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so i guess im incapable of making this maki fic a quick little fic and i need a boost of confidence (aka to actually finish writing something for once)
i’m thinking of writing something quick and cute for maybe woonhak or james, but idk
OUTER SPACE / CARRY ON | Kim Woonhak
genre: contemporary, angst, hurt, comfort
synopsis: she wants to forget what he said and go back to being friends. He can't. After years of being her second choice, Woonhak finally walks away — but walking away doesn't mean moving on.
warnings: emotional distress, heartbreak, confrontation, mild physical altercation
pairing: nonidol!Woonhak x fem!reader
wc: 4.8k
note: this is the second part of Heartbreak Girl. If you haven't read the first part yet, go do it now!!
"Nothing like the rain when you're in outer space."
He arrived late.
Not because of traffic. Not because he overslept. He arrived late because he'd spent forty minutes in front of the mirror, and another twenty sitting on the edge of his bed, wondering if he really wanted to do this.
Taesan had watched him from his bedroom door, a bag of chips in hand and an expression that said "I'm not going to say anything but I'm thinking it very loudly."
"Are you going or are you going to stay there until you grow roots?" he'd finally asked.
"I don't know," Woonhak had replied.
"Well, decide fast. If you show up late you look uninterested, and if you show up too early you look desperate."
"And what if I show up on time?"
"That doesn't exist. You're always late or early."
Woonhak had let out a bitter laugh. He'd gotten up. Looked at himself in the mirror one last time. The dark circles wouldn't go away with cream. The empty look wouldn't be filled with a clean shirt. But he'd tried. Because it was her. And because, even though it hurt, he couldn't help wanting to look good for her.
When he walked into the cafe, she was already there. Sitting at the table in the back, with a half-empty coffee cup and her fingers playing with the edge of a napkin. She looked up when he walked in. Smiled. That smile that always disarmed him.
"You're late," she said.
"Yeah, sorry... I got distracted," he replied, sitting across from her.
"Did something happen?"
"No. Just... I was getting ready."
She looked at him. Her eyes scanned his face. His dark circles, his ironed shirt, his hair combed with too much care.
"You look nice," she said.
"You're lying," he said, letting out a humorless laugh. "I look like a dead man in a clean shirt."
She laughed. A short, nervous laugh. Woonhak knew it. He'd heard it a thousand times. It was her "I don't know what to say" laugh.
The silence stretched. The cafe hummed in the background. People talked at other tables. Someone laughed at the counter. A cup clinked against a saucer. Woonhak didn't know where to look. His fingers drummed on the table a couple of times before he noticed and stopped them.
"Woonhak," she finally said. "I need to talk to you."
"Talk."
She took a deep breath. Exhaled. Fiddled with the napkin until it started to come apart.
"I talked to him," she said, not looking up.
Woonhak felt a knot in his stomach. He didn't need to ask who. His hands tensed on the table. He flattened them against the wood, like that would keep them still.
"And?"
"He told me the photos weren't a kiss. That it was the angle. That she leaned in and he pulled away."
Woonhak bit the inside of his cheek. Tasted the metallic tang of blood. He didn't say anything. He didn't trust what might come out of his mouth.
"And I..." she continued, lifting her gaze slightly. "I want to believe him. Things between us are better now. We talked. We worked things out."
Woonhak opened his mouth. Closed it. He didn't want to say what he was thinking.
"And that's why...?" he asked, his voice more strained than he wanted.
She swallowed.
"That's why I think we should forget what happened last time. What you told me. So we don't make things awkward between us."
Woonhak looked at her. Felt the ground sink beneath him. It wasn't surprise. It was confirmation of what he already knew, but had been refusing to accept.
"It's already awkward," he said.
"It doesn't have to be," she said quickly, leaning forward. "We can go back to being best friends. Like before. What happened that night... it was a moment. A thing that happened. It doesn't mean anything."
"It doesn't mean anything," he repeated, his voice flat.
"No. I mean..." She shifted in her seat. Ran a hand through her hair. Woonhak noticed her fingers trembling slightly. "It's not that it doesn't mean anything. Of course it does. You're important to me. But we can get past this. We're adults. We can talk things out."
Woonhak looked at her. Looked at her and saw the girl he'd fallen in love with years ago. The same one who was now asking him to erase everything he felt because it was more convenient that way. Like his feelings were a printer error you could cross out with a pen.
"I can't," he said. His voice came out firmer than he expected.
"What?"
"I can't throw away everything I feel just because you want to live in some stupid fantasy."
She opened her mouth. Closed it.
"Woonhak, things aren't like that..."
"They're not like that?" He leaned forward, elbows on the table. Felt the words boiling inside him, trapped for years and finally finding a way out. "Then tell me how they are. Because I've been watching you for years. Years of listening to you complain about him. Years of running to your side every time he fails you. Years of waiting for you to open your eyes someday. And now you're asking me to forget it. To pretend I never said anything. To go back to being the friend who's always there when he isn't."
She tried to speak. But nothing came out. She just opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of water.
"You don't know what you're saying," she finally managed.
"I know exactly what I'm saying," Woonhak replied, and his voice cracked on the last word. "I've been telling myself for years. But I can't do it anymore."
"Woonhak..."
"I can't keep suppressing my feelings while I watch the girl I love keep running back to some jerk's arms. While I can only watch from afar. Be a temporary comfort. A shoulder to cry on. The one who's always there when he isn't. But never, ever the one you actually choose."
Her eyes filled with tears. Woonhak watched one roll down her cheek. Normally, seeing her cry would break him. Normally, he'd hug her and tell her everything would be okay. But this time he couldn't. This time, her tears were because of him. Because of the pain he was causing by telling the truth.
"It's not like that..." she whispered.
"Yes, it is," he said, his voice broken. "And I'm tired. Tired of being your second choice. Tired of waiting. Tired of you never picking me when I've been picking you my whole life..."
He stood up from the table. The chair scraped against the floor. Someone looked over.
"Woonhak, wait..."
"I'd rather end the friendship here," he said, not looking at her. "Than let you keep breaking my heart."
He walked toward the door. Felt her footsteps behind him, but didn't turn around. Reached the exit. His hand touched the door handle. He stopped. Couldn't help but turn around.
She was a few steps away, arms hanging limp, cheeks wet, gaze lost.
"I hope someday you realize you deserve better," he said, his voice breaking. "And I hope you know that... that I love you. I've loved you since you asked me for a pencil in middle school. But I can't do this anymore."
He walked out. The door closed behind him. The street was cold. The sky was gray. An icy breeze hit his face.
Woonhak walked without direction. He didn't know where he was going. He just knew he needed to move, needed to get away from that cafe, from her, from everything.
His feet took him to the park. To the bench they used to sit on when they were younger. Where she'd tell him her problems and he'd tell her everything would be okay. Where he'd always lied, because it was never okay, but he wanted her to be.
He sat down. Put his head in his hands.
And let himself cry.
It wasn't a clean cry. It was ugly. Messy. Sobs shook his shoulders and the air burned his throat. He didn't care that people were looking. He didn't care about anything.
Only her.
Always her.
The following days were hell.
Woonhak didn't go to class. Didn't reply to messages — from her, from his friends, from anyone. He stayed in his room, staring at the ceiling, listening to the silence.
Taesan left food by the door. Sometimes he'd sit on the floor on the other side and talk without expecting an answer.
"Jaehyun said he texted you," he said one day, leaning his back against the door.
Silence.
"He said if you need anything, he's there."
Silence.
"And Riwoo said... well, Riwoo said he understands how you feel. That if you want to talk, he's there."
Silence.
"And Leehan asked about you. Said he has chamomile tea if you need it."
Silence.
"And Sungho... well, Sungho didn't say anything. But he asked how you were. Seven times."
Woonhak didn't respond. But the next day, he came out of his room. His face was gaunt, his eyes swollen, his hair a mess. The beard he usually shaved every two days hadn't been touched in a week.
Taesan was on the couch, with a bag of chips and the TV on low volume.
"How are you?" he asked, not looking at him.
"Terrible," Woonhak replied, dropping down next to him.
"Want to talk?"
"No."
"Want chips?"
"Yeah."
He grabbed a handful. Chewed them without tasting. The crunch felt too loud.
"I told her I didn't want to see her again," he said, not looking at Taesan.
"I know. She called me."
Woonhak tensed. Stopped mid-chew.
"What?"
"Don't worry," Taesan said. "I didn't tell her anything. Just said you needed time."
"And what did she say."
"That she loves you. As a friend."
Woonhak let out a bitter laugh. The sound scraped his throat.
"Of course. Always as a friend."
"Woonhak..."
"No, really," he said, his voice trying to sound light but failing. "It's funny. Because I love her one way, and she loves me another, and they're both called the same thing. But they're not the same."
Taesan didn't say anything. Put a hand on his shoulder. Squeezed it a little. Then pulled it back.
"You know what?" Woonhak said, grabbing another handful of chips. "I think what hurts the most isn't that she doesn't love me. It's that she does, but not like that. It's knowing I matter to her, but never enough."
"You're not insufficient," Taesan said.
"To her I am."
"No. She's the one who's not enough for you."
Woonhak looked at him.
"What?"
"You give everything," Taesan said. "And she only takes. That's not fair."
Woonhak was quiet. He didn't know if that was comfort or a verdict.
Days passed. Then weeks.
Woonhak tried to move on. Went to class. Responded to group messages with one-word answers. Pretended he was fine. Smiled when he had to smile. Made bad jokes when he had to make people laugh. And no one — except Taesan, who watched him come home and collapse on the couch like a wet rag — noticed it was all a facade.
But he wasn't okay.
He missed her. Missed her every time he saw something funny and thought about telling her. Every time he walked past the usual cafe and looked at the back table out of habit. Every time he saw someone with their hair tied back like hers.
He missed her even though they were never anything. Even though she was still with her idiot boyfriend. Even though he'd told her he didn't want to see her again.
And that was the worst part. Feeling empty over someone who was never his. Feeling broken over a relationship that never existed.
One night, Woonhak was in the kitchen, with a mug of tea he wasn't drinking. The water had gone cold a while ago. He stared at it like it might give him answers.
Taesan appeared in the doorway.
"She called again," he said.
Woonhak didn't respond.
"She says she wants to talk to you. That she's sorry. That she doesn't want to lose you."
"That's not true," Woonhak said. "She already lost me. A long time ago."
"Woonhak..."
"I don't want to see her."
"That's fair."
"I can't."
"You don't have to if you don't want to."
"But I miss her."
Taesan sat across from him. Crossed his arms on the table.
"Yeah, I know," he said. "You're obsessed with her."
Woonhak looked up. His eyes were bright.
"How do you do it?" he asked. "With your girl. How do you not give up?"
"Because she hasn't given up on me," Taesan said. "And because I've learned that not all love is reciprocated at the same time. But if it's real, it comes."
Woonhak nodded. He wasn't sure he believed it. But he wanted to try.
"And if it doesn't come?" he asked.
"Then you'll have tried," Taesan said. "And that's more than most people do."
Woonhak picked up the cold tea. Took a sip. It tasted like nothing.
But he held onto Taesan's words. Stored them somewhere inside his chest, alongside all the memories of her, alongside all the times he'd waited.
A month passed.
Woonhak still hadn't seen her. She kept calling. He kept not answering. Taesan told him "she's still looking for you," and Woonhak nodded and didn't reply.
His life had become a gray routine: class, home, class, home, the occasional day with friends, but always with a void in his chest that wouldn't fill. Sometimes, when he was alone, he wondered how long this would last. If someday it would stop hurting.
And then it happened.
He was in the university courtyard, waiting for Riwoo to go eat. The sun was high. People passed by. Someone laughed nearby. Everything was normal.
Until he saw her.
She was on the other side of the courtyard. With him. Her boyfriend. Arguing.
Woonhak didn't want to look. Wanted to turn around and leave. Wanted to not see her, not hear her, not know anything. He turned halfway, ready to go.
But something stopped him.
His voice rose. People started looking.
"Don't give me that!" the boyfriend shouted. "You're a liar!"
"It's not what you think," she said, her voice breaking.
"Oh, it's not? Then what is it? Another excuse? Another lie?"
Woonhak felt his blood boil. He wanted to intervene, but held back. It wasn't his problem. She'd made that clear. He had no right to get involved. Not after everything.
"It's always the same!" the boyfriend kept shouting. "Always your dramas! Always playing the victim!"
A small crowd had formed around them. Some looked uncomfortable. Others with the morbid curiosity of watching a car crash. Woonhak saw a girl cover her mouth with her hands. Saw a guy pull out his phone.
"You're a slut!" the boyfriend shouted, and the word echoed across the courtyard. "I bet you already got into bed with Woonhak! That's why you keep him around like a lapdog!"
The insult landed like a punch. Not on her.
On him.
Woonhak felt something break inside him. It wasn't anger. It was something colder. More calculated. It was the certainty that he couldn't stand by and watch. Couldn't let him humiliate her. Couldn't let him treat her like that. Not after everything he'd kept quiet about. Not after all the years he'd watched her dim.
He didn't think. He just acted.
He crossed the courtyard in three strides. People moved out of his way. Grabbed the boyfriend by the collar and punched him in the face. The guy fell to the ground. Woonhak lunged at him.
"Don't touch her!" he shouted. "Don't you dare touch her!"
The boyfriend fought back. Punched him back. Woonhak felt a sharp pain in his lip — blood, metal, heat — a crunch of teeth, the metallic taste filling his mouth. But he didn't stop. Kept hitting. Once. Twice. Three times.
"Enough!" someone grabbed him from behind. "Woonhak, enough!"
It was Riwoo. Holding him tight. Other students pulled the boyfriend away, who was bleeding from his nose and muttering insults between gasps.
In that moment, clarity hit him and he realized he'd let his anger take over. People were crowding around. The entire courtyard had become a circus. Woonhak got up. His lip was split. The knuckle of his right hand was burning, the skin torn. His chest heaved with ragged breaths.
He looked at her. She was crying. Staring at the ground. Her hands were shaking. Her shoulders were shuddering.
She didn't say anything.
He turned around. Walked toward the main building. People moved out of his way. His footsteps echoed on the pavement. His lip hurt, throbbed, burned. His hand too. Everything burned.
The nurse's office. He needed something for his lip. Needed to get out of there. Needed to disappear.
The hallway was empty. The echo of his footsteps bounced off the walls. He brought his hand to his lip — blood, yes, but nothing serious — and kept walking. Tried not to think about her. About her tears. About her lost gaze.
He couldn't.
A voice behind him stopped him.
"Woonhak."
He turned around. It was her. She was gasping, like she'd run after him. Hair messy. Cheeks stained with tears and smeared makeup. Eyes swollen.
"What?" he asked. His voice came out colder than he wanted. "Shouldn't you be with your boyfriend?"
She shook her head. The tears kept falling. Woonhak watched one drop hit the floor, splatter against the linoleum.
"No... I don't want to be with him."
"Don't tell me that," he said, his voice strained. "Not when I just messed up my hand for you. Not when I got into a fight that wasn't mine."
She stepped forward. Reached her hand toward his face.
"Let me see," she said. "You're bleeding."
"It's fine."
"Woonhak, please."
He sighed. Let her come closer. Her hand trembled as she touched his chin to turn his head toward the light. She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and pressed it against his lip. Woonhak felt the soft touch, the warmth of her fingers on his skin.
"You were right," she said quietly, not meeting his eyes. "He's an idiot. He always was. And I was too stupid to realize it."
Woonhak didn't say anything, just laughed sarcastically.
"I'm sorry I hurt you," she continued, her voice breaking. "I'm sorry I didn't see what we had. I'm sorry I asked you to forget how you felt. I was a coward. And an idiot."
"I know," he said.
She smiled. A sad, small, trembling smile.
"I know I can't ask you to be my friend again. Not after everything. But I wanted you to know that I'm sorry. And that... that I love you. As a friend. As whatever you want. But I love you."
Woonhak felt something break inside him. Not anger. It was sadness. And relief. And the certainty that even though things weren't going to be the same, something was changing.
"I don't know if I can be your friend," he said. "Not now. But... I'm glad you finally opened your eyes."
She nodded. Pulled the handkerchief away. There was blood. Not much.
"That's enough," she said.
They stood in silence. The empty hallway. The echo of the fight, already distant. Background noise of people talking somewhere, of footsteps fading away.
"Woonhak."
"Yeah."
"Do you think someday... we'll be able to talk again? To be okay?"
Woonhak looked at her. Her eyes, red from crying. Her hands, still trembling. The blood on the handkerchief she was still clutching.
"I don't know," he said. "It's hard."
The following weeks were strange.
Woonhak and she didn't become friends again. Not overnight. They talked sometimes, in the hallway, with an awkward politeness neither of them knew how to break. Brief exchanges. Two sentences. A forced smile. Eyes on the floor.
"Hi," she'd say.
"Hi," he'd reply.
And that was it.
She'd left her boyfriend. Woonhak found out through Taesan, who found out through Jaehyun, who found out from someone who'd seen it in the courtyard. It wasn't a surprise. After the fight, the guy had become the campus villain, and she the poor girl who'd been publicly humiliated.
He didn't feel relieved. He felt empty.
Because he wanted to be happy. Wanted to run to her and tell her everything would be okay. But he couldn't. Not after everything. Not after breaking so many times. Not after she'd told him she loved him as a friend.
She kept looking for him. Sometimes in the cafeteria. Sometimes by message. Sometimes she'd appear in the hallway of his faculty, like she was waiting for him to pass by. Woonhak would see her from a distance and take a detour. Take another hallway. Show up late to class. Leave before she could catch up.
How are you?
Do you want to meet up for coffee?
Just to talk. As friends.
Woonhak, please.
He'd read the messages. Sometimes save them and not reply. Sometimes reply with one word. Not because he didn't want to see her. Because he didn't know how to do it without breaking. Without falling back into the same cycle.
Taesan noticed his struggle. One night, after watching Woonhak stare at his phone for ten minutes without typing anything, he sat down next to him.
"You don't have to decide everything now," he said. "You can take your time."
"What if she gets tired of waiting?" Woonhak asked, his voice tired.
"If she gets tired," Taesan said, "then she wasn't for you."
Woonhak put his phone away. Didn't respond.
"You know what the worst part is?" he said after a while. "That I know I shouldn't wait. That I know I should move on. But I can't. Because every time I get a message from her, my heart still skips a beat. Like nothing happened. Like she didn't break my heart three times in one month."
"That's called love, Woonhak. It hurts."
"Well, I don't want it to hurt."
"Then stop loving her."
"I can't."
"Then it hurts. That's it."
Woonhak was quiet. He didn't know if that was comfort or a sentence. But he held onto the idea.
Weeks passed. Then two months. Then almost three.
Woonhak hadn't seen her in person since the day of the fight. He'd made sure of it. Changed his schedules. Changed his routes. Stopped going to the usual cafe. He found out through Taesan that she'd gone looking for him there several times, but he never showed up.
He missed her. Missed her in a way he didn't know how to explain. It wasn't just love. It was habit. It was presence. It was knowing someone was waiting for you on the other end of the phone. Now there was no one.
One day, he was in the library, studying — or trying to — when his phone buzzed. He thought it was the group chat. It wasn't.
Woonhak, I know you don't want to see me. But I've been thinking about you.
Woonhak read the message. Reread it. Put his phone away.
Five minutes later, he took it out again.
Woonhak: Why?
Because I've realized a lot of things.
That you were always there. That you never failed me. That I loved you and didn't know how to tell you.
And now that you're not here, I notice it more.
Woonhak felt a lump in his throat.
Woonhak: Don't tell me these things if you don't mean them.
I mean them.
Woonhak, I really mean them.
But I don't know if you want to hear them.
Woonhak didn't reply. Turned off his phone. Stared at the library wall for a long time.
He didn't know what he wanted.
Or he did. But he was scared.
The night everything changed, it was raining.
Not a light rain. A storm. The kind that soaks you to the bone in seconds, fogs up windows and empties streets. The water fell in gray sheets, hitting the asphalt with a violence that felt personal.
Woonhak was at the bus stop, soaking wet, cursing himself for not bringing an umbrella. The bus wasn't coming. The sky was black, starless. Water ran down his neck, down his back, down his legs. The cold seeped into his bones.
A lightning bolt lit up the sky. The thunder came after. Woonhak flinched, swore under his breath, and pressed himself closer to the shelter. It didn't help. The wind blew the water in every direction.
And then he saw her.
She was across the street. No umbrella either. Soaking wet. Staring at him.
Woonhak felt his heart race. An impulse told him to turn around, ignore her, do nothing. That he'd already suffered enough. That she'd had her chance.
But he didn't do any of that.
He stood there looking at her.
She crossed the street. Running. Her feet splashed through puddles. Water sprayed around her. She reached the bus stop, gasping, hair plastered to her face, clothes dripping, lips trembling from the cold — or from something else.
"Woonhak," she said.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice coming out harder than he wanted. "Can't you see it's raining?"
"I've been looking for you," she said, unfazed. "Everywhere. In class. At the cafe. At the library. You've been avoiding me."
"I'm not avoiding you."
"Yes, you are. You've been avoiding me for months."
Woonhak ran a hand over his face, wiping away the water.
"What do you want?" he asked. "What do you want from me?"
"I want to talk," she said, her voice trembling. "I want us to stop doing this."
"Doing what?"
"This. Ignoring each other. Hurting each other."
"I'm not hurting you," he said.
"Yes, you are. You pull away and it hurts me. And I know it's my fault. For everything. For not seeing you. For asking you to forget how you felt. For leaving that day. But I can't keep going like this."
"Like what?"
"Like this. Without you."
Woonhak looked at her. The rain fell between them. Water ran down his face, but he didn't wipe it away. He couldn't.
"You've been telling me for months that you love me as a friend," he said, his voice strained. "That you need me. That you don't want to lose me. But that's not enough for me. I already told you. I can't just be your friend."
"I know."
"Then what do you want? Because don't come at me with half-measures. Don't come at me with 'I love you but I don't know.' Because I've been waiting for years. Years of feeling this. And I can't keep going like this. I can't keep being the one who always waits, the one who's always there when he isn't, the one who always picks up the pieces. I can't do it anymore."
"Woonhak..."
"No!" His voice rose, raw, above the noise of the rain. "Listen to me! I've been the friend for years. The good friend. The one who's always there. The one who never asks for anything in return. But that's not true. I wanted everything. I always wanted everything. And you never saw me. Always him. Always him. And now that he's gone, what? You come to me because you have no one else?"
She opened her mouth. But he didn't let her speak.
"I don't want to be your consolation prize. I don't want to be your second choice. I don't want to be the one who always picks up the pieces. Because every time I do, I break a little more. And I have nothing left. Do you understand? I have nothing left."
His voice broke on the last word. The rain kept falling. Water ran down his face, mixed with something else.
She stepped forward. Woonhak didn't move.
"Woonhak," she said quietly.
"What?" he asked, his voice broken. "What are you going to tell me now? That you're sorry? That it wasn't your intention? That you want us to be friends again?"
She shook her head. Took another step closer.
"No," she said. "I'm not going to say that."
"Then..."
She didn't let him finish. She stepped closer, put her hands on his cheeks — cold, soaking wet, trembling — and kissed him.
It wasn't a soft kiss. It wasn't a shy kiss. It was a desperate kiss, the kind that's been years in the making. The kind that says "shut up, I've heard enough, now let me show you." The kind that doesn't ask for forgiveness, but asks for a chance.
Woonhak froze for a second. The taste of her lips mixed with the rain, with tears, with everything they'd kept quiet. Then his hands moved on their own. Tangled in her wet hair. Pulled her toward him. Kissed her like it was the last time.
When they pulled apart, they were both breathless.
"That," she said, gasping. "That's what I wanted to tell you."
"Did you... kiss me?" he murmured, still stunned.
"Yes, I kissed you," she said. "I don't want you to leave. I know I've always needed you and didn't realize it. I know I love you. And I don't want to lose you again."
"Do you love me as a friend?" he asked, his voice uncertain whether it was hope or fear.
She looked at him. The rain ran down her face. Her lips moved, trembling.
"As everything," she said. "As whatever you want to be. But I want you to stay."
Woonhak felt something unravel inside him. It wasn't pain. It was years of tension. It was the weight of waiting. It was everything he'd been holding in that he could finally let go.
"I've been waiting years to hear that," he said. "I've loved you since middle school. I had to wait years for you to realize..."
"Now you don't have to wait anymore," she said.
"What if it doesn't work?" he asked. "What if we break everything? What if we're not good together?"
"It doesn't matter," she said. "Because we'll try. Because I can't keep going without trying."
Woonhak looked at her. The rain kept falling. Water ran down their faces. Her hands were still in his hair.
"I love you," he said.
"I know," she said. "And I love you too."
And she kissed him again. In the rain. At the bus stop. While the world kept spinning and the water kept falling and everything else stopped mattering.
When the bus arrived, they didn't get on.
They stayed holding each other, soaking wet, until the rain stopped.
And then, for the first time in his life, Woonhak didn't wait.
He just lived.
🌟 Woonhak [weverse 20260721]
LOVE ME HARDER ── MOE'S BIRTHDAY SPECIAL
GENRE : suggestive PAIRING : fem!jongseob x fem!woonhak CONTAINS : kissing, touching, situationship, idk some other shit too WORD COUNT : 857 NOTE : happy birthday to my beautiful @moesthinking. you're one of the kindest people i've met and i'm so grateful that we've become friends. you'll forever be one of my best friends and i love you so much. we've grown a lot together and have i mentioned how much you mean to me? i hope you have the best year ever and i genuinely can't wait for us to (hopefully) hang out one day. everyone wish moe rn! [written 19 july]
🌟 Woonhak [weverse 20260718]
🌟 Woonhak [weverse 20260718]