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(UN)ERASED MEMORIES ───── ♡ 주훈 ✦ 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗂𝗇 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇

📷 𓂃﹕ an artist could never forget its own muse.

──── guitarist ! juhoon x photographer ! gn ! reader ╱ ⌕ hs au, exes, angst, romance ( if you squint ) ∿ ˊᯅˋ reader lowk harsh on themselves, LINGERING FEELINGS, ments. of crying >3< WORD COUNT 4.3K+ ( 43OO ) ( 💬 ) HAPPY BIRTHDAY JUJU 🤍 i saw a juhoon edit w/ this song soooo here we are! but, if i had to be honest, reason why by grentperez helped with the overall process… give it a listen while reading if you please anddd don’t beat me up pls!

NOTHING WAS WORKING OUT.

You stared at the image lighting back at you from the screen, hating it—again. This had to be the millionth picture you’d taken, and somehow, every single one you took managed to disappoint you.

The angles were always just a little off—barely noticeable to anyone else, but so blaring obvious to you. The lightning never seemed to work in your favor, considering how it wouldn’t match what you pictured in your head. And just sometimes, the image would suddenly blur without warning, as if the camera itself had its own vengeance against you.

No matter how hard you tried, your definition of perfection was far from your reach.

You had to take a break. And you hate using the word break—especially when it feels undeserving to even have one. You didn’t feel like you earned it at all. But the truth was, you couldn’t push yourself to continue any further.

You needed a break.

You sank onto a nearby bench, hands moving on its own as you slipped the camera strap over your head and set the camera gently beside you—an action that was contrary to the stir of emotions in your chest.

It only just felt like a week ago, where you still had trust within your own skills, still feeling proud of every photo you captured. But, in reality of it all, you’d been feeling like this for months. Everything now just feels wrong. Off.

Not just with your skills, not just your photography. It was you.

It felt like you were starting to lose your spark, like the joy you once found behind the lens was starting to fade from you. That thought alone was absurd—you, of all people, feeling disconnected from something you loved so deeply? Absolutely not.

It’s so absurd that you felt like that couldn’t be the answer. Photography has always been a part of you. Ever since your family hired a professional photographer for those holiday portraits, you’d been captivated by the equipment.

You always wanted to know what it would be like to be the one behind it all. You wondered what it would be like to be the person preserving the memories others never wanted to forget.

And when you were gifted with your own camera, you promised yourself you’d never let that passion fade.

Or—more accurately—you swore to him that you wouldn’t.

You shoved that thought aside, eyes squeezing shut as you drew in a steady breath. As silly as it sounded, without photography, there would’ve been no you. And without that passion, it felt like you were slowly losing yourself.

Lost in your other thoughts, you felt a cooling sensation being pressed against your forehead. Your eyes fluttered open, vision blurry as you tried to make sense of the figure standing over you.

You hoped—just very briefly—that it would be him.

But, as your sight cleared, the concerned expression staring down at you belonged to Martin instead. Out of all people, he was the one you least wanted to see right now.

“Did you hit another slump again?” Martin asked, lifting the cold drink away from your skin. When you let out a quiet grumble, he only took it as permission, sliding into the empty space beside you before you could tell him to leave you alone.

“So what if I did?” you finally found the words in you to say, taking the drink Martin had in his hands. You poked the straw through the juice box and took a long sip.

“Well, that wouldn’t be good,” Martin replied, mirroring your actions with his own drink. He shifted in his seat, took a quick sip, then continued. “Especially when we’re performing soon.”

Right. He’s performing soon.

That was exactly why he was the last person you wanted to see right now. Martin’s appearance would be the unavoidable reminder of what you were supposed to do.

Every two to three months, the school would hold a day where different students could perform in the auditorium. It functioned similarly to a mini festival, just it taking place within school walls. It was like a talent show without the judging or prizes, which, in your opinion, made the whole thing pointless. What was the benefit of performing if there was nothing to gain from it?

But people like Martin didn’t see it that way. To him, it was being able to take advantage of a space allowing “creative freedom,” though you suspected it was really just an excuse for his group to show off to get more exposure.

However, what did you know though? You were just responsible for taking the photos as per Martin’s request. After all, he was the only one excited to finally have pictures that were “posting-worthy.”

This was the only time you ever wished you hadn’t gotten into photography.

“You’ve got, like… five days left?” Martin interrupted your thoughts once more, holding out his hand as if he was physically counting down until your impending doom.

“I’ve got time,” you huffed, crushing the now empty juice box in your grip. You finally pushed yourself off the bench and scooped up your camera in one swift motion, tossing the carton away in a nearby garbage can. By then, Martin had already fallen into step beside you, talking nonstop while you deliberately drowned him out, too busy focusing on your own thoughts to even listen.

Just how the hell were you supposed to magically rekindle your passion—enough to give Martin justice—within five days, and without him tearing you apart for it?

It might’ve been too late to try to figure that out.

In what felt like a blink, five days had already passed, and now here you were, fumbling with your camera settings as if you were just recently starting out with a camera. In your defense, the sudden flood into the auditorium wasn’t helping—your nerves were already restless, along with your thoughts being completely jumbled together. You were supposed to be in your seat already, away in a spot that Martin swore up and down that he’d reserved so you wouldn’t have to stress about needing to find the perfect angle.

Instead, you stood there like an idiot, pretending to keep yourself occupied while your eyes kept scanning the room, trying to search for a specific spiky-haired blond.

While plotting Martin's downfall in your head, you felt light taps on your shoulder.

It was about time he finally showed up.

You turned around with a scowl already on your face—only for it to falter the moment you saw who was standing in front of you.

It was him. Kim Juhoon.

“Oh,” was all you could utter, caught off guard by how close he suddenly was. You instinctively stepped back, fingers tightening around your camera more than necessary. “I was… expecting Martin. Sorry for that look you had to see.”

“It’s okay,” Juhoon said, his voice matching the awkwardness that was starting to form between the two of you. Your eyes instantly flicked to his hands, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve, creasing his flannel—something he always seemed to do when he was nervous. “Martin had to help the others with rehearsal for a bit, so I figured I could do him a favor and bring you to the seat we saved for you.”

“Oh okay,” you replied, quickly looking away from his hands as you made room for him to lead you the way there. After a sudden pause, you hesitated and glanced back at him. “Wait—we?”

“Uh, yeah,” Juhoon answered, attempting to hold your gaze, although he quickly broke it off to focus on the floor instead.

“Martin told us that you’re the special guest,” he continued, his attention drifting—almost unconsciously—to the camera in your grasp. His eyes slightly widened by a fraction, brows suddenly knitting together that made it seem like recognition. “Since you’re photographing us tonight.”

“Right,” you responded back, subtly shifting the camera to hang closer to your side.

Juhoon seemed to realize he’d been staring, allowing his hand to fall back to his side as he offered you a small smile—an apologetic one that he didn’t need to give, yet it still made your chest tighten the same way as before.

Instead of saying anything else, he simply kept walking, leaving you to trail behind him. The crowd now only began continuing to thicken—people coming in from every direction, trying to get to their aisles for seating.

Out of instinct, Juhoon reached back and grabbed your arm, giving it a gentle tug to make sure you were still there, still following him even through the sudden growing chaos.

To stay close to him, even if only for a moment.

You felt the tension you’d been carrying slowly ease, allowing yourself not to overthink the contact, despite how desperately you wanted it to mean something.

But deep down, you already knew.

It wouldn’t.

You would only realize that you’d reach your designated spot when the warmth of his grasp had finally loosened. The area was set up neatly—away from the pouring crowd, a decent desk, a comfortable chair—perfect for settling in and catching your breath before it was his group’s turn to perform.

As Juhoon turned to leave, you hurriedly put on an awkward smile as a front, mumbling a quick, “Thank you.”

He nodded in response, lowering his own voice to a soft, “You’re welcome,” as he quickly checked his watch and headed to walk away.

You didn’t want him to leave yet.

“Good luck,” you blurted out, the words tumbling over each other on its own. He paused mid-step and turned back, his eyes meeting yours instantly—making you all nervous again. “With…with your performance I mean,” you added pretty quickly.

“I know what you meant,” Juhoon reassured you, offering a smile that mirrored yours, though his looked far more genuine. “But thank you. I appreciate it.”

I appreciate it. That stung a little more than it should have.

Still, you didn’t hold him back any further. You didn’t stop him at all. You simply watched as he walked away, your gaze lingering more than you meant to. You’d only realize how long you’d been staring once he fully disappeared into the crowd.

This wasn’t what you were here for.

You snapped yourself back to reality, turning your attention back to the camera as you made a few last minute adjustments. They weren’t perfect ones, but they’d have to do—especially with the first performance about to begin. With the crowd’s chatter fading into hushed anticipation, you settled into your own seat. After all, the least you could do was brace yourself to try to enjoy a few acts before that familiar nausea would creep in, reminding you that it would be your turn to play your part when the time came.

But, you knew yourself well—you wouldn’t find it within you to enjoy any of it. Sure, the performances sounded nice, but that didn’t stop your palms from sweating as you nervously twisted the camera strap around your fingers. Rather than being able to sing along like everyone else, you could only find yourself counting down the number of performances left.

Everything finally sank in when the emcee introduced the next band.

Cortis.

A five member group consisting of James, Seonghyeon, Keonho, Martin… and Juhoon.

It was time.

You got up from your seat, lifting your camera and waiting for the right moment. Martin never really gave you any instructions on what you should be doing. He only gave you the green light to do whatever you wanted, as long as that whatever resulted in pictures he could keep. As for the others, you had no idea what their input on this arrangement had been, but if they knew you would be photographing them, then they’d probably be expecting something too.

So, your goals have become set then. You would have extra shots for Martin—since he’d practically been begging you for them all month—along with solo photos of everyone else, plus a few group shots.

It shouldn’t be that difficult. Even someone stuck in a slump should be able to take pictures of other people. Plus, it’s a favor you’re doing for a friend, so you have to make sure these turn out well.

Once the music started and they began to play, you straightened your posture and brought the camera back up, eye pressed to the viewfinder as you adjusted the lens in search of something—anything—that felt right. You took a few solo shots, already convinced they were awful before you’d even have the opportunity to double check them.

It felt like a cruel repeat of what you felt five days ago.

By the minute, you could feel your hope start to thin out, but you pushed through anyway. Complaining truly wouldn’t change anything now. At the very least, you told yourself there had to be a few decent shots in the mix—enough to satisfy the very group you had to do this for.

Hopefully.

The lighting suddenly shifted. The stage dimmed, the focus narrowing until it settled on a single person.

Juhoon.

Your breath got caught into a halt as he began to strum, the melody shifting into something softer, something different from the song they had just performed. Only now, you realized you hadn’t taken any solo shots of him yet.

If there was ever a perfect moment, this was definitely it.

You tightened your hold on the camera.

You couldn’t allow yourself to be distracted now.

You made a small adjustment to the ISO, along with changing the shutter speed to freeze motion, and also fixing your focus.

You finally clicked the shutter button.

With the stage lights flare, it gave a glow against the dark backdrop, outlining his figure perfectly.

Another click would follow.

You reframed your shot to get a clear focus of him and his hands on the guitar strings, catching the way he leaned into the music.

This sight—the music even—felt all too familiar.

You shifted angles, allowing yourself to shift into making the background blur, leaving him to become the central focus. You paid attention to the concentration in his eyes and to the curve of his smile when he hit the right note with his chords.

Another shot followed. Then another.

You didn’t find yourself second guessing every angle anymore. You weren’t even thinking about any potential failures before it even existed.

Somewhere between the shutter presses—just somewhere along the way—you realized that you were smiling. You weren’t trying to pretend, you weren’t trying to force it—you were actually smiling.

This was it. This was the feeling you were missing. This—this—was everything that you loved.

This was the very feeling you wanted when you’d be the one capturing such memories. The moment of being able to not worry about time when you’re behind the camera—allowing everything to fade until it’s just you and the moment you’re trying to preserve—it was everything you wanted.

Then his solo came to an end.

As the light brightened, applause rang through the entire room, and Juhoon finally looked up. That was when you caught it through the viewfinder—the genuine, unguarded smile he gave the crowd, his eyes creasing as his entire face was filled with relief and pride.

Your finger hovered over the shutter after you pressed it, feeling your body go completely numb.

That’s when it all sank in.

Your spark didn’t magically return back on its own.

You would only find it again while taking pictures of him.

The person that loved your photography. The guy that offered to be your model whenever you needed him to. The one that would always follow through with your plans, following whatever poses you wanted him to hold—and always loving every outcome to encourage you to continue on with your hobby.

Kim Juhoon—the person who supported your passion from the start—reignited something you had thought you’d lost months ago.

You finally had it back.

And yet, something was still missing.

You were just missing the one person that you’d always considered your muse.

And you knew you could never have that back.

The music started to shift, a change that you should’ve noticed earlier. A melody you should’ve already picked on during his solo part. Now, the instrumentals started to make sense as every note ended up lining too perfectly.

You seem extra quiet.

Hiding all that noise inside,

no wonder you’re so tired.

I can see right through your eyes.

Hearing those words felt like a quiet blow, which only became worse by the fact that he was the one singing those lyrics. Of course you noticed what song it was—Reason Why by grentperez.

It was your song. Well, it was one you’d both claimed—a song that soon became a “our song.” The coincidence of it all felt more hurtful than anything.

You had been extra quiet. It was hard not to be when you felt like you’d lost the very thing that made you, you. And as ridiculous as it sounded, you couldn’t fully be yourself when he was no longer in your frame.

Even when that emptiness finally started to settle into your chest, you kept it all to yourself. You couldn’t find it in you to tell anyone—not Martin, especially not Martin, now that he was closer to Juhoon than ever.

And you’d like to think you’d be hiding it well.

But as you caught yourself fixated on the lyrics, replacing them in your head, you couldn’t help but wonder.

Was it ever obvious? Has it ever been that obvious enough for Juhoon to notice?

Maybe it was. Maybe he noticed and just chose to not make a move. Or maybe it never was.

You forced yourself to focus again even when the song continued, the words continuing to hit you as you tried—failing—to let them go.

‘Cause I can’t read between your lines,

‘Cause I know that you think I’m lying,

So maybe if you look through my eyes,

You’d see that everything is evergreen and then, you’d realize.

You had tried to look into those eyes. You tried to see if there was anything familiar, anything left before he slipped away again. But the way he looked at you now felt different.

It just didn’t feel the same.

The very meaning you had once easily understood had changed.

Or maybe it wasn’t him at all.

Maybe—just maybe—you were the one who was starting to forget how to read between his lines.

The song carried on, and you forced yourself to follow along again, blinking way more rapidly than you should have. You kept your composure, reminding yourself exactly why you were here. You still had a role you were meant to play. You hadn’t paid much attention to the other performances before this; you should’ve been able to tune this one out perfectly too.

But it was hard not to listen when you knew every word by heart.

I know you, every part’s a masterpiece,

Wish I could show you just how much I adore you.

Can’t afford to leave out any reason why.

You didn’t feel like he knew you anymore. And even worse—you didn’t feel like the two of you knew each other at all.

If every part of you was truly a masterpiece, then why hadn’t he stayed? Why hadn’t you been enough for him to show you just how much he adored you?

That thought felt selfish, ugly even—but all you ever wanted was a reason. A reason why.

You really needed to stop overanalyzing these lyrics. You needed to stop twisting them to fit your own circumstances, even if it was a song you two once shared. So what if it was? It’s not like he’d asked the group to play it for you.

Still, you couldn’t prevent the thought from gnawing at you, your brain refusing to let it go. Maybe if you’d just had more time. If only that had been granted to the two of you, then maybe you would’ve finally heard those words meant for you.

You felt a tear slip down from the corner of your eye before you could stop it. You quickly wiped it with your sleeve, trying your hardest to focus back where it belonged.

When you finally paid attention to Martin singing his part of the song, you quickly gathered your emotions and redirected your attention to him.

You lifted the camera again.

You were supposed to get extra shots of him, anyway.

As your chest stirred emotions you couldn’t quite name, the tension remained and refused to ease even after the song ended. It was their last one—and of course, it had to be your song.

A song you once shared with him.

You snapped one final picture of the entire group, not bothering to check the focus or the frame. You just wanted it to be over.

Your shoulders drooped, head bowed as you couldn’t bring yourself to watch them leave the stage. Instead, all your attention was laid upon the camera in your hands as you gathered what little energy you had left to review the photos.

There were enough solo shots of Martin to keep him satisfied with. There were also enough of the others too—definitely usable and definitely what they would expect. But scrolling through the gallery only allowed a familiar realization to settle in.

You’d taken far more pictures of Juhoon than anyone else.

As always.

You wanted nothing more than to leave.

But with someone like Martin, escaping from something was never that simple. After their performance, he had already told you to meet the group. And without a believable excuse to hold out on, you only found yourself heading toward their waiting room instead.

You could only hope the short walk away from the crowd would give you enough silence to gather yourself.

To recollect all your thoughts back together.

Each step felt heavier than the next when you found yourself getting closer to your destination. You’d thought you’d be fine with all of this. That had been months ago. Now, all you could think about is just how long you had to stay in there with all five of them.

You stopped in front of the door, your eyes landing on a white piece of paper taped to it, their group name printed in bolded letters.

You felt like your feet were glued to the floor.

After one last deep breath, you knocked twice.

Thankfully, Martin was the one opening the door—all bright eyed and smiley, his energy easing some of the tension that was formed in your chest.

“Come in,” Martin said, stepping aside to let you through—only to pause to move back to blocking the entrance. He glanced at you once more, then stepped out with you into the hall, pulling you a little farther from the room as if he could sense all of your nerves. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you said quickly, the lie slipping much easier than you wanted it to. As you forced a smile, guilt still continued to tug at you. “I am just a bit tired.”

“You really don’t have to go back inside if you don’t want to,” Martin replied, returning your smile, but his was much softer and reassuring. Like he already knew that you weren’t being completely honest, and more important, the reason why.

What a perceptive guy.

“You sure?” you asked, making sure to confirm what you’ve heard. “I know you wanted to see the photos.”

“I’m sure,” he said without any hesitation. “You can always just send them to me later. I could do the rest of the work and drop them in the group chat for everyone.”

“I’ll have it all sent to you by tonight.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Just as he turned to head back inside, you spoke again, stopping him. “You guys did really well.”

“Thank you, Y/N.” Martin turned back, offering you an apologetic smile. “And I’m sorry for dragging you along to this. I thought things would’ve worked out.”

He knew.

You shook your head, a gesture that was meant to ease his guilt. “It’s okay.”

It’s okay.

You wished you could’ve easily believed it just like how you easily told him.

After bidding a quiet goodbye, you left Martin behind and began the walk home on your own. The silence felt extremely unbearable—from the moment you were walking alone at night to when you finally entered your house.

Keeping your promise, you went straight to your laptop with your camera. You remove the SD card, plugging it into a USB card reader to connect it to your computer’s USB port. You dragged every photo you took into a neatly labeled folder, one by one.

Once everything was uploaded, you sent each file to Martin. He replied almost instantly with a simple thanks, and that was enough for you to be able to end your night.

You knew you were done with your job.

But you also knew you weren’t exactly done with getting over Juhoon.

Especially when his photos were the last ones you’d sent—lined up neatly in Martin’s messages, impossible to miss, not requiring much scrolling to see them all again.

And as if it wasn’t enough, just an hour later, you noticed his story. Juhoon had solely posted the photo you’d taken of him—the one with the guitar in his hand, smiling at the crowd—sending you into an even deeper spiral.

You knew this wasn’t good for you at all.

You could only shut your phone, lying back with your eyes as the image itself kept replaying over and over in your mind.

Memories were never easy to erase, especially when you never wanted to let them go in the first place.

‘💬’ ─ sooo i may or may not be brewing a fic that will be centering around juhoon’s perspective also ! 😇

› CORTIS PERM TL ( OPEN ) ──── @himewonu @riumori @deeour @ivehan @itsactuallylina @htaesan @amatariki @jiyeons-closet @seonghyeondimples @liliyens @wooahoe @vanillakirstein @lyla-stwn @en-dream @eoduuung @wvnkoi @jazz7gnab @lonelylandofan @one-chance-pls @taivansgf @kieuanhsun @09zpzkeonnss @xh01bri @jesmightjumptmr @vanillakirstein @dropitlowkey @emotiandon @lovhyeon

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