BUT YOU WERE MINE FIRST – lhs
req vol 1 . — 𝐄𝐍 𖹭 이희승
You need to breathe that's why you end up in front of the same rusty door after every successful date with your fiancé.
ᝰ song recommended : back to the old house
𖹭 note: for the anon who requested hyung line angst based on 'when I was your man' by Bruno Mars , I'm kind of scared I couldn't write what you wanted but I tried a different way and I hope you like it (this was my first request ahhhhhh)
𖹭 thank you for 500 notes in datre me not (^.^)
ʚĭɞ if you liked this don't forget to check out my other works in library
The restaurant’s crystal chandeliers cast a warm, golden glow across white tablecloths and silverware polished to a mirror shine. Soft classical music drifted in the background, mingling with the quiet hum of conversations and the occasional clink of wine glasses. You sat there, a splash of red in a sea of muted tones, your satin dress flowing over the curve of your legs. The subtle sheen caught the light each time you shifted, the fabric glistening with elegance. Your makeup was soft peach-toned lips, a faint sweep of blush warming your cheeks, and eyes defined just enough to draw his gaze without stealing the attention from the quiet intensity you carried. Your hair was gathered in a sleek bun at the nape of your neck, not a single strand out of place, and the minimal jewellery you wore, slim gold hoops and a delicate chain, glimmered whenever you moved.
Across from you sat Yudai. Your fiancé. The love you had known for a while.
His dark hair framed his face in effortless waves, his jawline sharp yet softened by the warmth in his smile, when his eyes met yours, the rest of the world faded into the background. He reached across the table, brushing his fingers over yours in a touch so careful it felt sacred. Your hand found his instinctively, curling around it.
You laughed softly, the sound making his eyes crease at the corners. There had always been whispers about the two of you. From childhood acquaintances to an engagement arranged with familial blessings, everyone had seen it coming. Perhaps that was why it felt both inevitable and unreal like stepping into a dream you had been told you’d have since you could remember. Over dinner, conversation flowed with easy familiarity. You spoke about work, about mutual relatives, about the trip his parents were planning for the end of the year.
After the last course, he stood and offered his hand to help you from your seat. Outside, the night air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of flowers from the landscaped garden at the restaurant’s entrance. The streetlamps cast elongated shadows across the pavement, and the purr of a waiting car engine filled the quiet. He opened the car door for you, stepping aside but keeping his eyes on you as if the sight alone anchored him. “Careful,” he murmured. As you moved to get in, he bent slightly, making sure the hem of your dress didn’t brush the ground. His hands were gentle, almost reverent, and you caught the faint smile tugging at his lips.
You rested a hand lightly on his arm for balance as you adjusted your stiletto heel. The contact was brief, but it left a lingering warmth. “Thank you,” you said quietly.
“Always,” he replied, his gaze meeting yours for a moment longer than necessary before he closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side.
The drive back was calm, the city lights streaking past your window in a blur of gold and white. The car finally pulled up in front of your apartment building. He stepped out first, moving to open your door. You gathered the folds of your dress, stepping onto the pavement with care. The building’s front light flickered faintly above you, a stark contrast to the soft, golden world you had just left.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The quiet was thick with something unspoken hope, perhaps, or the delicate weight of anticipation.
“Goodnight, love,” he said finally, the word ‘love’ rolling off his tongue like it belonged there. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. The warmth of it lingered, seeping into your skin. “I’ll see you next time.” You only nodded, your eyes lifting to meet his. You tried to pour all that you felt your longing, your quiet certainty, your fragile hope into that gaze.
As he turned to leave, you watched him go, the sound of his footsteps fading into the hum of the city. You stayed there for a moment longer, the night air cool against your skin, your heart still beating in the rhythm of something missing.
You turned toward your apartment building, heels clicking softly on the polished pavement. Inside the lobby, the overhead lights stripped away the fragile calm you held during dinner. At your door, you tapped the digits of your passcode into the glowing screen, your fingers moving automatically until you stopped halfway. You erased it. The numbers vanished, leaving a dark, waiting screen. Your thumb hovered, then you typed it again.
And again, you hesitated.
You bit your lower lip, tasting faint lipstick and the metallic hint of nerves. Your heart was beating strangely fast, uneven, like it couldn’t decide whether to race or slow down.
Was this what you truly wanted?
All this the luxury restaurants, the carefully arranged dates, the champagne smiles. A man who told you he loved you before you even realized he was your father’s business partner’s son. A life wrapped in affection and attention, neatly packaged with gold trimmings. You told yourself it was supposed to be enough. That this was the dream everyone expected you to live. But standing here, with the passcode screen blinking at you, it didn’t feel like a dream at all.
It felt suffocating.
The red satin dress hugging your frame, the jewelry catching the hall light, the perfume that had cost more than your first paycheck, the makeup you had applied with precision hours earlier all of it seemed suddenly heavy. Pointless.
Useless.
You exhaled slowly, the breath shaky. Your fingers slipped away from the keypad and you turned from the door, your heels striking the floor harder this time, each step echoing sharp in the narrow hallway.
You needed air. No more than that you needed to breathe. You needed your breath.
Outside, the night wrapped itself around you like a worn coat. Your steps took you without thinking, down streets you once used to avoid. The dark alleyway loomed ahead, its shadows pooling in corners, the dim light from a single flickering bulb unable to push them back. You remembered when this place used to scare you, when the sound of laughter from unseen mouths made your stomach twist, when the sight of tattooed silhouettes leaning against graffiti-covered walls sent you crossing to the other side of the street. But tonight, you walked through it without slowing. Their eyes followed you, sharp and unblinking, but you didn’t flinch. You were an intruder here, a shard of red satin and polished heels in a place that had no use for either. But they weren’t the danger anymore. Not compared to the war you carried in your own chest.
You passed them without a word. Without a glance.
Your pace quickened as you approached the old building. The narrow, creaking staircase greeted you like a memory you didn’t want to keep. You climbed, your heartbeat loud in your ears, every step making it thump harder against your ribs. The air grew stiller as you reached the landing. And then you saw it, the pale blue door with its peeling paint, rust bleeding from the edges of the hinges. The sight hit you like a sudden drop in temperature.
You stopped.
The silence here was different, dense, pressing in from all sides, amplifying the faint hum of the city far below.
Why did you come?
After everything, the nights spent crying until your voice broke, the screaming matches that left your throat raw, the promises you had sworn to yourself in the aftermath that you would never do this again, never crawl back, never let yourself be pulled into the same orbit. And yet, here you were. You stood frozen in the narrow hallway, the smell of old wood and rust in the air, your mind racing back to every moment that should have kept you away. You told yourself you had healed. You told yourself you had outgrown this place, outgrown the person you became inside it.
But some part of you some stubborn, traitorous part had guided your feet here tonight without your permission. Your hand twitched at your side, not quite reaching for the door, but not pulling away either.
Why did you keep running back to the very thing you had promised to escape?
And worse what would happen if the door opened?
You raised your fist, ready to knock, a thousand thoughts ricocheting inside your skull. You already knew how this would end. There were no alternate versions of this story, and yet, your feet had carried you here anyway, betraying the logic you’d clung to, ignoring the quiet voice that whispered there was someone out there better for you.
Your knuckles hovered just inches from the weathered blue paint.
And then, before you could touch the rusted surface, the door creaked open.
There he was, your whole youth standing in the doorway as if time had never passed.
Lee Heeseung.
The sight of him was a punch and a balm all at once. His black tank top clung to his shoulders and chest, grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips. His hair was messy, tousled in a way that looked accidental but achingly familiar. His lips were split at the corner, bruised and healing, twitching slightly as his expression shifted. Confusion flickered across his face, but it couldn’t dull the fact that he was as handsome as ever. When his gaze locked onto yours, something in the air thickened, heavy enough to drag the breath from your lungs.
His eyes widened. “What?”
Just one word. His voice was rough, hoarse as if he had just woken or hadn't spoken in hours. But beneath the rasp was something else. Something warmer. Something you’d been searching for in all the wrong places.
Your throat felt tight. You swallowed. “Hi.”
Silence swept in again, but it wasn’t empty. It was loaded. Charged.
He was still staring, still processing the fact that you were here, standing in front of him in a red satin dress. Your hair had slipped loose from the bun you’d worn earlier, tumbling around your shoulders the way he’d always liked. The blush on your cheeks had faded, melted into your skin, and your lipstick was imperfect, smudged from the evening. You must have looked like an unfinished dream he once tried to hold onto but could never quite caught.
And yet, here you were. His gaze dipped, lingering for just a second too long, before climbing back to your face.
“You got beat up again?” you asked, your voice softer than you intended. Your hand lifted without thinking, fingers aching to trace the cut on his lip, to feel the familiar heat of his skin. But before you could touch him, his hand shot up, wrapping around your wrist. A barrier.
The contact sent a rush of heat through you anyway, his palm warm, his grip achingly familiar. For a moment, neither of you moved. You stared at him, pulse hammering against your skin where his fingers held you. His eyes searched yours, as if looking for the reason you were here.
His voice dropped lower, almost a whisper. “Why are you here?”
You wanted to say you didn’t know. That you’d been walking and somehow ended up at his door. That you’d tried to breathe in a life that looked perfect on the outside but felt like drowning from the inside. But the truth lodged in your throat, heavy and raw: you were here because no matter how much you’d sworn you’d never do this again, your heart hadn’t learned. It still beat in his rhythm.
You didn’t answer him. He didn’t push for one.
Instead, his gaze softened just enough for you to see the man you had loved since before you knew what love really was.
His thumb shifted slightly on your wrist, brushing against your skin. That was all it took for the world outside this doorway to vanish, the satin, the perfume, the candlelit dinner, the perfect fiancé — all fading into background noise.
Because here, in this cramped hallway with peeling paint and rusted hinges, you felt more alive than you had in months.
Hungry.
Hungry for him. For his voice. For his warmth. For the love that was messy, bruised, and utterly consuming.You didn’t know if it would save you or destroy you.
His hand tightened around your wrist. You could feel it, the frantic beat of your pulse beneath his palm, the way it seemed to match the irregular thud of his heart. His grip wasn’t harsh, but it trembled faintly, betraying the storm brewing beneath his calm exterior “Go away,” he whispered. The words were quiet, but they cut through you. You shook your head once, sharply, as if the motion alone could silence him.
His brows pulled together, his eyes glinting with something dangerously close to breaking. “Stop ruining yourse—”
He didn’t finish.
You used your free hand to hit his chest, not hard, just enough to push the words back into him. “You don’t get to say what I do to myself,” you muttered, your voice low and frayed, your gaze fixed anywhere but his face. His chest rose sharply under your palm “baby, you can’t—” He stopped mid-sentence, sucking in a sharp breath as if the word had burned his tongue. “Sorry… I didn’t mean to. It’s a habit—I…” He cut himself off again, a broken sound following. “Fuck.” He lifted a hand to his face, covering his eyes, his fingers pressing hard into his brow. He’d always done that shielding his expression when the cracks began to show, hiding the way his jaw clenched, how his eyes shimmered just before the tears came.
You reached up, curling your fingers around his wrist, trying to pull his hand away. “Stop hiding yourself, Heeseung,” you murmured “crying doesn’t mean you’re weak.” “I know,” he choked, the words raw. The tip of his ears flushed crimson, a telltale sign he was slipping past the point of holding it together. “I just… I don’t want you to see me like this.”
Your chest twisted, a slow, grinding ache that seemed to dig under your ribs. You stepped forward before you could stop yourself. Your hands loosened from his wrist, sliding instead to his waist, your body closing the space between you. You leaned into him, resting your head against his chest. His scent wrapped around you, faint soap, worn cotton, the faint musk of a room kept too warm.
“Heeseung…” You could hear your own voice shaking, breaking in places you couldn’t hide. “I can’t do this.”
His hand hovered in the air before settling hesitantly at the small of your back.
“Stop sacrificing yourself for my sake,” you whispered, the words muffled against him. “Can’t you see it’s ruining me?”
His chest expanded beneath you, the breath he took so deep it pushed against your cheek. He didn’t answer right away. You felt his heart pounding under your ear, each beat sharp and unsteady. The hallway around you seemed to shrink, the walls pressing closer until there was nothing but his body against yours and the heat radiating from him. The flicker of the hallway light above cast shifting shadows across the side of his face.
When he finally spoke, his voice was barely audible. “You think I’m doing this for you?” You pulled back just enough to look up at him. His eyes were rimmed red, his lashes damp. “I’m not.” He swallowed, his throat bobbing. “I’m doing it because if I don’t… I’ll lose you. And I can’t—” He stopped, his jaw tightening, the muscles working under his skin. “I can’t watch you walk away again.” You searched his face, tracing the lines you knew by heart, the faint scar above his brow, the curve of his mouth, the sharp edge of his cheekbone. He looked like a man on the edge of something irreversible.
“Heeseung,” you breathed, your hand sliding up to cup the side of his face. His skin was warm, the faint scratch of stubble rough against your palm.
His eyes closed at your touch, as if it was the only thing holding him upright.
“This will destroy us,” you said, barely above a whisper. “You know it will.”
“Then let it,” he murmured. “I’d rather be destroyed with you than safe without you.”
The weight of his words settled between you, thick and suffocating. Somewhere deep inside, you wanted to believe them. You wanted to sink into him and forget everything outside. But another part of you the part that remembered the fights, the bruising silences, the way love could turn sharp knew this wasn’t the first time you’d been here.
And it wouldn’t be the last. Still, you didn’t let go.
His hand slid from your wrist to your fingers, threading through them as if afraid you’d vanish if he loosened his grip. Without a word, Heeseung stepped back into the dim apartment, the door creaking wider. You hesitated, but his eyes stormy and unsteady pulled you forward. The hallway light faded as you crossed the threshold. He closed the door behind you, his movements slow, deliberate. For a moment, neither of you spoke. You stood in the middle of the small living room, the red satin of your dress catching the light, while he lingered near the door, one hand rubbing the back of his neck.
Finally, he exhaled, the sound heavy. “You don’t get it. I can’t be who you want me to be. I’m not polished. I’m not safe. And I’m not—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “But you're the only one who’s going to stay. Even when you hate me. Even when I'm … like this.”
Your brows knit. “Like this?”
He looked at you, eyes dragging over your dress, your hair falling loose around your shoulders, the smudged lipstick. “Like you’re pretending. Playing perfect. Wearing someone else’s life because you think it’ll keep you from ending up here, I can't do the same, I can't pretend to be the good guy and....a good lover”
The words stung, but worse was the way he said them, not cruelly, but as the undeniable truth. “You think I’m pretending?” Your voice wavered, part anger, part disbelief.
“I know you are,” he said, stepping closer. “You hate it. The dinners, the jewelry, the smiling until your face hurts. You hate him.”
“Don’t talk about him,” you snapped, though you weren’t sure why whether you were defending Yudai or defending the fragile version of yourself you’d been trying to build. His jaw tightened. “I’m not saying it to hurt you.”
“But you are hurting me.”
He stopped mid-step, his hand falling to his side. “I’m telling you the truth. Isn’t that what you always wanted from me?”
Your chest felt tight. “Not like this. Not when it’s just another way for you to push me back there, to make me feel like you don't want me anymore”
“what do you think?” he asked, his voice low. The question landed like a blow.
You blinked, the sting in your eyes immediate. “God, you’re so—” You broke off, your hands curling into fists. “Selfish.”
His lips parted, but no words came. “You don’t care what it does to me, do you?” you went on, your voice trembling harder now. “As long as I end up back here, standing in your apartment, in your mess, you’ll call it love. You’ll call it saving me.” He flinched, not visibly but you knew him. You saw the twitch in his jaw, the way his fingers dug into his own palm.
“That’s not—”
“It is,” you cut in. “You say you’d rather be destroyed with me than be safe without me, but maybe that’s because you’ve never had to watch yourself fall apart in the mirror every morning. Maybe you like watching me break.” His breath hitched, but his eyes didn’t leave yours. “I’ve never wanted to see you break.”
“But you don’t stop it,” you said, your voice breaking now. “You just… stand there and tell me I belong there, when you know this is the only place I should be.”
Silence followed, heavy and jagged. He looked down, his shoulders lifting and falling with the weight of his breathing. “Maybe you’re right,” he murmured. The admission didn’t sound like surrender. It sounded like the end. Something inside you gave way. You stepped back, your heels clicking softly against the floor. “Heeseung...why can't you just hold me tight?”
“Y/n—”
You shook your head, the movement sharp. “No. Not tonight. Maybe not ever again.” You turned toward the door, your fingers already reaching for the handle. Behind you, you could feel his eyes on your back, the air between you stretching thin, threatening to snap.
“Don’t walk away,” he said, barely above a whisper.
You stepped out into the hallway, the cooler air rushing over your skin like a slap. The door closed behind you. And never opened again. You stood there for a moment, your pulse still loud in your ears, before forcing yourself to move. The stairs groaned under your weight as you descended, each step taking you farther from him, from the heat of his apartment, from the version of yourself that couldn’t stop running back. Outside, the night had deepened, the streetlights casting long shadows. You pulled your dress tighter around you, the satin suddenly feeling too thin, too cold.
Somewhere behind you, in that pale blue doorway, Heeseung was probably still standing there, watching the empty space you just left.
But you didn’t look back.
The pew creaked beneath him as Heeseung shifted his weight, keeping to the shadowed edge of the small chapel. No one noticed him there. No one ever would, he had learned long ago how to disappear when the world insisted on moving without him. The aisle stretched like a wound down the middle of the room, lined with white flowers. He kept his eyes forward because looking around meant risking someone recognising him. But it didn’t matter. His gaze had only one destination anyway.
You.
You stood at the far end, hand laced with your father’s arm, veil trailing behind you like a final, fragile thread. The light from the stained-glass windows caught your face. And you smiled. It should have been beautiful. He knew that smile every shade of it, every truth and every lie. But the one you wore now was the kind that lived only on the surface, crafted to look real from a distance.
Yudai was waiting for you at the altar, sharp suit, sharper jaw, the image of a perfect groom. The man you were marrying. The man who wasn’t him.
The vows blurred. He wasn’t listening, not to the officiant’s steady voice, not to Yudai’s practiced promises. Instead, the memories came, uninvited, brutal.
Your laugh when he’d lifted you into his arms that rainy night, the hem of your dress soaked but your eyes bright. The way your head had fit against his chest when you’d fallen asleep in the passenger seat of his car. The quiet mornings when he’d found you in his shirt, making coffee you never finished. And the fights. God, even the fights. Because they had ended with you in his arms again, whispering that you’d stay.
You were always supposed to stay. But he did not know how to keep you.
The applause broke his thoughts. It took him a moment to realize the ceremony was over, Yudai and you walked back down the aisle, fingers intertwined, like you’d practiced. And when you passed by his row, just close enough for him to see the tremor in your lower lip, he gripped the edge of the pew until his knuckles went white.
He didn’t stay for the reception. He couldn’t.
By the time he became a private bodyguard for one of Seoul’s richest families, he’d grown used to his life being a series of guarded routines. Every afternoon, he picked up Minjae, the family’s six year old son, from kindergarten. It was simple. Easy.
Until it wasn’t.
The first time he saw her, she was crouched by the sandbox, concentrating fiercely on building something out of damp sand. A little girl, hair tucked back with a pale pink ribbon, eyes dark and familiar in a way that hollowed him out. She looked up when Minjae ran over to her. And there it was that smile. Smaller, unpracticed, but so much like yours that his breath stalled.
Her name was Haerin. He learned that from the way Minjae said it, like it was a name he spoke every day. From then on, he found himself lingering longer at the pick up gate, letting the children chatter. Haerin was talkative, endlessly curious. She asked him once why his hair was “the color of the rainy sky,” and another time if he liked strawberry milk. He never asked her who her parents were.
He didn’t need to.
Every tilt of her head, every wayward curl that refused to stay pinned back, every glimmer in her eyes, it was all you. Even the way she crossed her arms when pouting was a perfect echo. Some days, it hurt enough to make his chest ache for hours. Other days, he welcomed it, let the pain curl up beside him like an old friend. Once, when Minjae’s nanny was late, he stayed with the children on the kindergarten bench. Haerin had been drawing with a stubby red crayon, tongue caught between her teeth in concentration. She showed him the picture when she was done, a messy, lopsided flower.
“For you,” she said simply.
His fingers shook when he took it.
He liked the not-knowing. It kept you intact in his mind the version of you he had loved, untouched by time or the bitterness of reality. In his memories, you were still laughing in the rain, still falling asleep in his passenger seat, still reaching for his hand in the dark. On his last day working for the family, Minjae clung to his arm, pouting about how unfair it was. Haerin stood beside them, holding a small, worn hair ribbon, the pink one she’d always worn.
“You can keep it,” she said. “So you remember me.”
He took it, nodding once, because his voice wasn’t steady enough for words.
Later that night, he set the ribbon on his nightstand, beside the old photograph he’d never been able to throw away. In it, you were smiling at him, sunlight in your hair.
He didn’t cry. But when he closed his eyes, he pictured Haerin’s grin and your face overlapped perfectly, and the ache in his chest felt almost…. gentle.
Like maybe, in some small way, he had found a way to keep you.
THE END
𖹭 sunishake siging off — ©sunishake
