Hey. Idk if you’re okay with taking requests rn but I’m kinda having a shitty day and I’m in desperate need of any comfort. It’s a request not related to either of your series, So, How would Changbin act when he finds out Y/N hates her birthday and gets really depressed during the day? Feel free to say no. It’s okay no pressure ♥️
I'm sorry boo. <3 I hope things get better soon. <3 I love you.
Tags: Changbin, Seo Changbin, SKZ, Stray Kids, Stay, Request, Mutuals, Changbin x you, Changbin x reader, Seo Changbin x you, Seo Changbin x reader, Fluff, Angst, SKZ x you, SKZ x reader, not OT8, SKZ imagines, SKZ reactions, SKZ scenarios, SKZ Drabble, AU
Genre: Light Fluff, Angst
Title: It's My Birthday, I'll Cry if I Want To
It's after the third sigh that Changbin finally sets down his quill and glances over his glasses at you with slightly exasperated amusement written on his features.
"Are you going to tell me what's wrong, princess, or are you going to make me guess?"
You heave another longer, more annoyed sigh-just to peeve him a bit-and push back your chair, your body protesting, stiff muscles cracking, as you cross to the window, glancing out onto the courtyard below.
The sun's rays are barely beginning to breach the trees, but it feels like you've been studying for hours already.
"It's my birthday." You don't look at him as you say it, eyes drawn to the movements of a gardener at the edge of the rose bushes, trimming back a few errant leaves.
You vaguely wonder if your mother has thrown another fit again-"the roses are getting out of hand, Reginald!"-and your father-long suffering, patient man that he is, however aloof-had tasked the poor gardener with fixing the apparent problem, no matter how imaginary.
Changbin's chair creaks as he leans back.
"I'm aware of this." When you turn to look back at him over your shoulder, he's smiling, one brow cocked. It gives him a roguish, rakishly handsome air, an air that you doggedly try to ignore. "As is the majority of the kingdom."
"I hate it." You lament morosely, once again turning your attention back to the large picture window, where a new character in the play currently being put on in the garden has emerged-this time, a woman bearing a basket of laundry on her hip, headed for the river.
"I also know this." Your tutor's voice is softer this time, and you dig your fingers into the lip of the window, willing yourself not to turn and look at him once more. You don't want to see the pity on his face. "But you've never told me why."
"I have." You protest sharply, though you know it's not the real reason, just a facsimile you've told him to hide the true pain, and you still don't turn, because you don't want him to see the lie on your face.
You've never been good at hiding things from him.
"It's pointless and mundane and altogether a waste of time. Not to mention, the festivities my parents insist on putting on, not for me, but for show, are boring and long winded and if I have to make one more polite conversation with Duke Fairlough, all the while pretending not to notice him ogling my chest and ass, I'll eat my hat."
Changbin chuckles, and you finally work up the courage to glance back at him, watching you with slight amusement, dark curls gleaming in the dying light of the morning fire.
"You don't wear hats."
"I could start." You object stubbornly, finally turning from the window and returning to your seat across from him, fingers drumming agitatedly along the edge of the table instead of picking up your own quill and returning to your studies.
"You could." Changbin agrees amicably, eyes still lit with slightly amused affection, as he hides a smile and pushes one of your open books toward you encouragingly. "And you could also try to actually apply yourself so you can finish your lessons early and enjoy the rest of your day."
"Hah." You retort, snorting skeptically, even though you know it's a very unladylike thing to do.
You've never worried about being overly ladylike around Changbin. It's one of the many things you like about the man sitting across from you.
"Highly unlikely."
Changbin nudges the book toward you once more with a bitten back grin.
"Try."
You huff with annoyance, but take the offered book, and glancing toward the chaperone standing silently at the door, unmoving, you chance a swift kick at Changbin's ankle under the secrecy of the table.
He dodges you easily, and you feign irritation with a glare, but the grin he gives you in return and the ensuing butterflies swarming in your gut may very well be the only good thing that happens on this, the day of your godforsaken birthday.
*****
"Ridiculous." Your mother mutters once more under her breath from her seat at the writing desk, tossing aside the message she's just received, the heavy, embossed paper spiraling slowly to the floor like a wounded bird. "We attend their daughter's betrothal ceremony, and they can't even make the princess's birthday celebration?"
You try not to wince as the maid currently coiffing your hair elegantly at the back of your head shoves a particularly nasty pin into the recesses of the updo.
"Well." Your mother stands from her chair, huffing under her breath, pacing to the large window and then back again. "They can consider themselves blacklisted for the foreseeable future then."
You bite your lip as another strand of hair gets tugged a little too roughly into place, and stare at your reflection in the mirror, trying to make yourself smaller to avoid attracting the angry queen's attention.
Too late.
She comes to stand beside the mirror where you sit, scanning a critical eye over you from head to toe-the heavy, ornate makeup adorning your face, the fancy, flawless coiffed hairstyle, the long, heavy blood red ball gown you wear-and you know, everything is exactly how she asked, and yet, she'll still find something to be unhappy about.
"Myrtle." Your mother says sharply, and the maid snaps to attention, as your mother fingers the pearl earrings you currently wear. "Swap these out for the Swarovski crystals. The moonblood pair."
Myrtle ducks her head silently and scurries to the boudoir to retrieve the requested earrings.
Your mother leans over and picks up the crown resting on the worktop delicately, stroking her fingers over the gems and gold with something akin to affection, something she's never given you, and then she reaches out, putting a rough finger under your chin as she raises your gaze to meet her own in the mirror.
"Sit up straight. Don't slouch."
You do as she asks, and she places the crown carefully on the top of your head, adjusting it until it's perfect and to her liking.
"There." She steps back, as Myrtle appears and changes out your earrings, admiring you with a critical stern eye. "Perfection."
You resist the urge to say anything, biting your tongue, staring at her silently through your reflection in the mirror.
You're not a daughter, you're a doll, a pawn, to be used in her political parties, and you know your place. You always have.
Your mother waves a dismissive hand at the maid, who scurries immediately from the room, probably happy to be out of the queen's oppressive presence, and you wish you could follow her, as your mother returns to her desk and sits, taking out her letter opener once again, which she points at you sternly, before saying, "Oh, by the way, your father sent a gift. I had it put in your chambers."
You rise from the chair, careful not to disturb any of the work put in over the last few hours, and manage to find your tongue.
"Oh, has he left already?"
Your mother doesn't even spare you a glance, already deep into the recesses of her next letter.
"He left this morning. You know this."
You didn't know this, but instead of fighting, you simply nod, and when she doesn't say anything else, take the opportunity to scurry from the room.
The hallway air feels one hundred times lighter, and you suck in mouthfuls of air, desperate to get every inch of that woman out of your lungs, hands on your knees.
"You okay there, princess?"
You glance up, startled, at the familiar voice, and Changbin has paused in his perusal past the hallway, staring at you with clear concern on his face, his fingers paused on the ascot he must have been in the middle of tying around his neck.
"Did you just run a marathon?"
You straighten up, unconsciously reaching up to make sure your crown is still straight, and run your hands down your dress to smooth out any wrinkles.
It's your mother's influence, and you hate it.
"I'm fine." You nod pertly, because suddenly, seeing someone so familiar and caring and warm, after spending so much time in your mother's icy, cold, indifferent presence, is making the back of your throat burn. "Just-"
You shrug, praying to every god above that you don't start crying, not when Changbin is here, looking at you like that.
"-getting ready."
Changbin watches you for another long moment, and then he finally lets you drop his gaze, offering you the hint of a smile, as his fingers once again start tying the ascot, an elegant knot already forming around the collar of his loose dress shirt.
He's wearing black breeches, and knee high boots, and god, is that a sliver of chest beneath the top open button of his shirt-
You force yourself to drag your gaze away from your tutor, out the window beside you, and clear your throat.
"You look nice."
You regret the words as soon as they leave your lips, but Changbin merely cocks his head curiously, staring you down once more, before he grins and replies lightly, "Thanks. I was going to say the same thing about you, your highness. Although 'nice' is probably too bland of a word to describe how you look right now, if I'm being honest."
His open honesty catches your attention and you look at him sharply.
"What word would you use then?"
Changbin looks caught off guard, as if he hadn't expected you to ask, but answers anyway.
"Probably something more along the lines of magnificent. Or perhaps, if I'm being transparent, exquisite."
You swallow at his entirely forthright words, and suddenly, it feels a little too vulnerable-like something taboo-standing here in a back, dark corridor with Seo Changbin-your tutor and a man-without any sort of chaperone, his dark, swirling eyes entirely, dangerously, holding your own, the tension between the two of you so thick that you're almost positive you could cut it with a knife.
You find you like the feeling.
There is a clatter from down the hall, a chef shouting something angrily at a clumsy maid, and the moment is shattered, crashing to the floor at your feet in a million pieces of stained glass.
You take a step back, and Changbin clears his throat, dropping your gaze, as he ducks his head in deference to you.
"I'll see you at dinner, princess."
And without another word, he's gone, and the icy feeling leftover from your mother's words, and your father's absence, is already creeping back into your bones at the lack of his warmth.
*****
"Yes, duke, I'll be right back! Just need to freshen up-"
You dash around the corner, freedom just in sight, and run directly into your mother.
Her fingers curl around your wrist before you even have the time to react, face cold, and voice even colder.
"Where are you going?"
You swallow, schooling a blank expression, and level your voice.
"To freshen up."
She eyes you skeptically, disdain written across her face, blood red lips pulling into the start of a disapproving sneer.
Her fingers tighten around your wrist as she tugs you to her, and you do your best not to wince as they uncomfortably pinch your skin.
Her breath smells of overly sweet wine and perfume, lips brushing your ear as she speaks in a low, cold tone, and you're fairly certain nothing has ever made you more nauseous.
"Don't keep the duke waiting."
She releases you without another word, plastering a bright, artificial smile onto her face, and she enters the room you had just left, a chorus of greetings echoing in your ears, even as you dart for the safety of the garden.
You don't allow yourself to stop running until you reach the rose bush patch, the same bush you had seen being trimmed this morning from your bedroom window, and even then, you're gasping for breath as you slump down onto the cold concrete of the nearby bench, hot tears already threatening at the corners of your eyes.
You swipe at them angrily, the warm liquid splashing down the flushed arch of your cheeks, the breeze instantly cooling the tears against your skin, against your fingertips, even as you wipe them off meticulously against the folds of your dress.
You sniff, taking in a deep breath, and let your head fall back, staring up at the newly emerging stars, wishing you were anywhere, anyone, else.
"Do you want to tell me the truth now?"
You start at the voice, and nearly lurch off the bench in your surprise, eyes wide, heart pounding, as your gaze drops from the sky and to the warm, familiar features of Changbin, watching you from a respectful distance away, hands tucked out of sight behind his back.
"God. How do you always appear out of thin air like that? You nearly gave me a heart attack."
His expression is carefully schooled, you know, because you've done the same thing countless times in front of your mother.
He gives a half shrug, but doesn't move toward you, watching you with a slight tilt of his head.
"Sorry."
You heave a heavy sigh, and slowly unfurl your tense fingers from the edge of the bench, dropping your gaze now to watch the way the toes of your dance slippers dig into the dirt beneath your feet.
Your mother is going to kill you for the stains later.
You watch the toes of Changbin's riding boots come into your field of vision as he moves closer, and then he takes you by surprise, crouching down in front of you, hands splayed on the bench on either side of your body for support.
He glances up at you, dark eyes unreadable in the evening light, and you hope to god he can't still see the sheen of leftover tears on your cheeks.
"Why aren't you inside?"
"I told you-" You protest halfheartedly, not meeting his gaze, even as you tangle your fingers into the thick folds of your skirt resting in your lap. "-I hate birthday parties."
"Why?"
You feel the words on the tip of your tongue, feel the truth itching to be released.
Because my father is never here, because my mother couldn't care less unless it benefits her, because I'm not even allowed to so much as look in your direction-
But instead, you sigh again and direct your watery gaze back to the sky, willing the tears back into the depths.
When you speak, you're proud that your voice comes out steady.
"Because Duke Fairlough is a creepy old man, nearly twice my age, and yet, my mother pushes the issue every single social event, without fail, because I am nothing if not the star pawn on her twisted, political chess board."
"Hm." Changbin hums a sound of understanding beneath his breath, and you try not to focus too much on the rise and fall of his fingers, the mounds of his knuckles, the swirling pathways of his veins.
You've never noticed, not until you were up close, but the man has pretty hands-soft and ink stained-hands of a poet, or a scholar maybe.
"That does sound wildly unfortunate."
You shoot him a glare at the soft teasing lacing his tone, and he offers you the hint of a gentle smile, before he continues with, "That's not the real reason you're out here though, right? Alone, crying, on your birthday?"
"I am not crying." You protest defensively, instantly, and Changbin chuckles, smiling fully now.
"Okay, princess." He gives in easily, smile fading to something more secretive, something more intimate, cocking his head as he stares at you, and you feel yourself hold your breath, as he reaches up without warning, and slowly ghosts a gentle thumbpad across the skin beneath your eyes.
"It must be raining then."
You sniffle, scared to move, afraid he'll pull his touch back from your skin if you do, and imperceptibly nod in response.
"I can't believe you didn't notice."
He huffs a chuckle, and you're relieved when he doesn't pull back from you.
"I'm a learned man, yes, but I can be entirely too oblivious and thickheaded for my own good sometimes."
You snort beneath your breath, and try not to follow his hand like some sort of starstruck tart as he finally retrieves it from your skin, settling it comfortably back on the bench beside you.
"I am, however, not dumb enough to buy any of that bullshit you've just given me."
You look at him in sharp surprise, you've never heard him curse before, but the look in his eyes has the cutting rebuke dying on your lips.
You've never seen Seo Changbin look so utterly serious before-studious yes, but never this focused-his attention completely on you, dark, swirling eyes scanning your face, molten, angry almost.
"So tell me again. The truth this time. Why, princess, are you alone in the gardens, crying, on your birthday?"
"I-" You start to say, and he shoots you a firm look that stops you in your tracks. You suck in an almost choked breath, and start again. "-don't like birthdays."
"Why?"
"Because he's never here, and she's never cared, and I hate-no absolutely loathe-having to act like I'm better than everyone, above it all, especially you."
He's watching you silently now, watching you catch your breath, watching a literal weight lift off from your shoulders as you finally, finally, blurt out the truth, watching the pounding, broken, bleeding, remnants of your heart, laid bare, just for him.
"What?" You accuse defensively, when he still hasn't said anything, fingers nervously beginning to fidget with your dress once more. "Say something."
"I don't need to say anything."
You wet your lips, staring at him in open surprise now, his face softening slightly as you hold his gaze.
"What?" You repeat again, dumbly, not quite sure you're understanding.
He laughs then-low and relieved, a rumble in his chest-and when his fingers cover your own-warm and soft in contrast to your icy cold, skin and hearts alike-you feel everything jumbled and out of sorts in your chest finally settle into place.
"I don't need to say anything." He repeats again, slower this time, and when he looks at you now, there's nothing but tender honesty in the depths of his dark eyes. His lips quirk into the hint of a soft smile. "I'm sorry you hate your birthday. I'm sorry your father is never here and your mother only plays you for her own little games, but I-"
He takes in a deep, almost jagged breath, fingers tightening over your own, and you resist the urge to tangle yours with his in that moment, palms flat against each other, all warmth and soft skin and spaces finally filled.
He looks at you again, the fire renewed in his gaze, vulnerable and open and entirely honest.
Laid bare, all for you.
You feel the cracks in your aching heart recede slightly.
"-I, for one, am eternally grateful, every year, when this day darkens my doorstop once more."
"Why?" You ask in a breath, even though you're fairly certain, staring at Changbin's face, that you already know the answer.
The slowly healing cracks in your heart-warming and melting the ice that's been there too long, filling it in with something akin to molten lava-are a testament to exactly that.
"Because, princess-" Changbin murmurs, the affection returning to his eyes now, warming his entire face, right down to the tender, beaming smile he gives you, only you. "-it gave all of us, especially me, you."
You bite your bottom lip, trying to hide your smile.
You feel so happy you could cry.
But you've cried enough.
"I never took you for a poet, royal tutor."
He inclines his head, eyes sparkling.
"And I never took you for a romantic, princess."
"I'm not." You admit, squeezing his fingers between your own now, dizzy with sudden giddiness as you stare at the man kneeling before you.
When he looks at you once more, you give him the smile you've been holding back all night-maybe even all your life-just for him.
"But you could make me into one yet."
Changbin grins then, tangling his fingers with your own, and nothing has ever felt more right in your entire life.
Maybe your birthday won't be so bad from now on after all. Not with him by your side. Not with the ice gone, replaced with nothing but sunshine and warmth and bright beams. All because of him.
"Happy birthday, princess."
