Hold on - Ohyul scenario (Fluff, angst)
✧･ﾟ: ✧:･ﾟ✧ A/N: Been obsessed with LNGSHOT recently! So lemme write about them! Hope you enjoy! Let me know if you want more LNGSHOT scenarios <3 ✧･ﾟ: ✧:･ﾟ✧
Summary: Trapped between the brutal demands of his upcoming debut and the only girl who makes him feel human, Ohyul pushes you away, only to realize some connections are impossible to sever.
Members: Ohyul x Reader Genre: Fluff, angst Warnings: none Word count: 9931
🫧₊˚⊹♡⊹˚₊🫧 🫧₊˚⊹♡⊹˚₊🫧 🫧₊˚⊹♡⊹˚₊🫧 🫧₊˚⊹♡⊹˚₊🫧 🫧₊˚⊹♡⊹˚₊🫧
The 2:00 AM air in Seoul’s Mapo district carries a quiet, damp chill, heavy with the distant hum of traffic along the Gangbyeon Expressway. Most of the high-rise office towers are dark, but the narrow alleyways behind the agency building remain alive in the glow of neon signs and late-night convenience stores.
Inside the brightly lit GS25, the automatic door chimes softly. You walk the narrow aisles, scanning the shelves for the familiar, comfort-food rotation: two instant ramen cups, a triangular tuna-mayo gimbap, a hot plastic tray of microwave tteokbokki, and two chilled cans of banana milk.
You’ve done this run a hundred times.
Long before Ohyul was signed to LNGSHOT—back when he was just an ambitious kid with scuffed sneakers and a second-hand acoustic guitar—you two were grabbing cheap snacks from neighborhood convenience stores in your hometown. Back then, you’d sit on plastic chairs outside under the fluorescent lights, laughing about bad school exam scores and dreaming about a future that felt impossible.
Now, he’s an idol whose face hangs on giant LED billboards across Myeongdong. But despite the relentless schedules, the security details, and the crushing weight of public attention, the two of you have held onto this one tether. In a world where everyone wants a piece of the LNGSHOT star, you’re still the only person who knows just plain Ohyul.
✧･ﾟ: ✧:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: ✧:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: ✧:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: ✧:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: ✧:･ﾟ✧
Carrying the plastic bag, you slip through the agency’s side entrance—the quiet door used by late-night staff and trainees. You navigate the silent hallways down to Basement Level 2, pushing open the heavy door to Practice Room 3.
The studio is vast and dim, lined with floor-to-ceiling mirrors reflecting the soft overhead lights. The room still smells faintly of floor wax and the familiar cedarwood scent of his cologne.
Ohyul is sitting on the polished floor near the back wall, his long legs stretched out, his back resting against the mirror. His snapback is pulled low over dark, slightly damp hair, and his broad shoulders are slumped in absolute exhaustion after six straight hours of dance rehearsal.
When the door clicks shut, his head lolls to the side. The tired frown on his face instantly dissolves, replaced by a soft, quiet warmth in his eyes that he only ever shows to you.
"Hey Y/N, why are you here? It’s late," he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly from vocal practice. "I bought the tuna-mayo," you say softly.
Ohyul lets out a quiet, breathy laugh, unwrapping the food. "You knew I was starving." He breaks apart a pair of wooden chopsticks, picks up the first bite, and instead of taking it himself, lifts it right to your lips. “Of course I did.” You smiled and observed him.
✧･ﾟ: ✧:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: ✧:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: ✧:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: ✧:･ﾟ✧
The dim studio was left in silence once again. Ohyul hoisted his heavy gym bag over one broad shoulder; exhaustion clung to him like a second skin, a kind of soul-deep fatigue born from endless hours under harsh practice lights, yet when you reached for the door, his hand was already there, holding it open for you.
He didn't need to ask. Even in his bone-tired state, walking you home was a non-negotiable rule he’d kept since you were kids.
The midnight air was brisk, biting gently at exposed skin as the two of you walked side by side down the quiet, winding streets toward your apartment. He walked on the outer side, closest to the road, his hands shoved deep into his hoodie pockets. His shoulder brushed against yours with every few steps, a slow, steady cadence in the quiet city night.
"You don't have to do this every time, you know," you murmured, breaking the silence as your breath fogged in the cool air. "You're dead on your feet, Ohyul. You should be heading straight to the dorms."
He let out a low, sleepy chuckle, the sound vibrating softly in his chest. "And leave you wandering Seoul at two in the morning alone? Not happening. Besides..." He tilted his head down, catching your eye under the faint yellow glow of a streetlight. "I get to see you a little longer."
The simple, casual honesty of his words made your heart do a sudden, familiar flutter.
When you finally reached the entrance of your building, he stopped, leaning back against the brick wall with an exhausted sigh. He waited until you unlocked the front door, his dark eyes tracking your every move.
"Go on up," he said softly, his voice raspy. "Text me when you're inside."
"Get some sleep, Ohyul. Promise me."
"I will," he lied gently with a tiny, tired smile.
You gave him a final nod and stepped inside, watching through the glass door as he turned and slowly began his walk back into the night, his head bowed, hands tucked away.
Standing in the quiet lobby, you felt your heart begin to ache with a familiar, heavy longing. You wished, more than anything, that you dared just to run back out, grab his sleeve, and say the words out loud.
I like you, Ohyul. I have for so long.
But the fear always held you back. Did he feel it too?
You thought back to the little things, the way his eyes always lingered on you a few seconds too long whenever he thought you weren't looking. The way that whenever the rest of the LNGSHOT members gathered around for group dinners or casual hangouts, Ohyul always, without fail, found his way to your side. He’d sit just a little closer to you than anyone else, his shoulder resting against yours, quietly marking a subtle, unspoken boundary between you two and the rest of the world.
He gave you those moments. He gave you his quietest, truest self. But until either of you dared to bridge the gap, you were left standing in the dark, watching him walk away into a world of fame that felt further from you with every passing day.
✧･ﾟ: ✧:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: ✧:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: ✧:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: ✧:･ﾟ✧
The schedule was tight both for you and Ohyul. After a few days of not seeing each other, your phone suddenly vibrated with a video call notification.
The second you answered, chaos exploded through the speaker. The screen showed Louis holding the phone at a chaotic angle, his hair messy, wearing an oversized apron that looked ridiculous on him.
"Help us! We are dying!" Louis yelled into the camera over the sound of a blaring smoke detector in the background.
In the frame behind him, Woojin was frantically waving a dish towel at the smoke detector, while Ryul stood over a frying pan with a pair of long tongs, looking offended.
"It's not burnt, it's seared!" Ryul shouted back, defensively flipping a piece of blackened pork belly. "It's gourmet!"
"It looks like charcoal, bro!" Woojin wheezed, swatting the air.
"Hey, give me that," a lower, smoother voice cut through the madness.
The phone got yanked away, the camera spinning wildly for a second before settling on Ohyul. He was standing in the quiet of the hallway, wearing a simple gray sweatshirt, his dark hair damp from a shower. The contrast between the chaotic living room behind him and his calm, focused gaze on you was instantaneous.
The corner of his mouth tilted up into a soft, crooked smile.
"Hey," Ohyul said softly, his voice instantly dropping the volume of the room. "It’s our official day off today. The guys wanted to cook, but as you can see, we’re five minutes away from setting off the building sprinklers."
"Tell her to come save us!" Louis yelled from the background, leaning into the frame.
Ohyul rolled his eyes playfully, leaning his shoulder against the wall, his gaze locking onto yours through the screen with an intensity that made your pulse jump.
"Ignore them," he murmured, his tone shifting into that quiet, heavy warmth reserved only for you. "We just... really want you here. I want you here. Are you free?"
Twenty minutes later, you were stepping off the elevator on the top floor of their high-security apartment complex in Hannam-dong.
Before you could even raise your hand to press the doorbell, the heavy front door unlocked and swung wide open.
Ohyul stood there. The moment his dark eyes caught yours, all the exhaustion, the stress, and the four days of missing you seemed to wash off his face in an instant. A bright, genuine smile—the kind he never gave to the cameras or the press—broke across his features.
"You're finally here," he breathed.
He didn't hesitate. Before you could even say hello, Ohyul reached out, wrapped his long arms firmly around your waist, and pulled you straight into his chest.
It wasn't a casual, quick greeting. It was a deep, possessive, soul-soothing hug. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, breathing you in, his warm chin resting against your shoulder as his arms tightened around you, pulling you so close there wasn't a breath of space left between you.
"I missed you," he whispered right against your skin, his voice low, raspy, and dangerously honest.
The kitchen smoke was finally cleared out, but the "gourmet" burnt pork belly was an absolute loss. You all tried a single bite to spare Ryul’s pride—which resulted in a collective round of coughing, dramatic choking noises from Woojin, and Ryul throwing up his hands in defeat. Twenty minutes later, three massive boxes of late-night pizza were spread across the living room coffee table.
The dorm was alive with the kind of warmth and noise that only LNGSHOT could create on a rare day off.
You were sitting on the plush rug, leaning back against the sofa. Naturally, Ohyul was right next to you. He had claimed the spot on the floor so close that his shoulder brushed yours every time he moved, his long leg casually pressed against your side as he quietly passed you a slice of pepperoni before taking one for himself.
"Okay, okay, check this out," Louis said, suddenly popping up in the middle of the room with a pizza crust still in his mouth. He hit play on a Bluetooth speaker, letting a heavy, bass-boosted beat echo through the apartment.
It was an unreleased demo—a snippet from their upcoming debut album.
Woojin and Ryul immediately jumped up to join him, launching into a sharp, energetic choreo sequence right in the center of the living room. They were laughing, making silly faces at you mid-move, but their precision was insane. You cheered and clapped, genuinely amazed. This was your favorite part of being in their inner circle—getting a front-row seat to their passion, long before the rest of the world got to see it.
"What do you think?" Ryul panted, dropping back onto the sofa and grabbing his soda. "Does the transition in the second verse work?"
"It’s incredible," you said, beaming. "Seriously, that beat drop is going to wreck the fans."
Ohyul let out a low, warm laugh beside you. He was leaning back on one palm, looking up at you from the floor with dark, soft eyes. "Told you she'd like it," he murmured, his voice dipping into that heavy, private tone.
You turned your head, meeting his gaze. In the dim lighting of the living room, surrounded by the loud banter of the boys, the eye contact stretched out. One second. Two seconds. Three. His eyes flicked down to your lips before tracing back up to your eyes, a small, subtle tilt curving the corner of his mouth.
"Well," you whispered, leaning in just a fraction of an inch, "maybe I only like it because your vocal part sounds the best."
Ohyul’s breath hitched slightly, his smile deepening, a sudden, thrilling heat flashing behind his eyes. "Is that so?" he purred softly. "Maybe I should sing it right in your ear next time."
"Oh my god, stop!"
Louis’s dramatic shriek instantly shattered the bubble.
"Do you guys have to do that in front of us?!" Louis groaned, rolling his eyes dramatically. "The tension is literally making the cheese on this pizza go cold! Get a room!"
"Louis, shut up," Ohyul warned, though a subtle flush was crawling up the back of his neck as he grabbed a stray throw pillow and hurled it straight at the younger boy’s head.
"No, but seriously," Woojin chimed in, grinning wickedly from the armchair. "You two have been doing this quiet eye-flirting thing all night. It's getting ridiculous. Are we interrupting a date or something?" "We're literally just talking," you said quickly, feeling your own cheeks burn as Ryul started making kissy faces from across the room. "Yeah, yeah, 'just talking,'" Ryul snorted. "Ohyul doesn't even look at us like that, and we're his brothers. If you look at her any harder, Hyung, your eyes are going to get stuck."
Ohyul just shook his head, a fond yet embarrassed laugh escaping him as he nudged his knee firmly against yours under the table, holding your ground. He didn't deny it. He didn't back away. Instead, under the table where the boys couldn't see, his hand slid down, his fingers lightly brushing against your wrist in a quick, secret touch that set your whole skin on fire.
"Ignore them," Ohyul murmured under his breath, leaning closer so only you could hear over Louis’s sudden karaoke performance. "They’re just jealous."
✧･ﾟ: ✧:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: ✧:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: ✧:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: ✧:･ﾟ✧
The hours melted away in a blur of loud laughter, endless snacks, and the apartment's comfortable warmth. Before anyone realized it, the clock on the living room wall blinked 01:45 AM.
"Alright," you said with a quiet stretch, standing up from the floor. "I should probably head out before I turn into a pumpkin. You guys have schedule prep tomorrow."
"Aww, already?" Louis groaned, flopping dramatically onto the sofa cushions.
You walked over to the hallway to grab your coat, but the second you reached for the door, a sudden, violent crack of thunder shook the windowpanes.
Within seconds, the sky opened up. Rain hit the glass with terrifying force, accompanied by howling winds that rattled the window frames. It wasn't just a light late-night drizzle—it was a full-blown summer torrential downpour.
Woojin walked over to the window, whistling softly as he looked out into the sheet of white rain blurring the streetlights below. "Yeah... you're definitely not walking home in that. You'll get washed away into the Han River."
"I can just call a taxi," you offered, pulling out your phone.
"Good luck," Ryul snorted from the kitchen, sipping a glass of water. "It's almost two in the morning during a flash flood. No driver is picking up."
"You're staying here," Ohyul’s voice cut in, firm and steady. He walked over, gently taking your coat out of your hands and hanging it back up. "It's not safe out there."
Louis popped his head over the back of the couch, a wicked, teasing grin spreading across his face. "Yeah, stay! You can sleep in Ohyul's room! It’s not like his bed isn't big enough for—"
"Louis, close your mouth," Ohyul warned instantly, though a faint flush rose on his neck. He turned back to you, his dark eyes instantly softening into that familiar, protective warmth. "He's an idiot, but they're right. You're staying. We've slept in the same room a million times since we were kids, so don't even think twice about it."
"Of course," you smiled softly, the warmth in your chest easing the sudden panic of being trapped by the storm.
Ohyul led you down the short hallway to his room. Compared to the rest of the apartment, his space was surprisingly quiet and cozy; it smelled faintly of cedarwood, clean laundry, and his favorite expensive cologne.
He opened his closet and rooted through the shelves, pulling out an oversized dark grey t-shirt and a pair of soft, drawstring pajama pants.
"Here," he said, handing the stack to you with a gentle smile. "They’re going to be huge on you, but they're comfortable."
"Thanks, Hyul," you murmured.
While you changed in his private bathroom, you could hear him bustling around outside. When you stepped out—drowned in his clothes, the sleeves hanging well past your hands and the collar slipping slightly off one shoulder- Ohyul was standing by the bed, tossing an extra plush pillow onto the mattress.
He looked up, and for a second, his breath noticeably hitched. His eyes traced the way his clothes swallowed your frame, a quiet, intensely fond expression settling over his face before he quickly cleared his throat.
"Fits perfectly," he teased softly, a small, crooked smile tugging at his lips.
"I look like a toddler in my dad's clothes," you laughed, pulling at the oversized sleeves.
You sat down on the edge of the mattress, but then reality hit you. Ohyul had a brutal six-hour dance rehearsal at 8:00 AM tomorrow.
"Wait," you said, looking up at him as he grabbed an extra blanket from his closet. "Ohyul, you're sleeping in your bed."
"No way," he replied smoothly, unrolling the blanket. "You're the guest. You get the bed."
"Ohyul, you have practice tomorrow! Your back is going to be wrecked if you sleep on the hardwood floor!"
"I've slept on studio floors my whole life," he argued, stepping closer to the bed, resting his hands on his hips as he looked down at you with stubborn fondness. "I'm not letting you sleep on the floor."
"Then I'll sleep on the living room couch!"
"Louis is sleeping on the couch because he's too lazy to walk to his room," Ohyul countered instantly, tilting his head. "Try again."
You groaned in frustration, grabbing the extra pillow. "I am not taking your bed."
"And I am not letting you sleep on the floor while I take the bed."
After five minutes of back-and-forth bickering that felt like a throwback to when you were twelve years old, a hilarious, absurd stalemate was reached.
If neither of you was willing to take the bed alone while the other suffered on the floor, then neither of you was taking the bed.
"This is ridiculous, you know that right?" you whispered, biting back a laugh as you dropped your pillow straight onto the wooden floor on the left side of the bed. "We've known each other for ten years. We used to build blanket forts together."
"I know," Ohyul chuckled softly, tossing his own pillow onto the floor on the right side of the bed, using the mattress as a giant barrier between you two. "But you're stubborn."
"Look who's talking!"
You both slid down onto your respective spots on the floor, pulling your blankets up to your chins. The room was dark, lit only by the faint blue flash of lightning outside the window and the rhythmic patter of heavy rain against the glass.
The silence settled in—cozy, thick, and humming with that unspoken magnetic energy that always existed between you two.
"You warm enough?" Ohyul’s low, gravelly voice echoed softly from the other side of the bed.
"Yeah," you whispered into the dark. "Are you?"
You heard the rustle of his blanket, followed by a soft, breathy laugh. "I'd be warmer if I didn't have a giant mattress dividing us."
Your heart gave a sudden, violent thud against your ribs. You rolled onto your side, facing the dark gap under his bed frame. "Is that an invitation, Mr. Idol?"
A low, breathy laugh echoed from the other side of the frame. You could practically hear the sudden spike in his heart rate through the dark. Ohyul cleared his throat, a subtle, flustered beat slipping into his silence—though he’d never admit out loud that your teasing got to him.
"Don't start," he murmured, his voice dipping into a raspy, quiet hum.
Before you could reply, the shadow on the other side of the bed shifted. The blanket rustled, and a second later, Ohyul stood up, stepping around the wooden frame to loom over you in the dark. He looked down at you curled up on the hard floor, wearing his oversized shirt, and shook his head with a fond, quiet sigh.
"Alright, joke's over," he said softly, reaching down to grab your wrist. "Get up. You're sleeping on the bed."
You groaned, holding onto your blanket. "Ohyul, we literally just went over this—"
"I'm not asking," he cut in gently, his grip warm and unyielding as he effortlessly pulled you to your feet. "You take the left side. I take the right. That way neither of us have to suffer on the floor."
You looked at him through the dim light, catching the firm, resolute look in his dark eyes. "Fine," you bargained. "Deal," he whispered, a tiny, crooked smile playing on his lips.
The second you both climbed under the soft duvet, the air in the room completely shifted.
It was a large mattress, but suddenly it felt impossibly small. The effortless, playful banter vanished, replaced by a thick, vibrating tension that made your pulse hammer against your ribs. The sheets rustled as you both turned onto your sides, facing each other in the dark, separated by only a few inches.
You let out a tiny, nervous laugh, trying to break the sudden electricity humming between you. "This is weirdly serious now..."
Ohyul didn't laugh.
Instead, he slowly raised his arm, his warm, calloused hand reaching across the small gap. His long fingers gently cupped your cheek, his thumb resting lightly against your cheekbone. The heat of his touch sent a shiver straight down your spine. He just lay there, his dark eyes tracing every detail of your face with an intense, unreadable focus.
"What are you doing?" you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper, your heart practically leaping out of your chest.
Ohyul leaned in just an inch closer, his dark gaze dropping to your lips for a split second before locking back onto your eyes.
“Y/N… I want to do so many things...” “Why don’t you do it then Ohyul?”
That was it—the absolute breaking point.
Ohyul let out a low, dangerous growl from the back of his throat. In one swift, fluid motion, he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, shifting his heavy frame directly over you. He straddled your hips, completely trapping you beneath him on the mattress.
Before you could even process the sudden, intoxicating weight of him hovering over you, his warm, calloused hand surged up, tangling firmly into the back of your hair. He yanked your head back, tilting your chin up, and slammed his mouth down on yours.
A sharp, breathless gasp escaped your throat, instantly swallowed as his lips devoured yours with a sudden, bruising intensity.
The kiss began deep and feverish, an overwhelming release of years spent holding back. It was hot, slick, and intensely passionate. A soft, quiet moan escaped the back of your throat, instantly swallowed as Ohyul’s mouth devoured yours, taking his time to taste every inch of you.
You slid your hands under the hem of his grey hoodie, your palms pressing against the firm, burning skin of his stomach. He gasped into the kiss, his stomach muscles tightening at your touch as your hands roamed upward, tracing the solid lines of his chest, sliding over his broad shoulders, and squeezing his toned arms. The feeling of his bare skin, hot and trembling under your touch, sent a shockwave of pure electricity straight through you.
Ohyul groaned—a low, raspy sound that vibrated deep in his chest—and dragged his lips away from your mouth. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, his lips pressing hot, lingering kisses along your jawline, down the sensitive arch of your throat, and against your collarbone.
"God, Y/N..." he rasped against your skin, his hot breath giving you goosebumps. "You're killing me..."
You tangled your fingers tightly into his dark, messy hair, pulling his head closer, arching your back off the bed as another quiet gasp slipped from your lips. The lust hanging in the dark room was suffocating—a heavy, addictive haze of quiet moans, tangled sheets, and breathless, desperate touches.
His large hands slid under your back, lifting you off the mattress just enough to pull your body flush against his. He pressed himself down into you, his weight heavy, comforting, and intoxicating. Every time his lips trailed back up to capture yours, the kiss grew deeper, hungrier, your tongues meeting in a rhythm that made your head spin and your heart hammer wildly against your ribs.
"Look at me," he rasped, his voice low, rough, and trembling with effort.
You forced your eyes open, staring right into his dark, burning gaze.
"You have no idea..." he panted, his forehead resting against yours as his thumb traced your bruised, swollen bottom lip, "...how many fucking nights I laid in that studio, going out of my mind because all I could think about was doing this to you."
"Ohyul..." you breathed, your pulse hammering violently against your ribs as your fingers dragged up his neck, hooking into his hoodie to pull him right back down. "Stop talking."
A dark, dangerous smirk flickered across his face. "Gladly."
He kissed you until your lips were thoroughly swollen and warm, your fingers tangled in his hair, his hands mapping every curve of your waist—a dark, electric, unforgettable haze that burned through the rest of the night.
✧･ﾟ: ✧:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: ✧:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: ✧:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: ✧:･ﾟ✧
Morning arrived with a soft, pale gold light filtering through the thin bedroom blinds.
Ohyul was already awake.
His chest rose and fell in a slow, steady cadence. He was lying quietly in the soft light, looking down at you with a look so tender, so completely unshielded, it felt like looking at a version of him the world would never get to see.
When your eyes opened and met his, a tiny, crooked smile spread across his face, his morning voice deep and rough as velvet.
"Morning, sleepyhead," he murmured.
The memory of last night—the desperate, hot make-out session, the quiet moans, his hands under your shirt, and his weight hovering over you—hit your brain all at once. A sudden, burning heat flushed straight into your cheeks.
In a wave of sudden, uncontrollable shyness, you buried your face directly into your hands, letting out a muffled groan.
Ohyul let out a low, breathy laugh that vibrated against your body. "Hey," he chuckled, his warm, long fingers gently wrapping around your wrists. He slowly, effortlessly pulled your hands away from your face, pinning them softly against the mattress above your head so he could look right at your flushed skin.
"Don't hide," he murmured, leaning down just an inch, his dark eyes sparkling with quiet amusement. "You were pretty bold last night, you know. 'Why don't you do it then, Ohyul?" he teased, mimicking your voice with a wicked, playful smirk.
"Ohyul, stop!" you whined, your face turning three shades redder as you tried to pull your hands free, though you couldn't suppress the breathless laugh escaping your lips.
"I'm serious," he softened, releasing your wrists to gently tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his thumb brushing your warm cheek. "Last night... I meant every second of it. I'm not apologizing for a single thing."
"Me neither," you admitted softly, your shyness settling into a quiet, warm contentment as you looked up at him.
Ohyul gave you a long kiss on the lips before reluctantly unspooling himself from the sheets. "Come on. We have to face the wolves downstairs before we're officially late for practice."
After washing up and changing back into your clothes, you and Ohyul walked out of his room side-by-side, descending the short flight of stairs toward the main living area and kitchen.
The rest of LNGSHOT were already up. The kitchen was filled with the smell of brewing coffee and toasted bagels. Woojin was leaning against the counter in sweatpants, Louis was aggressively spreading cream cheese onto a bagel, and Ryul was sipping iced coffee while staring blankly at his phone.
The second the sound of your footsteps hit the hardwood, three heads snapped in your direction at the same time.
Silence descended on the kitchen.
You tried your absolute best to play it cool, but the slight swell of your lips, the faint blush still lingering on your neck, and the subtle, possessive way Ohyul walked right beside you—his shoulder practically glued to yours—made secrecy completely impossible.
Louis lowered his bagel, his eyes darting from your lips to Ohyul’s messy hair, then back to your face. A slow, terrifyingly knowing smirk spread across his face. Woojin took a slow sip of his coffee, raising his eyebrows so high they practically disappeared into his hair. He didn't say a single word—he just let out a quiet, impressed whistle. Ryul just shook his head with a quiet, fond snort, taking another sip of his drink. "Morning, lovebirds," he muttered casually, turning back to his phone. "Coffee's hot."
Ohyul didn't even try to deny it. He just walked over to the counter, grabbed two mugs, and poured one for you and one for himself, completely unbothered by his members' intense staring. He passed you your cup, his fingers lingering over yours for three full seconds longer than necessary, giving you a quiet, secret glance that made your heart skip a beat all over again.
"What?" Ohyul finally asked, turning his head to glare playfully at Louis, who was vibrating with unexpressed jokes. "If you say one word, Louis, you're walking to the agency today."
"I didn't say anything!" Louis squeaked, holding his hands up defensively, though his grin was splitting his face in two. "I'm just observing! The air in here is very... scented today. Must be the coffee!"
"Eat your bagel," Ohyul grunted, but the subtle, proud curve at the corner of his lips told everyone in that room that everything had officially changed.
✧･ﾟ: ✧:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: ✧:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: ✧:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: ✧:･ﾟ✧
The next six months passed in an intoxicating, blurred rush of secret moments and late-night countdowns.
Behind closed doors, you and Ohyul fell into a rhythm that felt entirely your own.
The air was thick with heat and the smell of worn dance floors. The other members had long since passed out in their beds at the dorm, but Ohyul and you stayed in the studio for a little longer. He dragged you to the leather sofa. He pulled you onto his lap, burying his face into your neck while his long arms held you tightly against his chest.
"Stay still for five minutes," he murmured into your skin, his voice raspy with exhaustion. "Just let me recharge."
You ran your fingers through his damp hair, kissing his cheek, his jaw, and finally his lips in slow, sweet, lingering tastes that made him sigh contentedly into your mouth.
Mornings when you stayed over were filled with quiet, sleepy kisses before the rest of the dorm woke up. Ohyul would stand behind you at the counter, wrapping his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder as you poured coffee. He’d leave soft, warm trails of kisses along your shoulder blade where his oversized hoodie slipped off, teasing you softly until you turned in his arms and pulled him down by his collar for a proper kiss.
Despite the quiet intimacy between you and Ohyul, you were still the honorary fifth member of LNGSHOT. You spent endless nights in their living room, ordering late-night snacks, laughing until your stomach hurt as Louis dragged you into making ridiculous TikTok dances, or helping Ryul memorize his rap lines. At the same time, Woojin dramatically provided background vocals on an acoustic guitar.
Yet, under all the laughter and the stolen heat of Ohyul's kisses, an underlying weight constantly lingered in the back of your mind.
The calendar on Ohyul's wall was marked in bold red ink. 6 MONTHS.
Their debut was fast approaching. You watched the sheer, brutal intensity of their preparation up close—the bruised knees, the swollen ankles, the days where Ohyul was so tired he could barely keep his eyes open while holding your hand. You knew the second that debut day arrived, everything would change forever. They wouldn't belong to just this cozy red-brick apartment anymore; they would belong to the world. The secret late-night runs, the quiet moments on the floor, the freedom of holding hands in public—security detail, obsessive media, and endless stadium lights would swallow up all of it.
It terrified you.
One night, sitting on his bed while he rested his head in your lap, your hand paused in his dark hair. Ohyul immediately felt the shift, his dark eyes opening as he looked up at you from below.
"Where did you just go?" he asked softly, reaching up to intertwine his fingers with yours.
"Just... thinking," you admitted, a small, somber smile touching your lips. "Six months left, Hyul. After that... you guys are going to be huge. Everything's going to change."
Ohyul stared at you for a long moment, the quiet intensity in his gaze cutting straight through your worries. He sat up, taking your face in both of his warm hands, his thumbs gently smoothing over your cheeks before pressing a firm, deep kiss to your lips that stole the breath right out of your lungs.
"Everything outside these doors might change," he murmured against your mouth, his voice fierce, steady, and unshakeable. "But this won't. I won't let it. You're my anchor, Y/N. I'm doing all of this so I can stand up there and make you proud."
Looking into his eyes, hearing the absolute conviction in his voice, the knot of worry in your chest slowly untangled.
Yes, everything was about to change. It was terrifying, and the road ahead would be brutal. But watching Ohyul, Woojin, Ryul, and Louis bleed for their dream every single day, you realized something far stronger than your fear:
You couldn't wait. You couldn't wait for the world to finally see what you had known all along—that they belonged on that stage, and you would be right there in the front row, holding Ohyul's heart while he conquered it.
✧･ﾟ: ✧:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: ✧:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: ✧:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: ✧:･ﾟ✧
The shift between Ohyul and you didn't happen like a sudden storm. It was a slow, agonizing erosion—so quiet at first that you convinced yourself you were imagining it.
It started in the fifth month with the little things. An unanswered text that used to take minutes turning into twelve hours of silence. Late-night phone calls shrinking from an hour of soft laughing into a tired, two-minute "I'm going to bed, talk tomorrow."
Then came the subtle changes in his touch. When you visited the practice room, the fiery, magnetic pull that had once drawn Ohyul straight to your side felt muted. He still kissed your forehead, still held your hand, but his eyes were often miles away, heavy with a dark, suffocating fog.
By the final month before debut, the air between you turned brittle.
The first real argument happened in his room over something completely insignificant—a miscommunication about when you were coming over.
"I told you I had vocal lessons until midnight!" Ohyul snapped, throwing his jacket onto the chair with a sudden, harsh force that made you flinch. His jaw was tight, his dark eyes bloodshot with pure fatigue. "I don't have the energy to argue about this right now, Y/N!"
"I'm not trying to argue, Ohyul, I just came because you said—"
"I'm exhausted!" he cut in, his voice cracking slightly as he ran both hands down his face, dragging his fingers through his hair. He stood there, chest heaving, before dropping his head. "I'm sorry. I'm just... the pressure is killing me. My body hurts everywhere. I'm just stressed. Please... give me some space tonight."
You swallowed the lump in your throat, nodding softly, wrapping your arms around yourself to keep from shaking. "It's just the stress," you lied to yourself on the cold walk home. "It's just the exhaustion. Once they debut, once the worst of the prep is over, he'll be my Ohyul again."
You held onto that thin, fraying thread with everything you had. You brought him his favorite drinks, sent quiet words of encouragement he rarely replied to, and smiled through the growing distance, keeping your hope alive on pure desperation.
What you didn't know—what you couldn't see—was the quiet agony tearing Ohyul apart from the inside out.
It wasn't just the stress. It wasn't just the brutal 18-hour practice days.
Ohyul knew something you didn't.
Two weeks ago, behind closed doors in the high-floor executive offices of their agency, a final pre-debut contract amendment had been laid on the table. The company’s stance was absolute: zero tolerance, heightened security protocols, mandatory dorm isolation, and strict non-dating clauses that would be enforced with ruthless surveillance the second LNGSHOT hit the stage.
The managers had been clear. Any distraction, any leak, any whisper of a relationship would not only ruin his years of sweat and blood—it would destroy Woojin, Ryul, and Louis before they even had a chance to start.
Ohyul was being forced to choose between the dream his brothers had bled for and the only person who made his heart feel human.
Every time he looked at you, every time he saw the gentle, hopeful smile you forced for his sake, his soul fractured a little more. He knew he had to let you go. He knew he had to cut the cord before the media and the agency did it for him in the cruelest way possible.
But he couldn't bring himself to do it.
He was cowardly, selfish, and drowning. He couldn't muster the strength to speak the words out loud. He couldn't bear to see your face break when he told you it was over. So instead, he pushed you away in agonizing increments, letting the quiet arguments and cold distance build a wall between you, praying that maybe—just maybe—you would hate him enough to let go first, so he wouldn't have to break your heart with his own hands.
✧･ﾟ: ✧:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: ✧:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: ✧:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: ✧:･ﾟ✧
The silence that replaced him was deafening.
Slowly, agonizingly, the space between you widened until it wasn't just space anymore—it was a chasm. The drifting wasn't a clean break; it was a slow bleed, leaving a hollow, aching emptiness in your chest that nothing else could fill.
Ohyul was hurting. Deep down, beneath the stoic, exhausted mask he wore for the cameras and his members, he was utterly wrecked. He had never wanted this, not for you, and never for himself. Every step he took away from you felt like dragging his feet through broken glass, but with the debut looming like an unstoppable tidal wave, he felt cornered, trapped by a choice that was killing him from the inside out.
"Where's Y/N?" Louis asked one night, slumping onto the couch after a grueling twelve-hour rehearsal, looking up at Ohyul with tired, hopeful eyes. "She hasn't come by in almost three weeks. Did something happen?"
Woojin and Ryul paused, their eyes flicking toward him, waiting for an answer.
Ohyul kept his eyes glued to his phone, his thumb numbly tracing the screen, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek. "She's busy," he muttered, his voice flat, completely hollow. "Just... busy with her own stuff. Leave it alone."
He never gave them the real answer. He couldn't bring himself to speak it into existence.
When the late-night practices dragged on until 2:00 or 3:00 AM, when the rest of the world was asleep, and the oppressive quiet of the empty practice room settled over him, the unbearable ache in his chest would break through his resolve.
Sitting against the mirror, his body dripping with sweat and trembling from pure exhaustion, Ohyul would pull out his phone. His thumb would hover over your name before typing out short, desperate messages:
Are you asleep?
I miss you.
Please just pick up for a second.
Sometimes, his fingers would slip, and he’d actually hit the call button, listening to the agonizing ring... ring... ring... echoing in his ear in the dark room.
Your phone would light up on your nightstand, vibrating against the wood in the middle of the night. You would stare at his name, your chest tight, tears burning the back of your eyes.
You cared. God, you cared so much it felt like an open wound. But you didn't pick up. You couldn't.
He had pulled away first. He had built the wall, pushed you out, and left you scrambling in the cold for weeks while you desperately tried to hold on. You weren't going just to run back the second he felt lonely at 3:00 AM, only to be pushed away again when the sun came up. You had to protect what little was left of your heart.
It felt so unnaturally weird for both of you.
For years, you had been each other's home—the laughter, the secret hand-holds, the heavy make-out sessions on his bed, the quiet understanding without words. Now, there was just a massive, gaping void where your shared life used to be. You were both moving through the days like ghosts, aching for the touch, the voice, the presence of the one person who used to make everything make sense, entirely lost in a storm neither of you knew how to navigate.
✧･ﾟ: ✧:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: ✧:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: ✧:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: ✧:･ﾟ✧
With only a week left until debut, the pressure inside the agency reached a suffocating peak.
It was nearly 1:00 AM, and the dim studio was bathed in the warm, low ambient light of the mixing console. Ohyul and Ryul sat side by side in the plush leather chairs, wearing heavy headphones and listening to the final master touch-ups on the album's tracklist.
The soft, slow intro of a specific b-side track began to play—the tender, acoustic-driven ballad that Ohyul had helped write during those quiet late nights months ago.
As the melody swelled, Ohyul couldn't take it anymore. He pulled his headphones down around his neck, slumping deep into the producer’s chair and tilting his head back to stare blindly at the ceiling tile grid.
His eyes were heavy, dark circles etched under them, but the bone-deep tiredness wasn't just physical. Every line of the song, every chord progression, was completely soaked in your memory. He could almost feel the phantom touch of your hand in his, the scent of your hair, the way you had looked in his oversized hoodie under the soft amber light of his room.
It is what it is, he thought bitterly, a sharp, familiar ache twisting his gut. I did this. I pushed her away.
Ryul quietly pulled off his own headphones, the red LED lights from the mixing board reflecting in his quiet, perceptive eyes. He had watched Ohyul slowly fall apart over the last month, carrying a silent, heavy weight that was crushing him.
Without saying a word, Ryul reached over and placed his hand firmly on Ohyul’s knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze and a gentle tap.
"Everything’s gonna be fine, man," Ryul said softly, his voice low and steady in the quiet studio.
Ohyul didn't move his head, but his jaw tightened.
"I see it, Hyul," Ryul continued gently, his tone devoid of any judgment. "I see how much you're hurting. We all do. But right now... you have to take it day by day. One step at a time. It’s going to get better. I promise."
Ohyul swallowed hard, the tight lump in his throat making it impossible to speak for a long moment. He slowly brought his head down, looking over at Ryul. He gave his member a tiny, tight nod—a rare, silent moment of unspoken brotherhood and raw vulnerability between them.
"Thanks, Ryul," Ohyul rasped softly.
✧･ﾟ: ✧:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: ✧:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: ✧:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: ✧:･ﾟ✧
Then, the storm finally hit.
The debut album dropped, and LNGSHOT exploded onto the scene like a force of nature. Their name was everywhere—trending worldwide, blasting from cafe speakers, plastered across giant LED billboards in Gangnam.
You had listened to the album the exact second it hit streaming platforms, playing it on a continuous loop until you knew every beat, every ad-lib, every word of Ohyul's deep, velvet voice. You were overwhelmingly proud. Tears had filled your eyes the first time you heard the tracklist, a bittersweet mix of pure joy for their realized dreams and a profound, hollow ache that you weren't sitting in their living room with a cold pizza, celebrating and screaming with them like you used to.
When the day of their very first showcase stage arrived, you knew you couldn't stay away.
You bought a ticket yourself, slipping quietly into the sea of screaming fans packing the venue. Standing in the middle of the crowded floor, your heart hammered violently against your ribs as the venue lights began to dim and the heavy bass started to vibrate through the floorboards.
You held your breath, clutching your banner tightly to your chest, desperate and terrified, waiting for the moment Ohyul and the boys finally stepped out onto the stage where they belonged.
The arena lights plunged into pitch black. A deafening roar erupted from the crowd—a wave of pure, vibrating sound that rattled the floor beneath your feet and thundered through your chest. Millions of lightsticks illuminated the dark in a pulsing sea of color, every single eye locked on the massive center stage.
Then, the opening beat hit.
In a burst of pyrotechnics and blinding white spotlights, LNGSHOT rose onto the stage. The energy they brought was staggering. There was no hesitation, no rookie awkwardness—just pure, undeniable star power that instantly paralyzed the entire venue.
Woojin’s live vocals cut through the heavy bass with effortless, crystal-clear power, hitting soaring high notes that had the crowd screaming in sheer disbelief. Ryul moved like fluid lightning, his rap delivery razor-sharp and effortlessly cool. Louis’s bright, infectious energy bounced off the walls, his footwork so precise and sharp it looked unreal. They weren't just executing choreography; they were commanding the room, pouring every single drop of sweat, blood, and sleepless nights into every single second of the performance.
The fans were losing their minds, and even the casual spectators who had just come to check them out were standing with their mouths open, completely captivated by the raw talent commanding the stage.
And then there was Ohyul.
He moved with an intense, magnetic grace that demanded your absolute attention. His deep, velvet vocals grounded every track, smooth as silk yet laced with an undeniable edge. He looked breathtaking—his dark hair styled back, his sharp jawline bathed in the dramatic red and blue stage lights. He was born for this. He belonged up there.
During a transition between songs, as the stage flared with brilliant golden light, Ohyul walked toward the edge of the catwalk, sweeping his gaze across the ocean of faces.
And then, his dark eyes stopped.
Right on you.
Even amidst thousands of screaming fans, waving banners, and flashing cameras, the invisible wire that had bound you together your whole lives snapped tight in an instant. Your breath hitched, your heart taking a violent, heavy dip.
Your eyes locked.
The chaos of the arena seemed to blur into background noise. It was the same electric, magnetic static that had always existed between you two—the unsaid words, the lingering heat from his dark room, the years of quiet understanding. One look, and the entire distance of the past month collapsed into nothing. You could feel everything. He could feel everything. The air between you hummed so loudly it was deafening.
Ohyul’s jaw tightened subtly. His chest heaved with heavy breaths from the intense choreography, but he didn't break the eye contact—not for a single second.
Suddenly, the gentle, aching piano intro of "Never Let Go" began to drift through the speakers.
The crowd went completely wild, a collective gasp echoing through the venue as the fans instantly recognized the emotionally raw b-side.
For Ohyul, this song had been a nightmare to record. It was the track he had bled into during those quiet 1:00 AM studio sessions, the melody he had listened to while staring at the ceiling tiles, drowning in your ghost. Every lyric, every swell of the music, was a confession dedicated entirely to you.
The lights softened to a deep, intimate blue.
Ohyul brought his microphone to his lips, his voice cutting through the crowd—raspy, deep, and dripping with an aching, raw emotion that sent chills straight down your spine.
He stayed completely professional, executing the soft, emotional choreography flawlessly, but his eyes kept finding yours. Through the bridge, through the chorus, his gaze returned to you again and again—a silent beacon cutting through the dark.
Every time his eyes met yours, the sheer longing burning behind his stoic idol mask was exposed. He wasn't just singing to an arena anymore. He was singing to the girl standing in the crowd wearing his memory, pleading with his eyes for a second chance, drowning in a love that no contract, no distance, and no stage lights could ever kill.
✧･ﾟ: ✧:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: ✧:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: ✧:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: ✧:･ﾟ✧
The arena was almost entirely empty now.
The roaring crowds had filed out, leaving behind a vast, quiet cavern filled with discarded confetti, fading echoes, and the hum of stage equipment being dismantled. You stood near the front barricade, staring at the quiet stage, your mind still reeling from the sheer force of the performance—and the way Ohyul had looked at you.
"Excuse me, miss?" A security staff member walked up to you, flashing a flashlight down the aisle. "The show is over. You need to head toward the main exits now."
"Ah, right, sorry—"
"Wait, she's with us!"
A loud, familiar voice cut through the empty venue. You turned to see Woojin, Louis, and Ryul walking out from the side stage entrance, still half in their drenched stage outfits, towels draped over their shoulders.
"She’s a friend, it’s fine!" Woojin called out to the guard, who nodded and stepped back.
Before you could say a word, Louis bounded down the steps and threw his arms around you, pulling you into a tight, sweaty hug. "You came! I told them you'd come!"
"You guys were unbelievable," you breathed, hugging Louis back, then wrapping your arms around Woojin as he pulled you into a warm hug. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. "Seriously... I'm so, so proud of you. All of you."
"We missed you," Woojin said softly, giving your shoulder an affectionate squeeze. "It didn't feel right doing this without you around."
You looked around, your heart sinking just a fraction. Ohyul wasn't with them.
Ryul stepped up, his quiet, perceptive eyes taking in your expression. He gave you a warm, quick embrace, then glanced at Woojin and Louis. "Hey, give us a second, guys. I want to talk to Y/N."
Woojin and Louis shared a knowing look, nodding softly before backing away toward the stage stairs to give you space.
Ryul guided you a few steps toward the side of the barricade, away from the noise of the stagehands. He crossed his arms, looking down at you with a heavy, serious expression.
"He didn't tell you, did he?" Ryul asked quietly.
You swallowed the lump in your throat, shaking your head. "No. He didn’t tell me anything Ryul. He just... pulled away. He stopped calling, stopped texting, and every time I tried to reach out, it was like I was talking to a wall."
Ryul let out a low, tired sigh, running a hand through his damp hair. "I know it’s not my place to tell you this. It should be him standing here explaining himself, not leaving you out in the cold like that after everything you two have been through. But I can't watch you both drown anymore."
You held your breath, waiting.
"Right before the final pre-debut lock-in, management dropped a heavy clause on us," Ryul explained softly, his voice tight. "Strict non-dating, mandatory isolation, 24/7 surveillance. They told us if anyone had a 'distraction,' if there were even a whisper of a rumor, they'd pull the plug on the whole group. Ohyul panicked. He thought... he thought he was protecting us, and protecting you from the media mess. So he tried to sever the tie before anyone else could do it for him."
Your heart took a sickening, violent drop. The missing puzzle pieces finally clicked into place—the sudden distance, the quiet arguments, the tortured look in his eyes every time he pulled away.
"He handled it completely wrong," Ryul added, his tone firm. "He should have talked to you instead of making that decision alone. But he was terrified, Y/N."
"Ryul."
A deep, raspy voice broke the quiet.
You both turned. Ohyul was standing at the edge of the stage walkway, a dark towel over his neck, his dark hair still damp with sweat. He looked exhausted, but his dark eyes were locked entirely on you.
Ryul looked between the two of you, offering a small, reassuring nod to you before stepping back toward the stairs. "I'll take the guys backstage," he said softly, leaving you two alone in the quiet expanse of the arena.
The silence between you and Ohyul felt infinite.
Slowly, Ohyul walked down the short flight of steps, his boots echoing against the floor until he stopped right in front of you, separated only by the metal barricade. Up close, you could see the dark circles under his eyes, the sheer physical and mental toll the last month had taken on him.
"You were amazing up there," you said softly, breaking the heavy quiet. Your voice trembled slightly. "All of you. It was... everything you guys worked so hard for."
"Y/N..." Ohyul rasped, his voice rough. He looked at you, taking in your face as if he were starving for the sight of you. He reached up, his hand hovering over the cold metal of the barricade, aching to touch you but pulling back at the last second.
"Ryul told you, didn't he?" Ohyul asked, a bitter, self-loathing smile touching his lips as he dropped his head.
"He told me about the contract," you whispered. "Why didn't you just tell me, Ohyul? Why did you make me feel like I did something wrong? Why did you make me feel like you stopped loving me?"
Ohyul flinched, the words striking him like a physical blow. He brought his hands up to his face, letting out a shaky, shuddering exhale before looking back up at you. His dark eyes were glossy, swimming with a raw, agonizing pain.
"Because I was a coward," he admitted, his voice cracking. "I was terrified, Y/N. I was trapped between this dream the boys and I bled for, and the only person who makes me feel human. I thought if I made you hate me, if I slowly pushed you away, it would hurt less than watching management or the press tear us apart later."
He shook his head, a tear slipping down his cheek.
"I thought I was protecting you," he whispered, his voice dripping with deep, suffocating remorse. "But I just hurt you. I ruined the best thing in my life because I was scared. I know I broke your trust. I know I ruined us... and I don't even know if I have the right to ask you to forgive me."
The cold metal of the barricade sat heavy between you, a physical barrier matching the invisible wall Ohyul had built over the last grueling month.
He stood there, chest heaving, his glossy dark eyes searching your face for any sign of soft warmth—or a final sentence that would destroy him completely.
You took a slow, trembling breath, letting his tear-stained confession settle in the quiet expanse of the empty venue. The anger, the hurt, the weeks of wondering if you weren't enough—it didn't vanish, but looking at his raw, shattered posture, the suffocating knot in your chest finally began to yield.
You reached across the barricade.
Slowly, gently, your fingers brushed against his wrist. Ohyul flinched as if touched by fire, his breath hitching sharp and loud in his throat. When he realized you weren't pulling away, his hand flipped over instantly, his warm, calloused fingers intertwining with yours, gripping your hand like a drowning man catching a lifeline.
"You were an idiot, Ohyul," you said softly, your voice steady despite the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. "You tried to shoulder everything by yourself. You decided for me what I could handle, and you broke my heart doing it."
"I know," he rasped, his thumb desperately rubbing the back of your knuckles. "I know, Y/N. I'm so sorry..."
"I forgive you for being scared," you whispered, leaning forward slightly against the metal. "I understand why you panicked. But I won't let you push me out again. If we're doing this—if you still want me in your life—you don't get to lie to 'protect' me. We stand together, or we don't stand at all."
Ohyul stared at you, his jaw trembling as fresh relief washed over his sharp features. "I won't," he swore, his voice fierce, thick with emotion. "Never again. I swear to you, Y/N."
Without another word, Ohyul reached over, grabbed the top of the barricade, and hoisted his long frame over the metal wall with effortless grace, stepping right into your space.
Before you could react, his arms swept around your waist, pulling you completely flush against his broad chest. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, his body shaking slightly as he let out a long, ragged exhale he seemed to have been holding for months. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, burying your hands into his damp hair, holding him just as tightly.
The reality of his life hadn't magically vanished. The strict agency rules, the relentless cameras, the insane schedules, and the threat of scandal were all waiting outside those doors. The road ahead was going to be terrifying, quiet, and kept entirely in the dark.
He couldn't kiss you in public. He couldn't hold your hand on the street.
Ohyul slowly pulled back, his large, warm hands gently cupping your jaw, his dark eyes burning into yours with a soft, quiet intensity. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours.
"I can't offer you a normal life right now," he whispered against your skin, his voice laced with an aching, tender honesty. "I can't take you on real dates. I have to hide you from the world. It's going to be so hard, Y/N... but if you give me the chance, I will spend every stolen hour, every late night, and every second I get proving to you that you are my entire world."
"I don't need a normal life, Hyul," you murmured, resting your palms flat against his warm chest, feeling the steady, rapid beat of his heart. "I just need you to be honest with me."
A small, genuine smile—the first real one you'd seen on his face in weeks—curved his lips.
He leaned in, closing the tiny distance remaining between you. The kiss wasn't frantic or hungry like before; it was slow, deep, and impossibly tender—a quiet, sacred promise sealed in the shadows of the empty arena. It was bitter with the weight of the secret you now carried, but sweet with the undeniable truth that neither of you was ever letting go again.
When he pulled back just an inch, his lips brushed yours one last time.
"You're my anchor, Y/N," Ohyul murmured softly into the dark. "No matter how loud the world gets... you're where I come home."
