, at the way his eyelashes rested on his cheeks when he blinked, the way the city lights reflected off his cheekbones. He was beautiful in every moment. 

The song grew louder, music ramping up and you hadn't heard this song in a million years but now you could feel it in your body, it was playing over this moment like you were in a movie. His eyes were half-lidded, a lazy but content smile on his face. "This is nice." He spoke, eyes drifting to your lips. 

Slowly, he bent down, mouth meeting yours perfectly with the beat. It's like he timed the kiss to perfection too, just as the music built into the bridge. You stilled, eyes shutting as he kissed you so tenderly, holding you so close to him.

"Your lips are so cold." He whispered, moving an inch away to breathe and before you could respond, he had closed the gap between your mouths again. You tilt your head up to accommodate him. Your hands were shaking from the cold so you brought them up to his chest, bunching his coat in your fists, holding him. You'd forgotten your gloves at home, but Hyunjin was hot enough. He paused for another second, looking deep into your eyes, "Warm enough?"

Your head was full of the music. It penetrated your brain, and you shook your head no. His lips curled into a smile, and he grabbed your chin, pulling you up to kiss him again, harder. You were on your toes now. He was so tall. Your heart pound so loud in your ears. He asked again, edging you, "How about now? Warmer?"

Lost for words, you shook your head again. He grabbed your face, kissing you for a third time, longer, more passionate, more intense. His tongue was in your mouth. Yours in his. 

And now in the harsh cold, your body was burning hot. Warmth traveled from his lips to your tiptoes, an intense tingle down your spine, like a fever spreading through you the longer he touched you, the longer he kissed you.

Snow fell all around you, falling onto Hyunjin's eyelashes, onto your cheeks, melting as soon as it touched your skin because he was making you so warm. He pulled back again, lips hovering over yours, "And now?"

“More.” You bit your lip, brain fuzzy and full of static, “Still cold.”

He laughed, breathless from the kisses and the cold, a warm hoarseness in his voice. "You're greedy."

“Yes.” You mumbled, pupils blown wide as you blinked up at him. His voice was curious, “What are you gonna do when I’m not here? When I’m gone for long?”

“Die.” You mumbled, chasing his mouth for another touch. He pulled back, lips swollen, “That’s not funny.”

You pouted at the separation of your lips, being away from him was physically hurting you, “I wasn’t being funny. Just don’t be gone for long, Hyun. Keep kissing me." Your body hurt, and your core hurt and your heart hurt, "Kiss me until it stops snowing, and it's summer again, and then after that too. Don't ever stop, please."

His eyes widened, and the song was ending, slowing down as he said, “You say things with such intensity. Such…passion.” His finger reached out to your lips, thumbing your bottom lip, “I love that about you. I wish I could capture everything you say and bottle it up.”

“I wish I could bottle you up.” You were getting impatient, fingers dragging down his body, aching for more, more, moreand this is exactly why you hadn't wanted to start kissing in the middle of nowhere.

He laughed, harnessing a restraint you could never teach yourself in a million years as he pulled back, fingers memorizing the shape of your lips, “I should get you back before it’s morning.”

»»————-

It was much, much easier to promise a secret than to actually keep one. That was something you learnt the hard way over the weeks that followed your and Hyunjin’s rooftop tryst. Of course you could keep a secret. In theory.

You’d hidden things from your friends before — about your desires to move to the city, your true feelings about life in a dead-end town. Back then, it came so easy you could trick yourself into believing it to be the truth. You'd done it so effortlessly. So, in taking all the skills built through your teenage years, this shouldn’t be so hard now. If it were up to you, you'd talk about him to any human who'd lend you an ear. But it was not up to you. So it'd be a secret you would take to your grave.

The next couple of days blurred into something strange and sweet. You weren't suddenly in a serious relationship, at least not in the way regular people would define it, but it was pretty damn close to what you two could have in this reality.

Neither of you had got much sleep. You talked to him, over text, voice messages, pictures, every waking second, every breath. He had a busier life than you - vocal lessons, photoshoots, interviews, so you hadn't seen him in person. Not since the night you'd met on the rooftop. You already missed him, his touch, how he tasted, the way he made you feel. You missed him with a sharpness that left your chest hollow. So you filled the gap with other things.

Seoul’s pretty fucking cool when you’re not depressed.

Yeonjun and you saw each other a lot more, making a weekly routine out of it. He’d take you to jazz bars, and even as a plus-one to a work event. His life was all corporate jargon and meetings, and it was fun to dip your toes into the kind of life you could have had in another reality.

Other days, when all of your friends were busy, you’d sit by the Han River, the winter sun warm on your skin and people-watch. People-watching was so much better here than back home. Here, you could actually make up stories about all the lives around you because everyone was a stranger. It could only work here because back in Daejon, you already knew everyone. But here, there were nine million people in this city and you would never know them all. The thought should have been scary. It wasn't. It felt like a kind of freedom you'd never had.

You'd only been here a few months, but you couldn't imagine living in a small town after this. You'd changed from who you used to be. That much was obvious. Your routine was busy again, you were hardly ever at home, and you’re finally living your life in Seoul.

Kairi took you thrifting, and your closet was slowly starting to look more like your style and less like settling for whatever Daejon had available. Mismatched patterns. Oversized, modern coats that looked like you’d see them on magazine covers. A thrifted jacket with embroidered dragons on the back that you started wearing everywhere, even though it barely kept you warm. You'd never had the confidence to wear stuff like this when you were younger - you'd stick out like a sore thumb - but you felt different now. 

There was a routine to your life that had never existed before. Perhaps it was contrary that the routine came with insane bursts of spontaneity. You'd go out with Yeonjun for dinner and end up at a gaming arcade till the early hours of the morning. You and Kairi would stumble upon a world-famous artist exhibition happening right next to the thrift stores you scoured for items. 

It was the best city in the world to not know what the fuck you were gonna do with your life. It had everything to offer. You'd let yourself be taken by any and all creative pursuits the city had.

Hyunjin already had that. He had so much going on. His job wasn't a thing he could leave at the office at the end of a day. It was him. Every waking second of his day was dedicated to his craft, to getting better, to being there for the band members, to creating something for the fans. There was no rest, no in-between moments. He had obligations to so many people. It made sense why he had shut down all those months ago and uprooted his life by moving to Daejon.

So, you dug yourself into your passions too.

Yeonjun had a new obsession, a gaming arcade in Myeongdong. He'd convinced you to get a membership for it. You sat in the booth together, challenging each other to the new Walking Dead game. He leaned forward, focusing on the game, "I can't believe you've never played this game, and you're already beating me."

You laughed, focusing on the screen, swivelling the gun to maim the zombies, "It's not that hard. Just point and shoot."

"We should enter a tournament if that's so easy." He joked, he was still in his suit from work, he'd come straight here. You, on the other hand, were in your matching grey sweats, legs crossed on the arcade bench so you could be comfortable. He killed another zombie and said, "Work's sending me to a leadership retreat to Tokyo next week. "

You glanced at him, "Don't tell me. And they're paying for everything?"

"Yup. Although I'm gonna be bored out of my mind.” He mumbled. You feigned a gasp, "Oh my god. Tokyo must be gorgeous this time of year. Maybe I should get a corporate job too."

He shot at a zombie, saving your character nonchalantly, "I can't imagine you in one, Y/N. And I mean that with no offense."

"What do you mean?" You stopped to stare at him. He shrugged, "I'm sitting at the desk for eight hours a day, in a stuffy suit and tie, making small talk with old white men from some bumfuck town in Ohio. You…you deserve a more interesting life than that."

You laughed at his words, "But they're paying for you to go to fucking Tokyo. That's more interesting than my life will ever get if I stay an artist. Like who's going to sponsor me to travel and get inspired?"

"Okay." He inadvertently paused the game, looking at you, "When you're famous enough, you can just do that on your own."

"I do not want to be famous." You laughed. He nudged you, resuming the game, "Yeah. I guess it's not all that great. I'm upset I'm gonna miss your birthday."

You stilled, fingers over the controller, and time had really slipped away from you because you completely forgotten how close you were to it, "That's fine."

Yeonjun glanced at you, "No, it's not. I missed your last birthday too…I hate that it's becoming a thing.” You tried to focus on the game as you spoke, "That wasn't your fault. We all kinda iced you out after the breakup. And you missed nothing. We just went for a movie Yongbok wanted to see. Evil Dead something."

"You didn't even pick the movie for your birthday?" His eyes narrowed, and he was getting distracted from the game mission. You laughed, "I mean, I haven't celebrated my birthday in years. I didn't mind."

Yeonjun let out a exhale, "You deserve to be celebrated. Please tell me you guys at least did a cake."

The game lights flashed over the two of you, as you moved on to the next level and you said, "That was last year. It doesn't matter. By the way, your character is absolutely losing. I can't believe we never did this in Daejon."

"Oh, Yongbok would never have let you play with me. He would have snatched you up any time he got." He laughed. You smiled, eyes focused on the screen as your characters ran through the map, "Probably."

"Remember when Yongbok begged his parents to get him a Pac-Man machine on his birthday?" You laughed at the memory, "Wait. Yeah. I remember him crying about it for weeks."

"And that was what, his 16th birthday?" 

You smiled, "He's hilarious."

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, one, two and three times, and you knew who it was. You immediately reached for it, losing focus from the game. 

i miss you so much  i cant stop thinking about you…what are you up to? i was gonna do something crazy and just come over to your place but eunwoo's being a hard ass right now and our schedule for the next few days looks insane ill figure something out. i think ill lose my mind if i don't see you soon

Your breath caught in your throat, the intensity of his texts catching you off guard. You heard growls, and you looked up to see your character get swarmed by zombies. Yeonjun glanced at you, laughing, "Girl. What happened?"

"Sorry. Sorryyy." You put your phone away, unable to stop smiling after that text despite your character dying, "I'll pay for the next round."

"Don't worry about it." Yeonjun laughed, leaning back in his seat, eyes flickering over your form, "Something… about you is different."

You leaned forward, keeping his gaze, but your heart was already pounding thinking about Hyunjin's text, "What do you mean?"

"I don't know. You know what they say, you have a glow…" He raised an eyebrow, "Did you get laid?"

You laughed, putting in six more coins for the game to restart, "I assure you that did not happen."

"Right. I don't believe you.”

"I didn't get laid!" You laughed, "You'd be the first to know if I did."

He scrunched his nose like he didn't believe you, "Sure."

You and Hyunjin never got time to yourselves. The only privacy you could get would be in your apartment. He was always busy. You rolled your eyes, "I'm just happy, okay? Even though the sun sets at four pm, and it's always freezing and the only thing I want to eat is soup…I kind of love winter. I don't know why I was always so obsessed with summer."

Yeonjun laughed, "Summer just has a lot of propaganda behind it. Winter looks good on you, Y/N. It's the happiest I've seen you."

You tilt your head, your heart swelling as your best friend made these observations about you, "Really?"

"And…I'll wait for you to tell me the reason for that." He stated, eyes narrowed on you teasingly. You laughed, "So I need a reason? I can't just be happy?"

"Oh. You're not just happy. You're grossly giddy all the time. At least it's in time for your birthday."

You giggled, "Right. You're not even gonna be here for it so what am I supposed to do?"

He shrugged, "I'm sure you'll figure it out."

You felt overwhelmed with love as Yeonjun and you continued gaming, absolutely obliterating every zombie in your path, and you felt a rush thinking of seeing Hyunjin soon. Your body was filled with buzz. You couldn't even stay still, the adrenaline buzzing you up so much that you played the game like never before, beating your high score twice in a row.

You'd never felt like this before. It's as if something had been missing in your life this whole time, this unconditional love, a giddy feeling in your stomach and now it's everywhere. 

You're drowning in it. 

»»————-

Today, you're at your favorite cafe. The one with the pink chairs and the butter pecan seasonal cookies. You bit into one, crumbs of it falling over your sketchbook. You've been here for hours. You're inspired, and you've been sketching so much you've gone through two notebooks.

The cafe was playing smooth R&B tunes and it remind you of him. Everything remind you of him so you texted him, at the risk of sounding needy.

when do you think i can see you next?

And in the next second, before you'd taken a new breath, you received a text back. It was like he was waiting for you, fingers at the ready to type in a message.

hey, im in a fitting for a photoshoot. ohh what's it for? ah, just an editorial. vogue. ?? are you for real. that's insane.  yes haha. im… modelling for calvin klein lol. what….???

He texted you a picture of him, it looked like his manager had taken it behind the scenes. He stood against a white backdrop, in a tight red and white baseball shirt, low jeans that hung on his waist, a Gucci belt on his hips. The shirt was cropped, exposing his midriff just the right amount, and the band of his underwear. 

you look really hot. like wow…how long are you gonna be at the shoot? thank you :) honestly, probably a couple of hours. im still in only my first outfit. there's seven ugh. you're so strong. i believe in you. it's just a photoshoot. im not saving the world well being hot is a full-time job. ah of course.that's probably why you're so tired all the time.  cheeseball. sorry, i got to go they're calling me back, ill text you later.

You turned your phone over, focusing on your sketches. The cafe had some regulars and you tried to embody them in your sketches. Nobody lingered in the cafe as long as you did, so their faces were finished from memory or filled in with your imagination. You would need a new sketchbook very soon, and you made a note of going to the art shop again. Hours passed this way. 

"Can I get you anything else? The kitchen's about to close." A deep voice interrupted you. You glanced up at the cafe employee stood at your table. You hadn't realized it was almost closing time. You'd spent almost the entire day here. You wonder if he recognized you — you'd frequented this same cafe for weeks, sitting at the same spot. It would be nice to be a regular here. It'd cement your place in this city more. You pointed to the cookie, "Who makes these? Because they're like…way too good to be made in a mass-produced factory."

He smiled, "We get them from a baker in Gimpo."

"Ah… Well tell them I love these.” You said. His eyes wandered to your sketches, "Whoa. Those are real good."

"Oh. Thank you." You sat up straighter, suddenly feeling self-conscious despite the compliment. He stared at your work, "Do you do exhibitions? You're very talented."

"Oh. No…I just draw for myself.” You flushed. He shrugged, m"Well, if you did exhibitions…I'm sure a lot of people would come."

"I wouldn't know anything about that." You laughed, reading his nametag, "But that's very sweet of you to say, MJ."

"Of course. I'll get back to work. It's nice to see you in here so often." He stated, shooting you a smile before walking back to the counter. The sketch he'd admired was far from your best work, but it was so nice to be appreciated, by a stranger nonetheless. He was nice. You smiled, putting your pencil down to stretch out your limbs. You'd been in this posture for hours. You reached a hand back, squeezing your muscles. 

Your phone vibrated against the table, lighting up with a text from Hyunjin.

want me to get that for you? what…? jisung tells me im great at massages

Your eyes narrowed in confusion. You looked up, eyes wandering across the cafe. And there he was. Hyunjin stood at the counter, half-hidden under a Yankees cap. He stood in the queue, an image of nonchalance, an obscure smile on his face. 

You couldn't believe he was here. In this very public place.

what are you doing here?

He was typing on his phone, one hand in his pocket. 

we're on lunch break. i…thought i'd pop in here for a coffee.  but…you literally work all the way across the city.  i like that sweater on you. pretty. they don't have coffee at the photo studio?

Your eyes flit up to his, he did such a good job of blending in with the crowd. He seemed so deadpan neutral, waiting for his turn at the counter. He ordered a coffee, then leaned against the counter as he waited. 

i missed you.  are you serious? so you came all this way….just to see me? is that weird? no, it's so romantic.  i wish i could sit with you. if only there was nobody else in this coffee shop. are you gonna go back soon? yeah. they need me back on set in 20. 

So he really came all this way…just to look at you from across the room for a few minutes. He was only twenty feet away but you wanted to be closer. In such a public place, all you needed was an excuse really. So, you grabbed the little plate and stood up to walk over to the counter. 

Hyunjin stiffened, only for a second, when he realized you were walking towards him. You tried not to look at him immediately, focusing on the barista MJ. "Hey. Could I get another?"

MJ blinked, but then his face broke into a smile when he saw you, "Oh. Another cookie?"

"Yes, please." You weren't even hungry. It was crazy, the things you were doing to be close to him in the public. 

"Sure. Do you want it heated up? Also a tip…" He lowered his voice as if he was telling you a secret, "We might not have the cookies from Monday. We only get them twice a year." 

"You're kidding me." You blinked, "I should buy all of them out then.” MJ laughed at your response, putting your cookie in the oven, "That was the last one of the day."

"Well, guess I'll just have to go to that bakery in Gimpo." You sighed, tapping your card to pay. 

"You can wait over there." MJ said, motioning to where Hyunjin stood, who was still waiting for his coffee. You walked over to his space with a nod. 

Your eyes met, like two strangers glancing at each other. Your breath caught in your throat. His makeup from the photoshoot was gorgeous. There was glitter on his eyes, a dark burgundy around his eyes. Silver flecks in the corners of his eyes. Pink blush all on his cheekbones. You almost said something out loud, about how gorgeous it looked. 

Yeah, he tried to blend in, with the casual fit, with the American baseball cap but he never really could, not when he looked like that. You'd realised a long time ago that Hyunjin would stand out in every room he was in.

"Americano for Hwang." They called his name out, and handed him his large cup of to-go coffee. Hyunjin's big hands grabbed it, multi-colored gummy rings on his fingers, and then took a sip of his coffee experimentally, glossy lips puckering around his straw.

"That good?" The barista asked him, watching for his reaction. Hyunijn's eyes were intense on yours, like he wanted to eat you whole, as he answered the barista, "It's delicious. Worth the trip across the city."

You tried to maintain composure under his gaze. He was just another stranger in the coffee shop. And in this moment, it felt so special, holding on to this secret. Pretending not to know Hyunjin in public, knowing you'd get to have him all to yourself later, was the most fun you'd had in a while. 

From the smile on Hyunjin's face as he walked away, it looked like he felt the same.

»»————-

"Are you trying to kill me?" 

"What?" He laughed, on the other end of the line, "What ever do you mean?"

You mumbled into your phone, face red from your earlier interaction, "I mean, you can't just show up like that, looking like that, and expect me to keep to myself."

"Really? All I did was get a coffee, Y/N.” He replied. You mumbled, "You should go on those reality shows, the seduction ones. You're a natural at that stuff."

His laughter was loud and adorable, "So you're saying you wanted to jump my bones in the coffee shop."

"That's a very crass way of saying it." You stared at the canvases displayed, phone balanced between your ear and shoulder, "I just found a really big canvas. Perfect for my living room wall."

Hyunjin laughed on the other end, "What else are you getting at the store?"

"Way too much. They are having a sale, and…I can't resist." You spoke as you wandered the aisles. You gasped as your eyes fell on a shelf, "They have my favorite paintbrushes on sale."

"You're so cute. You know, they'll have more sales. You don't need to get everything right now."

"I kind of don't know restraint when it comes to this." You sighed, dropping the pack of paintbrushes into your basket. He hummed, "It's a good thing you know restraint when it comes to me."

"Oh, shut up." You rolled your eyes, "I shouldn't have said anything."

His voice dropped, "Well, if it makes you feel any better, it was really hard to stand so close to you and not kiss you. I'm sure everyone who works in that cafe has an insane crush on you.” You stopped in the middle of the aisle, feeling heated by his praise, "Yeah?"

"Yeah. If I was a barista there and saw you everyday… you with your pretty winter sweaters, your face when you concentrate, the look in your eyes when you taste good coffee…fuck. I'd think I was dreaming."

"I'm in public, you can't say these things to me."

"Did I say something wrong?" He asked. You shook your head, sighing, "No. You say everything right. That's the problem. And does your manager think you're high maintenance now since you insisted on going to this specific coffee shop?"

"Hey, I gotta live up to the celebrity image, sometimes" He laughed, "But no, he was more than okay with it because everybody on set got a longer lunch break."

"How convenient for them that you ran out to see me." You spoke, heading up to the self-checkout to ring up your items. He nodded, sounding a little out of breath, "I'm almost to the dance studio now. I'll call you later? Don't start on the big canvas without me." He added, and then after a pause, "God. It's insane how much I like you."

"It's almost like you have a crush on me." You smiled, "Have a great practice, baby."

"Yeah. Almost." You could feel his smile through the phone.

Like always, he sent you videos from the practice room. He was choreographing a new song. You watched the videos on the subway home, phone held away from prying eyes, eyes wide in awe of how gracefully he moved. You were smiling silly, and you had to bite the front of your hoodie to not react crazy while watching him on your little screen. There was a butterfly farm in your stomach, and your cheeks hurt from smiling. You were so lovesick that it felt like an actual fever running through you. 

The woman across you on the subway was staring at you with a poignant look. Could she see how crazy in love you were? People always say you’re a changed person in love. They're right. 

You’ve found a newfound love for life. Everything’s romantic and things that seemed to be completely falling apart at the seams cease to exist. Perhaps it was juvenile to be so taken by one person that your life revolved around him. But giving in to your urges, after holding back for so long felt like the greatest thing in the world.

»»————-

When you got home, there was a flyer slipped under your apartment door. It was for a new neighborhood Thai restaurant. "They got you too, huh?" A familiar voice spoke. You turned to see your neighbor, Jeongin, smiling at you, holding his copy of the flyer up. 

"The prices seem way too good to be true." You laughed. He nodded, staring at the paper flyer, "Gotta appreciate the tackiness of this."

"How are you?" You asked him, leaning against your door, key still halfway in the lock. He shrugged, shaking the snow out of his cap, "What can I say? Work's the same. I'm looking forward to the holiday season and…I'm happy you chose to stay. You're kind of the best neighbour I've had."

"I haven't even done anything." You laughed. He pointed at you, "Precisely. It's hard to get the quiet, kind ones here."

You smiled, "Yeah. I'm happy I chose to stay too. Sorry that I made you carry all my suitcases down the stairs that night…I was having a crisis and thought going home would solve all my problems."

He held his hands up, "Hey, I'm just glad I didn't have to bring them back up. Your friend did the hard work."

You nodded, smile growing at the thought of Hyunjin, "Yeah." You tried to not let it distract you, as thoughts of him so often did. "Did you already eat dinner?"Jeongin shook his head, thumbing the advertisement flyer in his hand, "Nope. Are you in the mood for some Thai?"

You laughed. In this perpetual happiness, you'd say yes to everything. 

»»————-

Today, you were running to catch the last ferry home. Minnie’s bag swung wildly behind her as she ran down the pier, her laughter loud, while Jeonghan cursed under his breath trying to keep pace with the two of you.  You had reached out to them a few weeks ago. Just because you didn’t go to the Atelier classes anymore didn’t mean you couldn’t still have them in your life. Some days your schedules would all line up and you'd commute home on the Han River water taxis. They'd show you their artwork, you'd show them yours, complimenting and critiquing each other's works like it was your own little art club. It was a fun thing you looked forward to.

The last ferry left the dock at six pm every night, and if you missed it, you'd have a much longer, more boring commute home. The boat had started its low rumble, rope straining against the dock. You called out to the man in uniform, “Please wait!”

He sighed but held the line, foot tapping with impatience. You're sure it had something to do with the fact that they recognized you now. You were regulars on the ferries now too, and slowly you'd carved your space in this city. 

You jumped over the small gap between the dock and the boat, sneakers clattering against the metal ramp. Minnie ran in after you, and you glanced back to see Jeonghan running to catch up. At last, he made it onto the boat.

"I am never doing that again." He said, eyes narrowed on you. You were still catching your breath, trying not to laugh at how red his face was from all the exhilaration, "You're literally the reason we're late. If you hadn't stopped to pick up the bungeoppang—" The employee interrupted you, "Tickets?"

Minnie showed them your passes, as you made your way up the stairs to the top deck. The wind was unforgiving as you reached the open-air top deck, and you buttoned your coat up, hands freezing. You really needed to buy yourself some winter gloves. Despite the harsh weather, the view was beautiful as the sun set over the city. It didn't feel like you were on a cheap ferry at all, it might as well have been a yacht drifting through river Seine. The skyline stretched out in front of you, and you watched it, smiling, "Best seat in the house." 

"It's hard to keep up with you these days." Minnie teased, pinching your cheeks. "Ow." You squirmed, laughing, "Cold hands, Minnie. But maybe I'm just in a good mood, on account of it being such a perfect day and seeing your pretty face."

She laughed, "Your energy is infectious, baby."

You leaned far over the railing, watching the water hit the boat. "Careful, you'll go over." Jeonghan spoke, hands hovering over your waist to hold you back. You pulled yourself back, smiling at him, "How was class today, by the way?"

"It was good." He shrugged, leaning against it too, "We all miss you though. Nobody really knows why you left."

"I miss you guys too. I do not miss Jieong. And I hope you guys maintain the mystery of my departure. I can finally feel like an enigma."

"Yeah. But it seems like you've only grown after you left. All the art you've shown us in the past few weeks has been amazing. It's nice to see this side of you. Playful, happy…kind of insane." He spoke.

"Sorry, what was that last one?" You narrowed your eyes, pushing your hair out of your eyes. He chuckled. "Whatever spell's been cast on you lately, it's working."

Your smile was restrained, coy and you looked back out at the water. From here, you could see the tall Pegasus tower, where he worked. It was all glass and gorgeous. You wonder if he was in there right now, working on something amazing. Even if you couldn't share more about Hyunjin with your friends, they saw your happiness and through it, they saw him. You finally settled on the plastic seats as you talked. "You know, I saw your file in Jieong's office after you left." Jeonghan brought up. You were biting into a bungeeopang, eyebrows raised, "Oh. And?"

"And…I don't know if you were ever gonna mention this to us, but isn't it someone's birthday soon?" He asked, tilting his head as if it was some kind of conspiracy. Your eyes widened, the red bean paste sticking to your lips and you licked it off, "I guess it is."

"So what, are we not invited to the party?" Minnie pouted. You smiled, finishing the snack, "Guys, no. I'm not even having a party."

"What? Why?" She gasped, "It's…your fucking birthday. You need to celebrate."

"It just seems like a lot of effort to expect all my friends to show up, and…I don't even know what I would do." You explained. Jeonghan didn't look happy with your answer, still frowning, "It's not effort. We're your friends. Did you even tell anybody it's your birthday?"

You laughed, "No. How does that even naturally come up into conversation? I mean, my friends from back home know. Yeonjun knows, but… it doesn't matter."

Minnie and Jeonghan exchanged glances as if they needed to do something about it. You shifted closer, "Guys, please don't worry about it. The last party I had was probably when I was ten years old. I'm really okay with not making a big deal of it."

Back home, the tradition was that your friends would take you to the diner for pancakes and milkshakes, and then to the movies as Yongbok insisted. It was always like that. No fanfare, no fancy dinner, no big crowds. You'd never tried something bigger, and you don't even know if you'd like it. 

"But…are you sure?" Minnie looked disappointed. You reached out to her, squeezing her hand, "I'm very sure, Minnie. It's really not that important."

They seemed disappointed with your answer. 

Your phone buzzed in your pocket twice, and you knew that it was him. You snuck a glance at your texts as Minnie and Jeonghan talked amongst each other.

y/n im rehearsing all day tomorrow for this award show

You started to type in a reply, and then came in two more texts.

could you meet me outside this studio 5 am tomorrow? i know it's last minute but it's one of the few times i'll be by myself

You typed in a quick reply, phone balanced on your thigh. ill be there.

"Is this a good time to bring up that I gave your number to Karina?"

You blinked, looking up at Jeonghan, “Karina?”

“Yeah. The Karina.” He shot you a glance, “The class visited her gallery again. She asked about you.”

You lowered the snack, skeptical. “She asked about me? Why?”

He turned to you, still casually biting into his pastry, “Well…Professor Jieong must’ve mentioned you at some point. She said she’d seen your work. She was curious why you weren’t around anymore.”

Your stomach flipped. Karina was a big-time gallery curator, the kind of person who could make or break artists. You couldn’t imagine what she’d want with you.

“Anyway,” He added casually, “she said she’d reach out. Don’t freak out when she does. She’s cool.”

You nodded, but your mind was already racing with what this could mean for you.

»»————-

The pinned location Hyunjin sent you was an old ballet studio. 

The sun wasn't up yet and the temperature was in the negatives. Yet, you carried two iced coffees in your hand, messenger bag swinging by your side as you walked in. Immediately, you were greeted by the warmth of the heater and a musty but comforting smell. The dance studio seemed old, but still charming. There was no one at the front desk, so you walked right past it. 

You knocked lightly at the door, then sharper a second time, the rapping sound muffled by your new gloves. You waited a moment, music was playing inside and you're sure he couldn't hear you. So you pushed open the door, tentatively walking in.

The first thing you saw was yourself in the mirror. Drowning in your sweatpants, sneakers squeaking against the floor. You looked like you'd just woken up, which was true. The room was covered in mirrors on all sides. Hyunjin sat in the corner, a baseball cap tugged low over his head as he stretched, legs spread out in front of him, head bent low over his body. 

He hadn't seen you come in. The music was loud enough to drown out all sounds. He did another stretch, eyes closed as he stood up, lifting his arms above his head, warming up. You didn't want to startle him, so you leaned against a table as you waited for him to finish.

Even when he stretched so simply, his body line was so disciplined. You'd always thought that the way he carried himself was artistic, like a lithe dancer, limbs loose and in control. You wish you had a sketchbook, so you could commit this to memory. Of course this was the one time you didn't carry it with you. As soon as the song ended, Hyunjin turned around. He flinched, eyes widening, "Shit. You…you scared me."

"I was trying really hard not to." You apologised, a smile forming on your face. His hand came up to his chest, catching his breath, "How long have you been in here?" 

"A couple of minutes." You said, holding up his coffee cup, "I brought you breakfast. I wasn't sure if you ate yet. I found this cafe, and they have these special pastries with bubblegum candy in the middle. Can you believe that?"

His eyes fell to the coffee and pastry as he walked over to you, "Why are you perfect."

You laughed, holding your gloved hands up, "A little help?"

"Of course. You finally bought gloves." He met you halfway, grabbing your hands delicately. He then guide your wrist to his mouth, tugging your woolen mitten off with his teeth. Your eyes met his, a quiet longing building up in you. He then switched hands, ripping off the right-hand glove with his teeth, "Better?"

"Much." You smiled, reaching up on your tiptoes to hug him. Your gloves lay abandoned on the floor. His hoodie was damp, soaked with sweat but he still smelled fresh, a mix of cologne and shampoo. You sank into the hug, arms snaking around his waist, "You're so warm and cosy."

"I know. I've been dancing for a while." He pulled back, "Thanks for coming here so early."

"Of course. I'll take any chance I can get to see you." You smiled. He held his hands up, gesturing around him, "Welcome to the studio. Usually we rehearse at the company building, but when it's just me, I rent out this place."

So this was where he spent his life, training, rehearsing on repeat. You could feel the sweat and hard work radiating off the walls. You loved how casual this felt, like you and him could just spontaneously make plans like so at the drop of a hat, like you didn't need to dodge a hundred things to see each other. You crossed your arms, "It's really cute."

"It's one of my favorite studios in the city, although the acoustics are really bad and…" He pointed at a wooden panel with his sneakers, "The floor's literally falling apart but I've been coming here since I was fifteen…"

"Wow. You're loyal." You smiled. He then said, "I try. I'm going to make a donation here for Christmas so they can finally fix their studio. But today…I'm teaching a class."

"Wait, seriously?" You turned to look at him. He nodded, "There's a new class of trainees. Some boys that are interested in becoming idols. They're as young as thirteen, the oldest is sixteen, and I'm supposed to be teaching them a class today. I'm… nervous. It's going to be a lot of attention on me."

Your heart swelled at the idea of it, "That sounds amazing. They must look up to you a lot, Hyunjin."

He shrugged, running a hand through his wispy hair, "I hope so. Come on, I'll show you my playlist." 

You walked over to where his laptop rested. He squeezed in behind you, watching the screen over your shoulder. He scrolled through a playlist, long fingers on the trackpad, "This is usually what I warm up to. Sometimes I freestyle to get in the mood."

The playlist was a mix of old-school rock and R&B. You could feel the warmth radiating off him, his arms around you as he navigated the laptop. There was certainly a more comfortable way to do this, but of course, you and Hyunjin were pressed up to each other in a room this big. He opened a video file, "And this is what I'm teaching them today."

You watched the video, your eyes fixed on Hyunjin in it. Some of his managers were visible in the background. Their faces were pixelated but you pointed, "Who's that?"

"That's Eunwoo. He's the one who convinced the big bosses to let me go back home. Although…it was hard to convince him too." He explained, voice soft. There was another man circling around Hyunjin, doing the same movements as him, "And him?"

"That's the choreographer. He flew in from Germany to help me out with this song.” He told you. You wonder why you were standing watching a video of Hyunjin when the real thing was right here. Maybe he didn't feel comfortable enough performing in front of you, but you voiced your thought anyway, a whisper, "Can I watch you?"

Hyunjin chuckled, "I knew you'd ask me that."

You turned around, looking up at him, "Well, of course I would. Ever since I found out you were a dancer, from that night at the bowling alley, it's all I yearn for." He chuckled at your words. You narrowed your eyes, teasing, "Isn't that why I'm here?"

His eyes searched your face, amused and fond, fingers absentmindedly touching the gold hoops in your ears, "Actually. You're here because I need you to film me."

"What?"

"Yeah. I'm rehearsing for a performance at this award ceremony. I was thinking I could just use that practice to warm myself up before the trainees arrive."

"Do you want it filmed a certain way or…?" You asked. He shook his head, "No, it's really simple. I'm going to be moving around a bit so I couldn't put my phone on a tripod. Usually a manager helps me but I—"

"But you needed an excuse to see me." You finished his sentence. He smiled wide, his eyes crinkling, "Mmh. I did."

He walked back to the center, "I'm gonna mark it first."

"What does that mean?" You laughed.

"Just gonna go over it in my head. So, don't watch yet. Look at your phone or something." He seemed embarrassed. It was adorable. "Fine" You laughed. He had headphones slung around his neck, and you sat down, biting into the pastry you'd brought. Every so often, you did glance up. He was marking steps, half-speed, committing them to muscle memory. He counted under his breath, lips moving silently as his body fell into rhythm only he could hear.

His hoodie soon came off, thrown carelessly to the side. It was getting hotter in the studio. His shirt clung to his back, the waistband of his underwear visible under his sweats. He caught you looking once, and smiled breathlessly before running the same sequence again.

You wish you had your things so you could draw him, the lines of his shoulder, the way his hair flew around him, the perfect silhouette of his body. There was something about the way he moved. It was the greatest art you'd laid your eyes on. Eventually, he stilled, eyes flicking to you, "I'm ready for you."

You grinned, chewing on the bubblegum, "Oh, are you?"

He tied his hair up quickly, tugging the strands back into a messy knot, "Can you loop the song in case I mess up? And…don't judge yet. It's not perfect."

Did he not know that everything he did was perfect? He could stand still for an hour, and you'd find a way to admire him. 

You pressed play on the laptop, and the room filled with the slow opening notes of the song, Father Figure by George Michael. It was low and haunting at first. Hyunjin was in the center, his back to you, shoulders rising and falling as he drew in a breath. You walked over to him, holding his phone in your hands, beginning to film.

You were suddenly nervous to see this side of him. You could feel your heartbeat in your ears.

Then he moved. It was small, the roll of his shoulders, the tilt of his head. But every movement was so precise… like he was flicking strokes of a brush onto a canvas, but with his body. His body moved too slow, too controlled, like there were strings tied to him and every muscle and bone was its prey.

You didn't want to even blink, lest you miss a second of it. And his face…every flicker of his eyes was purposeful, as if he was even breathing to the beat of the song. 

By the time the chorus hit, you felt breathless, watching his body live the song. It was magnetic. His hair had slowly come undone from the pony he'd put it up in, flying around him. He was pulling you in deeper with every move, and it must be a sin that you went this long without seeing this side of him. It must be a sin that a creature this perfect existed amongst you. A sin that you couldn't have him to yourself every hour of the day. 

You suddenly felt a wave of possessiveness, selfishness, to have him all to you. It was unfair that other people got to see this side of him. His confidence grew the longer you watched him. His hooded eyes were on you, then he looked at himself in the mirror. Then back at you. It was obvious he was feeling himself.

The song was over before you could process what you were watching. As soon as it ended, you wished you could watch it again, for the first time. The final note hit, and he stopped, his breaths loud in the quiet room. The music faded out. 

So this must be a new form of hypnosis. 

You hope you had recorded everything the way he wanted. You hope you hadn't been reeled in and left stranded in your hopeful desire for him. 

Hyunjin's eyes met yours, his hands on his hips, sweat dripping down his jaw. His hair was plastered to his temples. He said nothing. You watched each other. Your legs felt weak, even though he's the one who just performed. You pressed stop on the recording.

"Oh…" You searched for the right words, and your mouth felt dry, "That was incredible. You were incredible."

"Really?" His voice was tentative as if he could ever be something else. The word incredible was made for him. You stared at him, "Really. I'm sorry I don't have more words, I'm still thinking about what just happened."

You wish you could learn more languages so you could tell him how perfect he just was in every one. You'd learn every language in the world if that's what it took to convince him.

He let out a shaky laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. He was so shy, so humble, so nonchalant in his greatness. Unassuming of his beauty. He cleared his throat, "Did it look all right on video?"

"I think I got a good video, yeah, I'm sure I did. Hyunjin, that's probably the best thing my eyes have ever seen. The rest of the world will be very disappointing now compared." You held the phone back to him, showing him how he looked. He watched it quietly and you knew he was probably picking apart his mistakes in his head.

"Do you like it?" You asked, glancing up at him. His smile was small, "The video is perfect. Me…not so much. I messed up a few times. God, I really don't know why they asked me to teach these boys. Maybe they should've just had the dance instructor here doing this."

You brushed back the damp hair from his temple, moving his bangs out of his eyes, "I'm sure he's amazing. But they're not here to see some dude from Germany. They're here for you. You're their idol."

His eyes settled on you, "Yeah, you're right."

"You were amazing." You reassured him. His features twisted into a smile, lips parting, "That means a lot coming from you. You know I value your opinion on pretty much everything."

Your chest tightened. “I know—" Then he kissed you. You were learning that he loved to catch you off guard in these moments, like he was so overtaken by his urge that he sometimes couldn't even wait for you to finish your sentence. He was still dripping with sweat, but you didn’t care. "And…thank you for being here, and for filming me…" He murmured against your mouth, "Did I mention how much I missed you?"

"Maybe you should say it again."

His tone dropped, "I could write a song about it."

"Yeah?" Your voice came out squeaky, shaky. All your confidence reduced to nothing before his flirting. He nodded, pushing you to the mirrored wall and you let him, "Yes. I like seeing you in the morning." His hands dropped to your sweatshirt, "I like that you brought me coffee, and I like that you compromised on your sleep for me, and came here so early."

You blinked up at him, eyes wide, a deer in headlights at the man before you, "I'd compromise anything for you."

"Anything?" He tilt his head. 

"Everything." It came out a whisper, as he leaned in, meeting your mouth with his. You tilt your head up, neck craning to kiss him as he towered over you. His lips were so soft. They were so wet. Or maybe yours were. In moments like this, you couldn't tell where you ended and he began. Slippery, sloppy, wet kisses, where his mouth would trail off to your jaw, slipping to the edge of your mouth because there was too much emotion and heat and no control.

Your neck hurt, from the angle, from kissing him this intense. Like he could feel your pain, his hand shifted to the nape of your neck, cushioning it against the mirror, angling it so he could kiss you deeper. His hands were all over, settling on your waist. You were on your tiptoes again. You stood there, pushed up to the wall by his body, making out like animals in heat.

Your gum was in his mouth now. He didn't care. It was so hot. 

"Strawberry." He pulled back, face still inches from yours, commenting on the flavor of your gum.

"You like it?” You asked. His head sank into your neck, kissing you there, sucking on your skin. You closed your eyes, relishing in his kisses. He mumbled against your skin, "Is that even a question? It tastes like you. I love it."

Your fingers hovered over his mouth, pulling it open. You kissed him, pushing your tongue in his mouth, tasting him, "God, but it tastes so much better in you." 

You felt crazy. Everything was better with his taste in it. How could you ever enjoy gum again, if not like this? He chuckled, pulling your body flush to his, "Yeah?"

"You know everyone says I'm different now. " You whispered, blinking up at him. He tilt his head, "What do you mean?"

"I mean, all my friends. Yeonjun, Minnie, Nate…even my neighbour, they said something's changed."

"Really?" His smile grew, and he pushed some of his hair back, "Actually… the boys have been the same. They've been bugging me nonstop, asking me why I've been so giddy all the time and not nearly as annoyed at them as I used to be. Even Eunwoo's noticed my mood lately..."

"I wish…we could talk to them about us.” You smiled, playing with the strings of his hoodie. He dropped his head to yours, forehead touching, nose resting against yours, "I know. I've been thinking about it, if we should tell them, or Chan at least."

"Are you serious?” You blinked, tugging at his hoodie. He nodded, "I think he'd really understand."

"I would love to tell Kairi. I…wanna talk about you all the time. It's hard to keep it to myself." You said. He tilt his head, "Yeah? What would you tell her about me?"

"Just…girl talk. How crazy you drive me. How thoughtful you are. How good you kiss.” You sang. He smiled, "I don't think she'd want to hear any of that, I'm like a little brother to her."

You laughed, "Stop. Then am I supposed to keep all these thoughts to myself?"

"No. No. Tell me. I don't qualify for girl talk?"

"Well. You kinda don't meet the only parameter." You mumbled. He pouted. You smiled, "But maybe I could make an exception for you."

He tilt his head. "Yeah? What would you tell me?"

You twirled the strings of his hoodie in your fingers, "I'd tell you how—" You were interrupted by the buzzing of his phone alarm. He jumped, startled, dropping his head, "Shit. Class is starting soon."

You regained your voice, eyes searching his, "I should be leaving you now then." He nodded, pressing his mouth to yours again, "I'm sorry to cut this short. I'll see you later, okay? Thanks for the best morning ever."

You had a feeling the rest of your day was going to be very unproductive as you replayed this moment in your head. You measured life differently now: not in hours, but in moments with him. Everything else was background noise. 

You gathered your things, and Hyunjin draped your coat over you, helping you thread your arms through it. He then put on your gloves for you, slipping them over each hand delicately like it was the most important task in the world, despite your rush. You could do it yourself, but you liked when he did it. You liked being taken care of. You never had before, not like this. Never like this. He kissed you, a peck on the lips, a casual and domestic kiss and you were just lovers departing for the day, and the feeling in your chest was hard to replace. 

You walked out, bag tugged on your shoulder and in your hurry, you'd forgotten your cup of coffee inside. Before you could turn back, you saw a group of teenagers walking towards the studio. They were all so young, buzzing amongst themselves with the energy of a morning field trip. You smiled to yourself as you made your way to the bus stop. 

The wind was chilly on your ears and cheeks, snapping you out of your reverie. The sun was starting to rise over the horizon, casting a beautiful glow over the otherwise empty street. 

"Are you here for the dance lesson?" Someone asked. You glanced up, expecting to see a teenage boy, but an older man stood there. His cologne flooded your senses. It smelled rich. He was dressed in a three-piece suit. 

You wonder how you hadn't noticed him walk over to you. Your eyes trailed over him. He didn't look older than forty, but his voice commanded so much authority, like he had tens of years of experience. 

"Um. No...I'm just waiting for a bus." You replied. His eyes lingered on you for a second, and you turned back to your phone to check the bus schedule until he spoke again, "You're not a dancer?"

You laughed, "No, sir. I couldn't dance to save my life. Why do you ask?"

His brows rose in mild surprise at your laugh, and he smiled. It was a kind smile, "Just curious, you know, you're waiting outside a dance studio. Just a normal assumption to make." 

You turned to see the studio, and all the trainees still walking in, "Oh. I was just passing by. Seems popular though."

"Right. Right." He mumbled, "Such a shame."

You looked up at him, surprised, "Sorry?"

His eyes traveled over your face, over the sweatshirt that hung to your thighs, and then back up to your eyes, "You would have made for a pretty dancer."

Before you could think of a reply, the bus arrived. 

»»————-

Everything was romantic. 

Seoul was ready for Christmas soon, all the streets were dressed up in lights and there were cute snowmen made by school children on every street corner.

The art shop near your apartment was busy even at this hour. Unlike home, there was no shortage of love for art or creativity here. You made your way through the aisles, art supplies in hand, carefully avoiding bumping into anybody. It was the holiday season and this place was at its busiest. It warmed your heart to see people browse through the shelves, and it piqued your curiosity to see the things people had gathered in their baskets and carts. The checkout line was long, and you waited, hopping on the balls of your feet. A little girl in front of you was gaping up at you, eyes wide. You smiled at her, "Hey."

"Where'd you get that?" She pointed to the glitter tube in your hands. "Oh. You can just have mine." You handed it to her, "I'll buy it for you."

"Oh, you don't have to do that." Another voice interrupted and you looked up to a younger woman grabbing onto her hand, "Alex is very used to getting what she wants."

"Good to start young." You joked, and the woman laughed. She observed the stuff in your hand, "Looks like you have a fun night ahead of you."

You smiled, "Yup. Prepping for date night."

"Oh? You're quite lucky. I wish my girlfriend liked painting, but I guess my little sister likes to do it." She said, tugging at Alex's hand. You smiled as you moved up in the line. She turned back to you, "Are you an artist in residency?"

"Oh, I um…was. I used to be a student at the Atelier. Do you know of it?” You asked her. Recognition settled in her eyes and she said, "The Atelier? So you know Kim Jieong?"

His name sent a sharp feeling through your gut, but you nodded, "Yep. I had classes with him. I don't go there anymore though."

"He can be a bit of a prick."

"Prick." Her little sister repeated. You were surprised, "I'm sorry, how did you say you know him?"

"I was a student of his way back in the day. Maybe he mentioned me? I'm Karina." She extended her hand to you.

You blinked at her, shaking it back. So she was Karina. The owner of almost every art gallery in the country. The prodigy Hyunjin had told you about. You had never met her though, but you'd heard so much of her. You bit your tongue, "I've heard about you. My friend Jeonghan, or um, Nate as he likes to be called, said you talked to him. He's also in Jieong's class."

Realisation settled into her features, "You must be Y/N. I've seen your work; Jieong mentioned it when your class visited us. You have a really good eye for art. This is crazy…I've been meaning to reach out to you, but I had to babysit Alex this past week and things with the gallery got crazy."

"Oh, uh that's completely fine. Why did you want to reach out to me?" You moved ahead in the line, almost near the cashier now. Karina glanced back at you, "I was curious if you've ever worked with other artists before, different from the Atelier?"

"Um, yeah. Back home, I used to help my friend Seungmin out with art classes for tourists at this place called the Chateau, where we did events. I'm from a small town near the hills. A very touristy place and uh, that's not relevant. I…I kind of learned by watching him."

"Wow. That sounds nice. I'd love to visit there someday. What are you doing these days, if you don't mind me asking? You just mentioned you're not working with Jieong anymore."

Wasn't that the question of the century? "Just…been trying my hand at a bunch of things, trying to figure out where I fit."

"Well, this feels serendipitous. After Nate mentioned you, I've been meaning to call you. I've been looking for someone… to help me with the exhibitions and galleries. An assistant curator of sorts."

Your eyes widened, "Oh."

"Do you think you'd be interested in something like that?" She asked, so casually, in the checkout line. You didn't know what to say, “Oh…Thank you for thinking of me, but I…I don't think I'm qualified. I didn't go to university for art. I'm self-taught."

"You don't really need to be. I honestly just need someone who can stand being around paintings and pretentious artists all day without getting bored by it. It also helps if you're organised and know your way around art supplies, but…does that sound like you?"

"It...does actually.” You said. She smiled, "Well, I'll email you then. Please let me know if you're interested. That is so crazy that I ran into you just now."

"Yeah." A chuckle of disbelief. After you checked out, you handed Alex the glitter tube you'd bought. She was all smiles. Karina smiled at you at that. 

It felt serendipitous indeed as you watched her leave. You called Hyunjin on your walk home, choosing to walk instead of taking the subway so you could still talk to him over the phone, "You're not gonna believe who I just ran into. Oh, wait. First things first, how did your classes go?"

"They were good! The kids were so nice. They're all so insanely talented. They were excited to meet me. I… actually felt kind of bad." He said. You frowned, "Why?" 

He sighed, "They're just… so young. They have their whole lives ahead of them…and the only thing they want is to become stars? I kind of remember what it was like being that age. I'd give up anything for an opportunity but I almost wanted to tell them that being famous isn't all it's built up to be."

"But Hyunjin…" You trailed off. He added, "Don't get me wrong. I'm so grateful for my work but I'm lucky to work with my best friends. I wouldn't want to be alone in the industry. But at least, Soohyun seemed really impressed with my performance today."

"Soohyun?"

"I think I mentioned him to you, he's…the big boss. We all work under him. He terrifies me. But he seemed surprisingly happy today."

"He was there today?" You stopped at an intersection, processing his words. Hyunjin said, "Yeah. He's only there for the show of it, so all the trainees can see his face. A PR thing, you know."

"I think I ran into him. At the bus stop outside.” You bit your lip. His tone changed instantly, "What? Did he say something to you?"

"Yeah but don't worry, I…didn't give anything away. He asked me if I was there for the dance class. He was probably just curious. It wasn't a big deal." You swallowed, staring at the traffic go by you in a blur. You could hear the frown in his voice, "He knows the class was only for male students."

"Oh." You mumbled, and your stomach dropped, "But…I didn't say anything to him. Just that I was waiting for the bus. Is this gonna be a problem? He doesn't know who I am, right?"

"No…it shouldn't." He said, but he sounded unsure. You swallowed, suddenly feeling you made a big mistake, "I should've left earlier. I cut it too close."

"No, don't apologise. This isn't your fault. If anything…it's mine. I'm the one who asked you to be there. Don't worry. He didn't say anything. So he probably doesn't know anything." 

"Yeah." Anxiety pooled in your stomach. It was your turn to cross the street but your legs felt unsteady. You leaned against a streetpole. You couldn't have fucked this up already. You'd only just started. You had your entire life left with him.

"Um, you said you had something to tell me. Who did you run into?" Hyunjin asked. You shook your head, "No, it's not important. I…I'm sorry about what happened with Soohyun. I shouldn't have said anything."

"Baby, don't worry about it. I'm sure it's fine. He has no idea who you are and he probably talked to you because he thought you were pretty. He can be like that with younger women."

You nodded, taking in a breath, "Right... "

He was quick to respond, "Y/N. Please stop. You're overthinkimg. You didn't fuck anything up. Trust me. Would it help you if I talked to Chan about this?"

"What? But I thought we can't tell him."

"I know that's what I said. But…if it'll make you feel better, Chan's the one person I trust to help me protect this. And Kairi's your friend. I know how much you wanted to share this with her. Maybe it's time they know. And then they can tell you themselves that it's no big deal, okay?"

“Really?" You asked. He said, "Really. We can tell them tomorrow. Please stop worrying about this. I can't let you do that cause of me."

"I know. I just felt…stupid. Like a dumb mistake like this could unravel everything. I'm not done with you.” You said. He laughed, "And you don't have to be. I promised you, didn't I? I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

You swallowed, "Yeah."

"And if hearing that from Chan will make you feel better, then we'll tell him. I can't handle you being stressed, not because of me."

"Okay. Tomorrow then. We tell them."

“Tomorrow."

»»————-

“There are so many people here,” you muttered under your breath. “It's the middle of the day on a Tuesday. Does nobody have a job?”

Kairi laughed, grabbing a ceramic bowl and placing it in her basket, "You're here too."

"Yeah, yeah." You sighed, "I'm here to give you company."

You'd decided to meet Kairi where you usually hung out, a vintage thrift store where she was shopping for holiday gifts. The store was huge and full of tacky home goods. Couples wandered the aisles hand-in-hand, picking out quirky vases and lamps. After your conversation with Hyunjin last night, you couldn't hold it in any longer. You were finally gonna confess to her. You'd been building up to it this whole time, making useless small talk about homegoods when really you just wanted to blurt it out.

"I thought you'd enjoy holiday shopping and picking out trinkets, you know being as artsy as you are. Yet, you've been on edge all morning." She said, giving you an incredulous look. She looked pretty today, like always. In a lavender cardigan and beanie, her kohl-lined eyes were focused on yours. You leaned against the shelf, careful not to knock over any ceramic, "Well, I wanted to tell you something."

She tilt her head, eyes still scanning the shelf for any hidden finds, "Tell me."

You looked around. The aisle was surprisingly empty, despite the store being crowded. You pushed your hands in your pockets, staring at your trainers. The words spilled out before you could second-guess yourself, "I'm just gonna get right to it because it's killing me. Something happened at your dinner party. Between me and Hyunjin."

Her brows lifted, her entire posture sharpening as she stepped closer to you. “You guys …slept together?"

"Uh, No. We…decided to give it a shot." You continued, "Me and him."

Her reaction was instant, her eyes went huge, and she whipped her head around instinctively to scan the store — even though you had just done that. No one was paying attention, but her voice still dropped to a sharp whisper. “Holy Shit. What? You're…saying that you're together? Like you're dating?" 

“Yeah. I suppose." You looked up at her, swallowing hard, "Your hands are shaking. Let me take that." You grabbed the ceramic plate from her hands, pressing your fingers into it as if it could absorb your nerves. 

"And you decided to tell me right now? In the middle of holiday shopping?" Her voice raised an octave. You squeezed your eyes shut, "I…I didn't wanna make it a big deal, because it's not."

"I really thought you were gonna tell me that you guys had sex. I was expecting that. But… I didn't expect this." She said. You blinked, "We…haven't yet."

"I'm just surprised." She added, "Does Chan know?"

"Hyunjin is telling him right now."

Understanding sank into her, "Is that why you came with me to the store and he insisted Chan on going to the botanical gardens with him? The double whammy."

You blinked, thrown. You hadn’t known that was the plan. Of course Hyunjin would choose something as absurdly romantic as a garden. “I did actually want to see you too.” you muttered. An amused smile curled at her lips, her eyes glinting. “Right.”

Your stomach tightened. “Are you upset at me? For not telling you?"

She leaned back, arms crossed loosely, as if weighing her words. Then she shook her head. “It's been weeks since my dinner. You guys hid it well. I’m impressed. That's why you were so happy when you guys came downstairs. Ugh, I feel embarrassed now becsuse all of us were pretty sure you guys were you know…doing it. I don't think any of us could have seen this coming.”

"Oh. Uh, why? Is it that hard to believe?" Your chest squeezed strangely. Her eyes widened, she shook her head, "No. It's just…Hyunjin was adamantly against this. I didn't expect him to change his mind."

"Me neither. It was honestly a surprise to me too.” You said. She frowned, "I hope you still had time to think through your decision before saying yes."

You swallowed, "I mean, there was no question about it for me."

Her head tilted, “What changed his mind? Is he telling Jisung and Changbin?"

"I think he's going to tell them soon. Their schedule has been so crazy with the awards and the fashion shows."

"So where do you two meet?" She asked, curious. You bit your lip, "Wherever we can. He picks me up in his car sometime. We talk a lot on the phone. We’re being really careful.”

"Have you seen him in public at all?" You started to answer, but she continued, "Because if you have, I hate to say it, but that’s not careful enough.”

You froze, surprised by the bluntness, "Um. We haven't really…" 

She reached ahead for your hand, speaking, "I didn't mean that in a negative way… I was just being candid. From my experience. It is hard when you start out. But it gets easier. You just have to keep reminding yourself what it’s worth…what you’re willing to give up.”

Your brows furrowed, her words gnawing at you as you thumbed the ceramic dish in your hands, “I guess I don’t see it as giving something up.” 

A small smile ghosted over her lips, though her gaze stayed serious. She wasn’t teasing you anymore, her eyes were kind. “Have you told any friends or family?”

You shook your head. “No, of course not.” For once, you felt proud, like maybe you’d finally given her the right answer.

“I think you should tell them.” Her reply came quick, almost too quick. Your smile faltered, “But…we’re supposed to keep it a secret.”

“Yeah, from the public. Not from your loved ones.” She leaned in, lowering her voice as if the customers in the store could hear, “God forbid something happens, if it ever leaks…you wouldn’t want them to find out from the news, right? It’s better if they hear it from you. And…you guys need to think of a contingency plan, in case things ever go south, to make sure you're safe and protected."

You didn't ever want to hear the words 'contigency plan' when talking about your boyfriend, but that's just how things were. Your chest tightened. What she said made sense, but you couldn't quite wrap your head around it. Sure, you could tell Yeonjun and your other friends, but that was only for the worst-case scenario. Right now, you liked the secret. It felt like something you could protect from the world. Kairi must have noticed how your expression dipped; her features softened immediately. “I didn’t mean to scare you. This is just…real life, you know?”

“Yeah.”

“Shit.” She pressed her palms to her cheeks. “What am I doing? I’m being a total bummer. Can we rewind?” She reached over, squeezing your shoulder. You cracked a faint smile, looking back up at her, “But I want to hear the real stuff, Kair”

“Okay, then the real stuff is this: I’m really really fucking happy for you, Y/N. I know how much you like him. I’m glad you two finally decided to sort things out and that you're no longer fighting. That was a really hard watch for me and Chris.”

“Thank you.” Warmth spread through your chest. Her smile was small, but steady. “It’s easy to get anxious about these things. But you can’t let that control you, okay?”

"Definitely." You smiled, putting the ceramic bowl back onto the shelf. Kairi clapped her hands together as if she’d discovered some newfound energy. “Alright. Guess we're gonna have to do some double dates now then, huh?”

»»————-

It was a regular Thursday night when your phone buzzed with a voice note. Hyunjin’s voice crackled through, low and playful, “I was thinking we could do something different today.”

You pressed play again, grinning at the sound of him and replied, "What did you have in mind?”

A pause, then another message from him. “I don’t know if you heard…but there’s supposed to be a meteor shower later tonight. We can’t see it from the city though. I was thinking we could drive up this hill nearby. Chan and Kairi are in for it too.”

Your heart tugged at the casual way he said it — like inviting you on such a plan, alongside his best friend and his girlfriend, was the most natural thing in the world. It'd been only a few days since you told them, and they'd taken it so well. It was nice to not be alone in it anymore.

“That…sounds amazing,” you smiled into your phone. It's not like you had anything else planned anyway. The forecast said it would snow into the early hours of the morning and you're not sure how Hyunjin planned to alter the weather for the meteor shower. But you trusted him. If anyone could pull something like that off, it'd be him.

He picked you up late, car waiting a street over from your apartment like usual. It was different than the one he'd picked you up from the last time. Dark blue in color, it looked right out of a luxury car commercial. 

“Is this another rental?” You asked, sitting inside.

"Yup." Instinctively, he reached over to pull your seatbelt over your body, clicking it into place. You smiled. You loved when he acted like that with you, like you were his to take care of. He then turned the heater up for you. 

"Hey." Chan spoke from the backseat, arm lazily draped around Kairi, "We find ourselves in a car together again. I feel like I haven't seen you in forever."

You looked back at them and how cosy they seemed. Chan was dressed in all black, and Kairi matched him as you said, "We last met at Kairi's dinner, didn't we?" 

"That we did. It's nice to see you again." He smiled, "When Hyunjin told me about the two of you, you know what I was thinking?"

"That it's a terrible idea?" You bit your lip. He laughed, "No. I was thinking 'finally.' This boy finally had the guts to tell me."

"So you knew?" You gasped. He smiled, "I guess, in a way. Hyunjin was suspiciously happy, and…I haven't seen him like that in a long time. He was also going on a lot of late night drives. He was suddenly not a pain in the ass anymore."

Hyunjin glanced at him in the rearview, eyes narrowed, "Hey, if you really knew, why didn't you ask me about it?"

"I was waiting for you to tell me. I'm not gonna pressure you. I'm a good guy like that, you know?” Chan shrugged. You smiled at him, "I'm glad you know. Also, I hear you've been writing the next pop hit."

Chan laughed, "Well, trying, trying. We'll see how the fans like it."

"They're obviously gonna love it." Kairi smiled. 

Once you were out of the city traffic, Hyunjin drove like he’d been waiting all week for this, one hand on the wheel, the other tapping along to the song blasting through the speakers. A French rock song came on, and Hyunjin turned the volume all the way up. There was a little dashboard where you could see the lyrics, almost like your own karoake room in the car. Kairi was trying to sing along, messing up most of the lyrics. 

“Those are not the words!” You said over the music, making Hyunjin laugh. His eyes crinkled, loud laughter echoing through the car. Chan said, "You know. Hyunjin told me the story. But I'm gonna have to hear it from you. Last I remember, you guys were yelling at each other. What changed?"

It was embarrassing now, how much you'd fought him, how much anger you'd held in yourself after he'd ghosted you. You swallowed, trying not to misspeak, trying to make this as simple as possible because things had once been so complicated, "I don't know. I was about to leave and go back home. He showed up at my doorstep trying to convince me to stay. I guess it worked."

Things were so simple now.

"Romantic. The result of watching all those holiday romance movies." Chan commented, "He can be really convincing like that."

Hyunjin laughed, "I…just didn't want her to leave. Even if she hated me. I know Seoul's the place for her."

You stared at him, smiling through his words, "You're right. I've been meaning to tell you. I…uh…also ran into Karina."

He glanced at you, "What?"

"And she asked me to work with her. Or…for her. As a curator of sorts for some art galleries…I'm not sure yet. We only had a casual conversation about it. I don't know if I'm gonna qualify for it."

"Holy shit no…that's amazing." Hyunjin said, his face lighting up, "You…you would be perfect at that. You were so great at the Chateau."

"Ah. Is this the Chateau I heard about all summer?" Chan asked. You nodded, "Yeah. I used to work there."

Hyunjin reached over, grabbing your hand, "Are you excited to work with her?"

You nodded, "I am, yeah. It'll be something new and different…and I'll be nice to get paid again and not eat out of my savings."

Chan and Kairi were talking again in the backseat as he explained to her who Karina was, but Hyunjin squeezed your hand, voice lowering, "I can't believe you didn't immediately tell me. I'm so proud of you. You know that, right?"

You flushed, "I didn't do anything yet."

"You're going to. You'll be great at it." He whispered, one hand lifting yours to press a kiss to it, other on the steering wheel. The tenderness of the gesture melted you. He was proud of you, and you hadn't even done anything yet. 

I love you. You wanted to tell him. I love you more than anything. There were so many instances you almost slipped up and said it. But there was a time and place for it, and maybe the first time you say it to him should be special, and it should just be the two of you and not when you were fighting to be heard over French rock, but you figure he must already knew how much you loved him. Wasn't it obvious to everyone in the world? You bit your tongue and smiled, "Thank you. I'm proud of you too." 

Another rock song queued up, louder, messier. Hyunjin cranked the volume higher and leaned into it, mouthing all the words. You watched him in awe. Of course he knew French. It's not like he was already the sexiest version of himself he could be. He was singing along, but mostly laughing at his friends attempts in the backseat. Kairi was yelling the lyrics, a mumble of French and Korean.

"What does this song even mean?" You laughed, trying to look up the lyrics. Hyunjin looked at you, and you were surprised he heard you over the loud music, "It means…everything is working out for me."

You smiled, cheeks hurting from the frequency of your smiles, "I like the sound of that." 

Hyunjin drove fast, and the further up the hill he drove, the windier it seemed to get outside and you peered out your window. “We’re almost here!” Hyunjin announced over the music, rolling his window down just a tad. A rush of icy wind tore through the car, and snow scattered across your lap. You laughed as it melted instantly against the heat inside, dampening your thighs.

“Are we even gonna be able to see the meteors?” Chan asked, craning his neck toward the windshield. “The snow is relentless.”

Hyunjin just nodded, unbothered, his eyes on the road. “It’s supposed to stop in ten minutes.”

“Okaay,” you said, half-laughing, “I don't know how we're getting out to watch the shower. It's fucking freezing outside!”

The car came to a stop. Hyunjin glanced at them in the rearview mirror, then at you.“We’re not getting out,” he said simply.

You blinked at him, confused. “What?”

He was grinning now, a boyish smile tugging at his lips. “Okay… this better work.”

And then he pressed a button.

There was a mechanical whir, low at first, then louder, followed by a rush of cold air as the roof began to retract. Snowflakes swirled into the car like confetti, the night sky opening above you inch by inch. For a second, nobody spoke. The car filled with the sound of wind and your own startled laughter as you realized what was happening. “There’s actually no fucking way.” Chan exclaimed.

“You rented a fucking convertible?” You gasped, raising your voice to be heard over the wind. Hyunjin let out a giggle, smiling at you, eyes nervous, “You like it? They said I could rent any car and I just thought….why the hell not?”

"This is insane." Kairi laughed. So this was why he'd asked you to bundle up warm tonight.

“Are you kidding? This is perfect.” You reached over the armrest, unable to stop yourself. Hyunjin was laughing, hair whipping in the fast wind, dimples flashing and then you were kissing him, your hand fisted in the back of his neck to pull him to you. Too much force. Too much emotion but he melted into it immediately. His palm warm against your cheek, holding you steady as the cold air whipped around you. It was a scene from a film. Snowflakes fell into your hair, melting down your collar, but the car’s heat and your lover's lips kept you warm.

You barely remembered Chan and Kairi were there until Kairi’s giggles floated up from the backseat, half-drowned out by the music. That alone made you pull away, breathless, biting your lip. You'd never felt this desire to him as strong as now. Every time you thought you'd reached your peak, he did somethimg else and it got stronger everyday. Was this what it would be like to be in love for the rest of your life? Your frame of reference of happiness had changed. It was all his doing. A wave of lust and love overcame you as you spoke to him, “You’re so fucking unbelievable.”

Even as you were living it, you already knew it would be one of those memories you’d replay forever, your cheeks aching as you felt the cold snow on your face. Hyunjin smiled, eyes bright as he tilted his chin toward the sky. “See? I told you the snow would stop.”

And he was right. The cloud cover was breaking. You tilt your head back for a better view, your chest full with a happiness so sharp it hurt.

“Any minute now,” Chan mumbled. The car was still blasting rock. A playlist of Hyunjin's you’d never heard till now, a new side to him. The head-bopping, French-singing side. You reached into your bag for your camera, fingers fumbling through it. Before you could raise it, Hyunjin’s hand found your thigh, grounding you, tugging you closer, getting your attention.

“Y/N,” he murmured. You looked up. just in time to see a streak rip across the sky. “Fuck.” Your breath caught in your throat. Another meteor followed, and another, each brighter than the last.

“That’s beautiful,” Chan said softly. You glanced at Hyunjin, as if asking for permission and he nodded, like he could read your mind so well. He knew you so well. No one in the world knew you like he did. 

You stood up inside the car as you were, hands resting on the windsheld for balance. Hyunjin steadied you with your hands on your waist. From here, you could see it so clearly. Streaks of stars across the sky, zipping fast so beautifully. You could never recreate this feeling again, but you'd damn sure try. You were blessed to be an artist after all.

You watched the sky in silence. It reminded you of being on top of the Chateau with Hyunjin, when he showed you all the stars and the lights.

“What do you think?” Hyunjin asked, his voice quiet, like he didn’t want to break the spell. You looked back down at him. His face was tilted up toward you, eyes wide, pupils blown, like he was starstruck too. In the irises of his eyes, you could see the reflection of the sky, and of the burning meteors. And in that moment, you loved him more than you’d ever thought possible. It was an impossible feeling, bursting to be let out of your chest.

You immediately bent toward him, acting on instinct and no thought. I love you. I'm so lucky to love you. He met you halfway, neck craned up, hand on your waist as you stood in the car and he sat in it and you kissed each other halfway.

You couldn’t believe this was your life. That he was real. That this boy who used to feel like a faraway teenage dream to you, was now kissing you under a meteor shower.

Hyunjin deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth and you were missing the rest of the meteor shower. You didn't care because there was a cosmic event everytime you two kissed. Your body felt like it was on fire, the cold wind on your cheeks, in your hair, his hands grounding you in place. If you let your inhibitions take over you, you'd strip off the fabric between you right this second so you could feel him in you. 

You’d never felt as alive as you did right now. You pulled back to breathe, head falling up to the sky again as streaks of meteors followed. You didn’t know how long they would last so you watched in urgent awe.

“Give me your camera,” Hyunjin mumbled, still breathless. You handed it over, and he leaned back in his seat, snapping pictures to capture the moment before it was over.

When the rush finally calmed, you sat down again, sinking into your seat, eyes on the sky. After a few moments, Hyunjin stretched out across the seat and you lay across him, head resting on his chest. Your feet rest on the window. This way, you had a perfect view of the sky and of him. It was so beautiful.

Chan and Kairi slipped out of the car, crunching through the snow so he could take pictures of her against the view. Their voices drifted back to you in fragments. Kairi was giggling, “They’re so obvious.”

“You think they’ve said it yet?” Chan’s whisper carried, low but clear enough to set your heart racing. The rest broke off with the wind. You leaned forward, straining, but they’d turned away, words swallowed by the night. “You cold?” Hyunjin asked, distracting you from dissecting Chan’s words, and you looked back up at him. Even from this angle, he looked perfect, like his face was assembled by the gods, structured perfectly. You shook your head, “No, I’m great.”

He smiled, eyes flickering over your body, “You have goosebumps.”

“Probably because you’re so close to me.” You whispered. He rubbed his hands over your arms, “We should probably close the top.”

“Noo. It's fine.” You didn’t want the moment to end. He sighed, “I don’t want you to get sick.” 

He was probably right. You sat up, twisted to face him, “You’re sweet.”

“Okay. Just a few minutes longer.” He smiled. You sat back, enjoying this while it lasted. The meteors were less frequent now, but still prominent through the wispy clouds. Hyunjin held you close, hand holding yours, enjoying the sight. When you looked out, Chan and Kairi were sharing a kiss of their own, quiet and tender in the snow. Hyunjin was watching them too. You squeezed his hand, pulling his gaze back to you. “The last time you brought me out to stargaze, you were telling me about them. Do you remember?”

His lips curved. “Of course I remember. The night I kissed you for the first time.”

“After you spent the whole night insisting we were just friends to anybody who would listen.”

“I know.” He chuckled, leaning in. “I remember.”

You smiled at him. You’d come so far from then. The emotions overcame you, and you sat up, kissing him again. Hyunjin grabbed your thigh, kissing you back, mumbling, “You’re happy tonight.”

“Of course I am.” You mumbled between pecks. Because I love you. Because I'm gonna love you for the rest of my happy, perfect life. He pulled you to him, and your body was half on his, half on the armrest.

“Okay! We ready to be warm again?” Chan interrupted, poking his head through the window. Hyunjin only laughed, refusing to break the kiss as he reached blindly for the button. The roof started slowly closing up on you.

Chan watched you two, "Actually, I feel bad breaking up your moment. Since you were so nice to drive us here, let me drive us back."

"Chan, you don't have to—"

"No, I want to. Get in the back, kids." He motioned. So, you and Hyunjin slid into the back as Kairi and Chan took your seats. They rolled the windows up, and the car was getting warm again. You still had goosebumps, and Hyunjin handed you his own jacket, draping it over your body as you looked out the window. He would never let you be cold. Chan drove out, switching out the rock for a rap playlist. You glanced at Hyunjin, and he was already smiling at you, head resting against the seat, a lazy smile on his features.

"Thank you for doing this. That was amazing." You mumbled. His voice was low, eyes hooded, "I did it for you. To see you smile like this."

"Everything you do makes me smile." You admitted. He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you into him to kiss him. Chan and Kairi were talking, the music was still loud, it didn't seem like they cared about what you were doing in the back. "That was one of my favorite memories." You sighed into his mouth. Hyunjin grabbed your thigh, hooking it over his, so you were even closer to him than before. He kissed you, still touching you tenderly. Your hand dropped to his lap, but you restrained yourself. 

"Hey…the driver would really appreciate if we keep all arms and legs inside the vehicle and don't have sex in the backseat." Chan mumbled, with a half-laugh. Hyunjin's eyes snapped open, his face immediately going red, "We're not…"

You giggled. For a second, it seemed like Hyunjin might pull away. But then his arm tightened around you, holding you firmly against him so you wouldn't move away. Chan and Kairi were talking again up front, distracted, but Hyunjin’s focus was entirely on you. You pulled back, "Will you come over tomorrow? I…want to work on the canvases with you."

He nodded, "Of course I'll come." His mouth found yours once more, slower now, deliberate, like he wanted to prove something. Your heart pounded as you kissed him back, settling into his arms, letting him feel you up all the way home. 

The car hummed with warmth as Chan drove you back. You curled deeper into Hyunjin's chest, deeper into him, your cheek rising and falling with his chest. Chan and Kairi’s voices had quieted to a low murmur in the front, the music looping into softer songs now, but you barely noticed. All you felt was his arm around you, his thumb tracing circles against your back, heartbeat strong beneath your ear.

»»————-

You woke to Hyunjin shaking you awake, whispering your name. You hadn't realised you'd fallen asleep in the car, on your way home from the meteor shower, head buried in his chest.

"Hey." He was whispering against your ear, lips against your skin. You unwillingly opened your eyes, looking up at him in your sleep-muddled state, "Hyun."

He smiled at you like an angel, "We're almost there."

"Is she awake?" Chan was asking from the front. You sat up, a yawn escaping, "Yes. Sorry."

"Don't be. It's good you slept through all the traffic." He smiled, "I think we're twenty minutes out from your place."

"Did you need the directions?" You cleared your throat, waking yourself up. Chan looked at you through the rearview mirror, "No, Hyunjin knows the way. Don't worry about it."

You nodded, covering another yawn, "I can't believe I fell asleep."

Hyunjin's arm was around you, playing with your hair, "Don't be sorry. It's probably the cold."

"Thanks for driving us back, Chan." You said. He nodded, but his voice had dropped, "Of course."

His eyes kept flickering to the rearview mirror.

"Everything okay?" Kairi asked him. Chan nodded, "Yeah, yeah. Just…has that car always been behind us?"

On instinct, you and Hyunjin turned around. The road wasn't too busy anymore, but you could see a dark car trailing behind you. Hyunjin frowned, "Not sure."

Chan shifted in his seat, "I feel like I saw it twenty minutes ago, on the freeway."

Kairi's tone changed, "Are you serious?"

"What does that mean?" You asked them. 

The atmosphere suddenly seemed tense. Hyunjin squeezed you, "Don't worry about it. It's probably just a coincidence."

"I'm gonna make a turn here." Chan spoke, pulling into a random alley, "Let's see what this guy does."

You were still half-asleep, trying to make sense of their hesitation. You turned around, peering through the back window. Sure enough, the car turned into the alley too, slowly.

"This fucker." Chan mumbled, under his breath.

"What is it?" 

He let out a sigh, "Someone's been following us."

"What?"

"It's probably the paparazzi. Someone from the news outlet. They always have those sedans. He's been trailing us for about an hour. I can't believe I missed this."

Your eyes widened, and you glanced at Hyunjin. He looked stressed, staring out the window, jaw clenched. You asked, "So what…what does that mean? He knows we're in here?"

Chan replied, getting back onto the main street, "No, probably not all of us. But he must have realised it's a company rented car. I think he has an idea. He's probably waiting for us to stop, hoping to figure out who's in here."

"So…what should we do?" You asked. Kairi and Hyunjin were both unnaturally quiet. They acted like this was normal, being followed by a stranger in the night. Your heart was pounding so hard.

Chan looked around, checking the side mirrors, "We…probably can't drive you home, Y/N. This guy will find out where you live."

You leaned forward, zipping up your jacket, "Oh. Okay."

Hyunjin was still quiet and his arm dropped from your side. Chan glanced at you, "I'm trying to figure out... You might have to get out at the next turn. Before he follows or sees you get out. I could take you to the closest subway."

You nodded, "Right. Okay. That's fine." You immediately grabbed your bag, fastening up your shoes. 

"It's four am. We can't leave her at a subway station alone, Chan." Hyunjin spoke up. You glanced at him. His jaw was clenched tight, and you could see the anger in his eyes.

"Do you have a better idea, Hyunjin? Because this dude is relentless." Chan responded.

"I…I'll be fine." You said, hand on Hyunjin's arm, reassuring him even though you were scared. But you couldn't show him that. This is the stuff you'd signed up for to be with him even though it terrified the hell out of you. 

"I can go with her." Kairi offered.

"Guys, I don't need that. I'll be fine on my own. I'll just get on the next train home." You said, looking between them.

"I mean, I have to get out anyway." Kairi glanced at you, "This guy's probably gonna follow them all the way back to their dorms."

"He's about fifty yards behind us. I think if I pull up under an overpass, that'll get you enough time to get out before he makes you." Chan added.

"Fucking hell." Hyunjin spoke, louder now, "I swear, I want to see this guy's face."

"No, that sounds like a terrible idea." Kairi said, an image of ever present calm despite her harsh tone, "This is who they are. They're doing their jobs. They're not gonna stop."

"Hyun, I'll be fine." You said to him, trying to get him to look at you. He sighed, "I'm sorry. This is my fault."

"Hyunjin." You interrupt him, "It's fine. I'll be fine. I had an amazing night regardless—"

"We can't leave them in the middle of the street, Chan. It's late. It's not safe." He interrupted, like he hadn't heard you. He wasn't even looking at you, only responding to Chan.

"We don't really have a choice, Hyunjin." Chan responded, speeding up so he could pull under the overpass, "Okay, I'm pulling in now. We'll have a red light between us. The subway should be right down the block."

You grabbed your purse, and Kairi unbuckled her belt. You had seconds to get out, before the guy saw you were in their car. All of your sleep had vanished into adrenaline. 

"Come on." Kairi said, pushing open her door in urgency. You got out, glancing back at Hyunjin quickly. His eyes were on yours for a split second, unsettling, upset, angry. You didn't know what to say. Kairi closed the doors behind you, looking at Chan, "I love you. Don't worry about us."

Before you could say anything to Hyunjin, the light had changed to green. Kairi pulled you away from the car, just in time. They drove off fast, and Kairi tugged you into the subway steps, rushing down the stairs so fast you were running, stumbling over your steps. The subway station was dinghy, empty save for a few people.

"That was crazy." You mumbled, trying not to think of the expression on Hyunjin's face and your heart was pounding so hard you thought you might pass out, "Is that…normal?"

"Only a couple of times." She spoke, letting go of your hand so she could pay at the turnstile. You stopped in your tracks, the adrenaline suddenly catching up to you. Your knees felt weak. What the fuck just happened?

"Y/N…" Kairi called out, looking back at you. Her gaze met yours, but she looked concerned. 

"I…need a second." You tried to calm your breathing. She came up to you, "Y/N…You look like you're going to pass out. Sit down."

You lowered yourself onto the steps, struggling to stay calm. "I…I'm sorry. I'm freaking out."

Kairi bent down in front of you, "Hey, hey. Look at me. You're fine. We're fine, okay?"

"I just…I'm sorry. I don't mean to…I'm just…"

Her hands cradled your face, "I know, I know. It was really scary. I'm sorry to rush you. That was insane."

"That was…crazy." You mumbled. Kairi looked around, spotting a 24/7 stall in the subway station, "I'm gonna get you some water. Okay. Stay seated. I'll be right back."

"Mmh-hmm." You nodded, dropping your head onto your knees. You were asleep only ten minutes ago and this literally felt a nightmare. Your eyes were brimming with tears. You needed to calm down. You were panicking. For no good reason. You were safe. Nothing had happened. This is just what you had to do to be with him. This was exactly what you'd signed up for. No big deal.

"Hey lady, you need help getting home?" A raspy voice interrupted. You looked up to see an older man stumbling towards you, a smile on his face. Your gaze moved to Kairi. She was still at the stall, digging into her jeans for coins for your water bottle.

"No, I'm fine." You responded, but your voice came out weak.

"Come on. You don't look so good. It's late. I'll take you home." He said, words slurring together as he came closer to you.

"Get the fuck away from her." Kairi said, walking over and in between you. The guy stopped in his tracks, gaze intense.

"Kairi…" You started to say, but the man rolled his eyes, "Whatever."

He walked away, and Kairi came to sit next to you, handing you the bottle of water. Your hand was shaking as you grabbed it and you hated yourself for being so weak. "Thank you." You spoke, sipping on it. She was peering at you, "Of course. The water should help."

"I'm sorry. I'm such a fucking pussy." You mumbled, taking a sip of the cold water.

"What? No. That…that was intense. And…you literally were still half-asleep, I can't imagine how panicked you felt."

You shook your head, "No. I should be able to handle this better. Like you did."

"Y/N…I've had years of practice. That's not fair to you. And this shit still freaks me out. Those press outlets are assholes. They make their money off our misery, and it's okay to be scared."

You looked up at her, voice trembling, "Please don't tell Hyunjin about this."

"What?"

"I don't want him to know that I freaked out."

"Why?" She frowned, searching your teary gaze.

"Because…he'll think I'm not ready for this. But I am. I can be strong about this."

"Y/N…Hyunjin will understand—"

"I don't want him to know that I can't handle this." Your lip was trembling, "This stuff that's so easy for you guys, should be easy for me too. It has to be."

Kairi's expression softened, and it looked like she wanted to say something, but instead she just nodded, "Okay. I won't bring this up. But I hope you know that the way you're reacting…is normal. We shouldn't be used to this."

You swallowed, "I'm just glad we told you guys about us. It's selfish, I know. I'm being selfish for saying this but between the two of us, I don't think I could have handled this alone tonight."

She smiled, wiping a stray tear on your cheek, "You could have. And despite that, I still had a great night with you."

You nodded, trying to go back to the moment of the meteor shower, "Right. Me too. I…had a great time."

"Let's get home, okay?" She grabbed your hand, helping you stand up. You waited on the platform. The crowd wasn't the best this late at night. Just as you got onto the train, your phone began buzzing. Hyunjin was calling you. You cleared your throat, picking up, hoping your voice sounded strong, "Hey."

"Y/N. Are you home?" His voice sounded frantic, cutting up as the train began moving underground.

"Not yet. I just got on the train."

"Are you okay?" He asked, after a pause, "Is Kairi still with you?"

"Yes. I…" You locked eyes with Kairi "We're fine." His concern immediately wanted to make you cry again, but you held back. You had to be tougher than this.

"I'm sorry that happened." He was apologizing, but you could only hear him in pieces. 

"I can't really hear you. I'm on the train. I gotta go."

"Y/N…" He started to say something, but the line went dead. You hung up, staring at Kairi. She leaned against the pole, eyes heavy on yours, "You good?"

You nodded, trying to think back to how perfect the night had been, relishing in that memory.

»»————-

It was your birthday next week, and there was a leak in your apartment. 

Not that those two things were related, but it had unfortunately made all your days pass by trying to come up with solutions. In theory, it was a great distraction from your inner turmoil. 

You immersed yourself in your art, bringing your body back to stasis. The events of the night of the meteor shower still hung heavy on you, and you'd told Hyunjin it didn't affect you. It did. But you wouldn't complain about it, this is exactly what you'd signed up for when you agreed to jump headfirst into this relationship. Sometimes you wish you could just run away to a place no one knew the two of you. It would mean giving up everything in his life, and in yours, but it could feel worth it.

You'd resorted to painting art for your apartment, little canvases that you hung up by the door, by the bed, by the kitchen. Hyunjin was busy with holiday schedules, but he checked in on you, every day, every night before you slept. You hadn't talked yet about what happened despite all the times he unsuccessfully tried to bring it up. You didn't really know what to say. You didn't want to talk about it. It was the biggest I told you so. He knew this could happen, that's why he'd pushed you away for so long. Crying about it would mean admitting defeat. It would mean admitting he was right all those months ago to not pursue you. 

Tonight he was supposed to be at a big award show, so you sat in front of the TV, with your big canvases laid out, catching glimpses at it. Soon he would be flying out to another country, miles away from you. You would have to be strong and get through this alone. And then you would be a year older, and then the year would change and everything would be fine and this would just be a distant memory. 

You dipped your paint in the mug of water, painting the outlines of your art. You recognised a few of the people on the TV, some friends of his that he'd mentioned but it was like watching a broadcast from another world. You didn't really know any of those people and never would. You could never really meet his famous friends. 

As you painted, you wondered if you should do something for your birthday after all. It could be a last resort to cheer yourself up. You stared at the television, hoping to catch a glimpse of him or his band. They were supposed to perform. He'd been rehearsing for that all month. As you waited, you mentally made a list of people to invite to your hypothetical party, people you knew in the city, but halfway through that activity you realise you didn't really care about the random classmates you'd only known for two months. If it was up to you, you'd spend your day with him. But he wouldn't even be here for it. He would be a thousand miles away at a fashion show and he would never even know it was your birthday.

You painted in silence, focusing on the art, on the award show in the back. Seeing him on TV was surreal. It was distant. You wish he were here. 

There was a knock at your door. You reached for your remote, muting the broadcast and walked over. It was probably Jeongin, asking you to grab Khao Soi again. You yanked the door open, thick blanket hanging around your shoulders, a symbol of your internal mourning.

But Hyunjin stood there, real and in the flesh and not on your TV screen, leather trench coat over his body, a bag in his hand, relief in his eyes at seeing you. "Hi." He smiled, leaning against your doorframe. Your eyes widened and you didn't feel prepared, "I thought you were at the award show."

"I was. Until I left." He said, "Can I come in? It's freezing in your hallway."

"Um. Yes." You stepped aside to make room for him. In all the time you'd been together, he hadn't been able to come up to your apartment. You were confused at the award show that was still playing, "Isn't the broadcast live?"

"No, we prerecorded our performances. We're not winning any more awards tonight so... Chan said it'd be fine if I left. Everyone's too busy celebrating our win to notice I'm gone." He walked over to your couch, observing the TV and the mess on the floor, "Why is all your stuff here?"

"I've been sleeping on the couch." You admitted. Hyunjin's head whipped to you, "Why?"

"There's a leak in my bedroom." You stated. At those words, he walked into your room and you mindlessly followed him, blanket trailing behind you. Hands on his hips, he said, "Your bed is wet." 

"I know. A pipe must have burst when it froze over cause of the snowstorms." You looked back at the broadcast on TV that until now you had thought was live, "You're sure they're not going to be wondering where you are?" 

Hyunjin laughed, stepping up to you, "So many questions. You're not happy to see me?"

"No, I am. Of course I am. I just wasn't expecting you. You haven't been to my place in weeks. I didn't even know you were allowed to come here."

"Well, all my managers are at the award show so…no one's gonna be looking for me tonight. I wanted to come see you."

"Oh. That's…nice."

"I know." He laughed, and then stepped closer to you, "How are you feeling? I…was worried about you and I wanted to apologise."

"Apologise? For what?” You were confused. He swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing, "For not comforting you in the car. For letting my anger take over my concern. I…I was seeing red. I was ashamed. I shouldn't have let that happen."

Your heart squeezed at the apology. Had he been blaming himself this whole time? You stepped up to him, "No. What you're not going to do is blame yourself. Because if you're here to do that, then you should leave. It wasn't your fault, no matter how you twist it to feel like that."

His eyes narrowed, "Y/N…but…"

"But what?"

He spoke, "I thought you were upset at me. You haven't really talked to me about that night and…you know you can tell me anything, right? I'm not going to judge you for your feelings. Or for anything, ever. If you hate me for what happened, you can say that. I can take it."

Hate you? I love you.

"That's not it. I'm sorry I've been avoiding talking about it…" Your voice and gaze fell to the floor."It's selfish." 

"Hey." He stepped closer, "Haven't I told you before? You can be selfish around me all you want."

"I just… After the night of the meteor shower, I felt…" You swallowed, "scared. Not because of what happened, but I just…" You trailed off, words hanging off your tongue. Hyunjin took a step closer, lifting your chin to look at him, "I'm listening, baby."

"I was worried I wasn't cut out for this life, and that you'd see that."

"I'm never going to think anything like that about you. I'm the one putting you through it. In fact, you literally took it better than I did. What happened that night was a close call. It was fucked up. And I know you were scared, because I was scared. And in this life, I'm surrounded by people like that… vultures, but they didn't get anything. Nothing's gonna happen to you."

Your eyes met his.

"To us." He clarified, "Nothing's gonna happen to us, baby."

"Is it always like that?” You swallowed. He nodded, "In Seoul…It's really bad." 

"Right…you should move out then." You mumbled. He laughed, a bubbly sound that made your chest glow, "We should. Don't worry. I'm not letting them get you, okay? You're mine, and…I'm going to protect you, best I can."

"I'm also going to protect you. The life you've built for yourself is too good." You leaned up on your tiptoes to hug him, whispering into his neck, "Thanks for checking in on me. Are you sure it's okay that you're here?"

"Yes." He repeated, without hesitation, "Even if it's not okay, I'd be here." He pulled back from the hug, stroking your cheek, "So…what were you upto? Watching me on TV and painting?"

You flushed, throwing your blanket off to the side, "Well, now that you're here, you wanna help me paint?"

His lips curved into a smile, "I'd love that. But first…do you have a sweater I could borrow?"

"What happened to your clothes?" You asked, realising he was still in his coat and hadn't taken it off. He laughed, "Well. I just performed and…" He then unbuttoned his coat, showing you what he had on underneath.

You had to make an effort to not have your jaw drop. He was in a sheer bodysuit that hugged him tight, exposing his chest and abs through the see through material. Then he had on tight leather pants, too tight in the crotch. You stifled a giggle, hand covering your mouth. If only to hide your insane desires. 

"Something funny?" He raised an eyebrow. You shook your head, hiding your smile, "No, I can probably give you Yeonjun's pajamas. He left a pair here a few weeks ago."

He looked so out of element. In a fancy stage outfit in your drafty, leaky little bedroom. You giggled, watching him like this. Hyunjin walked over to your drawers, grabbing the sweatpants and hoodie from the bottom drawer, "I love that you find this hilarious."

"I'll be in the living room. Find me when you're done." You sang, walking back to your canvas. You turned the broadcast off, catching your reflection in the TV. You unfurled another empty canvas board, one you'd gotten at half off price from the Haedong art store, making room for the two of you. 

After ten minutes, he joined you, and sat cross-legged on your living room floor. In Yeonjun's soft white sweater and sweats. He'd pushed the sleeves up till his forearms. He looked like a dream. He'd messed up his hair, taking it out of its styling and hairspray but there was still dark makeup on his lids. His lips were still glossy and cheekbones still pink from his stage makeup. "Feel better?" You asked. He nodded, "Mmh. So much. The outfit was so tight. It's nice to finally breathe again. And it had no pockets. I had to hold my phone in my hand the whole time."

You smiled, nipping away at your painting, "Wow. You're qualified at girl talk now."

He laughed, "Oh am I? I thought I didn't meet the only parameter."

You looked up at him, shrugging, "I'll let you off the hook."

His eyes crinkled, and then he looked around, "So you've been sleeping on the couch for a week."

You'd pushed your couch to the side, making enough space on the floor for both your canvases and all of your painting supplies. The canvases were large enough for you to sit on. You dipped your brush into the purple color palette, "Yeah. My back hurts though. I think it was a bad idea to get a couch off Facebook marketplace."

"I would say you could stay with me…" He said, staring at his empty canvas. You shook your head, shrugging, "And if your manager found out, he would positively kill me. It's fine. I didn't mind."

He opened your art pouch, picking a few paintbrushes out, "So where will we put these up?"

"I was thinking the wall by the kitchen." You said, painting light strokes into your background color. You peeked at him, "What are you gonna make? Are you sure you're not too tired from the show?"

"No, are you kidding me? This is the best way to relax." He smiled, tapping his chosen paintbrush on the floor before he started digging around your box of paints, "and I've only been making flowers these days. Thinking of making a vase that holds them." 

You nodded, reaching over to grab the blue paint bottle, "How was the award show? You and the boys looked really good at the red carpet. Han really has a way with cameras. He's so charming."

"Ouch. And not me?” He feigned hurt. You rolled your eyes, "Obviously you looked good. So confident. That outfit was made for your body."

"It was good. The usual. We had a great performance, although our managers were insisting that we lipsync to avoid any issues. Chan fought back. We always prefer singing live."

"Why does it always seem like they're against you guys? I mean, they're your managers. Isn't their sole purpose to be helpful to you?" You sat up to pause and stretch. He laughed, "You'd think. To them, we're a brand. But they're good people, and they work really hard for our success. It doesn't feel right to always complain about them, I guess."

You frowned, "You're a saint for dealing with all of this."

He looked at your canvas. You'd started filling in the background, painting in big strokes while he held the thinnest paintbrushes. You two approached it so differently. You needed to see the big picture first before you could dive into the details, but it seemed like he started from the little details. He was painting little petals into a vase that didn't exist yet.

Hyunjin bent over his canvas, stretching his legs out over the floor, using the smallest brush possible to add in details to the petals. You looked at him, "I'm glad we're making these. I feel like we talked about this forever ago, but isn't it crazy how long it took us to actually paint together?"

Hyunjin nodded, and his nose was inches from his canvas, focusing on the flower stems, "I know. Life has a funny way of getting away from you."

"I've missed painting with you." You realised, and all of your anxiety from the week was fading away. You were already so calm seeing him, having him in your space so close to you, watching him at his best. 

"I know." He bit his lip, looking up at you, "I'm sorry, the schedule has been insane. I've been taking more vocal lessons before our next album…and there's been way too many fittings before the fashion week. It's not an excuse though."

"When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow." He said, "I fly back next Saturday."

So he would miss your birthday. But you knew that. "Tomorrow morning?"

He nodded, "Flight leaves at six."

"They really expect you to perform onstage and then get on a ten hour flight?” You asked. He smiled, "Actually having these few hours off is unusual in itself. Sometimes we go to the airport right from a schedule, still in our stage outfits."

You shook your head, tutting, "I don't know you how do it."

"You haven't told me what you're making yet." Hyunjin said, watching your canvas. It was only a blend of blue as of now.

"I'm…painting the meteor shower that we saw."

"Oh…" Hyunjin realised. You nodded, "Mmh."

"Romantic." Hyunjin smiled, sitting up to take a sip of the drinks you'd brought out earlier. He looked at you for a few seconds, and it looked like he wanted to say something but he held back.

"What?" You asked.

"Nothing, I…" He shook his head. His lips twitched into a smile, and then he went back to focus on his canvas. 

"Tell me, Hyun."

He looked back up at you, a revered look on his face, "Just can't believe I'm here with you. A crazy part of my brain likes to believe I'm dreaming and that I have to pinch myself to remind me this is real. That it's not some fever dream I made up after leaving Daejon."

"Shut up."

"What?" He laughed.

"My brain does that too."

"Does it?"

"I feel like I've been dreaming since I saw you."

His eyes traveled over your face, "Then I hope we never have to wake up."

"Morbid."

He laughed. You were quiet for a few minutes, starting to draw in the outlines of the meteors. The soft sounds of bristles was the only one in the room. Hyunjin wordlessly passed you the paints you'd need for it, and you slid over the thicker brushes to him when he started working on the vase. It worked so well.

"I always have trouble with painting glass." He mumbled, squinting at his piece, "I should have just made an opaque vase so I wouldn't have to worry about it."

"Ugh yeah. Glass can be tricky. I used to hate doing it." You agreed. Hyunjin sat up again, resting on his heels, stretching over his head. You tried not to let it distract you, his sweater lifting up right in your view.

He quietly watched you paint.

"You're…so good at that." He spoke bluntly, hands resting on his knees as he watched you. You looked up at him, realising he'd stopped painting and was just observing you.

"You have paint on your pants." You pointed out. He was still holding onto the white paintbrush, streaks of white on his knees now. He didn't seem to care though, and he continued, "I don't know how you do it. It's like you've already seen the painting in your head and you're just bringing it to life."

You glanced up at him again, pausing, "Well, that's what you're doing too, Hyun."

"No, not really. It's coming to me as I paint. It can change at any moment, but you…you already know exactly where your hands' gonna go, what color is next. You're not even thinking about it. That's insane to me."

"I…guess it just comes with practice." You stated, heart-warming at his simple observations, going back to blend in the skies.

"No, it comes with extraordinary talent. You're perfect at what you do." He said simply. You shook your head, "Thank you but…perfect is saying a lot."

"You're not listening to me then. Look at me." He said. You set down your brush to the side, giving him your full attention, chin in your hand, "Yes?"

"You don't see the difference?" He pointed at his work and then yours. You frowned, "Your art is amazing, Hyunjin."

"That's not it. What I'm doing comes with practice and classes and tutorials. You can see that. Everything I've done on this canvas is something I learnt from someone, but everything you're doing comes from within. It's innate."

You thought over his words, distracted by his passion as he explained it. He continued, waving his hand and paintbrush about, "That painting already exists in you. You're just…translating it onto paper."

You'd never heard something as simply profound as that. "But…I'm still learning every day, Hyunjin."

"It's not the same. I…don't know how to explain to you what I'm feeling. I wish you could read my mind."

"I do understand. I just think you're cutting yourself too short." You sat up, "Everything you do…comes from within too. Like okay maybe not painting glass vases, but your dance…your singing… The way you see things."

He had a faint smile on his face. It was like you and him were always in a compliment battle, trying to have the upper hand in convincing the other that they were perfect. He let out a sigh, looking down at his unfinished vase, "You mind lending me a hand with this when you're done?"

"If you want me to."

"I do."

So you dropped your paintbrushes on the tissues, crawling over to his canvas. It was so large it took up all the space in your living room. Hyunjin shifted, only slightly, for you to sit in front of his painting. You sat on your knees, and he sat behind you, cross-legged, watching your every move. You grabbed a thin brush, dipping it in translucent white, hovering it over the piece, "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." He responded, "You're not gonna ruin it."

You giggled, "Reassuring."

Slowly, you started to draw onto his canvas. You were only helping him out with the glass texture; you'd done it many times before and he hadn't.

It felt intimate to draw onto his canvas, blending your strokes with his as Hyunjin watched over your shoulder. His hands settled gently onto your waist, grounding you and sending a warmth through your skin. Your breath hitched slightly, and you found it hard to focus on anything but the grounding sensation of his hands, large and reassuring. 

You paused, brush hovering above the canvas. His proximity was intoxicating, making you aware of every movement, every breath shared. "Keep going," he murmured, his voice a gentle command.

So, you did. Each stroke took effort as you filled in the blanks of his painting. Your strokes and his slowly became one, the boundaries blurring between you until you couldn't tell which was his and which was yours. 

His hands suddenly wrapped around you completely, sliding under your sweater and touching your bare skin. You couldn't really breathe, not when he was this close. But you willed yourself to focus on the task at hand, painting with a steadiness you didn't feel inside. Your heart was racing.

You dipped the brush lightly into the pale blue, swirling it with a hint of white, deciding it was best to talk him through it. After all, he did want to learn from you. "So…the key is not actually painting the glass itself.”

Hyunjin tilt his head, confused but following you closely. You continued, “You paint what’s around it. The reflections, the highlights. Glass doesn’t really have a color, right? It’s just picking up everything near it. So if the background’s warm, you use warmer colors. If it’s cool…” you dragged the brush in a faint arc across the vase, “…you use cool tones like this. And the trick is to not do too much. That emptiness is what makes it look transparent.”

He hummed, watching your hand carefully.

“You have to let the light trick the eye into seeing it.”

Hyunjin’s breath brushed your shoulder as he leaned even closer, eyes following every flick of your wrist. “God. You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not me.” You laughed softly. “It's just…practice."

His gaze stayed fixed on your hands moving across the canvas, but his voice was low. “Do you even know how insane it is to watch you do this? You’re not just painting glass. You’re showing me the way you see things. No wonder I—” He cut himself off, lips parting like he’d almost said too much.

You turned your head to look at him. He was so close to you, face inches from yours, body pressed up behind yours. You breathed, staring into his eyes, "What were you going to say?"

His eyes were blown wide, eyelashes fluttering prettily, "Nothing. I…keep going."

"Okay." You nodded, turning back to the canvas but you felt dizzy. Your strokes and his had blended so perfectly, they were one. You were like one. You could feel his chest move with yours, hyperaware of every breath. Your hands were trembling. You couldn't move them.

"Why'd you stop?" Hyunjin asked, voice soft. You willed yourself to focus, but he was making it impossible. He leaned in, tucking his head in your shoulder, leaving a kiss on your neck. You stilled, "Hyun…"

"Keep going…" He mumbled, leaving another kiss on your neck, mouth moving soft over your skin. You swallowed, gut twisting with desire, hoping the paintbrush would stay steady as you added another stroke. Hyunjin's hands moved further up, sliding under your sweater, and you dropped the paintbrush entirely, paint drops splattering on your wooden floor as his fingers grazed your bra.

"What is it?" Hyunjin asked, speaking into your shoulder, between kisses, "Am I distracting you?"

"Uh-huh…" You mumbled, head falling back as he squeezed your tits through your bra. His hands were big, pulling back the cup of your bra to touch your bare skin. His hands were cold, his silver bracelets making you shiver. You felt like putty, for him to mold, to play with, to do whatever he wanted with. 

He licked a strip of skin up your neck, whispering, "Your pulse is racing."

You let him kiss you neck, to suck it, like he couldn't get enough of you. In the reflection of your TV, you could see how sinful you looked. He was holding you from behind, slowly pulling you up onto his lap. The paint on his pants was now on yours. You turned your head, nose bumping against his. He looked right at you, pupils wide with desire, lips wet with his own spit, "Kiss me."

Your eyes widened. He was handing control to you. Letting you take over. So you obviously did. You closed the distance between you, mouth crushing his too fast. Lips crashing against each other, moulding, moving. He tugged you onto his lap entirely, still facing away from him, your head tilted back to kiss him. He still felt you up, mumbling your name in between. Your hand slipped, knocking against the mug of paintbrushes. It didn't startle him. He kept kissing you.

"What about your painting?" You breathed. He chased your mouth, squeezing your tits, "Fuck the painting."

You couldn't help but agree. You were losing your mind the longer he kissed you, all tongue in your mouth like he was trying to become one with you. You squirmed with each sensation, struggling with this crazy desire, with how quickly things had taken a turn. His hand trailed down to your jeans, pausing at the buckle before popping open the button. Your voice was breathy, "Does it…does it turn you on? When I teach you things?" 

He pulled back, looking into your eyes at the same time he slid his hand into your pants. He mumbled between kisses, "Fuck. Yes. Hearing you speak…I can't help myself. You're so talented. Seeing you like that makes me go insane. So fucking focused and concentrated. It's so hot."

His fingertips grazed the thin fabric of your underwear and you were trembling, a gasp escaping. He held you tighter with his free arm, keeping you steady against his chest. Your eyes fumbled shut, brain full of fuzz.

“You’re shaking…I haven't even touched you yet.” He murmured, almost in awe. His mouth pressed kisses down the slope of your neck as his fingers slid lower, teasing and pulling at the fabric until you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Your gaze was blurry as you stared at him, "Please. I've missed you."

"Can I?" He mumbled, voice breathy. His eyes were full of a crazy desire, like he would swallow you whole. You nodded, completely at his mercy, as he dipped his thumb over you. It was like your Achilles heel. You jolted, so embarrassingly turned on. But you could feel how hard he was under you too. His fingers pushed past the thin cotton underwear and found you, and your head fell back against his shoulder instantly. 

You grabbed at his wrist, to ground yourself as he touched you — slow at first, then more certain when he felt the way you squirmed, fingers swiping in circles. The sound of your breathing was loud, the faint scrape of his rings against your skin was cold. His voice was soft, "You're enjoying this, are you?"

You could only nod, eyes on his as he mumbled, "Turn around."

"What?" You could barely register, as he turned you around to face him. In a swift move, he picked you up and put you on the couch.

It was softer than the hardwood floor. More forgiving.

And he crawled on top of you, his body tall over you. He slid your sweatpants off, tauntingly slow down your legs, inch by inch. He kept looking back up, eyes meeting yours, hair falling in his face, making sure you were liking it, making sure he saw what he did to you, every reaction. He had made you a mess, overwhelmed with emotions and arousal. You'd never felt anticipation like this. Once they were off, he moved up to find your mouth and to kiss you again. You could feel him grabbing at your thigh, hooking his fingers into your skin. It was hard to keep your eyes open but you didn't want to miss a second of this. You'd been waiting so long. 

He pushed your sweater up, you shivered as his hands came into contact with your skin, but he kept going. A trail of kisses down your stomach. The realization of what he wanted to do sank into you. His face lay in between your legs, fingers hooked onto your underwear. He looked up at you, "Is this okay?"

The boy of your dreams was in the most compromising position known to man, and it wasn't okay. It was too good. Too perfect. Your gut was twisting at the sight of him. "Yes…please."

"Baby, look at me."

So you did. His pretty brown eyes were blown wide, a hopeful look on his face, "Are you sure?"

You nodded, an insane desire flooding you and you sat up to kiss him, "God. Don't ask me again."

He kissed you back hungrily, holding your face in his hands, "I've been dreaming about this."

And all you could do was look up at the ceiling, at your apartment's little lighting fixtures, at the paint peeling off the walls, as you felt him take off your panties. The ceiling was blue. You'd never noticed that. You stared at it because you couldn't look at him. 

You might implode if you did. Or explode. You wouldn't last. You'd never felt this kind of desire before. You'd never seen someone else feel this much desire towards you. It made you feel insane. You then felt his mouth on you, just a flutter. It was too much. You loved it. You immediately shifted, unable to help how your body reacted, and Hyunjin mumbled, hand flat on your stomach, and his voice was muffled and heavenly, "It's okay baby…"

You let yourself relax into it, to cherish this moment, to memorize how this felt. Eyes squeezed shut so you could feel every sensation. He was really doing this. His hands were hooked around your thighs, holding your legs open, and you felt his tongue on you. “Hyun…” Your voice broke on his name.

Everything about this felt unreal as he licked up your folds, tasting you in a way he never had before. You thought you might die.

He was so good at this. Who taught him how to do that? He was relentless, but he was so careful with you. He was soft and slow. He was torturous.

He knew just what to do with his tongue, the right places to flick it, and he set a pace that had you squirming in place. "Fuck." You could barely form a thought. You felt far too shy to look at him, it was too intimate and Hyunjin was seeing you in a way he never had before. You couldn't think anymore. You could just feel each flick of his tongue, riling you up. He was so fucking good. Your hand twisted in his hair, fingers curling in it, tugging at it. It only urged him to go faster. More passionate than he'd already been. It was too much. It was too good. Nothing human should feel this good.

Your gut twisted, a knot coiling within as it got tighter and tighter. You could feel his nose rub against you, and his tongue worked miracles. Your fingers gripped the back of the couch, digging deep into it to find some semblance of control.

He wouldn't even have to do much because you were already so riled up. 

You squeezed your eyes shut, hips jerking up and he held you in place. He didn't stop, and when it got far too much he rode you through your high. You tried to stifle your moans, biting down on your hand, but you were still so loud. It felt far too good to not be this loud. You're sure everybody in the building could hear you moan as Hyunjin ate you out.

His name came out in stutters and moans. It only pushed him more. You couldn't find it in you to be embarrassed, not when he was so relentless. His tongue flicked at you, licking you up, tasting you. He kept going, a hand on your stomach holding your body down, until your second high hit. You were even louder this time and your body was burning up.

And when it finally got too much, it's like he could feel it, like he felt everything you did, so with slow kisses, he stopped. You tried to catch your breath, chest moving up and down. A kiss on your thighs. Gently, he lift his head up to look at you. Your eyes were on him too. Something amazing had happened. His head between your legs, a smile on his face, you would never get that image out of your head. 

His hair was plastered to his forehead, his mouth wet. Slowly, he moved up, and you grabbed his face in your hands, "Hyun…"

"Was that good for you?" He asked, voice hoarse. You kissed him, holding him above you, "It was…perfect. Thank you."

"God, I should be saying that to you. You taste like nothing I could have imagined." He mumbled. You entangled your arms around his neck, pulling him down to you and he shifted his body on top of yours so you could both be comfortable.

Your canvases lay unfinished on the floor. You'd forgotten all about them as you kissed him. He tasted like you. You lay like that, catching your breath, making out for what felt like hours. His hands were in your hair, stroking it gently. Lazily he kissed you, tongue in your mouth, hands on your body. You were just a normal couple then, intoxicated by each other, not being able to have enough of the other and nothing outside this room mattered. 

He pulled back from you, breathless, as if he suddenly remembered something, and there was a pause as he asked you so innocently, "Water?"

You didn't want to stop. Couldn't you kiss him till the sun rose? But you nodded and slowly sat up. He got up, adjusting his clothes. He walked over to your kitchen. The room was dimly lit. His movements were deliberate and thoughtful. You slid your underwear back on. Something had shifted in his energy. He moved with ease, a picture of innocence, like he hadn't just given you the best orgasm of your life. 

He walked back to the couch with two mugs of water, setting one in front of you before sitting down. His knee bounced like he couldn’t keep still. "I…wanted to tell you something."

“Yeah?” You sipped on the water, but nothing except him could quench your thirst.

He shifted toward you, and his hair was still disheveled and his lips were still swollen, "I got you something."

"Oh?"

He reached into his bag, that lay next to the couch, " I've been wanting to give it to you for a while. I didn't think I'd be able to cause I was at the award show, but…I'd put it in my car earlier and…"

He handed it to you, it was wrapped in a delicate pink paper. It was heavy, and rectangular, like a big book.

"I wasn't expecting anything." You told him, resting the gift on your lap, "I…don't have a gift for you."

He giggled, hand stroking your hair still, tucking it behind your ear, "Y/N. Just…open it."

You pulled at the white ribbon around it, unfurling the thin crepe paper. It was a book. A Vincent Van Gogh themed photobook. Your eyes widened, "Oh my god?"

He watched your expression carefully.

You ran your fingers over the matte cover. The cover was Sunflowers. "This is… gorgeous. It's perfect for me."

Hyunjin laughed, almost in relief. You looked up at him, delicately holding the book, "Oh my god. Thank you so much. Why did you get me this?"

"Well…" His fingers traced your shoulder, "It's your birthday soon, isn't it?"

Your eyes widened, "How did you know that?"

He smiled. "Aren't you gonna open it?"

You couldn't wait. You reached forward, wrapping an arm around him to pull him into a thank you hug. It was an awkward position, because you were still holding the book on your lap and him on the other. "This is perfect, Hyun."

Hyunjin pulled back. There was an unreadable expression in his eyes, "Really?"

"I mean." You smiled, looking back at the book, "I love it so so much. I…I really wasn't expecting anything, especially since I know you'll be flying out soon."

You turned it over to look at the back. It was printed in the Netherlands, "You got this from the Van Gogh museum?"

Hyunjin nodded, "I had it shipped. I think you should really open it."

You couldn't believe he'd done this for you, and you slowly flipped open the first page. There was an excerpt from the curator and then there were full-bleed images. They were prettier than you could imagine. The colors felt so real, like you were seeing the paintings with your own eyes, and not thousands of miles away from them. You flipped through, recognising every single work. Cafe Terrace at Night. His Self Portrait. The Bouquet of Flowers.

Hyunjin was watching you quietly. Suddenly, tears brimmed to your eyes. The art was so beautiful, and the fact that he bought this for you even more beautiful.

"Thank you so much," Your voice came out a whisper, "This is already the best birthday ever."

"Y/N…what's wrong?" He asked, noticing the tear roll down your cheek, like he didn't expected you to have such a reaction. You felt embarrassed, shaking your head, "I…just. It's the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me. I…I've never received a gift like this ever. I didn't except you to get me anything, or know it's my birthday. Much less this book. It's perfect."

Hyunjin almost looked concerned, like he was nervous. Maybe he didn't know what to say. You felt embarrassed about your admittance, that no one in your life had known you well enough to gift you something like this. He must have had a lot of people like that in his life. But he really was one of a kind. Your voice broke as you said, trying to explain your crazy emotions because it was just a book but it meant the world to you, "Maybe that's weird but…this is just the most thoughtful thing someone's done for me."

You kept flipping through the book, pausing on the page of the Almond Blossoms.

A folded up envelope lay in the center of the pages.

"Oh, I think this is yours." You handed it to him, voice wavering from all the emotions, embarrassed, overwhelmed. This was already the best birthday ever because the love of your life picked something out, only for you. You would buy a coffee table just so you could display this book proudly on it. You'd carry it with you everywhere so you could stare at the pages and remember that he got it for you.

Hyunjin had a strange look in his eyes, as he watched you cry over this gift and maybe he hadn't expected you to love it so much, "Um, the envelope…that's actually for you, Y/N. The book was just…a cover."

You were confused, not understanding him. Carefully, you rest the book on the couch and opened the envelope. Inside was a single piece of paper and you unfolded it to read what it said. It was a lot of text and numbers. 

Your teary vision made it difficult to read the words on the paper, but they still didn't make sense, and your head started spinning. You looked back up at him, and surely what it said wasn't true. "What…is this?"

Hyunjin's words were quietly spoken, expectation in his eyes, "It's for you. That's your gift, baby."

It was a flight ticket to Amsterdam.

“I…I don’t understand.”

"You told me you wanted to do something that would inspire you. And I know you've been doing that on your own in the city…, but I thought it might be time for you to try something new. Maybe it'll bring you inspiration. And…it's your birthday. You deserve to celebrate it in a place like that. The book was just a cover for the ticket…”

Your gut twisted, unable to comprehend this as you looked up at him, "What…? I…you bought this just for me? But it must have been so expensive."

He nodded, gaze intense on yours, "I already booked everything for you. The flights. The apartment you can stay at when you're there. The museum tickets."

The dizziness swept over you in waves, tingling at the edges of your vision and making your surroundings blur softly, like a watercolor painting. Your breath caught in your throat, disbelief causing your heart to pound in your chest, your throat closing up. It was as if you were floating. It was like were having an out of body experience.

It started sinking in what he'd done. You must be dreaming. 

"Hyunjin. This is …a lot."

"No…" He responded, hand reaching over to yours, "It's the least I can do."

"Oh my god. It's a lot." You spoke as you realized the magnitude of what he'd just gifted you on a casual Thursday evening. In an instant, you jumped up into his lap, throwing your arms around him. He caught you instantly, whispering into your shoulder, “I know. I knew you’d say that. But let me do this for you please."

You pulled back, still stunned. “You know it’ll take me years to pay you back for this, right?”

He smiled, squeezing your waist, “Don’t be stupid. You’re not paying me back. That’s why it’s a gift.”

"Is…that why you were so nervous?"

"Well, I was waiting for you to see the ticket, but…you started crying…"

"Oh my god." You buried your face in your hands, "I…I was just overwhelmed. The book was already the most amazing thing — but this…"

"No, don't be embarrassed." He removed your hands, observing the dried tears on your cheeks, "I just can't believe it made you so happy, and you hadn't even seen the real thing yet."

"It's very easy to make me happy. Especially if it's you."

He smiled, "And I already made sure your passport is valid… and all the other stuff. I know I probably should have told you earlier, considering you have only a few days to pack. And it's just for the weekend so it's not too long of a trip but…”

You settled your hands at the nape of his neck, playing with his hair, "It's perfect. But…what about you?"

He hesitated, then smiled. “You know how I fly out tomorrow? I'll be in Copenhagen for a few days and I'm gonna try to come see you. I can't promise anything but I swear I'll try. I just didn't wanna miss your birthday.” His gaze held yours, steady and sure. “So I thought I’d bring you closer to me.”

Your eyes were wide as you searched his, "That's insane. You're…insane."

"I know." He laughed, hand stroking your back, "You make me a little crazy."

You hugged him so tight you thought you might cry again, still sat on his lap in just your underwear, “Thank you. I don’t even know what to say. You're spoiling me so much. First, you give me the best orgasm of my life…and now this. I feel like a princess or something."

At your words, he laughed, "The best of your life, huh?"

You smiled, nodding, "Mmh."

His fingers grabbed your chin, pulling you in for a kiss as he mumbled, "We can make that happen more."

You kissed him back leisurely. He held you in his lap, whispering against your lips, "So you'll go right?"

"Of course I will. If you're not gonna be in Seoul, then what am I gonna do here anyway?"

He laughed, squeezing your thighs, "Exactly."

Your gaze searched his, heart still pounding from this, "No one has ever done anything like this for me."

He didn't say anything, a smile tugging at his lips. You could hear his heartbeat quicken, and then you felt him harden under you. Embarrassed, he apologised, "Shit. I'm sorry. It's…not appropriate, but you're sitting on top of me and god, you look so pretty after crying, and you're saying all of these things…”

Your lips curved up, kissing him, "Is that true?"

Each movement only made him twitch under you, pupils dilating to black, "I can't help it."

"That's really hot, Hyun."

His eyebrows shot up expectantly, and he looked adorable, "Yeah?"

You tugged at his sweatpants, and his eyes widened, "What are you doing?"

"What do you think?" You smiled, kissing his mouth, "Returning the favor."

His lips curved into the prettiest smile, eyes blown wide in adoration. You couldn't help it either. You buried your face into his neck, hugging him again so tight your chest ached. It felt like this had always been your life, the way he held you to him, as you sat in his lap in just your underwear, legs interwined.

You must have used up all the luck in the world because at this moment, you were the luckiest girl in the world.

»»————-

masterlist ⇒

thank you for reading and for still being here <3 i would love to hear what you thought of it!

[starlostjisung]

perfect chemistry

pairing: nerd!han x reader

genre: fluff; smut; uni au

wc: 9.7k

warnings: unprotected sex; fingering; handjob; oral sex (f and m!receiving); dry humping; praising, begging

summary: a lab project brings you and han together - him, a shy nerd with glasses and messy curls, and you, the person he’s been secretly in love with for longer than he’ll admit

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5

a/n: i just wanted to write a little smut scene and it ended up being the longest part of the series... anyway hope you enjoy it my loves!!

it’s been a month. a quiet, soft, beautiful and magical month.

sometimes you still wake up thinking it might have been a dream, but then, han’s name lights up on your phone with a good morning text or he’s already waiting outside your dorm with his hands tucked into his hoodie sleeves and his hair still messy from bed, smiling when he sees you like you’re the best part of this day and then-

that’s when you remember.

it’s real. you’re his, he’s yours. 

your days slowly fall into a routine that feels so natural it almost makes you believe it has always been like this. walking to class together in the mornings, your shoulders brushing, your hands bumping until one of you finally intertwines your fingers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. his hand on the small of your back when you crush the street. his thumb rubbing circles on your palm whenever you’re talking.

studying side by side in the library, whispering jokes together, his knee pressed against yours under the table the entire time. coffee runs after long labs and classes, sharing snacks together because why not. 

late walks back to your dorms, talking about nothing and everything, from childhood stories to dumb fears, but always with your hands swinging together between you.

movie nights with both of you crammed onto a tiny bed, his glasses slightly crooked because you keep stealing kisses and knocking them out of place.

little things, small things.

and today is no different.

classes end early, and changbin had texted han to tell him he’d be staying late at the gym with friends, which means-

“so… your dorm?”, you ask casually. 

han’s ears turn red immediately.

“yeah”, he says adjusting his glasses, “we could. if you want. i mean, we-”

you laugh softly, “i do”

and he smiles so wide you have to look away for a second. guess some things never change.

you’re in his room, the door closed, the lights dim.

han’s bed is a little messy because you’re both lying on it, on your sides, facing each other, his laptop on the table near the door, some random movie playing that neither of you is really paying attention to anymore.

the blanket is thrown over both of you, your legs tangled together without even trying. you rest your head on his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat while the movie dialogue plays quietly in the background.

you can feel his fingers running lazily through your hair, slow and comforting.

“y/n… you’re not watching the movie”, he says.

“neither are you”, you mumble against his hoodie.

“... true”

you both laugh softly and then you tilt your head up to look at him. he’s already looking at you, of course he is. you smile at him and he smiles back, smaller, still shy, the smile you fell in love with.

“what?”, you whisper.

“nothing”, he says quickly.

“jisung”

he huffs a tiny laugh, “i just like… looking at you”

your heart does that flip you’re so used to now, “you’re so cheesy”

“but only for you”

you pretend to groan but you’re already leaning closer, and he meets you halfway.

the kiss is soft, slow and familiar now. his hand slides to your waist, warm through your t-shirt, his thumb rubbing small circles like he always does. you kiss him again and again. little pecks that turn into something deeper, longer.

his glasses bump your nose and you both break into quiet giggles.

“wait, hold on”, he says, pushing them up properly.

“nerd”, you tease him fondly.

“hey-”

you kiss him again before he can defend himself and he melts instantly, his hands around your waist again. he always melts like this, like you undo him without even trying, like he’s been waiting all day just to be close to you. 

your fingers slide up into his hair, his soft curls slipping between them, and you tug lightly just to hear the quiet sound he makes in his throat. it’s barely there, but you feel it, and it sends warmth straight down your spine. 

“y/n…”, he breathes your name and that’s enough to jolt through your body, the heat between your legs growing. 

you don’t stop, you don’t want to stop.

you shift closer instead, pushing yourself up on your elbows so you’re hovering over him, your knee sliding between his legs, the blanket tangling around your hips now. his hands tighten instinctively on your waist, steadying you, holding you there.

his eyes are wide behind his glasses when you pull back just enough to look at him, his cheeks flushed and his lips pink, and you think - not for the first time - that he looks unfairly pretty like this. 

“what?”, you say again, smiling softly. 

he swallows.

“you’re-”, he stops, embarrassed.

“what?”

“... nothing”

you lean down and kiss him again before he can hide behind his shyness. this time the kiss is slower at first, then deeper.

your mouths move together more naturally, more confidently than your first kiss that month ago. his hands slide from your waist to your lower back, his fingers splaying there, warm and firm, and it makes you shiver.

you press closer without thinking, your body fitting against his perfectly, and his breath stutters. the movie keeps playing forgotten in the background, voices and music blending into meaningless noise because all you can hear is him.

his breathing. 

your heartbeat. 

your hands moving and touching. 

the sound of your lips brushing, parting, then meeting again. 

you climb fully over him, settling on his lap, straddling him carefully so you don’t put too much weight. his hands freeze for half a second, then settle on your hips like that’s where they’re meant to be, like they’ve always belonged there. 

your fingers slide down his chest, bunching the fabric of his hoodie and you kiss him deeper, hungrier, just… wanting.

wanting him closer, wanting to feel everything. 

he kisses back, his glasses fogging slightly, and you laugh against his mouth. 

“still wearing these?”, you say, your lips brushing his with each word.

“i- i can’t see you without them and i- i… need to see you” 

you slip them off gently and place them on the bedside table without breaking eye contact. his pupils look bigger without them, softer, more vulnerable. 

“i’m right here, jisung”, you say softly. 

you kiss him again and this time he makes a quiet sound that goes straight to your core. his fingers dip into your hips, pulling you down just a little closer.

and that’s when you feel it.

he lets out a moan against your mouth, a moan that is silenced with one of your own. he goes still instantly, like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. you feel his hands loosen, like he’s about to pull away. 

“wait-”, he whispers, his breath shaky.

you stop immediately.

“what’s wrong?”

he looks away, his cheeks burning red all the way to his ears.

“i… i’m sorry, i just-”

“jisung”, you say softly.

“i’ve never… done anything”, he blurts out, his words tumbling over each other, “like … this. with anyone. i don’t really know what i’m doing and i don’t want to mess up or make you uncomfortable or go too fast or for you not to enjoy it-”

his voice gets smaller and smaller and your heart aches. god, he’s so him, even now he’s worried about you first. 

you cup his face gently, your thumbs brushing his warm cheeks until he looks at you.

“hey, jisung, look at me”, you say.

he blinks at you, nervous and shy all over again.

“you’re not messing anything up”

“... i’m not?”

“no”, you smile softly, “and we don’t have to rush anything. ever”

his shoulders loosen a little.

“really?”

“really. i like this”, you murmur, leaning closer to brush your nose against this, “just being with you. that’s enough, and it will always be enough”

he looks at you like you just handed him the world, like he can finally breathe again. 

“you’re so good to me”, he says.

you smile and then move closer to kiss him again, gentle and tender this time. slow and sweet. his hands slide back to your waist, calmer now, his thumbs tracing lazy circles again like they always do. after a moment, you shift off him and settle back down beside him under the blanket, your head returning to his chest.

the movie is still playing, some scene you both definitely missed.

“i’m so lost i don’t even know what’s going on anymore”, you say laughing referring to the movie. 

“yeah, we really suck at this”, he chuckles softly, kissing the top of your head.

you tilt up and steal another kiss, then another. soft little ones, lazy and comfortable. his fingers slip back into your hair, playing with the strands while your hand rests over his heart and you stay like this together.

warm, tangled in his bed, trading slow kisses between quiet laughs and the movie you’re definitely not watching.

you and han are going back to your dorm after a date night. nothing expensive or fancy - just some warm lights, tiny tables and music playing in the background. he had told you that morning he wanted to take you out properly that night. 

everything had been perfect - you had shared food, you had stolen fries from his plate, he had wiped sauce from the corner of your mouth with his thumb and then sucked it without even thinking about it then froze and blushed while you laughed at him.

just perfect. 

you’re walking hand in hand, with the night air cool against your cheeks. the streets are quieter, just a few students here and there and the hum of traffic far away. you swing your joined hands between you as you walk.

“i still can’t believe you dropped your fork”, you say laughing again.

“it slipped!”

“into your drink, jisung”

“i panicked, okay?”

you laugh so hard you have to stop walking for a second and he just watches you like you’re the funniest, prettiest thing he’s ever seen. 

“stop looking at me like that”, you mumble, embarrassed when you see him.

he shrugs, smiling, “i can’t help it”

when you reach your dorm building, he insists on walking you to the door of your dorm and when you get there, neither of you lets go.

“well”, you say softly.

“yeah”, he says just as softly.

but neither of you moves. 

you stand there, your hands still linked and then, he leans down and kisses you, and you kiss him back immediately. 

your hands slide up his jumper, his hands settling on your waist, pulling you closer to him, like he physically can’t stand even an inch of space between you.

“i should go”, he murmurs against your lips when you break the kiss.

“yeah”, you whisper, not moving at all.

another kiss, longer, your noses brushing.

“okay, really”, he says softly, his forehead resting against yours.

“mmhm”

neither of you moves and he laughs quietly against you. 

“we’re gonna be here all night”

“we should be”, you say.

he steals one more kiss, then you steal another. then one more just because you can. 

the thought of him actually leaving - walking away, sleeping in a different building, not being next to you - it just feels so… wrong. too far. so before you can overthink it, you tug lightly on his sleeve.

“jisung?”

“yeah?”

“do you wanna come inside?”

he blinks. 

“jihyo’s probably sleeping already. we can just… hang out for a bit if you want. it’s just… i’m not ready to say goodnight yet”

your voice comes out so soft, so honest, that he melts instantly.

“yeah”, he says, almost too fast, then adds quieter, “yeah, i don’t wanna leave either”

your chest tightens and you squeeze his hand and pull him inside. 

you both walk on your toes, like kids sneaking around, trying not to make noise. he tries not to laugh every time the floor creaks.

“shh, quiet”, you whisper, hitting his arm lightly.

“i’m trying”, he whispers back, smiling at you.

you peek into the living room. 

dark.

jihyo’s door closed.

“she’s asleep”, you whisper. 

he nods. you grab his hand again and guide him straight to your room, closing the door softly behind you. your desk is messy with books and pens, fairy lights strung along the wall, some of your clothes thrown over the chair.

han looks around like he always does, he likes being here.

“hi”, you say quietly, suddenly shy for no reason.

“hi”, he says, smiling.

you both just stand there for a second then you flop onto your bed.

“come here”, you whisper. 

he laughs softly and climbs in beside you. you end up lying on your sides, facing each other, your knees bumping. you lie close to each other, so close you can feel his breath in your face, and your fingers find his sleeve, playing with the fabric.

“today was nice”, you say.

“yeah”, he says, “really nice”

“thanks for inviting me”

“thanks for coming with me”

you smile and then silence settles between you before you start talking about random things and laughing softly, sharing that private bubble that only exists when it’s just the two of you.

every now and then, your hands brush, until you finally lace your fingers together. you move closer, your foreheads touching now. his free hand moves to your face and pulls you even closer, just so his lips can find yours again, slow at first.

just a gentle press that lingers there, like he’s still asking, like he’ll always ask. 

your noses brush and you kiss him back just as carefully, your thumb brushing over his knuckles where your fingers are still laced together. it’s warm and comforting, the kind of kiss you could fall asleep in but then, his hand on your cheek slides down, from your jaw, to your neck, to your waist. 

and something shifts. 

your fingers tighten around his and he tilts his head slightly, deepening the kiss and you part your lips without even thinking, letting his tongue explore your mouth. you moan at the feeling and his breath stutters against you. 

your hand slips from his and curls into the fabric of his jumper, pulling him even closer, until there’s barely any space left between you. he keeps kissing you, each kiss heavier than the last. and then he shivers, and you notice immediately.

“you okay?”, you whisper against his mouth.

he nods, breathless, “yeah… just- kiss me again”

that shy smile flickers across his lips and then you have no choice but to kiss him again. not that you would choose any other thing.

weeks ago, he would’ve blushed and pulled away, but you’ve learned each other now, and ever since the day he told you he was worried about doing things wrong and you had told him you didn’t have to rush anything, the makeouts have gotten heavier.

you have taken the time to learn each other, with no pressure, no rush, just you and him, together. and tonight, it feels different. maybe it’s the way neither of you is ready to say goodbye yet, or maybe it’s just that you want each other too much. 

your hands slide up into his hair, your fingers tangling in the soft strands at the back of his head. he lets out a moan into your mouth and you kiss him deeper. without really thinking, you shift closer and your knee slips between his legs, your body nudging him back into the mattress. he lets out a surprised little laugh against your lips.

“hey-”

but he doesn’t stop you, not even a little. not this time.

you push gently at his chest and he falls back onto the bed, still smiling, still searching your lips with his. you hover over him for half a second and then you swing your leg over his hips and settle on top of him, straddling him.

your hair falls like a curtain around both of you and for a moment you just stare at each other, both breathing harder than ever. his hands move to your waist, they definitely belong there you think.

“... hi”, he whispers, a little flustered. 

you laugh softly, “hi”

then you lean down and kiss him again and god, the angle? the closeness? the way his hands tighten on you? it makes everything hotter.

he kisses you back like he’s forgotten how to breathe, like you’re the only thing keeping him alive. your hips press down, trying to get closer, and he moans sharply against your mouth. your heart pounds, and you can feel yourself getting wet with his reactions. 

you can feel how warm he is under you, his bulge getting harder and bigger under you, solid and real. his hands slide up your back, then down again, hesitant but needy, his fingers flexing like he doesn’t know where to hold you but still needing to be close to you and hold all of you at once.

you move your head to kiss down his jaw, his neck, just soft and open-mouthed kisses that make him squirm and whisper your name, little moans escaping his mouth.

“y/n…”, he moans.

your stomach flips.

he’s never said your name like that before.

you kiss him again quickly, trying to hide how needy you are, how wet you are. you pull away from the kiss and your foreheads bump, your noses brushing. you’re both smiling and kissing and smiling again. you can feel how his hands tighten while also trembling, how his breathing changes, how his hips shift trying to rub against you, and it only makes you want him more. 

you look into his eyes, his pupils blown wide, dark and full of a mix of wonder and want that makes your chest ache. your fingers trace lightly along his jaw before you whisper.

“do you trust me?”

he nods immediately, “y-yeah, i do”

the words send a rush of warmth through you, deepening the trust that’s been building between you like a slow-burning fire. you lean in to kiss him again, soft at first, your lips bruising in a way that tells there’s more to come.

as your mouths move together, you start to shift your hips, pressing down against the hard length straining under you. the friction is immediate, your core grinding slowly over his bulge, the fabric of your clothes creating a teasing barrier that only heightens the sensation. 

he gaps into the kiss, his body tensing under you for a split second before he relaxes. his hips buck up instinctively, seeking more contact, but then he freezes, as if second-guessing himself. you can feel his inexperience in the way he hesitates, his hands gripping your waist a little tighter, like he’s afraid to push too far. 

“it’s okay”, you say against his lips, nipping gently at his bottom one before soothing it with your tongue, “just move with me, let it feel goot”

you roll your hips again, deliberate and unhurried, dragging your clothed cunt along the solid ridge of his cock, your arousal soaking through your panties, making each slide smoother, hotter. 

he moans softly, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours. he starts to match your rhythm, his hips lifting to meet yours in tentative thrusts. you kiss him deeper, your tongue tangling as you grind down harder, feeling his cock throb against you. his breaths come in short pants now, breaking the kiss to trail his lips along your neck, whispering your name.

“god, y/n… that feels…”, he trails off into another moan, his fingers digging into your sides as he rocks up into you. 

the heat between your legs intensifies, your clit pulsing with every pass over his hardness. you can tell he’s getting lost in it, his body responding more fluidly now, his hips rolling in a steadier grind that has you both whimpering. 

the room fills with the soft sounds of your bodies moving together - the rustle of clothes, the wet smack of kisses, the shared gasps and moans that echo your growing need. you’re both slick with desire now, the dry humping turning almost slippery from your wetness seeping through. 

you can feel him swelling even more against you, but you want to draw it out, to guide him further, so you slow to a stop, lifting your weight slightly off him.

he blinks up at you, confusion clouding his lust-hazed eyes, his chest heaving.

“w-what’s wrong? did i… did i do something wrong? are you okay?”, his voice is small, laced with worry.

you smile softly, cupping his face to kiss him reassuringly, your thumb stroking his cheek, “no, nothing’s wrong. you are perfect, my love. i just… want to make it even better”

leaning down for one more lingering kiss, you slide off him just enough to reach for the button of his trousers. your fingers work quickly but gently, popping it open and tugging down the zipper. he lifts his hips to help you, a shy exhale escaping him as you peel the fabric down his legs, taking his boxers with it.

his cock springs free, thick and flushed, the tip already glistening with pre-cum. he averts his eyes at first, a flush creeping down his neck, his hands fidgeting at his sides.

“i… i um…”, he stammers, clearly self-conscious about being exposed like this for the first time.

“hey”, you say softly, settling back over his thighs, your hand hovering near his length, “it’s okay, i want to touch you but i won’t do anything you don’t want me to do, okay?”

his gaze meets yours, the trust there melting away his shyness bit by bit.

“please”, he whispers, his voice barely audible.  

with that, you wrap your fingers around his cock, giving a slow stroke from base to tip. he jolts, a sharp inhale turning into a low groan as his head falls back against the pillow. his hips twitch upwards, seeking more, but he bites his lip, holding back like he’s still unsure.

“just feel it, jisung”, you say leaning in to kiss his jaw, your lips moving then along the column of his throat.

your hand moves steadily now, piping him while your thumb circles the sensitive head of his cock. he moans your name again, louder this time, his body finally surrendering to you as his hands find your hair, threading through it lightly.

you kiss lower, nipping at his collarbone before sucking lightly, leaving a faint red mark, a lovebit that will become a mark of your love for him. he shudders beneath you, his cock pulsing in your hand, growing even harder. the sounds he makes are intoxicating - soft whimpers mixed with deeper groans, his breaths ragged as he starts to rock into your fist. 

“y/n… oh god, t-that… don’t stop”, he begs you, his voice breaking. 

you can feel him tensing under you, but you’re not done. shifting lower, you release his cock for a moment, earning a confused whine from him, before you raise his jumper a bit, just enough to lick his hipbone, then continuing southwards. 

he props himself up on his elbows, watching you with wide eyes now.

“w-what are you-”, he says but his words cut off as you look up at him, holding his gaze as you lean in, your breath ghosting over his cock.

he stares down at you, hypnotised, the sight of your face so close to him making his cock twitch visibly. then, without breaking eye contact, you part your lips and take the head into your mouth, your tongue swirling around the tip to taste him.

he cries out, a sharp, desperate sound, his hands fisting the sheets as his body arches off the bed. you hum in response, the vibration drawing another moan from him, and slowly slide down further, taking more of him in.

“f-fuck, y/n… your mouth… it’s t-too much”, he moans but he doesn’t pull away, instead, his hips shift forward, chasing your mouth. 

you let out a moan of your own, hollowing your cheeks and pressing your tongue on his cock as you take him deeper. you can feel him throbbing on your tongue, his control breaking as his breaths turn to pants. he reaches down tentatively, brushing your hair a bit to see you better.

“i’m… i’m gonna… i don’t… in your mouth”, he manages to say between moans, his voice strained, his eyes pleading as he fights the edge of his orgasm.

you pull back just enough to speak, your hand moving to take his cock again while your lips brush his tip, “come for me, i want it”

you wrap your lips around his cock again and that’s all it takes. he shatters with a broken cry of your name, his cock pulsing as hot spurts of cum flood your mouth. you swallow around him, your throat working as he trembles through the aftershocks. his body goes limp, his chest heaving, a daze smile tugging at his lips as he watches you lick him clean with your tongue.

when you’re done, you crawl back up his body, capturing his mouth in a deep, reassuring kiss. it’s the first time he tastes himself, but he doesn’t hesitate, and he kisses you back with a tenderness that speaks volumes as he wraps his arms around you.

“that was… incredible”, he says against your mouth, his hands stroking your back and then, with a shy glance, he says, “i want to… make you feel good too, like you did to me”

you can see the earnestness in his eyes, the way he wants to reciprocate, but you can also see there’s a lingering uncertainty there, his inexperience still peeking through. you smile, kissing his lips again then pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“you already make me feel good, jisung, just by being here. but we don’t have to do anything else tonight, it’s okay”

he opens his mouth to stop you, but you give him a quick peck to silence him.

“i can tell you’re wiped out and i already told you, we don’t have to rush anything, okay? everything’s perfect just like this”

he looks at you and you can see him relaxing visibly, relief washing slowly over his features, “yeah? are you sure?”

“yes, but… can you stay with me tonight?”, you ask him softly.

he smiles at you before nodding and kissing you again. you help him put his trousers and boxers on again and then, you snuggle into his side, your head on his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart slowing back to normal. he pulls the covers over you both, his fingers tracing patterns on your arm.

he moves you closer to his body, and kisses the top of your head, a sigh escaping him, “goodnight, y/n”

“goodnight”, you whisper back, your eyes drifting shut as warmth and peace settle over you. 

han can’t stop thinking about you, which, honestly, isn’t new. no, it’s not that. 

han can’t stop thinking about that night. about how good and safe you had made him feel. he would be lying if he said he had never thought about you… that way before, but now, his brain had material. very specific and vivid material that, of course, kept replaying at the worst possible times.

in class.

during the lab. 

while brushing his teeth.

while having breakfast.

more often than not, he would dream about you, on top of him, looking at him while you so slowly and carefully took him into your mouth. that always ended up with him waking up and using his own hands to solve his not so little problem. 

he can’t help but think about how you had looked at him, took care of him so gently it almost hurt. you completely and utterly broke him. 

and now, he just wants to do it again and again. obviously one part of him says it’s because he felt so good he just needs to feel that again, but also, it’s because he wants you to feel as good as he did. he wants to make you melt, he wants you to say his name like he said yours.

he wants to take the next step with you because he’s finally ready. he’s not scared anymore. nervous, yeah, and flustered obviously, but not scared. and with your two-month anniversary this weekend and changbin going away to see his family, he knows he has the perfect opportunity.

and this is exactly how he ends up that morning, sitting stiffly at the tiny dorm table, staring at changbin like he’s about to confess his biggest secret.

changbin is halfway through his coffee, squinting at him.

“what?”

han swallows, “i need to ask you something”

“you’re being weird, jisung”, changbin says.

han rubs his face, “i’m not, i just… don’t make it weird, please”

“that makes it worse”

silence, then han takes a deep breath. 

“how do you, um…”

changbin waits for han to continue, using his silence to drink his coffee again.

“... pleasure a girl?”

changbin chokes on his coffee, actually chokes - coughing, wheezing and slamming the mug down.

“what?”, changbin asks, his eyes wide, almost leaving his face.

“bin!”

“why would you ask me that?”

han hides his face in his hands, “i knew this was a bad idea-”

“no, wait wait… what do you mean ‘pleasure a girl’? what kind of question is that?”

han groans, “changbin, please, i’m being serious-”

“are you two having sex?”

“no, well, not yet, i mean-”

“not yet?”, changbin asks, his voice getting louder, finding this situation absurd but at the same time comical. 

they both freeze, breathing slowly again, trying to calm down.

han’s ears are bright red, “i just- i want to be good, okay?”

changbin blinks, “… good?”

“yeah!, like, she did stuff for me and it was… it was amazing and i just want y/n to feel good too and i don’t wanna mess it up or be awkward or hurt her or-”

the words spill out fast and messy as changbin’s expression softens.

han looks down at the table, “i don’t want it to be just about me”

there’s a beat and then changbin sighs.

“you two are disgustingly cute, you know that?”

“shut up”

changbin leans back in his chair.

“okay, first of all, i’m proud of you my boy”

han groans as changbin continues, “second of all, we are absolutely not doing a detailed anatomy lesson while eating breakfast”

han groans again, “bin…”

“but”, changbin says, “i will tell you some things”

han perks up immediately.

“listen to her, literally, just ask her what feels good, the things she likes, and if you’re doing something and she tells you not to stop or if she keeps, you know… making… sounds… don’t stop”

“okay”, han nods seriously, like he’s in the lab learning about a new project. 

“hands, they are important, very important, and the mouth and tongue and… fuck, jisung, it’s so fucking weird to talk about the two of you like this, you’re my friends”

han’s brain short-circuits a little.

“okay but really, the most important thing is to stop overthinking and be you, jisung. you love each other, and i assume you have talked about this with her so just… don’t be afraid to take your time and explore and try things, it will be awkward and messy at first, no one is perfect the first time, but you have all the time in the world to find what you two like and enjoy and… yeah, to be together”

“okay, that um…”, han says, slowly nodding and looking at the table, “that actually helps, bin”

changbin laughs and reaches over the table to smack his arm.

“you’ll be fine, romeo, just don’t google anything weird”

“... too late”

“for fuck’s sake, jisung”

they break into laughter, messy and loud as the embarrassment slowly fades away and han thinks about you and him.

close and together.

han stands in the middle of the kitchen preparing your food for your anniversary today. he looks at the pans, wooden spoon in hand, panicking and talking to himself.

“okay, this looks… edible, right? yeah, this looks edible”

he had been googling recipes and watching cooking videos for the last couple of days. he didn’t want anything fancy, just something warm that you would enjoy. 

so he had cooked your favourite pasta, some garlic bread he almost burned before and he had also bought a small chocolate cake for the two of you.

his chest squeezes just thinking about your face when you see everything he has prepared for you. the dorm looks different too - he had cleaned everything, like vacuumed under the furniture clean, placed two candles on the table, put some fresh sheets on his bed and also bought fairy lights for his room because he knew you liked them and you had them in your room too.

what if it’s cheesy?

what if she thinks it’s too much?

what if she doesn’t like it?

what if-

a knock at the door. 

he freezes then forces himself to go to the door, almost tripping over his own feet, wiping his hands nervously on his clothes before he opens the door to find you already smiling at him.

“hi”, you say.

“hi”, he smiles back.

then he leans in and kisses you before you go inside. your lips press gently against his and he melts instantly, his hands sliding to your waist, pulling you closer to him. 

when you pull back, you tilt your head, “why do you smell like food?”

“well, that’s because i uh… i cooked”, he says nervously.

your eyes widen, “you cooked?”

he steps aside, letting you in, “yeah, i… i wanted to make something special for you”

you finally look around and your heart stops. the lights, the candles, the table set for two, the food. everything is perfect. 

your hand slowly comes up to cover your mouth, “jisung…”

he rubs the back of his neck, “it’s nothing crazy but i thought we could eat here instead of going out and-”

you cut him off by walking straight back to him and kissing him again, harder this time, with your arms around his neck. he squeaks into the kiss, surprised, then laughs against your mouth. when you pull back, your eyes are shining. 

“you did all this?”

he shrugs, suddenly bashful, “it’s our anniversary…”

your expression softens so much it almost hurts to look at.

“you’re unreal”, you whisper before kissing him again. 

“come on, let’s eat, i promise i will not poison you”

he reaches for your hand, lacing your fingers together, then walks you to the table, where you two sit together, your knees bumping under it and the candlelight flickering between you. the words slip out so easily between you that there’s not an awkward moment during the dinner. 

he keeps watching your face while you eat, making sure everything’s perfect and that you’re actually enjoying yourself. you reach over and steal a piece of garlic bread from his plate just to tease him.

“hey, thief”

“what are you gonna do about it?

he leans forward and kisses you, quick and soft, just a press of his lips against yours. and then your laughters mix together. you keep eating like that - talking, sharing bites, your feet brushing under the table, your knees bumping together and your hand finding each other once you finish the cake. 

“okay, i have to say to did really good, chef han jisung”

he grins proudly, “told you i wouldn’t poison you”

“well, the night’s not over yet…”, you tease.

“hey, have some faith”, he stands up, taking the plates. 

you watch him carry everything to the sink, his curls falling into his eyes while he runs water over the dishes. something about it feels so domestic it makes your heart ache, like this is what forever could look like and there’s nothing you want more than this.

“oh”, you perk up, “we should watch that movie you told me about the other day, you know the one with the superheroes and time travel”

he turns around just to look at you, “okay, go set it up in my room, i’ll clean this up first”

you nod and go to his room, your heart still warm and floaty. you look around and find his laptop already on the table. you sit on his chair, opening his laptop, finding the movie and then pressing pause on the opening screen, just waiting for him. 

you don’t even notice how quiet the dorm gets until you hear his footsteps coming down the hallway. you glance up and then freeze. something about him looks… different.

he’s still han, obviously. but something in his expression is different. his eyes are darker somehow, less giggly and more intent.

“you okay?”, you ask gently.

he blinks like you pulled him out of a thought, “wh- yeah, y-yeah, i’m fine”

you tilt your head, “you look… weird”

“weird? how”

“i don’t know, just… different”

for a second he just stays there, looking at you, like he’s trying to build up courage for something before he smiles softly. 

“it’s nothing”, he says, but his voice is quieter than usual.

you stand up as he steps closer, slowly and unhurried. the air changes and you feel it immediately. 

that shift, the same one from the other night in your dorm. 

your heart starts pounding. 

“the movie’s ready”, you say when he stops right in front of you, but it comes out softer than you meant, you don’t even know if you have said it out loud.

“mmm”, he hums. 

he doesn’t look at the laptop, he only looks at you. he reaches out, his fingers brushing your waist first, gentle, like he’s asking permission without words. then his hand slides around you, pulling you closer. 

he kisses you, but it’s not rushed or clumsy. it’s slow, deep, intentional. it steals the air from your lungs and you melt into him instantly, your hands pulling him closer.

his lips are warmer than usual, hungrier. still soft, still him, but there’s something underneath it now, something that’s been there for a long time. your mouths part and your tongues find each other. his hands move from your waist to your back, his fingers spreading like he needs to feel all of you. you moan quietly against his lips and he swallows the sound as he starts guiding you towards his bed.

your back hits the edge first and your pulse jumps. he pulls away just enough to look at you, to check again, then kisses you as he eases you down onto the mattress. his body follows, hovering above yours, one of his arms braced beside your head. your hands slide up his back, under his t-shirt, needing to feel him closer, to feel his warm skin.

you feel him shiver and the reaction makes heat pool low in your stomach. your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, pulling him closer to you. he exhales softly against your mouth.

“y/n…”, he whispers, like he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

you smile, kissing the corner of his lips, his jaw, his cheek. everything feels slower but also heavier, full of want and need for each other. then he pulls back to look at you, his curls falling into his eyes, brushing your face. his lips are flushed, his breathing uneven. your heart stutters because you recognise that look. 

“do you trust me?”

he asks you the same thing you asked him that night. and you know what this means, and the fact that he’s asking you makes your chest ache with how much you love him.

you reach up, brushing his hair and smiling softly, “i do, always”

his eyes soften at your words, a flicker of relief and determination crossing his face. he leaves his glasses on the nightstand and then, leans down, capturing your lips again, his tongue sliding against yours with a newfound confidence. slowly, he breaks the kiss, trailing his lips along your jaw before dipping to your neck. you tilt your head back, giving him more access and a moan escapes you, his name slipping out in a breathy whisper.

“jisung…”

the sound makes him pause for a heartbeat, then he groans against your throat, his teeth grazing lightly before his tongue soothes the spot, making you arch your back off the bed. he lingers there, kissing and sucking gently, drawing moans from you as your hands slide up to tangle in his curls, holding him close. 

his hands roam your sides, his thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts through your t-shirt, but he doesn’t push further yet. he lifts his head, his eyes dark with desire but still holding that gentle uncertainty and nervousness. his gaze drops to your hips and with a slow exhale, he reaches for the waistband of your trousers. 

you lift your hips to help him, your heart racing as he tugs them down your legs and takes them off. his hands return to your thighs, parting them gently so he can settle between them. his face is inches away from your core, still covered by your panties, and you can see the way his cheek colour, his lips parted as he takes in the sight of you like this - legs spread for him, trusting him completely.

you meet his eyes, reading the mix of awe and hesitation in them but before you can speak, he whispers, his voice rough with nerves.

“y/n.. i want to make you feel good, but… can you guide me? tell me what you like? i don’t want to mess this up”

you heart swells at his honesty, at the way he’s opening himself up despite the vulnerability. you smile softly, reaching down to cup his cheek as your thumb traces his jaw.

“hey, you’re doing perfect, there’s no messing up here, we’re figuring it out together, okay? just touch me like you want to and i’ll tell you, okay? i trust you, jisung”

your words are tender and reassuring and han leans into your touch, his eyes closing briefly before nodding, a small and grateful smile on his face.

he lowers his head, pressing a tentative kiss to the fabric of your panties, right over your mound. the warmth of his mouth seeps through and you gasp softly, your body responding immediately and a fresh wave of arousal flooding your cunt, making your panties dampen under his lips. 

he kisses again, firmer this time, his hands gripping your thighs to hold you steady as he nuzzles closer. you can feel yourself growing wetter with each kiss, soaking through your panties, and he notices too, letting a moan escape his mouth as he sees the darkening spot and his fingers trace the edge of your panties.

“fuck, you’re so… wet”, he says, his voice filled with wonder.

it sends a thrill through you, knowing he’s discovering this part of you and you nod, biting your lip. 

“it’s because of you, jisung”, you whisper, your hand in his hair encouraging him.

he hoops his fingers into the sides of your panties, looking at you. you nod your head and lift your hips again, and he slides your panties down slowly, exposing your bare cunt to his gaze.

he stares for a moment, taking in the sight of your glistening lips, the way your clit peeks out, swollen and needy.

“god, y/n… you’re beautiful”, he breathes, the awe in his tone making your chest tighten and another wave of arousal leave your cunt.

he starts with his fingers, tracing them lightly along your inner thigh before brushing over your lips. you hum in approval, your hips shifting towards him.

“like that”, you moan, softly, “just… feel how wet i am for you”

he does, his fingertip dipping into your slickness, coating itself before circling your entrance. you moan quietly praising him.

“like this?”, he asks you in awe still.

“yes, jisung, that’s perfect, you’re doing so good, oh god” 

he eases one finger into your cunt, your walls clenching around him. he’s careful, watching your face for every reaction, and when you moan louder than before, his confidence grows, he adds a second finger after a moment, curling them slightly as he moves them in and out, the wet sounds of your arousal echoing in the room.

“does this feel good?”, he asks you, his free hand stroking your thigh soothingly.

“yeah, just a little faster now and… rub my clit with your thumb”

he does what you tell him, his thumb finding your clit and circling it as he keeps fingering you. your orgasm grows quickly, pleasure coiling tight in your stomach, and your praise him again, your words tumbling out between moans.

“just like that- oh go, jisung, it feels- fuck, so good”

your back arches, your hips rocking to meet his hand, and the sight of him so focused on you only makes you feel even more turned on.

then, without warning, he leans in, his mouth replacing his thumb on your clit. his tongue flicks out tentatively at first, tasting you, and then sudden wet heat makes you cry out, both of your hands tightening in his hair now.

“jisung- fuck, yes!”

the combination is overwhelming, his fingers still working inside you while his lips seal around your clit, sucking gently. he hums against you, the vibration sending jolts through your body and you can feel your cunt fluttering around his fingers, slick coating his hand as he devours you with growing enthusiasm.

“don’t stop”, you be, your voice breaking, “please, jisung, right there- i’m so close”

he doesn’t stop. his tongue laps at you in broad, eager strokes, alternating with soft sucks that have you writhing beneath him. your praises turn to pleas as he pushes you higher. his free hand holds you steady as your body tenses as you finally come.

you come with a shattered moan of his name, waves of pleasure crashing over you as your cunt clenches hard around his fingers, pulsing against his mouth. he keeps going through it, lapping at your release, drawing out every shudder until you’re boneless, gasping for air. 

only then does he ease back, withdrawing his fingers and sucking them slowly, his lips glistening as he looks up at you with a shy, satisfied smile, your heart pounds, not just from the orgasm but from the love in his eyes as he looks at you. 

he crawls up your body, his eyes locked on yours. his lips find yours again, your tongues sliding together as you tast yourself on him. your hands roam his back, your fingers slipping under his t-shirt to push it upwards, urging him to lift his arms so you can take it off, his trousers and boxers following then.

he mirrors you, his hands sliding up your sides, his thumbs grazing the hem of your t-shirt before he tugs it over your head. he unhooks your bra with trembling fingers, sliding the straps down your shoulders. it falls away, leaving you breasts exposed, your nipples hardening under his stare, leaving you both completely naked now. 

he dips his head, his tongue flicking over one of your nipples drawing a gasp from your throat. your arch into him, your hand cradling the back of his head as he sucks harder, his teeth grazing just enough to sting sweetly.

“jisung”, you moan ,the sound muffled against his curls.

he switches to the other breast, licking broad strokes across the underside, then nipping lightly at the nipple, making it throb. his free hand kneads the first one, rolling the damp nipple between his fingers, making your cunt clench around nothing. 

your hand drifts lower, wrapping around his cock, finding pre-cum already there, slicking your palm as you stroke him. he groans into your breast, his hips bucking into your touch.

“fuck, y/n… just like that”, he groans, lifting his head to capture your lips again, your moans blending together.

but after a few strokes, he stops your hand, pulling back to look at you, his chest heaving.

“wait, i… i need you. i can’t… i need to be inside you”, his voice is raw, pleading, his cocky twitching in your loose grip as he searches your face.

you pause, your heart swelling at the intensity in his words, but you need to be sure, this is his first time and you won’t rush him into anything. cupping his face, you search his eyes, your thumbs brushing his cheek.

“are you sure, jisung? we don’t have to if you’re not ready, this is-

he kisses you quickly to stop you before he nods, leaning into your touch, his hand covering yours on his face.

“i’m sure, more than sure. i trust you, y/n, and i love you”

the worlds tumble out soft and sincere, easing any doubt, and you smile, pulling him down for another kiss.

“i love you too”

he pecks your lip quickly before he shifts, reaching for the nightstand drawer, fumbling for a condom, “i should-”

“wait”, you say gently, stopping his hand, “i’m clean, and if you are too, we don’t need it. i want to feel you, all of you”

he feels the air leave his lungs, and he swallows, nodding his head quickly.

“y-yeah, me too. i’m clean, i mean. and well, i want to feel you too, and i-”

he can tell he’s rambling, so he closes his eyes, and breathes deeply before he opens them again and looks at you, smiling under him. that’s enough to calm him down. 

he positions himself between your legs again, his body covering yours, his forearms bracketing your head as he lines up, the tip of his cock brushing your entrance. you spread your thigh wider, guiding him with a hand on his hip.

“go slow”, you whisper, and he does, pushing in inch by inch, your cunt stretching around him, slick and welcoming. 

the fullness is incredible, a slow burn that makes you both gasp and moan into each other, his forehead dropping to yours as he bottoms out, buried deep.

“oh god, y/n… you’re so tight”, he says, holding still to let you adjust, his cock throbbing inside you.

you clench around him, drawing a whimper from his lips, and wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. he starts moving then, his hips rolling slowly at first but then gaining confidence with your moans. each slide in and out sends sparks through you, his pubic bone grinding against your clit with every press, and you kiss him through it.

after a few minutes, you push him into his back, moving on top of him so you’re straddling him without pulling out, his hands settling on your hips. you sit up slowly, taking him deeper and start riding him - lifting and sinking in a steady grind, your breasts bouncing with each movement. he watches you, mesmerised, one hand reaching out to your breast while the other grips your thigh, helping you move.

“you feel so good, oh fuck”, he says, his voice broken, “ so good around me, fuck i-i love this, i love you”

you lean down, kissing him deeply as you rock faster, your moans spilling into his mouth.

“i love you too, jisung. you’re doing so well, don’t stop, please, don’t stop”

the words spur him on, his hips thrusting up to meet yours, the slap of skin growing louder and wetter. when you’re close to your edge, you grab his hand and guide it between your bodies to your clit.

“touch me here, jisung, help me come with you”

his fingers circle your clit immediately, slick with your combined arousal, pressing just the right pressure as his cock keeps hitting the spot that makes you see stars.

your orgasm crashes through you, your cunt spasming hard around his cock as you cry out his name. he follows seconds later, a moan tearing from his throat as the thrusts up deep, spilling hot inside you, his fingers still working your clit to draw out your shared release. 

waves of pleasure pulse between you, your bodies locked together, trembling in the aftershocks until you collapse onto his chest, both of you panting. he wraps his arms around you, kissing your temple softly, the tenderness wrapping around you. 

for a moment, neither of you moves. your cheek is pressed to his chest, warm and damp with sweat, his heartbeat racing wildly under your ear, trying to catch up with everything that just happened. his arms tighten around you and you can feel the way he’s trembling but not from nerves - from everything, from you, from the rush that’s still buzzing through both your bodies, from how much he loves you.

his fingers trace slow, absentminded patterns along your back, up and down your spine, like he needs to keep touching you to make sure you’re there, like this isn’t some dream he’s going to wake up from. 

“hey”, he whispers, his voice hoarse and soft.

you him sleepily against his skin.

“are you okay?”, he asks you.

you smile a little. of course that’s the first thing he wants to know, make sure you’re okay. you light your head enough to look at him.

his hair is a mess, his cheeks are flushed, his lips swollen from all the kissing, and his eyes wide and so unbelievably soft it makes your chest ache.

“i’m perfect”, you say, brushing your thumb across his cheek, “and you?”

he laughs nervously, “i- yeah, i think so, i just… i didn’t mess up right, i wasn’t, like… bad or anything?”

you blink at him then laugh, soft and breathless.

“jisung, you were incredible”

his ears turn red instantly.

“no, but like- i just- i wanted you to feel good and”

you lean down and kiss him, shutting him up the only way you know how. when you pull back, you rest your forehead against his.

“it was amazing”, you whisper, “i felt safe, and loved, that’s all i ever need with you”

his expression breaks a little at that, and it melts like you just handed him the whole world.

“i love you, jisung”, you say.

he smiles at you, “i love you too, y/n”

you both lie there for another minute, just breathing each other in, your legs still tangled then he suddenly stiffens. 

“oh- wait- hold on”

you blink, “what?”

“i’ll be right back”

before you can ask anything else, he slips out of you and then slides out from under you, moving gently like you’re made of glass. the loss of his warmth makes you pout and he notices it.

“i’m not leaving”, he tells you, smiling, “just… two seconds”

you watch him leave the room and then you hear some drawers opening and finally the sink running. he comes back looking adorably serious, like he’s on a very important mission.

“okay”, he says softly, kneeling on the bed beside you, “let me help you”

your heart melts. he’s so careful and so gentle. he dabs the warm towel along your thigh, cleaning you up carefully. his touch is slow and respectful, his eye flicking up every few seconds to make sure you’re okay.

“too cold?”

“no”

“too much pressure”

“jisung”, you laugh softly, “relax, i’m okay”

he laughs lowly, embarrassed, “sorry, i just… wanna take care of you”

“i know”, you say.

and god, you do.

when he’s done, he tosses the towel aside and slides back under the covers with you, pulling you into his chest like he’s been gone for hours instead of minutes. you fit together so naturally it’s almost ridiculous - your leg thrown over his, his arm tucked under your neck, his other hand drawing circles on your waist, your hand tracing random shapes on his chest.

the laptop is still paused on the movie menu across the room, long forgotten now. you both stare at it for a second then burst into laughter.

“we really never watch anything, huh?”, you say.

“we’re terrible at movie dates”, he agrees.

you tilt your head up and he’s already looking at you, like you’re the only thing that exists, like he always does. you move closer to kiss him. just a small kiss, then another. and then another one. slow, sleepy kisses that make you both smile against each other’s lips.

“no one told me”, he says, brushing his nose against yours, “that being in love would feel like this, like… my chest’s too small for my heart or something”, he laughs quietly.

you smile, “and that’s good or bad?”

“that’s very good”

you tuck your face into his neck, breathing him in, “i didn’t think i’d ever feel safe like this with someone”

his hold tightens instantly, “you’re safe with me”, he says, “i’m not going anywhere, ever. you’re stuck with me now”

you laugh into his skin, “promise?”

“promise”

“even when i’m annoying”

“especially then”

“even when i steal your hoodies?

“those are yours now”

“even when i steal your lab notes?”

“i count on that already”

“even when i cry over dumb things?”

he kisses your hair, “then i’ll just hold you”

your throat tightens and you look up at him, you eyes shining.

“i really love you, han jisung”

his smile is small, shy, the same one from the very beginning, the one you fell for.

“i really love you too”, he whispers.

you stay like that for a long time - talking, laughing, stealing kisses between words, your fingers intertwined under the covers. slowly, you feel sleep pulling you under, tangled together in his bed, his lips brushing your forehead and then, you realise something.

you’re not afraid anymore.

not of being left, not of being alone.

because han’s right here with you.

and he’s not going anywhere.

likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated 🌟

if you want me to add you to my permanent taglist let me know in the comments!!

dividers by my darling @lariesographic 💖

the library

permanent taglist 1: @stormofwho @luvbangchan @annyeongffs @iamlazychip @lavunyan @sammhisphere @kaybeerrosa @changbinshearteubeateu @jeonginslittledoll @wolfhallows4 @emmiesoverthemoon @geni-627 @xxestxays @btch8008s @mitsuri1221 @necrozica @skinnyjeans-tanktops @hyvneluv @bluesungology @hyunjinxxs @ann-gell @minastronaut @astrophia13 @v3n7s @yunwoogidoll @vantaerayleigh1997 @minhocinema @channiesswift @inlovewithstraykids @nojerama-writes @inniemeenymineymoe @virgopotterhead @hazelwritez @prettydumbandcrying @mar1511 @tsunderelino @neukdaeng @skzbyemmy @luvvvivi @hannieslovebot @httpsxnox @skzittomebabyuhhuhx3 @staygenesblog @luna585 @nightmarenyxx @hogwartsexpressx @firelordtsuki

[skzophreniic]

⍣ ೋ cw: soft pregnancy mention, implied smut, post-sex intimacy, emotional vulnerability, chris being extremely down bad, light humor, and overwhelming tenderness.

notes: in which you finally tell chan about your unexpected pregnancy.

The nausea comes in waves. Not sudden, but rising — quiet and cruel.

You slip out of bed on instinct, careful not to stir him. The room is dim, still painted in that pre-dawn blue where shadows blur soft against the walls. The floor’s cold under your feet, the silence heavier than usual.

You close the bathroom door behind you, but not fast enough to hide the sound.

You barely make it to the toilet.

Your body folds in on itself as you retch, one hand clutching the edge of the counter, the other pressed to your mouth. Your throat burns. Your eyes sting. You’re trembling again, just like yesterday. Just like every morning this week.

And you know exactly why.

But you haven’t told him.

Not yet.

The door clicks gently, and before you can even call out, he's there.

“Baby?” Chris’s voice is thick with sleep, curls still mussed, but his worry is immediate. 

He steps into the bathroom, barefoot and blinking against the light. You don’t turn around, can’t—your cheek is pressed to the cool porcelain, eyes shut tight, trying to keep the tears at bay.

You hear him crouch beside you. Feel the warmth of his palm, tentative but steady, on your back.

“Hey, hey…” he whispers, thumb rubbing soft, slow circles between your shoulder blades. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

You hate how kind he is. How easily he forgives the way you’ve been pulling away lately—your silence, the distance you keep curling between your bodies each night. You hate it because he still looks at you like you haven’t broken his heart in quiet, accidental pieces.

Like you haven’t been lying by omission.

“I’ll get you some water,” he says, already standing. But you reach back blindly, fingers clutching at his wrist.

His movement stills the second you touch him.

Your fingers curl weakly around his wrist, barely more than a brush, but he stays rooted like you’ve anchored him. He sinks back down beside you without hesitation, knees to the cold tile, one hand steadying you while the other moves to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “I won’t go.”

Your fingers slip from his wrist to his forearm, anchoring there. Not tight, not pleading. Just... needing something solid. He shifts closer, gently tucking you against him, and you let him—half-curled over the toilet, cheek pressed now to the curve of his shoulder instead of cold porcelain.

It’s shameful how good it feels.

How much you missed him.

How much he still makes space for you, without question.

You breathe him in. Warm skin, sleep-soft cotton, the scent of dreams not yet dissolved. His hand returns to your back, tracing the same slow circles, patient and gentle. He doesn't rush you. Doesn’t push. Just stays.

A lump rises in your throat. You swallow it back down.

“You’ve been sick a lot lately,” he says quietly. “And I—I didn’t want to push, but… I was starting to worry.”

You close your eyes.

Tighter.

Like you can hold the truth inside your chest if you just try hard enough.

“I didn’t want you to worry,” you manage, voice paper-thin.

Chris lets out a small, broken exhale—half a laugh, half a sigh. His thumb is still tracing that same small circle on your back, over and over like a ritual.

“Too late, baby,” he says. “You know me. I worry when you don’t text back for ten minutes.”

You breathe out a tremble of a laugh. It barely escapes you.

He pulls you in a little more, his shoulder now against your cheek, his arm curling around your waist, like he could take this ache from you if you just let him.

“Come on,” he whispers. “Let’s get off this floor, yeah?”

You don’t protest. You let him help you up, let him walk you slowly back to bed. He moves around you like instinct — pulling the blankets over your legs, smoothing your hair back, propping a pillow behind your back like he knows how this all goes. Like you’ve always been this breakable.

He disappears into the kitchen, and you hear the kettle click on. The cupboard door. The soft clink of ceramic. It’s the kind of intimacy you never thought would undo you.

When he returns, he’s carrying a steaming mug. He sets the tea down, crawls in beside you, and tugs you gently against his chest. You go without hesitation this time. Your cheek finds his collarbone. His heartbeat is steady.

“Try to sip,” he murmurs, guiding your fingers to the mug. “Ginger and honey. Helps settle the stomach.”

You take a shaky breath. Sip once. Then again.

He strokes your arm, still not asking what’s wrong. Still just being.

“I don’t deserve you,” you whisper, the words too fragile to carry.

Chris doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t argue. Just presses his lips to your forehead, eyes closed.

“You’ve got me anyway.”

You hold the tea with both hands, and before you can stop yourself, before you can weigh the moment, it falls out—

“I’m pregnant.”

A beat.

Then two.

His breath catches just slightly. You feel it in the way his chest stills beneath your cheek.

“Yeah?” he says, quiet.

He doesn’t sound shocked.

Not really.

You feel his hand pause where it rests on your arm. Not jerked away, not pulled back—just still. Still like he’s been waiting for this. Still like he already knew.

You pull back just enough to look at him.

His face is soft in the low light. No widening of the eyes, no sharp intake of breath, no panic. Just a quiet kind of calm. Like he’s been holding this truth behind his teeth for days.

You blink. “You’re… not surprised.”

Chris gives you a small, lopsided smile, and there’s something tired in it. Something knowing.

“I kind of figured.”

You freeze.

Chris shifts slightly, just enough to press his lips to your temple. 

Your fingers tighten around the mug. “You… what?”

“I’ve known for a little while,” he says, and there’s no accusation in it. Just fact. “Not for sure, but… yeah. I knew.”

You pull back slowly, just enough to look up at him. His eyes meet yours, gentle and tired and a little sad around the edges.

“Then why didn’t you say anything?”

Chris exhales through his nose, brushing a thumb along your jaw. “Because I wanted you to tell me when you were ready. And if you never were—” he swallows, voice thickening, “—I figured I’d wait anyway.”

You stare at him. Your chest aches. He’s holding you like you haven’t broken his heart a hundred times over by keeping this to yourself.

“You should’ve been mad,” you whisper. “I pulled away. I lied. I let you think something was wrong with us.”

He shakes his head, thumb still moving, like he’s trying to wipe the guilt from your skin. “You didn’t lie,” he says softly. “You were scared. That’s not the same thing.”

“But—”

“Baby.”

The word silences you.

He shifts closer, rests his forehead to yours. The kind of closeness that feels like home, like breath shared between ribs.

“You’re pregnant,” he says quietly, like he’s still wrapping his heart around the truth. “That’s huge. That’s life-changing. You didn’t owe me a perfect response to that.”

Your eyes fill again. The tears this time are different—no longer the kind that come from fear, but from the ache of being known, and loved anyway.

“I didn’t want you to be disappointed,” you breathe.

Chris huffs a sound that’s half a laugh, half a sigh. “Disappointed?” He leans back, just enough to look at you fully. “Sweetheart, I’ve been walking around for the last two weeks trying not to hope too hard. Every time you flinched at the smell of eggs, I thought I was going to lose it.”

You blink.

He smiles, slow and tender. “I started carrying extra granola bars in my bag like some kind of dad training simulation.”

A laugh breaks from you, wet and surprised and a little wild. He kisses the sound off your cheek.

You want to believe him. God, you do.

But it still claws at you — the weight of it. The impossibility. The quiet voice that’s been whispering the same thing over and over since the first test turned positive.

Your laughter fades as quickly as it came, and you drop your gaze, fingers twisting in the hem of your shirt.

“But your career…”

The words are quiet. Almost too quiet. Like you’re afraid of waking something up by saying them aloud.

Chris stills.

You press on, slowly. “You have enough on your plate already. The tours. The schedules. The pressure. I didn’t want to be the reason everything got harder. I didn’t want you to feel… trapped.”

His face folds in on itself, soft and stunned, like your words physically knock the wind from him.

“Trapped?” he echoes. “Is that what you thought I’d feel?”

You swallow hard, shrugging helplessly. “You’ve worked your whole life for this. And I know what it looks like from the outside — you, me, suddenly pregnant in the middle of everything. Headlines. Rumors. People blaming me for pulling focus. I just… I didn’t want to be a detour.”

Chris is quiet for a moment. Not the kind of silence that stretches with tension, but the kind that holds something. Thoughtfulness. Heartbreak. The ache of someone hearing what wasn’t said aloud.

Then, softly:

“You think I care about headlines?”

You open your mouth, but he doesn’t give you the chance.

“You think I’d let any of that matter more than you?” His voice breaks—just enough to make your eyes sting again. “I don’t care what the outside looks like. I care about you. About the way you’ve been hurting and hiding it. About how you’ve been carrying all of this alone.”

He sits up a little straighter beside you, pulling your hands into his lap, like he needs to anchor both of you to the moment. His thumbs rub over your knuckles, steady and warm.

“I didn’t spend all this time building something just to let it become a cage,” he says. “I built it so I could choose what matters.”

Your lip trembles. You want to crawl into his words and never leave.

“I want this baby,” he says simply. “And I want you. And if that makes everything harder, then so be it. I’ve never been afraid of hard things. Just losing you.”

You press a shaky hand to your mouth, trying to bite back the sob threatening to rise.

Chris leans in, gently tugging your hands away to cup your cheeks.

“I love what I do,” he whispers. “But I love you more.”

And then, softer still—

“Let them talk. Let the whole world think what they want. I’ll hold your hand through every bit of it. I’ll shout it from the rooftops if that’s what you need.”

You break.

You fall forward into him and he catches you instantly, wrapping you up in the kind of hold that feels less like comfort and more like coming home. He rocks you slowly, like you’re something precious, and murmurs nothing but love into your hair until the shaking stops.

Neither of you speak for a while. Not in words. Just the rhythm of breath shared, the way his thumb never stops moving across your spine, the quiet tremble of your body as it starts to finally release the weight it's been holding for too long.

Eventually, you shift just enough to look up at him, eyes red and swollen.

“You’re really not scared?” you whisper.

Chris smiles. It’s tired, but steady. Steady in the way he’s always been.

“Oh, I’m terrified,” he says with a soft laugh. “But I’m not scared of us.”

His words settle into the quiet like a promise, like a hand pressed to a wound. Not to hide it—but to hold it. To keep it warm. To let it heal.

“I’m scared of screwing it up,” he admits. “Of not knowing what I’m doing. Of forgetting diapers at three in the morning and dropping the car seat manual in a puddle.”

You huff out a shaky laugh.

“But I’m not scared of loving you through this. Of being here. I want to mess it up with you. I want the sleepless nights and the ugly furniture and the weird little onesies your mom’s definitely going to send.”

You let your eyes close for a moment, breathing in the space between you. The safety of it. The calm after the unraveling.

Chris shifts behind you, easing both of you down beneath the covers again. His arms wrap around your waist from behind, palm splaying gently over your stomach—hesitant at first, then firmer, like he’s grounding himself to what’s real.

To what’s already begun.

“I don’t know how to do this,” you murmur, voice muffled against the pillow.

“Neither do I,” he says. “But I think we’ll figure it out. Together.”

His thumb draws soft, mindless circles against your skin. You can feel his breath on your shoulder, warm and even.

“We’re gonna be so bad at swaddling,” you whisper after a moment.

Chris snorts into your hair. “Horrible. Absolute disaster.”

“They’ll probably pee on us within the first ten minutes.”

He laughs again, and it rumbles through you like something holy.

“You mean they won’t wait twenty?” he teases. “Already disappointed in our future child’s manners.”

You smile. Not because the fear is gone. Not because it’s easy now. But because he’s still here. Still him. And somehow, even in the dark—especially in the dark—he’s made space for all of it.

You roll slightly, enough to face him, and he meets your gaze instantly. His eyes are red at the corners too, but soft. So soft.

You reach for his hand again. 

He gives it without hesitation.

______________________________________________________________

The sheets are still warm.

They’re tangled around your legs, half-forgotten, pulled low from where Chris tugged them back earlier in careful haste—like he couldn’t wait another second to feel you again. To love you the way he’d been aching to for weeks.

But it had been gentle. So slow. So careful it almost hurt.

He’d kissed you like he was scared you’d break beneath him. Like every part of you needed to be cherished differently now—worshipped not just because he loved you, but because you were carrying something he already did.

Now, the room is quiet again.

Not the sharp quiet from earlier—the kind lined with secrets and held breath. This silence is sweeter. Fuller. The kind that lingers in the air after closeness, after truth, after love has been made and remade and made again.

You lie curled in the sheets, his hoodie pooled beneath your head like a pillow, your body still humming from the weight of him—on you, in you, with you.

Chris is beside you. Propped on one elbow, hair a mess, eyes soft in the gold light pouring through the window.

He hasn’t stopped touching you.

His fingertips skim the slope of your stomach—slow, aimless strokes over skin still too tender. He traces the curve like it’s already changed. Like he can already see the future stretching beneath your navel.

“You sure you’re okay?” he murmurs, for the third—maybe fourth—time.

You smile, eyes fluttering closed. “I’m okay.”

“Did I hurt you at all?”

You open your eyes again, shifting to face him more. He looks almost pained asking it—like he’s still afraid he was too much, even though every touch had been measured, every motion guided by whispered I love yous and soft gasps.

You reach up, fingers brushing through his hair—so soft, still sleep-mussed, still clinging to last night’s weight. His eyes flutter at the contact.

“You didn’t hurt me, Chris,” you say gently, your thumb sweeping across his temple. “You couldn’t have. You were…” You pause, cheeks warming. “You were so good to me.”

He leans into your touch like it’s instinct, nose nudging your palm, lips brushing the edge of your wrist. “I just didn’t want to rush anything,” he mumbles. “I didn’t want to take from you.”

“You gave to me,” you correct quietly. “More than you know.”

His gaze finds yours again. And it’s so open—so filled with something fragile and gleaming that it nearly knocks the breath from your lungs.

“I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to be careful with someone the way I want to be with you,” he murmurs, hand still slow on your stomach. “Like every piece of you deserves a softer kind of love.”

Your throat tightens, eyes stinging with the tears you thought you’d already run out of. You don’t speak. You just lean forward and kiss him—soft and close and wordless. A promise.

When you pull back, Chris smiles, all crooked and boyish, like it still surprises him he gets to kiss you whenever he wants.

“Do you think…” he starts, then hesitates, biting down on his lower lip in that familiar way he does when he’s about to say something that scares him. “Do you think they can hear me yet?”

You blink. “Hear you?”

He shrugs, flushing a little. “I don’t know. Maybe not hear, but like—feel me.”

You smile, hand still resting over his where it sprawls protectively across your belly.

“I think,” you say, voice soft with wonder, “if they feel anything at all, it’s love.”

Chris lets out a slow breath, almost like a laugh, almost like a prayer. “Good,” he murmurs. “That’s all I want them to feel.”

And then he lowers himself again—carefully, reverently—so his face is level with your stomach, his curls brushing your skin. You feel his breath before his lips, warm and tender, and then—

“Hi,” he whispers. “It’s me again.”

You bite back a watery smile, brushing his hair back from his face. He doesn't look up. He’s focused, eyes closed, words blooming straight from his heart.

“You’re still tiny,” he says. “Probably the size of… I don’t know. A peanut? A lentil?”

You laugh softly. “A blueberry, I think.”

Chris grins against your skin. “Okay. Hi, blueberry.”

The tears return, but this time they don’t sting. They soothe. You let them fall.

Chris presses another kiss, slower this time. “Your mom is amazing. She’s strong, and patient, and really stubborn when she wants to be—don’t get any ideas—but she’s also the kindest person I’ve ever met. And she loves you already. So much.”

You can’t breathe. Or maybe you just don’t want to—don’t want to disturb the moment, the hush in the room, the way it feels like the world has paused just to let him say this.

“And I love you, too,” he adds, softer now. “Even if you’re already making her throw up every morning.”

You snort.

Chris finally looks up at you, face glowing with something boyish and stunned. Like he’s still adjusting to the weight of the word dad and how it might belong to him now.

“Do you think it’s okay to be happy yet?” he whispers. “Or is it too early?”

You blink, startled by the softness of the question. It’s not a doubt in you. It’s a doubt in himself—the way he was used to waiting for the world to collapse anytime something good entered the picture.

You tilt his face fully toward you, one hand on his cheek, the other still resting over his on your belly.

“It’s okay,” you whisper back. “We’re allowed to be happy.”

Chris leans into your palm, lashes kissing your skin. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Even if it’s early. Even if it’s messy. We’re allowed.”

A long breath leaves his chest. When he exhales, it sounds like something unknots inside him.

“Okay,” he says. And then again, firmer: “Okay.”

He kisses your belly once more—then your ribs, then your shoulder, and finally your lips, slow and sure and lingering like he’s learning the shape of this new beginning through you.

Your breath catches.

Because there’s something different in this kiss—less cautious than before, less tentative. Still tender, still full of awe, but threaded now with a kind of ache. A hunger not for your body, but for closeness. For reassurance. For the promise of you and him and this tiny, impossible future you’re building together.

You kiss him back. Let your hands curl into the soft cotton at his shoulders, let your mouth part beneath his. He deepens it without a word, like your response is all the permission he’s ever needed.

Chris exhales against your lips, the sound low, almost relieved. His hand slides from your belly to your waist, guiding you gently onto your back, careful not to press too hard, like he’s still remembering how much softer the world has become.

You pull him with you, fingers in his hair now, breath mingling as he settles between your legs, his weight familiar, comforting. Not heavy—never heavy. He’s holding himself up even now, even in this, like you’re precious. Like he can’t risk the smallest part of you going untouched, unnoticed, unloved.

His kiss grows slower. Deeper. Tongue brushing yours, mouth warm and open and wanting, but not hurried. Nothing about him is hurried. He maps you like he’s memorizing—not rediscovering your body, but learning what it means now, with the quiet miracle curled inside you.

His palm returns to your belly halfway through the kiss.

It lingers there.

Anchoring.

You feel his hips roll, subtle and restrained, like he can’t help it—but even that is tempered by reverence. He groans softly against your lips and pulls back just enough to rest his forehead to yours.

“I want you again,” he murmurs, breath catching. “So bad.”

You smile, brushing your nose against his. “We just had sex, Chris.”

“I know,” he groans, dragging his lips down to your jaw, your neck, your shoulder—soft little kisses like he’s trying to keep himself distracted. “It’s not my fault. You’re literally glowing. Like… it’s actually not fair.”

You laugh, tilting your head to give him more space. “I think that’s just the sweat from me throwing up three times this morning.”

“Nope,” he says, grinning against your collarbone. “Sorry. Pregnancy glow. Hormones. Boobs. All of it. My brain’s broken. I’m ruined.”

You snort. “Are you seriously saying I got hotter now that I’m pregnant?”

Chris lifts his head to look at you, eyebrows raised, completely unapologetic. “Yes. Have you seen yourself? You’re radiant. Divine. A walking goddess with a baby growing inside her—my baby, by the way. Do you have any idea what that does to me?”

You blink at him, stunned and absolutely flustered. “Chris—”

He groans dramatically and drops his head to your chest. “You don’t get it. I’m suffering.”

You wheeze a laugh, your fingers threading through his hair again.

He looks up at you, eyes wide, completely serious now. “Every time you move I want to pounce. But I can’t. Because I am a gentleman. A respectful, self-restrained—” he kisses the top of your belly, “—incredibly patient father-to-be.”

You grin. “Uh-huh.”

His hand slides up your thigh, just high enough to make your breath hitch. “But if you even so much as breathe wrong, I’m folding.”

“Chris—”

“I mean it. One little sound. A sigh. A whimper. I’m gone.”

Your laughter breaks loose then, full and warm and aching at the edges. He kisses you hard, almost like he’s trying to prove his point—like he's sealing the moment in his mouth before it gets the better of him.

His hands are definitely not innocent anymore.

“Okay—okay,” he says, breathless, forehead against yours again. “I have to get up. I have to. You need food. I need distance.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, not letting him go. “You sure?”

He groans into your shoulder. “I’m going. I'm going. But I’m leaving in emotional pain.”

You release him with a teasing little kiss. “Breakfast, dad.”

Chris smirks as he finally sits up, eyes sweeping over you one last time before he swings his legs off the bed. “Fine. But you better be decent when I come back or I’m canceling breakfast and blaming the baby.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

And with that, he trudges toward the kitchen in his boxers, muttering something about toast and torture under his breath.

You melt back into the sheets, laughing, heart pounding, belly warm—and for once, everything feels exactly, impossibly, beautifully right.

[gingerayen]

ᥴꪶ꠸ꪀᧁꪗ - ᥇ꪖꪀᧁ ᥴꫝꪖꪀ

Synopsys: I got an ask a while ago for stories with multiple of the boys where the reader thinks they're being clingy and how they deal with the conflict caused by that. SO HERE IT IS! There will be one for each of the kids, so stay tuned!!!!

Part of this universe, but could be read as a standalone.

WC: 3,7k

Genre: angst with happy ending

You were warned before — that dating your coworker, someone you spend most of your waking hours with whether you want to or not, would eventually take a toll on your relationship. That the lines would blur, that closeness would become suffocating, that love would get tired.

You didn’t listen.

You and Chan have been best friends for far too long to believe boredom could ever exist between you. He’s your favorite person in the whole wide world — how could he not be? Loving him has always felt natural, like breathing, like choosing the same song on repeat because it still hits every time.

And yet, all it takes is one small sentence.

One harmless, offhand comment, never meant to lodge itself beneath your ribs — and suddenly you’re spiraling, convinced that it’s finally happened. That your boyfriend, the love of your life, your best friend… has had enough of you.

That maybe you’re too much. Too present. Too close. Too clingy.

It’s a rainy afternoon when it settles in.

You’re both home, wrapped in his comfiest clothes, the windows fogged up from the steady drizzle outside. Chan is locked away in his home studio — Channie’s Room — chasing perfection like he always does. You’d finalized the song list for the next album already, but now he’s second-guessing a few adlibs, a harmony here and there, working relentlessly to polish them before the deadline swallows him whole.

You know better than to bother him when he’s like this.

No matter how much he loves you, no matter how important he insists your opinion is, you’ve learned that when he starts nitpicking the smallest details, it’s better to leave him alone with his thoughts. He would never ask you to go — not once — but you know you’d distract him.

Chan gets into his head easily. Every tiny change he makes is followed by him glancing your way, searching your face for reassurance you can’t give him, simply because the problem doesn’t exist anywhere but in his mind.

The songs were perfect last week — the day you presented them together to the JYPE higher-ups. They were perfect three years ago, too, when they were first created during a three-day, sleep-deprived song camp fueled by instant noodles and stubborn belief.

You don’t want to bother him, but you don’t want him to starve either. Or get dehydrated. So you do what comes naturally. You put together something small — something he loves, something he could eat any day of the week without thinking twice. You defrost the pho broth you made a week ago, moving through the kitchen on instinct, adding his favorite toppings with practiced care. It’s his comfort meal, and preparing it feels almost effortless, like muscle memory. You fill his water bottle — the one he usually takes to the gym, now resting on the drying rack after you washed it clean of the creatine drink he’d had before and during his workout. Then you make him tea. Strawberry, because he’s been drinking it more lately, ever since he realized how soothing it is on his vocal cords. Of course, he likes it sweet — far sweeter than you do — so you add a generous scoop of honey, stirring until it disappears completely.

You hear his footsteps before you see him. The soft shuffle from the hallway, the bathroom door opening and closing. A moment later, he peeks into the kitchen, drawn in by the familiar scent of pho and the faint sweetness of strawberries in the air.

“You didn’t have to do all of this, little one,” he says as he walks toward you.

His arm slips around your waist without thought, palm warm as it smooths over your hips. He presses a light kiss to your temple, affectionate and easy. “You know I can take care of myself, right, jagiya?”

“I know,” you say softly, leaning into him. “But I also know you well enough to see when you get stuck in your own head and lose all sense of time. And… I was hungry. I figured you might be too.”

He only nods, already reaching for plates, setting the table so the two of you can eat together. It’s a small thing, but it matters to him. These ten minutes. Sitting across from each other, talking about anything but work, no matter how busy life gets. Eating together is sacred to Chan, and for you, too.

Still, as you sit down, there’s an uneasiness curling quietly in the back of your mind. You know he didn’t mean anything by it — not really. But if you don’t take care of him like this… what else are you meant to do? Your entire relationship has been built on this silent kind of care. The small gestures. Warm meals. Remembering how someone takes their tea, or which drink they’ll reach for without thinking.

If he doesn’t need you for this, then what’s left?

And the thought sits heavy in your chest, quiet and unwelcome, as you stir the aromatic broth in front of you, but don’t really eat it. Chan is quite the opposite; he’s shoveling spoonful after spoonful into his mouth, slurping the noodles loudly while he hums in appreciation. He’s done eating in seconds. He quickly gets up, thanks you for the meal, and washes his dishes.

“Eat up, little one, you need the energy to take care of your ignorant boyfriend,” he tells you jokingly, once again leaving a loving kiss on the top of your head. He notices how you’re eating slower than usual, but misses how it makes your heart sting, never meaning to hurt you. “Thank you again, baby, I love you!”

You mutter it back, and probably, if he wasn’t already turning back toward the studio, he would notice how your voice breaks a little. But he doesn’t. The door clicks shut behind him — not loudly. Chan would never slam doors, no matter how stressed he is — but it still feels final. There’s no room for discussion, no room for you to ask him exactly what he meant when he said he doesn’t need you to take care of him anymore, so your brain fills in the gaps he left behind.

He feels suffocated, trapped, and babied in your relationship. He thinks you’re too much, that you pamper him too much, more than his mom ever did. He thinks you’re clingy. He hates you. He’s bored.

It doesn’t happen all at once. You don’t wake up one morning and decide to disappear from his life. You just… take a step back. Then another. Small enough that it feels reasonable. Careful enough that you can tell yourself you’re doing the right thing. You stop bringing him snacks when he’s locked away in the studio. You don’t knock on the door just to check if he’s still alive, don’t peek inside to see if he’s frowning at the screen. You tell yourself he said he can take care of himself. You believe him. You make yourself believe him.

You don’t ask for his opinion anymore, either. Not on the vision board you’re building for the next comeback, not on the styling inspo you save at three in the morning. You don’t wait for his input, don’t crave his reassurance. You finalize things on your own and remind yourself that you’re capable of that.

When there are meetings you know he’ll be in, you find a reason not to attend. You let other people speak for you. You keep it professional.

At home, the distance stretches further. You still cook — of course you do. That part of you doesn’t know how to stop. But you don’t wait for him anymore. You eat when you’re hungry, standing by the counter or sitting on the couch with a show playing softly in the background. When he comes out of the studio and asks if you’ve eaten, you nod and say yes, already rinsing your plate in the sink.

Sometimes he looks confused. You don’t comment on it.

At night, you still sleep in the same bed. You don’t suggest sleeping apart; that would be too obvious. Instead, you lie on your side, stiff and careful, hands tucked close to your chest. When he reaches for you in his sleep, arm draping over your waist out of habit, you don’t pull away — but you don’t melt into it either.

You don’t initiate kisses anymore. Not the absent-minded ones in the kitchen, not the soft ones before bed. You don’t hug him from behind when he’s brushing his teeth. You don’t lace your fingers through his when you’re walking together. If he kisses you first, you let it happen. You respond, politely, gently. Like you’re afraid of taking up too much space.

And the worst part is how normal it all looks.

You still smile. You still laugh at his jokes. You still say I love you before leaving the room. On the surface, nothing is wrong. You’re just quieter, smaller, and less present. You tell yourself this is what he wanted.

And somewhere along the way, Chan starts to feel it — that something essential has slipped just out of reach — even if he can’t yet name what it is. He tries to give it time.

He tells himself you’re busy, that schedules don’t always line up, that not everything needs to be dissected the second it shifts. He’s lived his entire life pushing through discomfort, swallowing questions until they dissolve on their own. He can do it here, too; he has to.

But days pass. And the absence doesn’t fade — it grows teeth.

It’s in the way you don’t wander into his studio at JYPE anymore, not even to sit quietly on the couch with your legs tucked beneath you. It’s in the empty space surrounding him with coldness, where you used to curl up in his lap, chin resting against his chest, breathing slow and steady while he worked. He misses the weight of you there, grounding him. Misses the way you’d hum along absent-mindedly, fingers tracing shapes into his hoodie without realizing it.

He misses you.

Not the version of you that still lives in the same apartment, cooks the same meals, sleeps in the same bed. The you that used to reach for him first. It gnaws at him in quiet moments — between meetings, in the car, late at night when you’re lying beside him but feel impossibly far away. He starts replaying every conversation in his head, every sentence he’s said in the past few weeks, searching for something sharp enough to explain this distance. He finds nothing, and that terrifies him. Because if he doesn’t know what he did wrong, how is he supposed to fix it?

The thought that keeps him awake is worse: What if asking makes it real? What if the moment he opens his mouth, you decide it’s easier to leave than explain?

So he doesn’t ask you.

Instead, he goes to Willow. It feels safer, indirect. Like touching the edge of a wound instead of pressing down on it. You and her rekindled your relationship after she got together with Minho and officially became part of your little family with all the members and their respective girlfriends. You were exactly like back in the days, when you were all trainees together. So it was a safe bet for Chan to ask her what was going on with you first: Willow was just as much his friend as yours, and if you talked to someone about what was going on with you, it would be her.

He catches her in one of the quieter conference rooms, long after a meeting has wrapped up. She’s scrolling through her phone, waiting for Minho, expression relaxed in a way that makes his chest ache with envy. You used to look like that around him.

“Hey,” he says, voice softer than he means it to be.

She looks up immediately. “Hey Chan! You okay?”

He hesitates. That alone is answer enough.

“I… have you noticed anything different about Girlypop lately?” he asks finally. “With me, I mean.”

It feels weird for him to refer to you by a nickname given to you by Han. Not long ago, Hyunjin let it slip during one of his Instagram lives that their beloved Channie-hyung was officially off the market. However, no one was ready to reveal your identity, so Han came up with the nickname Girlypop, considering he would call you that whenever the two of you gossiped together. Ever since then, whenever the boys were doing an interview or a live, and the topic of you came up, they would refer to you as that.

Willow doesn't seem bothered by the nickname at all, but she doesn’t answer right away. She studies him instead, the way she always has — perceptive, gentle, a little too good at seeing through people.

“She hasn’t said anything,” she says carefully. “Why?”

He runs a hand through his hair, frustration bleeding through the cracks. “She’s just… distant. Not mad. Not cold. Just—” He exhales sharply. “She won’t kiss me first anymore.”

The words feel small and huge all at once.

Willow’s expression shifts. Concern, immediate and real.

“And you asked her about it?”

He shakes his head, almost violently. “No. I don’t want to corner her. What if I make it worse?” His voice drops. “What if she’s already halfway out, and asking just… pushes her the rest of the way?”

He swallows.

“I don’t know what I did,” he admits quietly. “But it feels like she stopped choosing me.”

Willow leans back in her chair, eyes softening. “Chan…”

“I miss her,” he says, the confession slipping out before he can stop it. “I miss her sitting in my lap while I work. I miss her touching me like she’s not afraid of taking up space. I miss the way she used to hold me like she knew I was hers.”

His hands curl into fists in his lap.

“I just don’t understand how we got here.”

And for the first time in a long while, Chan feels truly lost — caught between the fear of losing you and the terror that asking you to stay might be the very thing that makes you go.

It gets worse at night.

Sleep stops coming easily, if at all. Chan lies awake beside you, staring at the ceiling while you sleep on your side, breathing slow and even, close enough to touch but impossibly far away. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t reach for you. He’s terrified that if he does, you’ll pull away — and he doesn’t think he could survive that.

So he stays still, thoughts spiraling.

Maybe this is just the quiet part before the end. Maybe he’s only delaying the inevitable, stretching out the time he has left with you because he’s too afraid to ask the question that would confirm it. He starts to convince himself that this is what breakups look like when neither person wants to be the first to say it out loud.

It’s eating both of you alive and it shows.

Dark circles settle beneath his eyes. He spends more time in the studio, staying long after everyone else leaves, replaying the same sections over and over again. He skips the gym, tells himself he’ll go tomorrow, then doesn’t. His body feels heavy, sluggish, but he keeps pushing anyway.

He throws himself into work like it might save him.

Even choreography he already does perfectly becomes something to fix. He rehearses until his muscles burn, until sweat soaks through his clothes, until his reflection in the mirror blurs. If he keeps moving, maybe he won’t have to think.

At home, he tries harder. He brings you flowers for no reason, leaves them on the counter like an offering. He cleans the apartment top to bottom, folds your laundry, lines your shoes up neatly by the door. He buys your favorite snacks, sets them where you’ll see them, watches silently as they sit untouched.

You both look exhausted. You pick at your food when you eat at all, claiming you’re not hungry, promising you’ll eat later. Later never comes. You move through the days on autopilot, running on something thin and fragile, and he notices — of course he does — but he doesn’t know how to say it without sounding like he’s accusing you of pulling away even more.

Then one day, everything breaks. He’s in the studio when Felix bursts in, breathless, eyes wide. “Chan — it’s Girlypop. She collapsed during a meeting, skijigi is looking for you everywhere.”

His heart drops into his stomach.

“What?” he asks, already standing, chair scraping loudly against the floor.

“She’s with the medic, she’s conscious and asking for you.”

He doesn’t wait to hear anything else.

He’s running before his brain can catch up, shoes squeaking against the hallway floor, chest tight, lungs burning. The distance from the studio to the medical room feels endless and over in seconds all at once.

When he sees you, pale and small on the bed, something in him cracks.

You look fragile in a way he hasn’t let himself acknowledge, hooked up to an ivy with electrolytes, one he knows too well from endless rehearsals and terrible diets. A blanket pulled up around your shoulders. Too still.

“Hey,” he says, voice breaking as he reaches your side. “Hey, I’m here.”

The medic steps back, giving him space, murmuring something about dehydration and low blood sugar, about stress and not eating enough. Chan barely hears it.

He takes your hand in both of his, warm and trembling.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he whispers, tears spilling over before he can stop them. “Why didn’t you let me take care of you?”

His forehead drops to your knuckles, shoulders shaking.

“I don’t know what I did,” he chokes out. “I swear, I don’t. But I’m so scared that if I ask you what’s wrong, you’ll leave me.”

He looks up at you then, eyes red, lashes wet.

“I miss you,” he says quietly. “I miss us. And I can’t do this without you — not like this.”

For the first time in weeks, the distance between you isn’t quiet anymore.

“I’m not leaving you, Christopher, get that thought out of your head.” You say weakly, but firm, determined.

He somewhat relaxes, but he doesn’t let go of your hand. Even when you shift, even when you try to sit up, his fingers stay wrapped around yours like he’s afraid you might disappear if he loosens his grip. His eyes are red, exhausted, glassy with the kind of fear that’s been building for weeks.

“Talk to me,” he says quietly. “Please.”

You take a slow breath. Your throat feels tight, raw, like the words have been sitting there too long.

“I didn’t mean for it to get this far,” you start. “I really didn’t.”

He nods, encouraging, thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“When you said you didn’t need me to take care of you,” you continue, voice unsteady, “I know you didn’t mean it the way it sounded. But… I heard it anyway.”

His brow furrows. “Heard it how?”

You swallow. “Like I was doing too much. Like I was hovering. Like maybe you were tired of me always being there.”

Chan’s grip tightens instinctively. “Baby…”

“I started thinking maybe I was suffocating you,” you admit. “That I was making myself too present, too involved. That I was too clingy. So I pulled back. I thought… if I give you space, if I stop pampering you, maybe you’ll breathe easier.”

His chest rises sharply, like the words physically hurt.

“I didn’t stop because I stopped loving you,” you say quickly. “I stopped because I love you. And I didn’t want to be something that weighs on you.”

Chan shakes his head, tears slipping free again. “I never felt weighed down. Not once. Little one, have you met me??? I’m the clingiest idiot in the universe, I could never think that about you. I could never get enough of you.”

“But you said you could take care of yourself,” you whisper. “And I thought— if you don’t need me for that, then what am I doing? Taking care of you isn’t work for me, Chan. It’s not a chore. It’s just… how I love you.”

Your voice breaks on the last word.

He presses your hand to his chest, right over his heart, like he needs you to feel how fast it’s beating.

“That’s not what I meant,” he says firmly, through tears. “God, that’s not what I meant at all.”

He takes a breath, steadying himself.

“I know you take care of me because you want to. I love that you do. I need it,” he admits softly. “What I meant was— I don’t want you to feel like you have to. Especially on days when you’re supposed to rest. On days when you’re free.”

He shakes his head again. “I didn’t want you running around for me when you should be taking care of yourself too.”

You look at him, stunned.

“I never meant I don’t need you,” he continues, voice cracking. “I meant I don’t want to be the reason you don’t slow down. I don’t want to take from you when you’re already tired.”

You let the words sink in.

“I thought I was protecting you,” you murmur.

“And I thought I was protecting you,” he replies gently. “Instead, we just… stopped letting each other in.”

He leans closer, forehead resting against yours, careful, reverent.

“You could never be too much,” he whispers. “Not your love. Not your care. Not you.”

His thumb brushes your cheek, wiping away a tear.

“I miss your hands on me,” he admits quietly. “I miss you sitting in my lap while I work. I miss you kissing me first. I miss feeling chosen.”

You inhale shakily. “I didn’t want to take up space.”

“You are my space,” he says immediately. “And I need you. I always will.”

You nod, finally letting yourself lean into him, exhaustion and relief washing over you all at once.

“And you don’t have to earn your place by taking care of me,” he adds softly. “But if loving me looks like that for you… then let me love you back by making sure you rest, too.”

You close your eyes, pressing your forehead to his, fingers tightening around his hand.

“Deal,” you whisper.

And for the first time in weeks, it feels like you’re breathing again. You kiss him like there’s no tomorrow, showing him exactly how difficult it was for you to give him space he apparently didn’t want at all. And he relaxes into it like he’s been given back his single most important lifeline. Because after all, it’s exactly what happened.