ANGST arranged marriage San please 😖 like so angsty my heart drops but also please like allude to comfort at the end otherwise my heart might stop
the contract husband || choi san || request
| genre: angst with comfort. husband! choi san.
| mentions: marriage of convience. mean san but he will be soft soon. mention of san has a lover before he got married.
word count: 5.7k
The rain didn’t stop the day you married Choi San.
It didn’t drizzle or soften into something romantic—it poured, relentlessly, as though the sky itself was mourning. The clouds had wept from morning until now, thick and heavy sheets hammering the earth like sobs no one dared to speak aloud. The wedding bells rang, but their sound—meant to symbolize joy and new beginnings—was hollow, clanging like distant echoes in a tunnel you couldn’t escape. What was supposed to flutter your heart only worsened the pounding in your head.
This wedding wasn’t a celebration. It was a performance.
The reception had long begun, though you felt like a guest in your own life. You wore a second dress—something lighter, shinier, stitched with elegance—but no amount of fabric could hide how stiff your smile felt. Your cheeks ached from holding it up, a porcelain doll carved into place. You wanted to peel the day off your skin like a costume that clung too tight.
Weddings were supposed to be unforgettable—a core memory carved into the heart. But this one, you knew, would haunt you instead. A memory that would replay in your mind like a scratched record—over and over again, even when you begged for silence.
Outside, guests huddled under umbrellas, their hems soaked and shoes squelching against the marbled floors. They filed in one by one, murmuring polite congratulations with smiles more rehearsed than heartfelt. These weren’t your friends. These weren’t even strangers. They were your father’s loyal employees—people who bowed more to power than to people.
You remembered standing at the altar, the garden outside drowned in grey, the flowers you chose weeks before now beaten down by rain. You had looked out at that storm and thought, “How fitting.” The heavens cried louder than either of you could.
You glance down now at the ring on your finger—a thin gold band that shone with cruel clarity under the reception lights. It gleamed like a joke. A promise without a heart behind it. Your happily ever after had been reduced to ink on a contract. San’s signature, your signature. Two strokes of a pen and a lifetime of pretending.
This wasn’t love. It was logistics.
A union not of souls but of stocks and legacy. It had always been this way—your life negotiated by others, your future traded like currency for someone else’s security. You were the daughter. The heir. The bargaining chip.
You sighed, quickly catching it and smoothing your features again as another guest approached. A man with a wrinkled smile and distant eyes—the type of man who shook hands with your father in boardrooms, not the kind who remembered your name. You nodded, playing the part. You always did.
But then—amidst the blur of suits and champagne flutes—you heard a voice that pulled you back to something real, “I last remember you—you still had pigtails and two broken teeth.”
You turned, and there she was. Your old neighbor. The woman who used to exchange fruits with your mother over the fence, who slipped you candies and told you fairy tales with wrinkled hands and kind eyes. The only one who ever showed up without asking for something in return.
She didn’t know the full story—didn’t need to. She could feel it. The falseness of this day. The absence of the groom. The ache behind your smile.
She sat beside you, settling quietly in the chair where San should have been. You didn’t even flinch. The word husband still didn’t sit right on your tongue. Not when the boy you once adored had become a man you barely recognized—distant, unreadable, hollowed out by expectation just like you.
Your grandmother figure patted your arm gently, her touch warm and grounding, “Happy endings don’t always wait at the end,” she said softly.
You looked down, brows drawn, the corners of your lips tight. Your voice cracked beneath the weight of everything you weren’t allowed to say, “I won’t even have that… not even in my other lives.”
She only chuckled softly, a knowing warmth in her weathered eyes, “Oh, dear… it’ll just be today. But I promise you—it will get better. Look…” Her wrinkled fingers lifted, pointing across the ballroom. You followed the direction of her gesture and your gaze landed on a small group of men.
Choi San. Your contract husband.
He looked unfairly perfect today. That tailored gray vest hugged his torso like it had been sewn by the gods themselves—crisp lines, subtle sheen, every button carefully done except for the rolled-up sleeves of his striped shirt, betraying a casual arrogance that somehow made him even more irresistible. The pale blue stripes added this quiet, intellectual edge, and don’t even get me started on that black tie—slim, elegant, like he was trying to behave but kept forgetting he was a trouble incarnate.
And those glasses? Please. Wire-thin, perfectly perched on his nose, making his sharp jawline and dark hair look even more devastating. He was talking with his colleagues so easily, tilting his head with that little smirk that said he knew exactly how good he looked, voice low and teasing, like silk over gravel.
He wasn’t just handsome. He was composed, magnetic, impossible to ignore. The kind of man who made you forget what you were saying mid-sentence. The kind of man who could make the whole room feel smaller just by glancing in your direction. And the worst part? You were in love and he doesn’t.
And the pain of one-sided love didn’t begin on your wedding day. No, it started long before—when you first learned who your contract husband would be.
Choi San. A name you hadn’t uttered in years, but one that had never truly left your heart. You’d buried those feelings six years ago during your college days, back when love was just a passing ache and not the lifeline you clung to now.
He had been a friend of a friend. You only met him a handful of times, usually when Seonghwa brought you along to small gatherings, campus events, late-night dinners. But even then—just from those few brief moments—you knew. It was love at first sight, or something terrifyingly close to it. You’d find your thoughts drifting back to him for days after, replaying the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, how his laughter seemed to echo louder than the rest.
He had been warm then. Kind. Effortlessly charming. The kind of person who made you want to believe in timing and fate.
And when the announcement came—when you were told you were to be married for the sake of your family’s legacy—you hadn’t expected it to be him. But the universe, in its twisted irony, had chosen San. You had stood there, stunned, the name echoing in your ears like a whisper from the past. But when you turned to face him, he didn’t even flinch.
There was no surprise in his eyes. No softness. It was just silence, the mere thought of bringing up about your bond back then would only increase the emotions swirling inside his chest, so you kept it to yourself and be more vigilant on your choice of words.
It was as if every memory you’d clung to—every soft smile, every shared laugh—had been erased from his heart. Like they had meant nothing. His features were composed, unreadable. But his eyes were different now—hard, cold, as if they'd forgotten how to look at you the way they once had. From that moment on, he became someone else. A stranger draped in the skin of someone you used to know. The warm boy you fell for was gone. In his place stood a man who kept his distance, who answered with clipped words and silent glances. He was polite when necessary, detached when possible. Cold—almost deliberately so.
And still, you loved him.
A quiet, stubborn kind of love—the kind that didn’t make sense to anyone but you. Those who knew would only shake their heads, whisper behind closed doors about how naive you were. Gullible. Foolish. Blind to the way he treated you. They said you clung to a fantasy, to a man who barely looked at you, who left you with silence and half-hearted gestures.
And maybe they were right. But even so, you stayed. You hoped. You held onto the fragile belief that one day—someday—your feelings would be returned. That beneath all his cold distance, there might still be a part of him waiting to love you back.
When the day of the wedding came, the venue was everything out of a fairytale. Floral arches, soft lights, strings of pearls, and an aisle meant for dreams. A little girl’s fantasy—but a bride’s quiet nightmare.
Because not everything magical is meant to feel real. San stood at the altar like a statue—stone-faced, still. He didn’t turn when you approached. Didn’t smile. He didn’t reach for your hand until the officiant gestured for it, and even then, his touch was mechanical—gentle, but empty. When he slid the ring onto your finger, his jaw was locked tight, his shoulders strained beneath his perfectly tailored suit.
There was no love in his eyes. No pride nor hesitation. Only duty, an obligation he has to fulfil. A role he was forced to play.
And when it came time for the ceremonial kiss, his lips merely brushed your cheek—a formality more than a gesture. Fleeting. Hollow. A ghost of affection that never quite arrived. Then, later that night, he sealed your fate with a single line. “Don’t wait up for me,” he said coolly, loosening his tie with practiced indifference. “This room is yours. I’ll stay in the study.”
And that was three months ago. Three months of pretending. Three months of cold dinners and colder silences. Three months of separate rooms, separate lives, and separate hearts. And yet, somehow, your love for him still lingered—quiet and uninvited, like the echo of a dream you couldn’t forget.
The mansion was too big for silence—and yet, somehow, it echoed with it.
Every footstep felt like it traveled forever, swallowed by the polished floors and tall, hollow ceilings. Even the ticking of the antique clocks seemed louder than your own voice. The halls were pristine, untouched, like a museum of a life that wasn’t being lived. The air was cold, not from the weather, but from absence. It was a house built for grandeur—yet all you could feel in it was emptiness. The loneliness didn’t scream. It settled quietly into your bones.
You passed like ghosts—brushing past each other in the mornings, shoulders nearly grazing, eyes barely meeting. Sometimes you wondered if he even saw you at all. Breakfasts shared in silence. Evenings spent in opposite corners of the same room. You lived parallel lives that never intersected—like two actors stuck in different plays, sharing a single stage. You shared a last name, but not a life. A bed in title only. A love story that never started.
It wasn’t hatred. Not exactly. Hatred, at least, was loud. Hatred burned. This was something colder, something quieter—like fog that never lifted and the clouds of gray stayed still, covering what is left of the blue sky. It wasn’t even indifference, because sometimes he looked at you like he wanted to say something but swallowed it instead.
And that was worse. Because it meant there was something there, something unspoken. But never enough.
When his eyes met yours, there was always a flicker—something sharp and unreachable. Was it guilt? Regret? A memory he didn’t want to hold? Or worse, did he blame you? Did he see you as the lock on the door he never wanted to enter? Every time you searched his face for something—anything—you found only that wall. Cold stone, smooth and impassable.
But you tried. God, you tried—over and over again—to make things lighter, softer, bearable for the both of you. You smiled when he didn’t. You spoke when the silence stretched too long. You left the door open, just in case he ever decided to walk through it.
But every time you took a step forward, he took three back. And nothing echoes louder than the silence of a breaking heart.
Still, you stayed. Still, you hoped. Because you were stubborn—foolishly, fiercely so. Because love, real love, doesn’t die easily. Not when it began so softly. Not when it bloomed from something innocent, untainted by bitterness. Not even when it was one-sided.
Not even when it hurts.
And you were determined to make a change.
You knew you weren’t the strongest emotionally. You weren’t made of steel, and you never pretended to be. But this—this—was where you drew the line. Where you faced the very thing you’d always struggled with: fighting for what you wanted. For what you deserved.
You had loved Choi San since your senior year of college—quietly, patiently, from the sidelines. And though your love had never been loud, never demanding, it had lasted. And now, for the first time, you were ready to try. Not for validation. Not for approval.
But for him.
You were reaching out. You made breakfast once—his favorite, remembered from years ago. You had gotten up before the sun, the mansion still draped in blue shadows. The kitchen light flickered softly above you, casting a golden glow on your quiet effort. Eggs, rice, and seaweed soup. Just like he liked it back in college—when things were simpler, lighter, when the distance between you hadn’t yet turned into a wall. The kitchen smells like comfort food—but it’s not comforting at all. It’s heavy, oppressive. The steam clings to the walls like it’s trying to fill the silence between you, but the silence is too wide. Too cold.
He comes in without a word. Doesn’t even glance your way.
The door clicks softly behind him, and he walks like he’s already miles ahead—his hair still damp, swept back neatly, accentuating the sharp lines of his jaw, the resolute cut of his cheekbones. He looks every bit the Grand Duke—polished, powerful, untouchable. His vest is pressed, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal expensive cufflinks. The suit jacket slung over his arm completes the picture. Ready for meetings. Strategy. A future that doesn’t seem to include you.
You hear your own heartbeat before your voice even comes out.
“San-ssi… wait.” It’s barely a whisper, but it’s enough to make him stop—just long enough to glance over his shoulder. A flicker of acknowledgment. That brief second is all you need, and yet it still takes effort to pull the next words from your throat.
“Please…” You swallow. “Please have breakfast before you go.” The silence stretches between you like a taut thread. His gaze shifts—finally—not to you, but to the table. You’ve laid everything out: a warm soup still steaming, fried eggs arranged neatly, fresh rice, a small plate of pickled radish, even a slice of orange peeled just the way he used to like it. Like muscle memory.
He turns his back to you, “I don’t eat breakfast.” He starts toward the door again, and your fingers twitch—instinctively reaching out, though you don’t move.
“At least,” you say softly, “have the soup. Just a few bites. It’s… it’s cold outside. Your stomach will hurt if it’s empty.”
You curse yourself for the way your voice shakes at the end. You didn’t mean to push. You know better—this is a contract marriage, just ink on paper. Expectations were never part of the deal. But still… you couldn’t help it. You didn’t want to be strangers under the same roof.
There’s a pause—heavy, uncertain. Then, a slow exhale, “…Fine.” He turns and walks toward the table. Shrugs off his coat and drapes it neatly over the chair before sliding into the seat. You hold your breath as he picks up the spoon and lifts it to his lips. A faint puff of steam. One sip. Another. And then… he stops. His hand lowers.
“Now stop pestering me.” The spoon clinks against the bowl as he places it down with surgical precision. He rises to his feet, collects his coat without looking at you, and walks out. No thank you. No acknowledgment. Not even a glance. Only the sound of the front door slamming shut behind him, loud enough to jar the silence he left behind.
You stand there, rooted to the floor. “Take care…” you whisper. You try to smile—try to be the version of yourself who could pretend—but your lips won’t cooperate. The corners tremble. The effort tastes like iron.
You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to press the ache back into place. The room is still warm from the soup, but you’re freezing from the inside out. It feels like frost coats your ribs with every shallow breath you take. You don’t know what hurts more: the sting behind your eyes or the hollow in your chest that grows heavier with every morning like this. All you wanted was for him to look at you—really look—and remember who you were to him once. Friends. A bond forged before title and duty and distance hardened his heart.
But now there’s only a shadow in his eyes.
And you’re left standing alone in your own kitchen, holding your heartbreak like something fragile you don’t know how to set down. Loving a ghost who doesn’t know you’re haunting him too. The room is so quiet you can hear it—your own heart breaking. And somehow, you wonder if he hears it too.
If he does… would he even care?
The second time you both shared the same space and time was during a thunderstorm—the kind that blanketed the sky in slate gray and rolled thunder deep enough to rattle the floorboards. Rain lashed against the windows like it had something to say. The power had already flickered twice, the fireplace barely holding its glow. A single book lamp clipped to the spine of your novel cast a soft halo of light onto the page, the only other source of warmth in the room besides the slow-breathing embers.
You were curled on one end of the couch, lost in the unfinished book you bought a few days ago. Words blurred and sharpened between each flash of lightning. Across from you, he sat with his laptop open, glasses slipping down his nose, eyes flicking between email replies and graphs you didn’t pretend to understand. The storm hummed between you—constant and low, a pressure in the air that made your skin buzz.
A bolt of lightning tore through the sky so violently it lit the entire living room like a snapshot—bright and blinding. A second later, the thunder cracked. Sharp. Immediate.
The power cut out. Silence rushed in.
Your breath caught, and instinct took over. You reached out, without thinking—just a small touch, the barest brush of your fingers against his. Not even a full gesture. Just… closeness. Humans. Unspoken. Comfort in the dark. But he flinched. Hard. Pulled away so fast it startled you more than the thunder. It wasn’t loud—but it felt loud. Like something inside you had been exposed and immediately dismissed.
Like your touch had burned. You stayed frozen, hand still halfway between you. The air felt colder somehow, heavier. The rejection sat between your ribs, thudding louder than the storm itself. He didn’t say anything—no apology, no look back.
“I’ll check the fuse box,” San murmur before standing up and disappearing down the hallway, laptop still humming faintly with its battery light.
And you sat there. Alone again. The storm outside felt smaller compared to the one brewing quietly in your chest. You let your hand drop into your lap, your fingertips tingling from a touch that hadn’t even happened. You told yourself it was nothing. You told yourself you were being dramatic. But the thing about loneliness is that it feels louder in the dark.
The last words you heard — so simple, so unintended — were what finally shattered whatever fragile thread had been holding you together.
It wasn’t supposed to go this way. It was just dinner. His birthday. You had spent the entire afternoon trying to make it feel special, to soften the growing distance that settled like a wall of glass between you. You told yourself it didn’t need to be perfect — just enough to remind him that you were still here, still trying, even when it felt like he wasn’t.
So you climbed the stairs to his study with every step, you rehearsed your lines: something light, something kind. Maybe he'd smile. Maybe he'd look at you the way he used to. Or maybe consider being acquainted instead of being completely strangers.
But right as you reached the door, knuckles hovering mid-air, his voice bled through the wood — low, muffled, but unmistakably his.
“I didn’t want this.”
You froze. At first, your heart knocked louder than your fist ever could. Then silence fell heavy in your chest, as if your ribs had caved in to keep it from breaking. You didn’t mean to eavesdrop. You never wanted to know like this. But curiosity, or maybe desperation, kept your feet nailed to the floor. Your hand dropped limply to your side as you leaned in, barely breathing.
“I didn’t want any of this,” he said again, voice rough and frayed, like someone who had been holding something in for far too long. There was a tremble in it — not from anger, but from exhaustion. Like he’d been carrying too much for too long, and now it was spilling out in a room where you weren’t meant to hear.
“I didn’t choose this marriage.” The words fall like a blade, slicing through the quiet — and through you. There’s a pause, one that stretches too long, too heavy. Your eyes flick around the hallway as if looking for something to hold on to, anything to make this moment less real. But nothing comes. And when the next words land, it’s like your heart tears straight from your chest.
“Every time I look at her, I think of what I gave up — what I lost. I lost her because of this marriage. She told me to focus on my wife, but I know she’s hurting because of this!”
The breath stutters out of your lungs. Not like a gasp. Not like a cry. But like something breaking — something vital that doesn’t come back. You don’t wait to hear more. You can’t. Not when the silence that follows feels like it’s cracking open your ribcage, spilling everything you were holding onto.
Who was she? The one he gave up for this marriage?
The thought alone sends a sick, twisting feeling through your gut. Did she come before you? Was she someone he still held in his heart during the vows, the dinners, the nights you tried so hard to believe were real?
You thought you had time. You thought, maybe, love would come eventually.
But now it all feels like a lie wrapped in routine. Your throat tightens. Your vision begins to swim, and your legs start to move — more from instinct than thought. You stumble backward, the hallway suddenly too narrow, the walls too close, like they’re closing in on your every breath.
You don’t know how you make it to the bedroom — or if you even make it fully inside. Maybe you collapse just past the doorframe. Maybe your knees give way the moment your fingers curl around the doorknob. But you hear the soft click of the door shutting behind you, and then—
Your body caves in like it’s been waiting for this moment to fall apart.
And then the tears came. Not in sobs—no. You gasp, like you’re drowning on dry land. Each breath feels like a battle. Each cry, a jagged thing caught in your throat. It’s the kind of heartbreak that makes you fold in on yourself, arms around your ribs as if you could somehow hold the pieces together. The kind of pain that feels physical, like grief itself is clawing its way through your chest, trying to tear something loose.
You loved him.
God, you loved him. Quietly. Stubbornly. Painfully. For years.
You cradled that love like it was sacred, something worth waiting for. Something that might finally bloom if you just held on long enough. You memorized the shape of his silence, learned how to live in the shadows of his indifference. You reached for him a hundred times with trembling hands, never once asking for more than he was willing to give—and yet, you kept reaching.
Maybe that’s the cruelest part of all. That even now—even after hearing him say he didn’t want this, after realizing he had never truly seen you as someone worth choosing—some part of you still held on. Some part of you still hoped. You cry until your throat is raw, until your body feels hollow, until there’s nothing left but the eerie quiet that follows a storm. And in that silence, the truth settles in like dust on a forgotten shelf.
It all makes sense now.
The early mornings. The late nights. The way he barely looked at you across the dinner table, the way he seemed to flinch when your fingers brushed. It was never you. It was never going to be you. Maybe there was respect—some shred of duty he tried to honor. But love?
No. That had always belonged to someone else. And the worst part isn’t just that he loved another. It’s that while you were trying, giving, hoping—he had already been comforted in someone else’s arms. And that made you sick as your attempts were probably making him uncomfortable while he is still with someone.
And in that moment, you wished — God, you wished — you had stayed downstairs. Stayed safe in ignorance. Because now you know. This day… this birthday, it wasn’t a celebration. It was either your release — the final sign to let go of whatever love you were still foolish enough to hold — or a curse, proof that no matter what you did, no matter how much you gave, Choi San would never choose you.
And you were alone and a fool this whole time.
When the moon was high and the tears had finally run dry, you found yourself turning toward the window, where pale moonlight spilled across the floor like a silent witness to your grief. Your heart no longer ached—it simply felt... numb. Hollowed out. Every breath you took now came with a subtle stagger, the kind that lingered in the chest long after the sobs had stopped.
You wanted to stay. God knows you did.
But the thought of him loving someone else—being devoted to someone else—settled into your bones like frost. And suddenly, staying felt more like cruelty than courage.
After all, this was never a love story. Just a contract signed in convenience, not affection.
You closed your eyes, took one last breath, and stood.
Your gaze drifted toward the top shelf of the closet, where your luggage waited—untouched, collecting dust like the parts of yourself you had set aside for him. With a heavy heart and steadier hands than you expected, you pulled it down and began to pack. Quietly. Carefully. One piece of clothing at a time, as if folding away the life you never got to fully live.
By the time the first traces of dawn kissed the sky, your feet were already moving—carrying you down the grand hallways of the mansion you once shared. The silence echoed around you like farewell.
Outside, the air was cool. Crisp. Still unfamiliar.
You glanced up toward the bedroom window one last time, heart tightening—but not breaking. Not anymore.
A sigh escaped your lips as your driver hoisted your luggage into the trunk. You apologized softly for waking him up so early. He only offered a tired smile, “It’s my duty to give you proper service.”
You were gone before San ever stirred from bed. Not that he’d notice. Not that he ever truly had.
Three days passed. Not a single word from San. No calls, no messages, not even the faintest sign of worry or regret. The silence on his end said more than any explanation could, and it solidified the truth you had been avoiding: there was no space left in his heart for you. Whatever hope you had clung to was now nothing more than a delusion, one that withered the moment you realized someone else had already claimed what you had been quietly, desperately fighting for.
The only person who showed any concern was Seonghwa, the only friend who had always tried to stay neutral in the middle of your fragile marriage. He stopped by your apartment once, gently asking if you were okay before leaving behind a bag of groceries and a look of quiet sympathy. His presence felt like closure—a soft but firm reminder that you no longer belonged in the world you once shared with San.
That evening, you returned from the convenience store dressed in baggy sweatpants and an oversized sweater, the soft cotton doing little to warm the cold that settled deep in your bones. In your hand was a black plastic bag filled with snacks and two bottles of soju you planned to finish before the night was over. It was a far cry from the delicate dresses and soft perfumes you used to wear around the mansion. There, you adorned yourself with hope, with effort, with the constant wish that maybe, just maybe, he would notice. Here, alone, you wore exhaustion—both emotional and physical.
As you climbed the narrow stairs toward your apartment, your heart jumped when you spotted a sleek, familiar car parked near the curb. It looked just like his—same model, same color, same quiet presence. For a moment, your breath caught in your throat. But just as quickly, you forced yourself to exhale and shook your head in bitter self-mockery.
"Not every car with the same brand is his, stupid," you murmured to yourself, pushing down the flicker of foolish hope that rose uninvited.
You punched in your code, stepped inside, and were met with the dim hum of the apartment light flickering on. The space around you was quiet, almost painfully so. It wasn’t home, but at least it didn’t lie. You took off your shoes, dropped your bag on the floor, and settled onto the carpet, unpacking your snacks one by one with the heavy detachment of someone just trying to pass time.
Scrolling through Netflix, you chose the first series that didn’t remind you of him. You weren’t watching to enjoy anything—you just needed noise to fill the silence. But before the opening credits could even begin, a soft knock interrupted the quiet hum of the TV. You frowned, eyes darting toward the security screen, which had lit up automatically at the sound. You stood up, walking towards the small screen attached to the wall next to the dining area. And there he was.
San.
Soaked from the rain, hair clinging to his forehead, breath uneven, eyes shadowed with something unreadable. For a heartbeat, you stared, trying to convince yourself that maybe it was a glitch. Maybe he had the wrong apartment. Maybe—God help you—he had come here by mistake, looking for her.
You didn’t move. You didn’t speak. You were ready to turn away, to let the unanswered knock echo into the silence, when his voice came through the speaker, soft and raw.
"I'm sorry..." You froze. Your heart clenched painfully in your chest as you stood in the middle of your apartment, unsure whether to stay or ignore. "I just..." he exhaled, voice barely holding together, "I was in love before we got married. And I lost her. Not because of you—just... time. Life."
You are listening now intrigued with the sudden confession—not just hearing, "I resented everything after that,” he continued, his voice shaking. “Especially the things I couldn’t choose. The things I couldn’t control.”
He paused, and the silence that followed carried more weight than all the words that came before, you saw how his eyes shook as if they were looking for your eyes or if you were , listening the whole time, "But I never meant to hurt you."
You move silently towards the door, your heart had taken control of your moves after hearing his side, your fingers twisting the knob as you pushed it slightly open for him to catch a sight of you— out of your normal dresses. You ignore the way his eyes shine, your voice was quiet, not accusing—just tired. “Why now?”
“Why come here now?”
He swallowed thickly, stepped closer, and though he made no move to reach for you, there was something unsteady in his posture, like even standing there cost him more than he’d admit, “Because for the first time, whenever you weren’t in the house,” he whispered. “And it was unbearable.”
Your heart squeezed. It was cruel, how much you still wanted to believe him. But the wounds were still fresh, and your trust was buried somewhere beneath the debris of all the days he chose silence over you, “That doesn’t mean anything,” you said, voice quivering. “You told me you never wanted this.”
He looked down, rain still dripping from his lashes. “I didn’t choose the marriage,” he admitted. “But... I’m choosing you now.”
There was no grandeur in his words. No desperation. Just quiet truth, spoken by someone who finally understood what it meant to lose something they didn’t take the time to see.
His gaze to yours was soft and honest, and this time, there was no wall between you—only the weight of everything left unsaid, “I’m not saying this because I feel guilty. Or because I think I deserve anything from you,” he said slowly. “I came here because somewhere along the way, you became a part of me. And if you’ll let me… I want to stay. This time, for real.”
You didn’t run into his arms. Not tonight. Not yet. The ache inside you hadn’t magically vanished, and the rain outside hadn’t fully stopped. Quietly. Carefully. You opened the door—not all the way, just enough. Enough to let him in from the rain. And in that small moment, something shifted between you. The silence didn’t disappear, but it softened. The space between you didn’t close entirely, but it no longer felt impossible to cross.
The rain stopped not long after.
And this time, as San stepped over the threshold, he wasn’t here because of a contract. He was here because he finally chose to be your husband.
->Starring: OT8!AteezxReader
->Genre: Angst with comfort,
->Cw: Someone says shitty...., more angst but, as the title says, with apologies
Masterlist | Ateez Masterlist
Seonghwa:
It had been days since you’d spoken. Really spoken.
The texts were dry, short, practical. The calls were missed. The weight of his last words — “You’re just too clingy sometimes” — hadn’t faded. They echoed in your head, over and over, every time you hovered over his contact name, too afraid to reach out again and be met with silence.
So when the knock came at your door well past midnight, you hesitated.
But you knew that knock. Soft. Hesitant. Him.
You opened the door to find Seonghwa standing there, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, eyes downcast like he didn’t know if he was allowed to look at you.
“I shouldn’t be here this late,” he said quietly. “But I didn’t know where else to go.”
You said nothing. Just stepped aside, letting him in.
He didn’t sit. He hovered in the center of the room like he wasn’t sure he had the right to make himself comfortable.
“I’ve been thinking a lot,” he said finally. “About what I said. About how I made you feel.”
You crossed your arms over your chest. “Took you long enough.”
“I know,” he whispered.
Silence. He fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve, eyes flickering to you.
“I always thought that loving someone meant being strong, being steady, not depending on anyone too much. So when you wanted more, more time, more attention, more of me. I told myself you were being too much because I didn’t want to admit I wasn’t giving enough.”
He looked at you then, and his eyes were tired. But soft.
“You weren’t clingy,” he said. “You were present. You loved me so openly, and I made you feel like that was a flaw.”
Your throat tightened.
He stepped forward slowly. “I’m sorry I made you feel like you had to dial your love down to be enough for me.”
Your eyes burned, but you didn’t look away.
“I don’t expect you to forgive me right now,” he said, voice cracking. “But if you let me — I want to learn how to show up the way you do. Not just when it’s convenient. All the time.”
He finally sat, carefully, like he was afraid he might break the air between you.
“I don’t want to lose someone who gives love so fearlessly. Just because I was too afraid to give it back the same way.”
You didn’t speak right away.
But when you reached for his hand, he took it like it was the first thing grounding him in days.
Hongjoong:
It started with a message.
Not a call. Not a knock at your door. Just a text. Short. Almost too casual.
Hongjoong [2:03 PM]:
hey… can we talk?
maybe dinner tonight? my treat
You read it, then locked your phone.
He didn’t follow up with a second message. No explanation. No “I’m sorry.” Just a quiet request to meet, like that was enough to erase the weeks of feeling like you were always the one chasing after him.
Like his “is this about me not texting you back fast enough?” hadn’t gutted you the last time you saw him.
The silence that followed your heartbreak had been intentional. For once, you weren’t going to rush in with understanding or comfort. Not this time.
So you didn’t reply.
Not for ten minutes.
Not for an hour.
Not for four.
On the other side of the screen, Hongjoong’s knee was bouncing under the studio desk. His phone sat beside him, screen dark, taunting him.
Four hours.
He’d stared at your name. At the “Read 2:04 PM” notification.
He’d wanted to wait you out, tell himself you were just busy. Tell himself that you’d always forgiven him before, even when you shouldn’t have. That this time would be no different.
But something in his chest started to crack. Something cold.
Because deep down, he knew.
He knew this time wasn’t like before.
He drove to your place without texting again. Parked outside. Waited. Then walked up and knocked on your door.
When you opened it, he saw the shift immediately. Your expression wasn’t angry. It wasn’t emotional. It was polite. Careful. Distant.
“Hey,” he said, trying to keep it light. “You got my message, right?”
You nodded once. “I did.”
“And…?”
“I wasn’t sure if I should go.”
The words were calm, flat, the same tone he used to take when you’d ask if he was free and he’d say, “I’ll let you know.”
He swallowed. “I wanted to apologize.”
You didn’t step aside to let him in. You didn’t even shift your weight.
He fidgeted. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what I said. About how I dismissed you. About how you used to reach out to me all the time and I’d just… reply when I felt like it. If I replied at all.”
Silence.
“I thought I was just busy. I thought you’d understand. But the truth is, I took you for granted. I thought you’d always be there.”
You didn’t react. Not even a flinch.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “And then today… when you left me on read for hours…”
He let out a breath. “So this is what it feels like, huh?”
Your eyes flicked up at that. Something in your jaw shifted. But you still didn’t speak.
“I’m sorry I ever made you feel like you were too much. Like your love was inconvenient.”
His voice lowered.
“I miss you. And not just the version of you that always sent me good luck texts or made dinner reservations when I forgot, I miss the you who believed in me even when I didn’t show up for you.”
You leaned against the doorframe. Not moving. Not softening.
And that’s when he got it, really got it.
Because now, he was the one waiting. The one hoping for warmth. The one left on read.
“I’m not asking you to forgive me right now. You don’t have to be ready. But I want to fix this. I want to stop treating you like a second thought and start treating you like you deserve.”
He paused, swallowing hard.
“Dinner’s still on the table. If you’ll come.”
The silence stretched for a beat. Then two.
Finally, you opened the door just a little wider.
“Where?” you asked, voice quiet but steady.
He blinked. “What?”
“Where’s dinner?”
Hope bloomed fast in his chest, raw, real, and maybe still fragile, but there.
He gave a half-laugh, half-breath of disbelief. “Anywhere you want.”
You stepped inside to grab your jacket without another word. But the door stayed open behind you.
And for the first time in a long time, Hongjoong understood exactly what it meant when someone shows up even after being hurt.
Because you did.
And this time, so would he.
Yunho:
You hadn’t seen him since the day he ended things.
He hadn’t yelled. There weren’t tears or a dramatic scene. Just that same calm voice he always used, too calm, like he was trying to stay numb.
“Maybe we’re not right for each other anymore.”
You’d stood there frozen. Because it wasn’t a fight. There wasn’t something to argue against. He had just walked out. Quietly. Like it wouldn’t hurt forever.
And for the past three weeks, you’d done everything you could to keep moving, but your chest never stopped feeling heavy.
So when the knock came, you almost didn’t answer it. Some part of you still hoped it was him, but hoping hurt.
And yet… it was him.
Yunho stood outside your door, hood pulled up, cap low, eyes glassy and red-rimmed like he hadn’t slept in days. His breath fogged in the evening air, but he didn’t speak, not at first.
He just looked at you, mouth slightly parted, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to be here.
“You left,” you said, voice low and flat.
“I know,” he whispered. “But I never really let go.”
You didn’t move. You didn’t invite him in. So he stood there, taking it, whatever you were ready to give, or not give at all.
“I broke up with you thinking it would make life easier,” he said. “That if we weren’t together, I’d have more time, less pressure, fewer expectations.”
He swallowed hard.
“But all I did was tear it apart. My days feel longer. My bed feels empty. And everything I used to love doesn’t make me feel anything now.”
You looked at him then, and the pain on his face nearly cracked you open.
“I kept telling myself you needed too much,” he went on, voice trembling. “But the truth is… I was the one who needed more. More patience. More strength. More you.”
His chest rose and fell shakily.
“You were never asking for too much. You just asked me to show up. To try. And I ran.”
You bit the inside of your cheek, trying not to crumble.
“I miss your voice in the morning. I miss your socks mixed in with mine. I miss knowing someone out there saw me, really saw me, and still stayed.”
His voice broke.
“I thought I could be okay without you. But I can’t. I don’t want to learn how.”
The silence between you buzzed like static.
“I’m not asking to erase what I did. I’m not asking you to forget how I hurt you. I just…” he stepped forward, breath catching, “I just need you to know, if there’s any part of you that still wants me, I’ll spend every day proving I won’t walk away again.”
And when you didn’t answer, he didn’t beg.
He just stood there, waiting. Willing to face the ache he left you with, even if all you gave him in return was the door slowly closing.
Yeosang:
You weren’t sure why you expected anything different from tonight.
You had tried, gently, to bring it up. How distant he’d been lately. How you felt like you were loving him through a fog, always reaching, never quite touching. You hadn’t raised your voice. You hadn’t accused him of anything.
But somewhere in the middle of your sentence, Yeosang had sighed and said:
“Why does everything have to be so dramatic with you?”
He hadn’t even looked at you when he said it. Just stared at his phone. Barely blinking. Barely present.
The silence that followed was heavier than any shouting match.
An hour passed. You expected the front door to open and close with him leaving. But instead…
A knock.
Soft. Three quick taps. Then stillness.
You didn’t move at first. But then
“Can I come in?” His voice was quiet, muffled by the wood. Not demanding. Not confident. Careful.
You opened the door slowly.
He looked… small. His hair was a little messy, like he’d run his hands through it too many times. His bottom lip was bitten red. And his eyes, his eyes wouldn’t quite meet yours.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” he started. “About you being dramatic.”
You waited.
“I didn’t mean it. Not even a little.”
He stepped inside, slowly, hands in his hoodie sleeves, unsure of what to do with them. “You weren’t overreacting. You weren’t picking a fight. You were telling me how you feel, and I… dismissed it.”
His throat bobbed as he swallowed.
“I think sometimes I freeze when I don’t know how to respond. I act cold. Detached. Like that makes me look in control.” He finally looked at you, really looked. “But all it does is make the people who care about me feel like I don’t care back.”
You blinked, throat tight.
“I wasn’t taking you seriously. I wasn’t taking us seriously. Not tonight. Not the way I should’ve.”
He stepped a little closer, then stopped himself. “But I am now.”
There was a long pause. Then, with a shaky breath:
“You were right. I’ve been distant. I didn’t want to admit it because I don’t have a good reason for it. I’ve just been in my own head and shutting you out instead of letting you in.”
His voice dropped even lower, rough around the edges.
“You didn’t make everything dramatic. You made everything real. And I made you feel like your feelings were an inconvenience.”
The silence between you cracked a little when he added, softly
“I’m sorry.”
He held out his hand like he wasn’t sure you’d take it. “If I promise to really try, not just to listen, but to hear you, would you let me stay? Even if it’s just for tonight?”
You didn’t answer right away.
But the way he was looking at you, finally, fully, made you feel seen again.
And maybe that was the apology you needed more than anything.
San:
It had started small.
You’d reached for his hand in the kitchen, trying to slow him down, trying to talk about how you’d been feeling like he wasn’t really present lately, like his body was here but his mind was always somewhere else. On tour. In the studio. On his phone.
You’d said, “I just miss you.”
And he’d pulled his hand back like your touch burned.
“Why do you always need so much from me?”
That stopped everything.
You blinked, stunned. He wasn’t yelling, but it felt louder than any scream. You opened your mouth, but the rest of your words got caught somewhere in your chest. Instead, you walked away. Into the bedroom. Closed the door behind you, because if you didn’t, you’d fall apart in front of him.
San didn’t follow.
Not at first.
The door stayed shut. The apartment stayed quiet.
Until—
A knock.
Then his voice, muffled, low, wrecked:
“Baby, please open the door.”
You hesitated. You were still shaking. Still hearing his voice in your head, repeating that question like a cruel loop. Why do you always need so much from me?
But something about the sound of his voice, the crack in it, made you reach for the handle.
You opened the door to find San leaning against the frame, hands braced on either side like he was barely holding himself up. His eyes were rimmed with red. His cheeks flushed with emotion he couldn’t hide if he tried.
“I didn’t mean it,” he said immediately, desperately. “God, I didn’t mean it.”
You didn’t say a word. Your silence hit harder than any yelling ever could.
“I was overwhelmed and I said the first shitty, cowardly thing that came into my mouth. And the second I said it, I wanted to rip the words out of the air.”
He took a step closer, but didn’t touch you. “You don’t ask for too much. You never have. You ask for me. My time. My heart. And I’ve been so wrapped up in everything else, I forgot what it means to actually give that.”
He shook his head, jaw tight like he was trying not to cry.
“You tell me you miss me and I treat it like a burden? What the hell is wrong with me?”
Your throat burned.
He took a breath and pressed his palm flat against his chest. “It’s not that you ask too much of me. It’s that I’ve been giving you so little lately, it feels like anything at all is too much.”
His eyes met yours, glossy and pained.
“I love you,” he said, voice breaking. “I love you so much that it terrifies me. And sometimes when I feel like I’m failing you, I push instead of pulling you closer.”
He wiped at his face, chest heaving. “But I’m done doing that. If you’ll let me… I want to be better. For you. For us.”
A tear slipped down your cheek. His eyes followed it all the way down like it killed him to see it.
“I know I don’t deserve forgiveness right away,” he whispered. “But please — just tell me I didn’t ruin the best thing that ever happened to me.”
You stepped forward, slowly. Just enough that he didn’t have to guess.
And this time, when he reached for your hand, it wasn’t to pull away.
It was to hold on.
Mingi:
It had been days since the argument.
Only… it hadn’t been much of an argument. It had been you, speaking honestly, telling him that lately, you felt like a ghost in his life. Like you were always the one reaching out, always the one waiting. Waiting for a call, a text, a sign that he saw you.
And him?
He hadn’t fought. He hadn’t begged. He’d barely said anything at all.
Just clenched his jaw. Sat there. Silent.
You’d waited for something. Anything.
But all he gave you was quiet.
So you left.
He didn’t stop you.
And that silence, the one that followed, was worse than the one during the argument. Because now it stretched between two broken hearts.
Until tonight.
You were sitting on your bedroom floor, back against the bed, scrolling through old photos you’d told yourself not to look at. Laughing selfies. Half-blurry videos of him rapping under his breath in the car. Messages from nights when he used to say goodnight, love you without fail.
Then a knock.
You froze.
And when you opened the door, there he was.
Mingi. Hoodie damp from the light rain outside. Shoulders hunched, eyes red, hands wringing the hem of his sleeves like he needed something to hold onto.
“I didn’t know if you’d answer,” he said softly. “I wouldn’t have blamed you if you didn’t.”
You didn’t speak. Not yet. He didn’t expect you to.
“I’ve never been good at saying things when I need to,” he started, voice trembling. “Sometimes I feel too much all at once, and it chokes me. And when you were telling me how you felt… I just sat there. Because I didn’t know how to fix it. And instead of trying, I shut down.”
His eyes were shining.
“I wasn’t cold because I didn’t care. I was quiet because I didn’t know how to show you that I did. But that’s not fair to you.”
He stepped closer, slowly.
“You told me you felt invisible. That you were tired of always being the one who reached out. And I should’ve said something. Anything. But I let the silence answer for me, and it said all the wrong things.”
You swallowed the lump in your throat, but your lips stayed still.
He took a shaky breath. “I didn’t say it, but I felt it. I felt everything. I just… didn’t know how to show you.”
He lifted his eyes to yours, voice breaking.
“And then you walked away. And for the first time, I understood what silence really sounds like.”
He reached out, slow and careful, like he didn’t expect you to reach back.
“I don’t want to go another day wondering if I’ve lost the one person who loved me anyway. Loved me even when I wasn’t making it easy.”
The rain outside tapped against the windows like it was waiting too.
“If there’s still a piece of you that wants this, I swear, I’ll never leave you wondering again.”
And maybe he hadn’t said much before. Maybe he’d stayed quiet when it mattered most.
But tonight?
Tonight, he was finally speaking the words that had been living in the ache of his chest all along.
Wooyoung:
It started subtly.
A missed good morning text, just one. Then two. Then three.
No updates about what you were eating for lunch. No late-night selfies. No rambling voice notes about how your day went, or the weird cat you saw on the way home, or how your barista spelled your name hilariously wrong again.
At first, Wooyoung didn’t panic.
He figured you were busy. Or maybe your phone had died. You were always a little scatterbrained. He thought it was cute.
But by day four, the silence started to weigh differently.
He scrolled through your past messages, his own replies now glaring. A string of dry responses. A few late replies. Some heart emojis sent on autopilot. He started to see patterns — moments he brushed off your excitement, teased your need for check-ins with lines like:
“You really text me more than my mom.
You always laughed them off. Or so he thought.
Until tonight.
He called. For the first time in a while, it rang. You picked up.
“Hey,” your voice came through flat. Tired. Nothing like how it used to be, all soft affection and brightness just from hearing his name.
Wooyoung sat up in bed, heart kicking into gear. “Are you okay? You’ve been quiet lately.”
You hesitated. And that pause told him more than any words could.
“I just…” you finally said, “I didn’t want to be annoying. Or clingy. I figured I’d give you some space.”
Wooyoung’s heart stopped.
Your voice was distant, not cold, just… careful. Like you’d started building walls, brick by brick, while he wasn’t paying attention.
And then the realization hit.
His whole “God, you’re obsessed with me, aren’t you?” comment.
“I don’t want to overwhelm you,” you added quietly. “You probably enjoyed that I didn’t text anyway.”
“Stop,” he breathed, sitting up straighter, the words catching in his throat. “Don’t say that. Please.”
There was silence on your end. So he filled it.
He stood, pacing now, like movement might slow the panic rising in his chest.
“I could see you were pulling away, and I didn’t know why. But now I do. It’s because of me. Because I was too caught up in being cute or funny or whatever the hell I thought I was — and I made you feel like your love was too much.”
You didn’t interrupt. Maybe because you didn’t believe him yet. Or maybe because part of you had been waiting for this — for him to see it.
“I thought it was harmless. I never meant to make you second-guess how you show up for me. I loved those messages. I love the way you care, the way you never make me guess how you feel.”
His voice cracked.
“You were never obsessive. Never clingy. You were consistent. You were present. And I was a goddamn idiot for not realizing how rare that is.”
Another beat passed. And then, gently:
“I miss you. I miss all of you — not just your messages, but the way you never hesitated to love me. Please don’t take that part of you away. Not because of me.”
Your breath hitched on the other end of the line.
“I’ll do better,” he promised. “I’ll be better. If you give me the chance.”
And for once, Wooyoung didn’t try to make it light. No joke. No wink. Just truth, raw and bare.
Because now, he knew better than to laugh at the kind of love most people spend a lifetime looking for.
Jongho:
He thought this was best for him, for the both of you.
Being apart would calm the frustration, the tension, the ache he couldn’t put into words.
So when he let you walk away, it wasn’t because he didn’t love you. It was because he didn’t know how to love you right, and instead of learning, he chose distance.
But the silence didn’t bring him peace.
It brought emptiness.
No more texts. No more playful eye rolls when he tried to hide a smile. No more soft hands reaching for his when he thought no one was looking. Just quiet. Cold, hollow quiet.
And the worst part? You didn’t come back.
Not after a few days.
Not after a week.
He thought you might. He thought maybe you’d fight for him, call him out like you always did. But this time, you respected his words. You gave him what he asked for.
And now he was the one left behind.
It was late when he showed up at your door. No text. No warning.
His hoodie was pulled tight over his head, eyes shadowed under the porch light. He looked nervous, the kind of nervous you only get when pride has been stripped away, when all that’s left is want.
You opened the door and froze.
He didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there, shoulders tense, eyes unreadable.
Then:
“Hey.”
Your arms crossed instinctively, more out of habit than hostility. “Why are you here, Jongho?”
He exhaled. “I… I thought I was doing the right thing.”
You didn’t answer.
“But every day since you left—” He paused, jaw tight. “—I’ve wanted you to come back. I just didn’t know if I deserved you.”
Your brows knit together. “Now you’re deciding this? After you told me I was too much, that I needed too much?”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, his voice low and rough. “I was overwhelmed. I felt like I was drowning in everything — practice, expectations, and yeah… us. But not because of you. Because I wasn’t letting myself lean on you.”
You stared at him. He looked different. Tired. Softer. But still him.
“Then why say those things?”
“Because I was scared,” he said, eyes meeting yours. “Of needing someone. Of letting myself be vulnerable. You were always so sure — about us, about me — and I… wasn’t. You're not exhausting to love, I was making it exhausting”
Your expression faltered.
“I thought pushing you away would give me control,” he continued. “But all it did was make me miserable.”
Silence stretched between you, taut and fragile.
“I was wrong,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t have let you go.”
You looked away, blinking quickly. “You hurt me.”
“I know,” he said immediately. “And I hate myself for it. I know I can’t undo that. But if you still have anything left in your heart for me… anything at all… I want to try again.”
You didn’t respond right away. The pain was still there, fresh enough that your walls hadn’t come down yet. But something in you cracked, seeing the way he looked at you now. The regret in his posture. The hope barely hanging on.
“I don’t know if I can trust you again,” you said softly.
He nodded, eyes glinting. “Then I’ll earn it. Day by day. Even if you don’t forgive me tonight.”
Another long pause.
Then you opened the door a little wider.
“Come in.”
Jongho stepped forward like he couldn’t believe it. His hand brushed yours lightly as he passed, hesitant, asking permission even in the smallest ways.
And maybe the pain wasn’t gone.
Maybe it wouldn’t be for a while.
But sometimes, love returns, not loudly, but slowly. Carefully. With trembling hands and quiet hearts that still believe in healing.
->Starring: OT8!AteezxReader
->Genre: Angst, no comfort
->Cw: Angsty angst, breakup in Yunho's, implied breakup in Jongho and Mingi's, some gaslighting, let me know if I missed anything
Part 2
Masterlist | Ateez Masterlist
Seonghwa:
You hadn’t meant to bother him. You just wanted to be near him.
It was past midnight again, and he hadn’t come home yet. The living room light flickered softly while you sat curled up on the couch with your phone in your hand, staring at the last message you'd sent an hour ago: “Are you still at the studio? Should I wait up?”
You didn’t want to double text. You already felt like you did that too often.
When the door finally creaked open, Seonghwa stepped inside like a shadow, quiet, exhausted, and drenched in an aura of distance. He barely looked at you as he kicked off his shoes and shrugged off his jacket.
“You’re still up?” he asked flatly, more surprise than concern.
You nodded, forcing a smile. “I just wanted to see you.”
He sighed and walked past you toward the kitchen. “I told you not to wait up.”
“I know, but… I missed you.” The words felt small. Weak. Pathetic.
There was a pause. A heavy silence that stretched too far.
“I’m just tired, Y/N,” he muttered, grabbing a glass of water. “It’s been a long day.”
“I know,” you said, standing up and walking toward him. “But I feel like I barely see you anymore. We don’t talk. You’re always—”
“Working?” he cut in, turning around. His voice was sharp, his expression unreadable. “I’m trying to keep everything afloat. What do you want me to do, drop everything just because you feel lonely?”
Your stomach twisted. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I just… I want us to feel like us again.”
Seonghwa rubbed a hand down his face. “God, Y/N… You’re just too clingy sometimes. I can’t breathe.”
Everything inside you froze.
The words hit harder than a slap. You stood there, blinking slowly as your throat tightened.
“Oh,” you whispered.
He didn’t apologize. He didn’t soften. He just stood there, cold and worn and tired of you.
You nodded, biting your lip to keep it from trembling. “I’ll give you space, then.”
You walked away before he could see you cry.
But in the silence that followed, he didn’t come after you.
Hongjoong:
You hadn’t meant for it to turn into a fight. You just wanted to feel closer to him, but with Hongjoong, closeness had started to feel like a game you couldn’t win.
He was sitting on the edge of the bed, lacing up his boots with a mechanical kind of calm. The air between you was thick with something unspoken, heavy like fog. You were watching him from the doorway, hands clasped tightly in front of you, heart pounding.
“I just… I feel like I’m always chasing after you,” you said quietly. “I don’t even remember the last time we had a real conversation.”
Hongjoong didn’t look up. “Is this about me not texting you back fast enough again?”
You blinked. “What?”
He stood, brushing imaginary dust off his pants, then turned to face you. “Because if it is, I’m not doing this tonight. I’ve had four meetings, two rehearsals, and five hours of sleep in the last three days. Sorry if I can’t be your emotional support boyfriend on demand.”
The sarcasm in his tone hit harder than it should have. You swallowed hard.
“That’s not what I’m asking for.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” he muttered under his breath.
You stared at him, the tears already prickling behind your eyes, not from the words, but from the way he wouldn’t look at you, like he couldn’t even be bothered to.
“I’m not asking you to stop working,” you said, voice trembling. “I’m asking you to care.”
“I do care,” he snapped, finally locking eyes with you. “But it’s never enough for you, is it? Every time I get a second to breathe, you’re there with questions and feelings and—clinginess.”
You recoiled like you’d been slapped.
Hongjoong sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
But it was too late. That word echoed in your head like a scream in an empty room.
You looked down. “I’m sorry I make you feel suffocated.”
He didn’t say anything. Just stood there, silent. Watching.
You turned and walked out before he could change his mind and offer a half-hearted apology.
Behind you, the sound of your name never came.
Yunho:
It wasn’t a fight.
That was the worst part.
There was no yelling, no slammed doors, no cruel words hurled in the heat of the moment. Just Yunho’s soft voice and the way he couldn’t meet your eyes.
You were sitting across from him at your usual café, fingers wrapped around your lukewarm mug. The latte you ordered hours ago sat untouched, your appetite eaten away by the weight of the silence between you.
You had asked him if things were okay. He had smiled, that same gentle smile he gave to fans, to strangers, to people who didn’t know him, and said, “Yeah, of course.”
But something felt off.
So you pushed. Just a little.
“You barely talk to me anymore,” you said quietly. “And when you do, it’s like… you’re somewhere else.”
Yunho’s smile faltered, his eyes dropping to his hands. He was quiet for too long. Then:
“I don’t know how to explain it,” he murmured. “But… I feel like you always need something from me.”
You blinked. “What? What do you mean?”
“Just… support, reassurance, attention.” He looked up, not unkind, but unreadable. “You need too much from me. And I’m starting to run out.”
Your heart cracked in half.
“I didn’t realize I was a burden to you.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But that’s what you meant.”
“No, it’s not—” he started, but stopped. “It’s not that simple.”
It never is.
You stared down at your drink, tears burning at the corners of your eyes. “I just wanted to feel close to you.”
Yunho’s expression twisted, like he hated himself in that moment. “I know. And I wanted to be that person for you. But I’m tired. And I don’t know if I can keep giving when I already feel so empty.”
You swallowed hard, your chest tightening. “Then say it.”
He looked at you, eyes glassy but steady. “Maybe we’re not right for each other anymore.”
Your world tilted.
You nodded slowly. “Thanks for saying it gently.”
He reached for your hand, but you pulled away before he could touch you.
You didn’t need more softness that only stung harder.
Yeosang:
It wasn’t the silence that hurt. It was the indifference.
You stood by the door, shoes still on, keys clenched in your fist like a lifeline. The apartment was dimly lit, the only glow coming from the television. Yeosang sat on the couch, legs stretched out, remote in hand, face illuminated by the flickering screen.
He didn’t look up when you walked in. Didn’t ask where you had been. Didn’t seem to care that your eyes were red, or that your voice shook when you said, “Can we talk?”
He sighed, pausing the show. “What now?”
That tone.
Detached. Tired. As if your pain was an inconvenience.
“I don’t feel like you even want to be here anymore,” you said quietly, each word careful and slow. “You barely speak to me. I always have to initiate everything. And when I ask for more… for you… it’s like I’m being punished for it.”
Yeosang leaned back, arms crossing over his chest. “Why do you always have to make everything so dramatic?”
The world around you caved, your heart sinking into itself.
“Excuse me?”
“This,” he gestured vaguely between you. “It’s always a crisis. You always need something to be wrong. Can’t we just exist without turning everything into a meltdown?”
Your heart dropped. “I’m not making this up. I’m trying to talk to you because I care.”
“And I’m tired of always being the bad guy just because I’m not clinging to you 24/7,” he snapped.
There it was. The word.
You stared at him, your mouth open, your heart thrashing in your chest.
“Clinging?” you echoed.
Yeosang looked away. “You take everything so personally.”
You took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself, but it was no use. You felt like you were cracking in real time.
“I never asked you to worship me,” you said softly. “I just wanted to feel like I mattered.”
“You do,” he muttered, but it was too late. His voice was too flat. Too empty.
You nodded, pressing your lips together to keep them from trembling.
Without another word, you turned, walked to the bedroom, and shut the door behind you.
Yeosang didn’t follow.
The TV resumed playing in the next room, louder than before.
San:
It started with a question.
“Do you still love me the way you used to?”
You hadn’t planned to ask it, it just slipped out. The two of you had been sitting in silence for over an hour, your dinner gone cold on the table, his phone lighting up again and again with messages he didn’t try to hide but also didn’t offer to explain.
San looked up slowly, the muscle in his jaw twitching. “Why would you ask that?”
You hesitated. “Because it doesn’t feel like you do.”
He scoffed and pushed back his chair. “So now I don’t love you?”
“I didn’t say that,” you said quickly. “I’m just— I’m trying to understand. You don’t touch me like you used to. You don’t say the things you used to say. I feel like I’m begging for scraps and pretending it’s enough.”
San shook his head, already pacing. “God, Y/N, do you hear yourself? You’re always picking at things. Always questioning. You turn every quiet moment into some kind of disaster.”
“I’m not trying to fight,” you said, voice cracking. “I just miss us. I miss when you wanted me around. When I didn’t have to beg you to look at me.”
He stopped mid-step, staring at you with disbelief. “Beg you? Are you serious?”
“I feel like I’m constantly reaching for you,” you said, tears burning now. “And you keep pulling further away.”
San’s voice rose, sharp and bitter. “I’m trying, okay? I’m working, I’m stressed, I’m doing everything I can to hold my life together and you’re here complaining that I don’t hug you enough?! I don’t know what more you want from me!”
You flinched like he’d hit you.
He saw it, the way you recoiled, and immediately ran a hand down his face, guilt flickering across his features. But he didn’t apologize. He didn’t comfort you.
He just stood there, breathing hard, like he couldn’t believe you were making him feel this way.
You wrapped your arms around yourself. “I wanted you to want me again. That’s all.”
His eyes darted to yours, but he said nothing.
The silence that followed wasn’t peaceful; it was suffocating. Like something had died between you and neither of you wanted to say its name.
He walked passed you slowly, brushing shoulders on the way to the bedroom.
Mingi:
You were used to the silence. You’d taught yourself how to live in it — how to love Mingi without expecting too much in return.
But tonight, something inside you cracked.
It started small. A simple moment. You reached for his hand during a late-night walk, fingers brushing his. He didn’t take it. Didn’t even notice.
Or maybe he just didn’t want to.
You said nothing then. You waited until you got home, until the lights were off and he was pulling off his hoodie like it was any other day. That was when you whispered, “Do I overwhelm you?”
He turned slowly, brows drawing together. “What?”
You looked at him in the low light, voice barely audible. “Do I… come on too strong? Text too much? Need too much? Be around you too much?”
Mingi sighed, tired already. “Why are you asking me this?”
“Because I feel like I’m always chasing you,” you said, heart pounding. “Like I’m holding so much in while you keep everything at arm’s length.”
There was a pause. Then Mingi laughed, short and dry. Not cruel. Just empty.
“I don’t need someone constantly glued to my side,” he muttered.
It hit like a punch. Your breath caught in your throat.
He must’ve seen your face, because he looked away. “I didn’t mean that how it sounded.”
“But that’s how you feel,” you said, voice trembling. “You think I’m clingy. Too much. That I make things harder for you.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
The silence stretched, swallowing the space between you. Mingi rubbed the back of his neck, his voice lower now. “I just… I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to need someone the way you need me.”
“And I never asked you to,” you said softly. “I just wanted you to try. To meet me halfway.”
Mingi didn’t answer. He sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor like it might save him.
You stood in the doorway, gripping the frame, your voice breaking. “You say you don’t need someone glued to your side. But I was never trying to trap you. I just wanted to stand beside you.”
Still nothing.
So you walked out, not because you wanted to leave, but because you knew he’d never ask you to stay.
Wooyoung:
It wasn’t supposed to hurt.
He was laughing when he said it, after all, that loud, carefree laugh that always made your chest warm.
You were sitting beside him on the studio couch, your head tilted toward his shoulder, phone in your lap as you showed him a video you thought was funny. You had been texting him all day, silly things, sweet things, pictures of your lunch, of your cat, a blurry mirror selfie, anything to feel close.
You missed him. He hadn’t been around much lately. He was busy, and you understood that. So you tried to fill the distance with affection.
And he laughed, at first. Then looked at your phone, scrolled through your messages, and said it:
“God, you’re obsessed with me, aren’t you?”
He grinned as he said it, nudging you lightly with his elbow.
You froze.
Your smile cracked before you could stop it. “Hm?”
Wooyoung just chuckled, turning back to his laptop. “You’ve sent me, like, twenty messages today. You don’t even breathe between them.”
“I was just… trying to make you smile,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.
He didn’t catch the shift in your tone. Or maybe he did, and ignored it.
“You’re cute,” he added absently, like that made it better. “But seriously, I’m gonna have to get a restraining order or something.”
It was a joke. He meant it as a joke. But all you could hear was: You’re too much. You need too much. You love me more than I love you.
You pulled away slightly, your hands folding in your lap. “Sorry. I didn’t realize I was annoying you.”
Wooyoung looked over, confused. “What? I didn’t say you were annoying.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Something in your voice must’ve reached him then, because his smile faltered.
“Hey, come on, I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, scooting closer. “I was just messing around. You know I love your clingy little texts.”
But now the word clingy stung worse than anything else.
You forced a laugh, but it sounded hollow even to your own ears. “Yeah. It’s funny.”
“You’re not mad, are you?” he asked, his voice light but uncertain.
“No,” you lied.
Because you couldn’t tell him how deeply it hurt, how badly it felt to have your love reduced to a punchline. How his jokes always danced on the edge of truth, and how every time he brushed them off, you were the one left bleeding.
So you said nothing. You smiled. You played along.
And deep down, something in you dimmed.
Jongho:
It had been building for weeks, the silences, the unanswered texts, the clipped responses. But Jongho never snapped. That wasn’t him. He didn’t yell. He didn’t storm off. He just withdrew, like a tide slowly pulling away from the shore, leaving you stranded on sand that used to feel warm.
So when he came home late, again, and walked past you like you weren’t even there, you couldn’t hold it in any longer.
“Did I do something wrong?”
He turned around slowly, surprised. “What?”
You stood up from the couch, hands curled into your sleeves. “You’ve been cold. Distant. You barely touch me anymore, barely talk to me unless I ask something first. I just… I feel like I’m the only one trying.”
Jongho exhaled, dragging a hand down his face. “Y/N…”
“No,” you said, voice shaking, “please don’t give me another quiet shrug or say you’re just tired. I know what tired looks like. This is something else.”
He stared at you for a moment. Long enough for you to hope he’d say something vulnerable, something real. But then:
“You take everything so personally.”
The words were flat. Heavy. They dropped between you like a lead weight.
You blinked. “Are you serious?”
Jongho looked away. “You read too much into things. Not everything means I don’t love you just because I didn’t text you goodnight.”
“But it feels like that,” you whispered. “You act like I’m being dramatic just for needing reassurance.”
“Because you ask for it constantly,” he said, sharper now. “It’s exhausting. I never get a moment to just be without you needing to be reassured, or validated, or—”
“Loved?” you cut in. “You’re exhausted by having to love me?”
He froze.
And that was worse than a yes.
You stared at him, your heart pounding, voice barely a whisper. “You act like I’m too much for needing more than silence.”
Jongho’s face didn’t shift. He just looked at you like he didn’t know what to say, or worse, didn’t feel it was worth saying at all.
And you realized then: it wasn’t that he didn’t love you.
It was that he didn’t know how to show it in a way that made you feel safe.
You stepped back slowly, breath catching in your throat. “You don’t have to say anything. You already did.”
This time, he didn’t stop you when you walked away.
synopsis : You almost had everything—until he chose someone else. Now he’s back. But you’re already gone.
genre : slice of life, friends to almost lovers, angst, closure
warnings : none
author’s note : back to angst 😇
word count : 0.9k
───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
─────────
You didn’t fall in love with Mingi all at once.
It was slower than that.
Quieter.
A creeping kind of affection that settled into your chest without warning—soft and steady, until one day you looked at him and your whole heart stilled.
He was warm. That’s what you remember most.
Not just his laughter or the way he always made a room feel smaller, safer—but the warmth.
He noticed things. Things no one else did.
Like when your voice dropped mid-sentence, or when your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes.
You met during a quiet season in your life.
Nothing dramatic. No sweeping tragedy. Just a slow stretch of days that all felt the same. Until him.
And suddenly, everything felt different.
He became your best friend.
That’s what he called you.
That’s what everyone else called you, too.
But there were moments—so many moments—when you were convinced that this was something more.
Like when he tucked your hair behind your ear with shaking fingers.
Like when he sent you a voice message at 3:12am just to tell you the stars looked pretty tonight.
Like when he looked at you—really looked at you—and the rest of the world faded out.
───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
─────────
You almost kissed him.
It was raining.
You had run through the storm together, laughing breathlessly, sneakers soaked, hands brushing.
You ducked beneath an old tree you always passed but never stopped at, both of you catching your breath and holding something else entirely.
He was standing so close. His fingers grazed yours.
And then he looked at you.
Like he saw it too.
You leaned in. So did he.
And then someone shouted his name—too loud, too real—and just like that, Mingi pulled back. Smiled like nothing had happened.
Said something about heading home.
Didn’t look back.
You didn’t speak of it again.
───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
─────────
A week later, he met her.
Her name came up casually in conversation. A girl from one of his electives.
You nodded and smiled, even as your chest caved in.
And then she was everywhere.
In the background of photos. In the soft way he said her name.
In the space you used to stand.
You tried to be happy for him.
But it’s hard to clap for someone who just broke your heart without even realizing it.
He still texted you.
Still sent you songs that reminded him of old conversations.
Still called when he couldn’t sleep.
Still said things like, “No one gets me the way you do.”
You almost asked why that wasn’t enough.
Why weren't you enough?
But you didn’t.
Because you already knew.
You were always almost.
Almost loved.
Almost chosen.
Almost his.
And still, you waited.
You waited for him to choose you, to say it, to look at her and realize she was never what he wanted.
But he never did.
───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
─────────
Years passed.
You grew. You changed.
You stopped waiting.
You learned to stop checking his profile.
Stopped listening to the songs he once sent.
Started to love people who looked at you like you were sure—not a maybe. Not an almost.
You didn’t forget him.
But you folded him neatly into the past.
Left him in the quiet.
Until one evening, out of nowhere, your phone lit up with his name.
hey
i know it’s been a while. do you maybe want to meet up sometime?
You stared at the message for a long time.
Heart steady.
Not broken—just tired.
And then you said yes.
───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
─────────
You met at a small café tucked between a bookstore and a florist—accidentally poetic.
Mingi stood when you walked in.
He looked older. Softer.
Eyes still kind. His smile still familiar.
But different.
You sat across from him, a little distance between you, but not the same kind as before.
This wasn’t new.
It was after.
He asked about your life. You told him pieces of it.
He told you she was gone.
“She left,” he said simply. “A while ago.”
You nodded. “I’m sorry.”
And he shook his head. “I deserved it.”
He paused, then added, “I think I ruined the one thing that ever made sense.”
You didn’t ask if he meant her.
Because you already knew he didn’t.
“I still think about you,” Mingi said. “I don’t know if I ever really stopped.”
You looked at him.
Looked at the boy who once stood in the rain and almost chose you.
He met your eyes. “That night… under the tree. I should’ve kissed you.”
You said nothing.
“I should’ve picked you.”
You exhaled, slow. Careful.
“I waited,” you said. “You knew. And you didn’t.”
His expression faltered.
“I blamed myself,” you whispered. “For not being enough. For not saying it first. For not being louder.”
You looked at your hands.
“But I loved you, Mingi.”
He went still. The words hung between you, aching and real and far too late.
“I loved you,” you repeated. “And you didn’t choose me.”
You stood, gently.
Left money on the table.
Shrugged on your coat.
He didn’t stop you.
Didn’t beg.
Didn’t say I love you too—not really.
And that’s how you knew.
He meant it.
He regretted it.
But he didn’t come back for you.
Not when it mattered.
───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
─────────
You walked out into the evening air.
Cool. Breezy.
The kind of night that used to feel like a promise.
Now, it just felt like closure.
You didn’t cry.
Because you weren’t that girl anymore.
Not the one who held her breath when he walked into the room.
Not the one who mistook silence for softness.
You were never his beginning.
But you were his almost.
And now, finally,he’ll have to live with knowing you’re the one who got away.
synopsis : : after a late-night argument, things go quiet between you and hongjoong. he thinks everything’s fine—but small changes say otherwise.
genre : : angst, hurt-comfort
warnings : : none.
word count : : 2.2k
—The clock’s red digits glared 1:37 AM, casting a dull glow over the apartment. The only sound was the faint hum of Hongjoong’s laptop fan and the clack of his keyboard. You stood in the doorway to his studio, arms crossed loosely, watching him with quiet concern. His shoulders were hunched, the tension in his back visible even from where you stood. His brows were pinched, lip caught between his teeth—he was deep in it again. Music, deadlines, concepts, endless revisions. The new comeback was eating him alive.
"Joong," you said softly, not wanting to startle him. He didn’t look up. “Did you eat anything today?”
Silence.
You stepped closer. “I made some rice earlier. There’s soup too, it’s still warm—”
“I said I’m busy.” His voice was sharp, quick, like a door slamming shut.
You flinched. “I know, I just… I thought you might want to take a break. Just ten minutes. You haven’t left that chair in hours—”
“I don’t need you to tell me what to do,” he snapped, finally spinning around to face you. His eyes were bloodshot, his expression worn thin. “You think I don’t know how to take care of myself?”
“That’s not what I meant,” you said quietly.
“Then stop hovering. God, it’s like you think I’m helpless or something.”
You blinked. The words hit harder than they should’ve. “I was just trying to help.”
“Yeah? Well, help by leaving me alone.”
That one landed like a punch. You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but nothing came out. You weren't good at fights—not the ugly kind, not when someone you loved looked at you like you were in the way. You felt yourself retreat, folding inward like paper crumpling under pressure.
You nodded once. “Okay.” Your voice was smaller than you'd meant it to be.
You walked out of the room without another word. Hongjoong didn’t look back.
You curled into your side of the bed, the sheets cool and unfamiliar without him. You stared at the wall for what felt like hours, trying not to let the sting of his words replay in your head, but it was impossible not to. You think I’m helpless. Help by leaving me alone. You didn’t cry—you just felt hollow, like something in you had been scooped out.
Eventually, without meaning to, sleep found you.
When Hongjoong stepped out of the studio, the apartment was dead quiet. The kind of quiet that made the back of his neck prickle. He rubbed his face, the pads of his fingers pressing hard against his eyes like it might squeeze the guilt out of his skull.
He hadn’t eaten. You’d been right. Of course you had. And now the untouched bowl of rice and soup sat cold on the counter, a silent reminder of how cruel he'd been. He hated how he heard his own voice replaying in his mind. He hated that it had been aimed at you.
The bedroom was dark except for the sliver of moonlight slicing through the blinds. You were already asleep, curled up small on your side of the bed, back to him. The blankets barely clung to your shoulder, and your breathing was soft, steady. You looked peaceful in the way that made his chest ache.
He climbed into bed carefully, like he didn’t want to disturb the stillness he didn’t deserve to be part of. Then he reached for you, gently, wrapping an arm around your waist. His fingers threaded over your stomach as he pulled you back against him. You didn’t stir. Not even a sigh.
He pressed his forehead to the nape of your neck and closed his eyes, letting the guilt wash over him.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice cracked with something he wasn’t ready to name. “I didn’t mean it.”
—The soft morning light filtered through the blinds, painting gentle gold across the room. You stirred slowly, your body wrapped in warmth not entirely from the blankets. There was a weight draped over your waist—a familiar arm, heavy and secure. Your back was pressed against a chest you knew like second nature, the steady rhythm of his breathing grazing the curve of your shoulder.
You blinked at the faint light, taking a moment to register the calm. Then you shifted slightly, turning in his loose hold. Hongjoong lay beside you, eyes still shut, his features finally relaxed in sleep. The tension that had carved lines into his brow the night before had softened, replaced by a boyish stillness you hadn’t seen in days.
Instinct made your hand move, reaching to brush the hair from his face, but you caught yourself. Mid-motion, you stopped—fingers hovering just above his temple. The memory of his words from the night before came rushing back in. “Help by leaving me alone.” You let your hand fall quietly back to your side. You slipped out of bed without waking him.
The floor was cold under your feet as you padded to the bathroom. You didn’t look at yourself in the mirror too long—just enough to brush your hair and splash water on your face.
Then you moved to the kitchen in a quiet rhythm, pulling eggs from the fridge, rice from the cooker, setting pans on the stove. You weren’t even sure he’d eat. You just needed something to do. Something that made you feel a little less like your chest was filled with shattered glass.
The smell of breakfast slowly filled the apartment. You didn’t hum like you usually did. You didn’t peek down the hallway to see if he was up. You just kept moving, focused on not thinking too hard.
Footsteps finally broke the silence behind you. You didn’t turn around.
Hongjoong’s arms found your waist from behind, wrapping around you like nothing had happened. He leaned into you, resting his chin lightly on your shoulder. “Hey,” he said, voice still rough from sleep.
You gave a quiet, almost automatic, “Morning.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment. Just held you there, breathing you in.
Then: “About last night…” His voice dipped lower. “I’m sorry. I was a dick. I was tired, and frustrated, and I took it out on you when all you were trying to do was care for me.” His grip around your waist tightened a little, not enough to trap, just enough to cling. “You didn’t deserve that.”
You stayed quiet. Not out of malice—just because you didn’t know what to say. You accepted his words, but they didn’t undo the way they’d settled in your chest, heavy and echoing.
“I mean it,” he added, nuzzling into your neck gently. “I’m sorry.”
You nodded, gave a small smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “It’s okay.”
He seemed to take that as enough. He smiled softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Thank you,” he murmured. Then another kiss, this time to your forehead. “I’ll make it up to you.”
You didn’t answer. You just turned the burner down and stirred the eggs, his arms still looped around your waist.
—The days after the apology fell into rhythm—routine, quiet, unspoken. Hongjoong thought things were okay. Not perfect, maybe, but better. You didn’t bring up the fight again. You didn’t ask for another apology. You cooked for him. You kissed him goodnight. You replied when he spoke, smiled when it felt expected.
But something subtle had shifted.
You didn’t lean into him when he hugged you anymore. You didn't brush his hair out of his face like you always used to. A half-second pause before holding his hand. A smile that didn’t reach your eyes. And he, so consumed by work and trying to make things smoother again, didn’t catch it right away.
It wasn’t that you were punishing him. You just… couldn’t shake the way he made you feel that night. Like loving him too much was a burden. Like your care was a nuisance. You’d swallowed it all down to keep the peace, but it hadn’t disappeared. It sat there, quietly, between your ribs.
At first, he thought it was stress. Maybe you were tired too. Maybe you just needed space. But the distance grew—not obvious, not loud, just enough. Enough to notice how you didn’t crawl into his lap while he worked anymore. How you stopped asking if he’d eaten. How your goodnight kisses landed on his cheek instead of his lips. Like you were slowly folding yourself away.
Hongjoong found you on the couch when he came home—curled up with your knees to your chest, a half-drunk cup of tea on the table, and the TV playing something you clearly weren’t watching. The sound was low, just enough to fill the silence. You looked over when he walked in, your eyes tired but your expression unreadable. You gave him a quiet smile—polite, soft, practiced.
"Hey," you said.
"Hey," he replied, but didn’t move right away. He stood there, still wearing his jacket, keys still in one hand, just staring. Something in the way you looked at him—something distant—hit him harder than he expected.
He didn’t go to the bedroom. He didn’t go to the kitchen. He walked straight to you, dropped to his knees in front of the couch, and reached for you like he wasn’t sure if he still had the right.
"Can we talk?" he asked.
You hesitated. Then, quietly, "Okay."
His hands found your legs, resting there gently, grounding himself. He looked up at you, the weight of days spent in silence finally cracking him open.
"I know I said sorry. I know I’ve been trying to make things feel normal again. But you haven’t been the same. And I think it’s because I haven’t really let you say how much it hurt."
You didn’t answer. You didn’t look away either.
"I can feel you pulling back from me. And I get it," he said, voice quiet but desperate. "I told you to leave me alone. I made you feel like you were smothering me. That your love was too much. And I hate that. I hate that the one person who was trying to take care of me... I pushed away like that."
Your eyes stung but you didn’t speak. He exhaled shakily, fingers tightening slightly on your legs. "So yell at me. Scream. Throw something. Hit me. Tell me I’m an asshole. Break my heart if you must. But don’t keep it in like this. Don’t shrink away just to keep the peace. You don’t deserve to carry that weight in silence. Not because of me."
That did it.
Your hands clenched into fists. Your throat burned. All the things you hadn’t said—because you’d been trying so hard to be quiet, to be calm, to be “understanding”—rose to the surface in one breathless wave.
"You made me feel like I was in the way," you said, your voice small, shaky. "Like I was annoying you just by caring."
"I know," he said immediately. "I know I did."
"I made you food. I checked in. I waited until it felt like the right time to speak—and you still bit my head off."
"I remember," he whispered. "And I regret every word. I hated myself the second they left my mouth."
"I felt stupid," you admitted, voice breaking. "Stupid for trying. Stupid for loving you so much that I didn’t know when to stop."
He reached up, cupped your face carefully like it might crumble in his hands. "Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that. You loving me like that? That’s the best thing in my life. And I made you feel like it wasn’t. That’s on me."
You bit your lip, tears spilling before you could stop them. "I didn’t know how to come back from it. I didn’t want to bring it up again because I thought… maybe it would make things worse. Maybe you’d snap again."
"I won’t," he said quickly, earnestly. "I swear to you, I won’t. I’ll listen. I’ll be there. I’ll take every hard word, every tear, every angry look—because I deserve it. And because I want to fix this the right way, not just the easy way."
You looked at him through your tears, your voice barely above a whisper. "It still hurts."
"I know. And I’ll sit with you through every second of that hurt. I’m not running. Not from you. Not ever again."
You stared at him for a long time. Then, slowly, you leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his. He closed his eyes immediately, one hand moving to the back of your neck.
"I don’t want to fight," you whispered.
"Then don’t," he whispered back. "Just be here. That’s enough for me. You—exactly how you are—that’s enough."
He pulled you into him, and you let yourself go, finally, arms around his shoulders, face in his neck. You cried there, not from fresh pain, but from everything that had been bottled up for too long. He held you tighter with every shaky breath, whispering soft apologies, promises, truths.
"I love you," he said between kisses to your hair. "I love you so much. I’ll never stop choosing you."
When the tears passed, he pulled you gently onto the couch, wrapping the blanket around both of you. You curled into his chest, feeling his heart beating fast beneath your cheek.
"Let’s stay like this for a while," you said, voice tired but lighter.
Requested by @bamguetismee <3 (i hope i got ur vision :3)
Warnings: Teasing, Forced Proximity, Soulmarks/Soulmates, Hurt/Comfort, Tension, Rivalry, Fluff, Confessions, Jealousy, Soobin Cameo (love triangle??), Peeves being a menace.
Synopsis: As a model student and prefect, your future at Hogwarts seems set—but Yang Jungwon, a Slytherin prefect, likes getting under your skin. To make things more complicated, he's your soulmate. Should you embrace fate or resist?
a/n: HELLO?? 500 FOLLOWERS?? WAHH!! THANK YOU GUYSS! <3
masterlist
--
You had always worked hard as a student. That’s what the teachers at Hogwarts liked seeing—hardworking students with the ability to excel both in a team and on their own. And you fit perfectly. You were a model student with good marks, excellent control over your magic, and a natural ability to care for others, whether they were in your house or not. It wasn’t a surprise when you were named a prefect in your fifth year.
You carried that badge with pride. You loved being a prefect—patrolling the corridors, helping younger students, and upholding the rules that kept Hogwarts running. You loved Hogwarts, period.
Well, all except for one thing.
Yang Jungwon.
The Slytherin prefect who, despite his innocent face and disarmingly sweet smile, seemed to make it his life’s mission to drive you completely insane.
It wasn’t the usual kind of rivalry either. Sure, Slytherins clashed with other houses from time to time, but this wasn’t just about house pride. No, this was personal. It was in the way he smirked whenever he caught you on patrol, somehow managing to be just a little too late to help out when you were swamped with first-years who couldn’t find their common room. It was in the way he’d charm his way out of detentions, even when he’d been the one sneaking enchanted fireworks into the Great Hall during breakfast.
Worst of all, it was in the way he made you feel like you were the one always losing control, like you were the one who couldn’t keep your composure when he was around.
“You missed a spot,” he drawled one evening, leaning against the corridor wall as you adjusted the Ravenclaw notice board. His voice was light, teasing, like he had nothing better to do than stand there and watch you work. “Top corner. Might want to straighten it out before McGonagall sees it.”
You shot him a glare over your shoulder. “Don’t you have patrols to be on?”
He shrugged, the emerald trim of his robes catching the light. “I could say the same to you, Miss Perfect.”
Your jaw tightened. That nickname.
You turned back to the board, determined to ignore him, even as you felt the heat rising to your cheeks.
But of course, Jungwon didn’t leave. He never did.
Yang Jungwon had a way of getting under your skin like no one else could. He was frustratingly clever, sharp-tongued in a way that wasn’t outright cruel but always cut just enough to make you grit your teeth. It wasn’t what you’d expected from a Slytherin prefect. No, on paper, Jungwon was everything you were: a model student with stellar marks, impeccable spellwork, and a spotless disciplinary record.
And that’s what made him so infuriating.
Because no matter how much he teased, no matter how many snarky remarks he threw your way, Jungwon had an uncanny ability to slip through the cracks of authority unscathed. He always masked his mischief with that disarming smile, that soft-spoken charm that even the professors fell for.
“Honestly, Professor Flitwick,” he’d say with wide, innocent eyes after you’d caught him charming the suits of armor to sing off-key Christmas carols in the corridors, “I was just practicing for the Yule Ball choir audition. I had no idea they’d move on their own!”
And Flitwick, much to your disbelief, had waved it off as “creative magic.” Creative magic!
But when it came to you, he didn’t even bother to pretend.
Take the time he’d enchanted a batch of parchment birds to follow you around the library, each one whispering “Miss Perfect” in soft, sing-song voices. You’d stormed over to him in the Potions section, where he sat with his feet casually propped up on the table, looking as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
“Seriously, Jungwon?” you hissed, holding up one of the parchment birds, which was now fluttering around your head like an annoyingly persistent fly.
He’d looked up from his book with that infuriatingly serene smile. “Oh? Are they bothering you? I must’ve used the wrong spell. They were supposed to cheer you up.”
“They’re driving me insane,” you snapped.
“Well, that’s not very cheerful of them,” he mused, flicking his wand with a practiced ease that made the birds disappear. Then, without missing a beat, he leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand. “But I’ll admit, it’s kind of cute how flustered you get when you’re mad.”
Your face burned at that, and you’d stomped away, leaving him chuckling softly behind you.
And yet, despite his constant antics, you couldn’t really catch him doing anything blatantly wrong. That was his specialty. His mischief always danced just on the edge of trouble—never enough to get him punished, but always enough to make you want to hex that smirk off his face.
Like during joint prefect meetings. While you were diligently taking notes on the patrol schedules, he’d lean just a little too close, peering over your parchment.
“Wow, your handwriting is so neat,” he’d whisper, just loud enough to catch your attention. “Did you learn calligraphy in secret? Or is this just natural talent?”
“Jungwon, do you mind?” you’d mutter, trying to shift your parchment out of his view.
“Not at all,” he’d reply, his tone maddeningly light. “In fact, I think I’ll start sitting next to you every meeting. You’re so good at organizing things—it’s inspiring.”
You’d glare at him, but he’d only give you a saccharine smile before turning his attention back to the meeting, his quill poised as if he’d been paying rapt attention the entire time.
It was moments like these that made you want to scream. How could someone so irritating also be so annoyingly good at everything? How could he act like he had all the time in the world to bother you and still keep up his reputation as one of the best students in the school?
But perhaps the most frustrating part wasn’t the teasing itself. It was the way he always seemed to know just how to get under your skin, just how to push you to the edge of losing your cool. And no matter how hard you tried to ignore him, Jungwon always found a way to make sure you noticed him.
So why, out of all the people in the world, did he have to be your soulmate?
When you first got your soulmark, a delicate little outline of a cat, you’d been ecstatic. A cat felt dignified, graceful—everything you imagined your soulmate would be. You’d hoped for someone respectable, someone who would balance your ambitious nature and match your unwavering dedication. Someone… well, not Jungwon.
But no. Of course, your soulmate had to be the one person who spent more time ruffling your feathers than anyone else.
You discovered the truth entirely by accident, during an otherwise routine Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson in your sixth year. The professor had asked everyone to practice conjuring a patronus, and when Jungwon stepped forward to demonstrate, a sleek, silver cat had leapt from the tip of his wand.
Your stomach had dropped. Your quill slipped from your fingers.
It didn’t take much to put two and two together. How else could you explain the way your heart raced every time he got too close to you? Or the way your pulse quickened whenever his teasing voice whispered in your ear? You’d always chalked it up to frustration, but now you weren’t so sure.
You hadn’t realized you were staring until Jungwon caught your eye, that damn smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “What?” he’d asked, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “Impressed?”
You’d quickly snapped your head down, pretending to write something in your notebook. “Hardly,” you muttered, but your shaky grip on your quill betrayed you.
After that, you went out of your way to keep your distance from him whenever patronuses came up in class. You’d never cast yours in front of him, and you planned to keep it that way. The last thing you wanted was for him to connect the dots—your dots.
Because if Jungwon found out? If he knew that every teasing remark, every sly grin, every infuriatingly perfect move he made was destined to tug at the invisible string that tied your souls together? You were certain you’d never hear the end of it.
You could already imagine the smug grin on his face.
“Oh, Miss Perfect,” he’d drawl. “I always knew you had a soft spot for me.”
No. That would not happen. As far as you were concerned, he could live his life blissfully unaware. And you’d do the same, no matter how much it gnawed at you to keep the secret.
At least this way, you could hold onto the tiny shred of dignity you had left. Even if that dignity felt a little more fragile every time he leaned in close, his voice a low hum in your ear, and your heart betrayed you all over again.
For months, you buried the truth deep down, pretending like the invisible string between you and Jungwon didn’t exist. You carried on with your duties as a prefect, kept your head high, and worked tirelessly to ignore the way your heart betrayed you whenever he was near.
But it was getting harder.
He was everywhere. Patrols, prefect meetings, the library, even the hallways—you couldn’t escape him. It was like fate itself was conspiring to push you together. And the worst part? He wasn’t making it any easier with his constant teasing.
Like the time he caught you nodding off during a late-night patrol. It had been a long day, and you were leaning against a cold stone wall in the fourth-floor corridor, struggling to keep your eyes open.
“Falling asleep on the job, Miss Perfect?” His voice came out of nowhere, soft and playful, making you jolt upright.
You glared at him, cheeks burning. “I wasn’t sleeping.”
“Sure you weren’t.” He stepped closer, his emerald tie slightly askew, his expression amused. “If you need a break, I could always cover for you. I mean, I am the more capable prefect.”
You scoffed. “Capable? Says the one who nearly let Peeves set off an entire box of Dungbombs in the Great Hall last week.”
He raised his hands in mock surrender, a grin tugging at his lips. “Touché. But in my defense, Peeves likes me better than you.”
“Because you encourage him,” you shot back, crossing your arms.
Jungwon just chuckled, leaning against the wall beside you. His shoulder brushed yours, and you tensed at the sudden proximity. It was a casual touch, nothing out of the ordinary, but it sent your heart racing all the same.
“Relax,” he murmured, his tone softer now. “You work too hard, you know.”
And there it was again—the part of him that left you confused. The Jungwon who teased you relentlessly, but then turned around and said things like that, catching you completely off guard.
You didn’t respond, afraid your voice might crack. Instead, you stepped away, mumbling something about needing to finish your patrol. But as you walked off, you swore you could feel his gaze lingering on you, like he knew something you didn’t.
You descended the staircase as quickly as you could without breaking into a run, your heart pounding harder with every step. It wasn’t just from the way his gaze lingered or the softness in his voice—it was the growing fear that maybe he did know something you didn’t.
You tried to push the thought away, shaking your head as you patrolled the quiet corridors. The castle was calm tonight, the flickering torches casting long shadows on the walls. It was peaceful, the perfect atmosphere to collect your thoughts and shove down the gnawing feelings Jungwon always seemed to drag to the surface.
But of course, peace didn’t last long when it came to him.
“Hey, wait up!” His voice echoed down the corridor, and you inwardly groaned.
You stopped, turning slowly as Jungwon jogged to catch up with you, his prefect badge glinting in the dim light. His hair was slightly messy from the wind on the Astronomy Tower, but he didn’t seem to care. In fact, he looked downright smug, like chasing you down had been his plan all along.
“What do you want, Jungwon?” you asked, crossing your arms in an attempt to seem unaffected.
He came to a stop in front of you, hands in his pockets as he tilted his head. “What’s with the rush? We’re on the same patrol route, you know.”
“I prefer working alone,” you replied curtly, turning to walk away again.
But he sidestepped, blocking your path with an infuriatingly easy grin. “That’s no way to treat your partner, Miss Perfect. We’re supposed to be a team.”
“Team?” you scoffed, narrowing your eyes. “Last time we worked as a ‘team,’ you disappeared halfway through and left me to deal with Peeves in the trophy room.”
He laughed, the sound low and warm, and it sent an unwelcome shiver down your spine. “That’s because you’re better at dealing with him. He listens to you.”
“No, he doesn’t,” you snapped, pushing past him. “He threw a whole stack of awards at my head.”
“Well, you’re still alive,” Jungwon called after you, his teasing tone making your blood boil. “So I’d say you handled it pretty well.”
You didn’t dignify him with a response, instead quickening your pace down the corridor. But Jungwon, being Jungwon, didn’t take the hint. He fell into step beside you, his hands still casually tucked into his robe pockets as if this was all some leisurely stroll.
“Why do you always run away?” he asked suddenly, his voice quieter now.
You froze mid-step, your breath catching in your throat. Slowly, you turned to face him, finding his dark eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your heart skip.
“What are you talking about?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended.
“You know what I’m talking about.” He stepped closer, and you hated the way your body instinctively leaned back against the wall as if you needed the extra support. “Every time I get too close—every time we talk like this—you find an excuse to leave.”
“That’s because you’re annoying,” you said quickly, but even to your own ears, it sounded weak.
His lips quirked into a small, almost triumphant smile. “Am I? Or is it something else?”
Your throat felt dry, and you didn’t trust yourself to speak. He was too close now, close enough that you could see the faint freckles dusted across his nose, close enough to catch the light scent of parchment and peppermint on him.
“Why do you care?” you finally managed, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.
For a moment, he didn’t respond, his eyes searching yours as if trying to unearth a secret you didn’t want to give away. Then, he took a step back, his expression shifting to something softer, something almost vulnerable.
“Because I think there’s something you’re not telling me,” he said quietly.
You opened your mouth, but no words came. Because he was right, and you hated it. You hated that he could read you so easily, hated the way he seemed to see through every wall you put up around yourself.
But most of all, you hated that part of you didn’t want to keep running anymore.
“Goodnight, Jungwon,” you said finally, your voice steadier than you felt. Then, before he could say anything else, you turned on your heel and walked away, this time determined not to look back.
--
It started as a simple enough task: cleaning up the mess left behind by a pair of second-year Ravenclaws who had apparently thought it would be a brilliant idea to practice Summoning Charms in the Trophy Room. Broken glass, scattered awards, and stray parchments were strewn everywhere, and the professor who caught them had, of course, decided that this was a job for the prefects.
“Character-building,” Professor McGonagall had said. “It’ll teach you both responsibility.”
Both? At the time, you hadn’t asked who the “both” referred to, foolishly assuming you’d be able to handle it alone. After all, you preferred it that way. The less you had to deal with anyone—especially him—the better.
You arrived at the Trophy Room late in the evening, wand in hand, ready to sort out the chaos quickly and efficiently. The room was silent except for the faint rustle of the enchanted banners overhead. For a moment, you allowed yourself to relax. No distractions, no interruptions. Just you and the task at hand.
Or so you thought.
“You know,” came a familiar voice from behind you, smooth and laced with amusement, “you’d think they’d give us a thank-you note for cleaning up after them.”
You froze, your wand nearly slipping from your fingers. Turning slowly, you found Jungwon leaning casually against the doorframe, his prefect badge glinting in the torchlight. His tie was slightly loosened, his hair tousled in that infuriatingly perfect way that made it seem like he hadn’t even tried.
“What are you doing here?” you asked, unable to keep the irritation out of your voice.
“Same thing you are,” he replied, pushing off the doorframe and strolling into the room like he owned it. “Apparently, the professors think I’m responsible enough to help clean up messes now. Who knew?”
“Great,” you muttered under your breath, turning back to the mess in front of you. “Just don’t get in my way.”
“Don’t worry, Miss Perfect,” he said, his tone dripping with mock sincerity. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
You ignored him, focusing on the task at hand. With a flick of your wand, you began repairing a shattered glass case, the shards floating back into place with a soft ping. But of course, Jungwon wasn’t content to let you work in peace.
“You missed a spot,” he said, pointing to a stray shard on the floor.
“I see it,” you snapped, flicking your wand again to send the shard to its rightful place.
“You’re welcome,” he said with a grin, crouching down to pick up a fallen plaque. As he straightened, he tilted his head, examining the inscription. “Huh. ‘Most Promising First-Year, 1983.’ Wonder what they did to earn that.”
“Why do you care?” you asked, not bothering to look at him.
“I don’t,” he replied, placing the plaque back on its stand. “But if I have to be here, I might as well make conversation.”
“Well, don’t. I’m busy.”
“Oh, I can see that.” He leaned against one of the display cases, watching you with a lazy smirk. “You’re very good at this, by the way. It’s almost like you’ve done it before.”
You rolled your eyes, trying to focus on a particularly stubborn spell that refused to reattach a decorative plate to its stand. “If you’re not going to help, at least stay quiet.”
“But where’s the fun in that?” He stepped closer, just enough that you could feel the warmth of his presence beside you. “Come on, Miss Perfect, lighten up. It’s just the Trophy Room. It’s not like we’re scrubbing cauldrons in the dungeons.”
You ignored him, muttering the spell under your breath again. The plate finally clicked into place, and you let out a small sigh of relief. But before you could move on to the next task, Jungwon reached over, plucking a stray ribbon from the pile of debris.
“Do you think this would suit me?” he asked, holding it up to his chest with a mock-serious expression.
You glanced at him, exasperated. “It’s a participation ribbon for a broomstick-polishing contest.”
“So?” He pinned it to his robes with a flourish. “I think it adds character.”
You couldn’t help it—a small laugh escaped you before you could stop it. The moment you realized what you’d done, you quickly turned away, hoping he hadn’t noticed.
But of course, he had.
“Was that a laugh?” he asked, his tone triumphant. “Did I just get the oh-so-serious prefect to crack a smile?”
“No,” you said quickly, focusing on another broken display case. “You’re imagining things.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.” He stepped closer again, his voice dropping to a playful murmur. “You know, if you let yourself relax more often, you might actually enjoy my company.”
You turned to glare at him, only to find that he was much closer than you’d realized. Close enough that you could see the faint sparkle in his dark eyes, the way his smirk softened into something almost genuine.
“Highly unlikely,” you said, your voice quieter now.
Jungwon tilted his head, studying you like he was trying to figure out a particularly tricky potion. “You know,” he said, his voice softer than usual, “you’re kind of fun to mess with.”
“Glad I can be your entertainment,” you muttered, stepping back to put some much-needed distance between you.
But as you turned away, you couldn’t help but feel his gaze lingering on you again, that same unsettling mix of mischief and something deeper that always left your heart racing.
The worst part? You weren’t entirely sure you hated it.
You busied yourself with repairing another shattered trophy case, desperately trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. Jungwon always knew exactly how to push your buttons, and worse, he seemed to enjoy it.
As you flicked your wand, mumbling an incantation to reattach the intricate golden handles to the glass case, you could still feel his presence behind you. Not doing anything—just standing there, watching you.
“Are you just going to stand there, or are you actually going to help?” you snapped, not bothering to look over your shoulder.
“Oh, I’m helping,” he said, and you could practically hear the smirk in his voice.
You turned, narrowing your eyes at him. “Really? How, exactly?”
Jungwon held up a dusty trophy he’d picked off the floor. “Moral support.” He grinned, wiping the plaque halfheartedly with the sleeve of his robe. “You’re doing great, by the way. Truly inspiring.”
“Unbelievable,” you muttered, turning back to your work.
But before you could even begin the next spell, Jungwon’s voice interrupted again.
“Hey, you’ve got a little…” He trailed off, gesturing vaguely to your face.
You frowned, brushing your cheek self-consciously. “What?”
“Here.” He stepped closer—too close—and reached out, his fingers brushing the side of your face. For a moment, time seemed to freeze. His touch was light, barely there, but it sent a jolt of electricity through you.
“There,” he said softly, pulling his hand back to reveal a speck of dust on his fingertips. “Got it.”
You stared at him, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. He was looking at you now, his teasing smile replaced with something softer, something that made your breath catch.
“Don’t look at me like that,” you blurted, taking a step back to put some distance between you.
“Like what?” he asked, his voice low, almost curious.
“Like—like that!” You waved your hand vaguely, refusing to meet his eyes. “Like you’re… plotting something.”
His smile returned, softer this time but no less infuriating. “Who says I’m plotting anything?”
“Because you’re always plotting something,” you shot back, turning away from him and focusing on the pile of broken trophies again. “It’s practically your personality.”
“Harsh,” he said with a mock wince, though his tone was still playful. “You wound me, Miss Perfect.”
You rolled your eyes, determined to ignore him as you began repairing the next trophy. But Jungwon wasn’t done.
“You know,” he said after a moment, his voice taking on that familiar teasing lilt, “for someone who claims to hate me, you sure spend a lot of time thinking about me.”
Your wand slipped, sending a crack straight through the trophy you were trying to fix. You cursed under your breath, quickly repairing the damage before whirling around to face him.
“I don’t think about you,” you said firmly, though the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed you.
“Really?” Jungwon leaned casually against the nearest display case, his arms crossed as he regarded you with that maddeningly smug expression. “Because you’re looking a little flustered right now.”
“I’m not flustered,” you snapped, crossing your arms defensively.
He stepped closer again, his grin widening as he leaned in, just enough to make your breath hitch. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” you said quickly, though your voice came out shakier than you’d intended.
For a moment, neither of you moved. His dark eyes were locked on yours, and for once, there was no teasing glint in them—just an intensity that made your stomach flip.
“Jungwon,” you said finally, your voice quieter now. “You’re standing too close.”
He tilted his head, his lips quirking into a small smile. “Am I?”
“Yes,” you said again, though you made no move to step away.
For a brief, terrifying moment, you thought he might say something—something that would shatter the delicate balance between you. But instead, he stepped back, the teasing smile returning to his face like nothing had happened.
“Alright, alright,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll give you some space.”
You exhaled, not realizing until that moment that you’d been holding your breath.
“Good,” you muttered, turning back to the trophies.
"Do you think the founders ever argued over who got the biggest house common room?" Jungwon asked as you muttered a spell to repair another shattered trophy.
You sighed, not even glancing at him. "I don’t know. Maybe."
He hummed thoughtfully, as though your answer was the most profound thing he’d ever heard. "Do you think Salazar Slytherin was the type to hog all the butterbeer at parties?"
You flicked your wand sharply, fixing another display case. "Probably."
"And what about Godric Gryffindor? I bet he couldn’t resist showing off in duels."
"Sounds likely," you replied curtly, focusing on levitating a stack of plaques back into their proper places.
Jungwon leaned casually against a nearby display, his hands in his pockets, watching you with barely contained amusement. "Alright, last one—do you think Helga Hufflepuff secretly kept a stash of snacks in her robes?"
At that, you paused, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. "Definitely," you said, surprising yourself with a small smile.
Jungwon grinned like he’d won a prize, clearly pleased that he’d managed to drag more than a one-word answer out of you. "See? I knew you had a sense of humor buried under all that seriousness."
You rolled your eyes, quickly turning your attention back to the mess. The sooner you finished, the sooner you could get out of here and away from him. The room felt warmer than it should have, in a way that made it hard to breathe. You could feel Jungwon’s presence behind you, close enough that your skin tingled, your soulmark on your arm warming pleasantly every time he leaned just a little too close.
You tried to ignore it, brushing the feeling aside as nothing more than nerves, but it was impossible. It was suffocating and exhilarating all at once, and you hated how much it affected you.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you placed the last trophy back in its case and lowered your wand.
“There. Done,” you said, your voice tight.
“Impressive work, Miss Perfect,” Jungwon said, clapping his hands lightly. “You really are a perfectionist.”
Ignoring him, you grabbed your bag and headed for the door, desperate to escape before the room—and him—got the better of you.
But just as you reached the threshold, Jungwon’s voice stopped you.
“Leaving so soon?” he called, his tone laced with amusement. “I was starting to enjoy our little bonding session.”
You didn’t turn around, gripping the strap of your bag tightly. "We’re done here. Go bother someone else, Jungwon."
You stepped out into the corridor, the cool air a welcome relief against your flushed skin. But even as you walked away, you couldn’t shake the lingering warmth on your arm, the way your soulmark had come alive just from being near him.
You hated it.
And yet, deep down, you knew it wasn’t hate at all.
The cool air of the corridor did little to ease the warmth in your chest. You tightened your grip on the strap of your bag, walking briskly to put as much distance between yourself and Jungwon as possible.
“Hey!” a familiar voice called from further down the hall. You looked up to see your Slytherin friend, Minji, striding toward you. Her dark robes swished behind her, and her usual confident smirk lit up her face. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost. What happened?”
You sighed, falling into step beside her as she turned to walk with you. “Trophy Room duty. With Jungwon.”
Her eyebrows shot up, and she gave you a knowing grin. “Ah, the infamous Yang Jungwon. What did he do this time?”
“Same as always,” you muttered, your tone clipped. “Teased me, asked a million pointless questions, and stood way too close for comfort.”
Minji laughed, the sound echoing softly in the empty hallway. “Well, that sounds about right. He’s got that whole charming nuisance thing down to an art.”
You shot her a glare, but it lacked any real bite. “It’s not charming. It’s infuriating.”
“Sure, sure,” Minji said, waving her hand dismissively. “But you’re still blushing.”
You froze mid-step, your hand flying to your face. “I am not!”
“You so are,” she said with a smug grin, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Come on, just admit it—he gets under your skin, doesn’t he?”
You groaned, resuming your pace and trying to ignore the warmth creeping back into your cheeks. “That’s not the same thing as liking him.”
“Hmm,” Minji hummed, her smirk widening. “If you say so.”
The two of you turned a corner, the dimly lit hallway now empty except for the faint flicker of torches on the walls. Minji glanced at you, her expression softening slightly. “But seriously, are you okay? You seem… tense.”
You hesitated, your fingers brushing over the strap of your bag. “It’s just—being around him is exhausting. He’s so... persistent. And—and the way he looks at me sometimes—”
You cut yourself off, realizing you’d said too much.
Minji stopped walking, grabbing your arm to make you face her. “Wait. What way does he look at you?”
You shook your head quickly, trying to dismiss it. “Forget I said that. It’s nothing.”
“Oh no, no, no.” Minji’s eyes sparkled with mischief now. “You’re telling me that Jungwon—Jungwon—might actually like you? This just keeps getting better.”
You felt your stomach twist at her words, a mix of denial and something far more complicated. “He doesn’t like me,” you said firmly, though your voice faltered slightly. “He just likes messing with me.”
“Uh-huh,” Minji said, clearly unconvinced. “And what about you? Do you like him?”
“No!” you said quickly, too quickly.
Minji raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”
You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Why am I even friends with you?”
“Because I’m the only one who’s brave enough to call you out on your nonsense,” she said with a grin, pulling your hands away from your face. “Listen, if you ask me—which, by the way, you should—I think you and Jungwon would be kind of perfect together.”
Your heart skipped a beat at her words, but you shook your head furiously. “Not happening. Ever.”
“Alright, alright,” Minji said, holding up her hands in surrender. “But for the record, if he ever stops teasing you, you’ll know you’re in trouble.”
You rolled your eyes, but a small part of you couldn’t help but wonder if she was right.
The days that followed were nothing short of exhausting. It had become a routine of sorts—this competition between you and Jungwon to see who could outshine the other as a prefect. Both of you were model students, but being better than him was a point of pride you weren’t willing to give up.
Unfortunately, Jungwon seemed to have the exact same idea.
“Let’s see who finishes the patrol of the East Wing faster tonight,” Jungwon said casually one evening, walking just a step ahead of you as the two of you began your rounds.
You glared at the back of his head. “It’s not a race, Jungwon. The goal is to thoroughly patrol the area, not sprint through it like a Quidditch match.”
He turned his head slightly, flashing you that insufferable smirk. “Oh, but you’re just saying that because you know I’d win.”
You scoffed, quickening your pace to walk beside him. “You wouldn’t win. You’d probably miss half the patrol spots because you’re too busy smirking at yourself in the reflection of the windows.”
Jungwon placed a hand over his chest, feigning hurt. “You wound me. But, for the record, I don’t smirk at myself. I save those exclusively for you.”
You felt your cheeks heat up and turned your face away to hide it. “You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, ignoring the way your soulmark tingled faintly at his words.
“Ridiculous, but efficient,” he countered, his tone light and teasing. “Unlike some people, I don’t waste time lecturing first-years about being out past curfew. I just send them back to their dorms and call it a night.”
“That’s because you let them off too easy,” you shot back, stopping to peer into an empty classroom. “A good prefect sets an example. You’re supposed to be teaching them, not coddling them.”
“And you’re supposed to be having fun,” Jungwon replied, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Merlin forbid you loosen up for five seconds.”
You gave him a withering glare, but it only seemed to fuel his amusement. He pushed off the doorframe and strolled past you, hands in his pockets, like he didn’t have a care in the world.
“Tell you what,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll handle the rest of this hallway. You can take the next one. We’ll see who finds more troublemakers by the end of the night.”
“Fine,” you said sharply, determined to beat him. “But don’t go cutting corners like you always do.”
Jungwon turned back to you with an exaggerated look of shock. “Cut corners? Me? Never.”
You rolled your eyes, muttering under your breath as he sauntered away.
The rest of the night passed in much the same way—him teasing you, you firing back with sharp retorts, and both of you secretly trying to outdo the other in your duties. By the time patrol ended, you were both walking back to the common areas, still exchanging jabs.
“So, how many rule-breakers did you catch tonight?” Jungwon asked, his tone casual but his smirk betraying his competitive streak.
“Three,” you said smugly. “And you?”
“Four,” he replied, his grin widening when you scowled.
“Liar,” you accused, narrowing your eyes at him.
Jungwon gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. “You wound me, Miss Perfect. Are you saying I’d lie about something so serious?”
“Yes,” you said flatly, though you couldn’t stop the corners of your mouth from twitching upward.
“Well, believe what you want,” he said with a shrug, walking ahead of you toward the main staircase. “But next time, maybe you’ll think twice before underestimating me.”
You watched him go, shaking your head in exasperation. No matter how infuriating he was, there was a strange comfort in the back-and-forth banter between you. It was almost... fun, in its own twisted way.
But as you turned to head toward your dormitory, you caught yourself smiling and quickly wiped it off your face. Jungwon didn’t need to know that, for all his teasing and smug remarks, he made your prefect duties just a little less tedious—and a lot more complicated.
--
The air in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom was cool, the steady drone of the professor’s voice filling the room as they explained the intricacies of Dementors. You should have been paying attention, but the lesson was one you had mastered ages ago. Instead, your thoughts wandered, your quill idly twirling between your fingers as you gazed out the window.
That was until a small folded piece of parchment fluttered directly in front of your face. You blinked in surprise, catching it before it fell onto your desk. Frowning, you carefully unfolded it, unsure of what to expect.
Inside was a drawing—a portrait of you. The lines were soft, delicate, and surprisingly skilled. It captured you in a way that made your breath hitch for a moment. You looked… pretty.
Your cheeks warmed as you glanced around the room, searching for the culprit. Your eyes landed on a tall Gryffindor boy sitting a few desks away. His face turned bright red the moment your eyes met his, and he quickly looked away, pretending to focus on his notes.
You couldn’t help but smile, a small, amused laugh escaping your lips.
When class ended and everyone began filing out, you gathered your things and stepped into the corridor. Before you could get far, a voice called out behind you.
“Uh, excuse me?”
You turned to see the same Gryffindor boy standing there, his hands nervously clutching the strap of his bag. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with soft eyes and a shy smile that revealed dimples.
“Yes?” you asked, tilting your head slightly.
He cleared his throat, his face still tinged with embarrassment. “I, um, I was wondering if—if you don’t have any more classes today—maybe you’d like to study together? In the library, I mean.”
He was cute—really cute. And as luck would have it, he was a prefect, too, which made him even more appealing in your eyes. His nervousness was endearing, and you found yourself smiling softly.
“Sure,” you said, much to his visible relief. “I don’t have any other classes.”
The two of you walked to the library together, falling into an easy conversation. He introduced himself as Choi Soobin, and you quickly discovered he was funny, charming, and incredibly sweet. By the time you reached the library, you were already at ease in his presence.
The two of you sat down at a quiet table near the back, pulling out your books and parchment. At first, you tried to focus on your work, but Soobin`s quiet jokes and playful commentary kept pulling your attention away. Before long, you were laughing softly, your hand covering your mouth to stifle the sound as Madam Pince shot you both a stern look.
Unbeknownst to you, someone else had entered the library.
Jungwon strolled in, his usual confident smirk on his face as he made his way to the front desk to offer Madam Pince some assistance. He had volunteered to help her organize the new shipments of books—a task he didn’t particularly enjoy but knew would score him some house points.
But as he approached the desk, a sound stopped him in his tracks.
A laugh.
His head turned instinctively toward the source, his gaze landing on you. You were sitting at a table near the back, your head tilted slightly as you giggled at something the Gryffindor boy across from you had said. Soobin.
Jungwon’s chest tightened at the sight.
The Gryffindor was leaning closer to you, his dimples on full display as he smiled down at you, clearly pleased to have made you laugh. And you—Jungwon had never seen you so at ease, so… radiant.
His grip on the stack of books in his hands tightened as an ugly, unfamiliar feeling began to bubble in his chest. Jealousy.
Why were you laughing like that with Soobin? Why were you sitting so close to him, looking at him with such bright, open eyes? Jungwon had seen that smile before, but it had never been directed at him. And the realization made something in him twist painfully.
He tore his gaze away, his happy demeanor now replaced with a sour expression. He tried to focus on the task at hand, stacking books onto shelves and sorting parchment, but his eyes kept wandering back to you.
Every time Soobin leaned closer, every time you laughed softly, it was like a needle pricking at his chest.
You were supposed to be bickering with him, not smiling at some dimply Gryffindor prefect.
And worse, you didn’t even notice him. For the first time, it felt like you were completely out of his orbit, and it made his jealousy burn even brighter.
By the time he finished his chores, he couldn’t take it anymore. He shot one last glare in Soobin`s direction—though the Gryffindor was oblivious—and left the library, the ugly green feeling sitting heavy in his chest.
As he stalked through the corridors, his thoughts raced. He didn’t know what was worse: the fact that he was jealous, or the fact that he had no idea what to do about it.
The days that followed were... different. Soobin, with his warm smile and easygoing demeanor, seemed to find every excuse to be around you. Whether it was walking with you between classes, sharing a table in the library, or even just stopping to chat in the halls, he was always there.
And to your surprise, you didn’t mind. He had a way of making you laugh without even trying, his gentle humor and wide-eyed innocence making it hard to resist smiling.
“Do you always study this much?” Soobin asked one evening, leaning slightly over your shoulder as the two of you sat in the library.
“It’s called being responsible,” you teased, not looking up from your parchment.
“Well, if responsibility looks this good on you, maybe I should try it,” he joked, his dimples flashing.
You rolled your eyes, biting back a grin. “Good luck with that.”
Moments like these had become the norm, and while you enjoyed his company, you couldn’t ignore the way Jungwon seemed to be watching your every move lately.
Every time you and Soobin crossed paths with him, Jungwon’s eyes would narrow, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. It was subtle—no one else seemed to notice—but you did. And you couldn’t ignore the way his usual smirk seemed to vanish whenever Soobin was around.
It didn’t help that Soobin, in his blissful obliviousness, seemed entirely focused on you.
“Do you think he’s going to explode one day?” Yuna, one of your closest friends, whispered to you during lunch, nodding subtly toward Jungwon, who was sitting a few tables away. His eyes were fixed on you and Soobin, his expression unreadable but intense.
You followed her gaze, your stomach flipping slightly when your eyes met Jungwon’s. He didn’t look away, and for a moment, it felt like he was daring you to do something—anything.
“He’s just... annoyed,” you muttered, breaking the eye contact and focusing back on your plate.
“Annoyed?” Yuna raised an eyebrow, a sly smile creeping onto her face. “That boy looks like he’s ready to hex Soobin into next week.”
You didn’t respond, mostly because you couldn’t deny it. Jungwon’s glares had grown sharper with each passing day, and it didn’t help that you’d somehow ended up with more patrols and prefect duties with Soobin lately.
At first, you’d chalked it up to coincidence, but now it was starting to feel deliberate. Maybe the professors had noticed how well you worked together, or maybe Soobin had requested it. Either way, it only seemed to worsen the already fragile balance between you and Jungwon.
It wasn’t like you hadn’t noticed the way your soulmark had been acting up, either. The once-pleasant tingling had turned into an uncomfortable burn, a constant reminder of the growing rift between you and Jungwon.
It was ironic, really. For years, your “rivalry” with him had been the one constant in your life at Hogwarts. From the moment you’d both become prefects, it had been a steady back-and-forth of playful banter and one-upping each other. But now, things felt... different.
This was the first time since first year that you and Jungwon weren’t entirely in sync. And as much as you wanted to ignore it, to push down the guilt that came with the thought, it stung.
One evening, during yet another patrol with Soobin, you caught yourself lost in thought as he talked animatedly about something—a story about his younger siblings, if you remembered correctly. His voice was soft and warm, but it faded into the background as your mind wandered.
You couldn’t help but wonder what Jungwon was doing right now. Would he be patrolling the opposite side of the castle? Sitting in the common room with his friends, glaring at the fire in frustration?
“You okay?” Soobin’s voice pulled you back to the present, his kind eyes filled with concern.
You nodded quickly, offering him a small smile. “Yeah, just tired.”
“Don’t push yourself too hard,” he said gently, his concern only making your chest tighten.
You forced yourself to refocus, to push away the thoughts of Jungwon. But as you walked beside Soobin, his voice filling the quiet corridors, you couldn’t ignore the way your soulmark burned faintly against your skin, like it was trying to remind you of something you weren’t ready to face.
--
It had been an exhausting day. Between classes, your prefect duties, and Soobin’s persistent presence, you were feeling utterly drained. Tonight’s patrol was supposed to be simple—just a quick check of the corridors before returning to your common room.
But, as always, trouble had a way of finding you.
The moment you stepped into the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, you knew something was off.
A group of younger students was gathered at the far end, laughing nervously and huddling close together. As you got closer, you noticed a faint shimmer in the air, followed by a creeping chill that made your skin prickle.
A Dementor.
Or rather, a Boggart pretending to be one, you realized quickly. But the younger students didn’t know that. Their faces were pale with fear, their breaths coming out in short gasps as they stumbled back against the cold stone wall.
Without thinking, you acted on instinct.
“Stay back!” you called to the students, pulling out your wand.
The Boggart shifted its attention to you, gliding forward with a slow, deliberate menace. Even knowing it wasn’t real, you felt a spike of unease as the air grew colder.
You raised your wand, your voice steady. “Expecto Patronum!”
A bright, silvery light burst forth from your wand, taking shape in the form of an animal. Its figure moved with an elegant agility, leaping forward and sending the Boggart scuttling back into the shadows. The students gasped in awe, their fear melting into relief as the warmth of your Patronus filled the room.
It wasn’t until the Boggart disappeared completely, retreating into a chest, that you realized you weren’t alone.
From the corner of your eye, you caught movement. Turning your head, your stomach dropped.
Jungwon stood at the entrance, his dark eyes wide and locked onto your Patronus. The silver light of the animal reflected in his gaze, his expression shifting from shock to something deeper—something you couldn’t quite place.
Your Patronus lingered for a moment longer before fading, its light dissolving into the cold air. The students quickly scrambled past Jungwon, murmuring their thanks as they made their way back to their dorms. But you barely noticed them leave.
It was just you and Jungwon now.
He didn’t say anything, but you could see it—the moment of realization dawning on his face. His eyes flicked to your arm, the same spot where your soulmark had always rested, hidden beneath your sleeve. And then, almost involuntarily, his hand moved to his own arm.
Right where his soulmark would be.
Your heart dropped into your stomach.
“Jungwon—” you started, but your voice caught in your throat.
He stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate, like he was piecing everything together in real time. His hand remained pressed against his arm, his fingers curling slightly as if he could feel the truth burning beneath his skin.
“Your Patronus,” he said softly, his voice steady but quiet.
You swallowed hard, unable to meet his gaze. “It’s not—”
“It’s the same...." he interrupted, his tone carefully controlled, but you could see his jaw clench. “The same as my soulmark.”
Your breath hitched. You knew there was no use denying it—not when the evidence was staring him right in the face.
“It doesn’t mean anything,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out in a rush. “It’s just a coincidence, Jungwon. That’s all.”
He let out a soft, humorless laugh, and when you finally looked up, you were startled by the look in his eyes. It wasn’t anger, like you expected. It wasn’t even annoyance.
It was hurt.
“A coincidence?” he repeated, his voice low. His hand finally dropped from his arm, hanging limply at his side. “You think a Patronus matching my soulmark is just a coincidence?”
You opened your mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. The burning sensation in your arm flared up, as if your soulmark itself was scolding you for trying to deny the truth.
Jungwon took another step closer, his gaze searching your face. “How long have you known?”
“Jungwon, I—”
“How long?” he pressed, his voice breaking slightly.
You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest. There was no point in lying now. “Since last year,” you admitted quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.
His jaw clenched, and he took a step back, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Last year,” he repeated, his tone laced with disbelief. “You’ve known this whole time, and you didn’t think to tell me?”
“I didn’t know how!” you shot back, your voice rising despite yourself. “What was I supposed to say, Jungwon? ‘Hey, by the way, we’re soulmates’? You would have laughed in my face!”
He stared at you, his expression unreadable. “Is that what you think of me?”
“No,” you said quickly, the word rushing out before you could stop it. “No, I don’t think that. I just—” You let out a shaky breath, rubbing at your arm as if that would ease the burning sensation. “I didn’t want to ruin everything. We’ve been—whatever we are—for so long, and I didn’t want to mess that up.”
Jungwon was silent for a long moment, his gaze dropping to the ground. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, but no less firm.
“You didn’t ruin anything,” he said. “But lying to me—hiding this from me—it hurt. It hurts.”
Your throat tightened, guilt twisting in your chest.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” you said quietly.
He looked up at you, his dark eyes filled with a mix of emotions you couldn’t quite untangle. For the first time, he looked vulnerable, the walls he always kept so carefully in place beginning to crack.
“I don’t know what this means,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I think we owe it to ourselves to figure it out. Don’t you?”
You nodded, unable to trust your voice.
After that night in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, you found yourself plagued by questions and uncertainty. Jungwon’s quiet hurt echoed in your mind, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were standing on the edge of something you didn’t fully understand. Soulmates. The idea had always seemed so distant to you, something that other people talked about with a dreamy look in their eyes. But now that it was your reality, it felt different—complicated, messy, and, honestly, terrifying.
For the next few days, you threw yourself into researching everything you could about soulmates. You spent hours in the library, digging through old books and scrolls, hoping to find some concrete answers. You wanted to know more about the connection, the rules—or lack thereof—that came with having a soulmate. Was there a timeline to follow? Did you have to accept it? What did it mean for your future?
You also started asking your friends about their own experiences, although you were careful not to reveal too much. Yujin was the first to notice your sudden interest in the subject. You’d pulled her aside one evening, after class, and asked about her soulmark.
“Oh,” Yujin had said, glancing at you with a knowing smile, “it’s a small bird, right here.” She pointed to her wrist. “It was weird at first, but once we met, everything just clicked. It was like a weight lifted off my shoulders. My soulmate’s a Hufflepuff, actually.”
You nodded thoughtfully, trying to hide the way your heart twisted at the thought of your own situation. “And do you feel different? I mean, with him?”
She hesitated, then smiled softly. “Yeah. It’s like we’ve known each other for ages. I don’t know how to explain it, but you just know.”
You didn’t ask more, knowing you couldn’t handle hearing too much about the ease with which others seemed to fall into their soulmate connections. You wanted to learn, but you weren’t ready to hear about how it all just worked for others.
The next day, you sought out Jeongin, hoping for a more analytical approach. You had always admired how level-headed he was, and you figured he’d give you a more logical perspective. After all, he’d been pretty matter-of-fact about everything, including his own soulmark.
“I don’t think it means anything special,” he said, leaning back against the wall in the common room. “It’s just a way of knowing who’s yours. You’re connected in ways you can’t explain, but don’t overthink it. It’s not some kind of fate that’s pulling you together. It’s more like... a bond, I guess.”
You nodded again, relieved that he seemed to have a more grounded view of the connection. But something in his words unsettled you. “So, it’s not destiny?”
Jeongin chuckled. “Not for me. Maybe it`s just destiny for someone.”
His words sent a jolt through you, and you quickly brushed off the discomfort with a half-laugh. “I’m not sure I believe in destiny,” you muttered, hoping he wouldn’t pry further.
He gave you a long, measuring look but didn’t push. “Well, whatever it is, you’ve got to figure it out, yeah?”
You agreed, even though you weren’t entirely sure how to figure it out.
Meanwhile, your interactions with Soobin had taken on a new complexity. He seemed determined to win your attention, constantly seeking ways to make you smile, to make you laugh. He was sweet and caring in his own way, and you couldn’t deny that you liked being around him. But every time he called you “cute” or flashed that charming grin of his, something in you tightened—because you knew Jungwon was still watching, and you could feel the way his gaze lingered on you from across the room.
You had decided to keep the soulmate connection to yourself, at least for now. You didn’t want to hurt Soobin, especially when he seemed so genuinely happy to be with you. You liked him, you really did. But something about Jungwon’s presence, the pull between the two of you, was undeniable. You couldn’t ignore it any longer, even if you tried.
Jungwon, however, didn’t seem to share your same restraint. You noticed him more and more—his gaze following you and Soobin whenever the two of you were talking. His posture was stiff, his mouth set in a firm line whenever Soobin made you laugh, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly when you exchanged playful glances.
It wasn’t until one afternoon in the courtyard, when Soobin had made another attempt to charm you with one of his witty remarks, that you saw it.
Jungwon was standing near the entrance to the courtyard, watching the two of you from a distance. His jaw was clenched, and his gaze was dark. You felt a flicker of unease. You’d always known there was a rivalry between you and Jungwon, but this was insane.
When Soobin noticed your hesitation, he smiled brightly and nudged you playfully. “What’s wrong? Did I say something weird?”
You shook your head quickly, forcing a smile. “No, nothing’s wrong. I’m just... distracted.”
“By Jungwon?” he teased, his eyes glancing over your shoulder. “You know, he doesn’t look too happy with us.”
You followed his gaze and found Jungwon standing there, looking like he was about to storm off. His eyes flicked to you and Soobin, then quickly away, but not before you saw that flicker of something—you weren’t sure what it was. But it didn’t look friendly.
Your heart skipped a beat as you turned back to Soobin. “Maybe we should head inside,” you suggested, trying to ignore the discomfort gnawing at you.
“Sure,” Soobin agreed, still oblivious to the tension you could feel. “Let’s go study, yeah?”
Studying with Soobin in the library was, for the most part, uneventful. He was focused, eager to discuss theories and share notes. But despite his attempts to make the session lively, your attention kept drifting, pulled by something you couldn’t explain. Every few minutes, you found yourself glancing up from your textbook, only to find Jungwon walking past your table again.
It was subtle at first. A quick, casual stroll down the aisle between the shelves, as if he were simply helping Madam Pince organize some books. But as the minutes ticked by, it became increasingly obvious that he was lingering near your corner. His footsteps were quieter now, and you could feel the weight of his gaze on you, even when he didn’t look directly at you.
Soobin, thankfully, didn’t seem to notice. He was too busy scribbling notes on his parchment, talking about a spell he’d just learned in class. But you could feel the heat creeping up your neck, a strange tension building in the space between you and Jungwon, even though you were doing your best to ignore it.
"Do you think I should try this spell in the next class?" Soobin asked, snapping you out of your thoughts. "I feel like it could be fun, don’t you?"
You blinked, forcing your focus back onto him. "Uh, yeah. I think you’ll do great with it. You’ve got the precision down."
But even as you spoke, your gaze drifted over to Jungwon again. This time, he was standing just a few feet away, pretending to adjust a stack of books on the shelf directly across from your table. You could feel his presence, his eyes lingering on you from the corner of your vision. His movements were slow, deliberate, and each time he walked past, he seemed to be just a bit too close for comfort.
Your stomach tightened, and your heart started to race, the familiar unease creeping up again. You couldn’t help it. The bond that had ignited between you and Jungwon—the one you had been trying to ignore, to push down—was becoming harder and harder to control.
Soobin, oblivious to your inner turmoil, continued speaking. "I was thinking we could practice it in the courtyard later today. Maybe you could come with me? You know, as my study partner."
Before you could respond, Jungwon’s figure appeared again, now walking past your table on the far side of the library. He glanced in your direction as he passed, and for a split second, your eyes locked. It was brief, but you could see the flicker of something in his gaze—something that made your chest tighten. His eyes dropped quickly, and without another word, he kept walking, the sound of his boots echoing faintly on the stone floors.
You felt the burn of your soulmark pulse against your skin.
Soobin didn’t seem to notice the shift in the air, his voice continuing without interruption. "What do you think? Should I go ahead and try the spell? I mean, I know we’ve got a lot to study, but—"
"Yeah," you interrupted, trying to shake off the lingering unease. "That sounds great. But, uh... I think I’m done for today. I’ve got some stuff to take care of."
You closed your textbook with a soft snap, feeling the sudden urge to leave. You stood up quickly, gathering your things, but before you could say goodbye, Soobin was looking at you with a puzzled expression.
"Already?" he asked. "I thought we were doing great."
"Yeah," you said, offering him a strained smile. "But I really do need to go. I’ll, uh... catch up with you later."
Soobin nodded, his dimples showing as he smiled. "Alright. I’ll see you later, then. Maybe we can talk more about that spell."
You quickly walked away, making your way toward the exit of the library. But as you passed through the aisles, you could feel it—the subtle shift in the air as Jungwon followed behind, his presence heavy and undeniable.
You didn’t turn around. You couldn’t. But your heart was pounding, and as you exited the library, you heard his footsteps fall into sync behind you. He was following you.
When you stepped into the hallway, trying to calm your thoughts. Before you could even think to react, a hand gripped your wrist, pulling you gently but firmly into a small, dimly lit room just off the main corridor. The door clicked shut behind you, and you found yourself pressed against the cold stone wall, with no clear way out.
Your breath hitched, and you instinctively looked down, avoiding the sharp intensity of Jungwon’s gaze. The silence between you both hung heavy, almost suffocating. You could hear the faint beat of your own heart, louder in your ears than the soft rustling of his clothes as he moved closer.
“Look at me,” Jungwon’s voice cut through the silence, low and demanding.
You hesitated, a part of you afraid of what you might see in his eyes. Slowly, you lifted your gaze, finding his face inches from yours. His dark eyes searched your expression, his jaw tense as if he was trying to contain something—something he didn’t know how to put into words.
“You’re avoiding me,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Why?”
You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his words press down on you. Your mind raced, but the only thing you could focus on was the distance that had grown between you two lately. Not just physically, but emotionally. “I’m not avoiding you,” you replied quietly, but the words didn’t sound convincing, even to yourself.
“Yes, you are,” Jungwon said, stepping closer, his proximity making your pulse spike. “I see it in the way you look at me now. The way you look away when I’m near.” His hand hovered near your face, but he didn’t touch you—not yet. “You’ve been different ever since you’ve been spending so much time with Soobin.”
Your chest tightened at the mention of his name, and for a moment, you looked away, unable to meet his gaze. “I didn’t—” You stopped yourself. The last thing you wanted was to cause a scene, or worse, make it clear how much it hurt to see Jungwon’s jealousy, to see how much it bothered him that you were spending time with Soobin.
Jungwon wasn’t having any of it. “You didn’t think it would affect me?” His voice was firm, but there was something in it—an edge, a vulnerability you hadn’t heard before. “You didn’t think I’d notice?”
You felt a knot twist in your stomach. “Jungwon, I don’t—"
“Don’t lie to me,” he cut in sharply, his eyes intense. “I can’t stand it. I can’t stand you pretending like this isn’t happening.”
His words hit you like a wave, and suddenly everything you’d been trying to keep bottled up came rushing to the surface. Your chest was tight, and the burning sensation from your soulmark flared again, reminding you of the connection that you could no longer ignore.
“I didn’t want to hurt you,” you whispered, finally finding the courage to speak the truth. Your voice shook slightly, but you pushed through. “I didn’t want to hurt anyone, but it’s not easy, Jungwon. It’s not easy to just… admit that everything is changing. That we’re changing.”
He stared at you for a long moment, his expression softening slightly. But even as his gaze softened, the intensity never quite left his eyes. “You think I haven’t felt that, too?” he murmured. “You think it’s been easy for me, either? Watching you with him, knowing you’re spending time with Soobin because you’re not sure about us? Not sure about me?”
The words stung, and you averted your gaze again, your heart aching at the raw honesty in his voice. “It’s not like that,” you said weakly. “Soobin’s just... a friend.”
Jungwon’s lips tightened at the word. “A friend, huh?”
You nodded, but it felt hollow. You weren’t sure if it was true anymore—not when Soobin made you laugh so easily, not when he made your heart feel lighter in ways that Jungwon didn’t seem to. But the truth was, you couldn’t let yourself go down that path. You couldn’t let yourself hurt Soobin, not when you still cared about him. And you did care about him, in a way that you weren’t sure how to explain.
“I’m sorry,” you said, almost instinctively, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like that. I just... I don’t know what I’m doing, Jungwon. I don’t know how to fix this.”
His hand finally reached up, cupping your chin gently to tilt your face so that you were looking at him once more. His thumb brushed lightly over your cheek.
“You don’t have to fix anything,” Jungwon said, his voice quieter now. “But you can’t keep pushing me away. Not when we’re already this far into this.” He paused, searching your eyes as if trying to read the truth between the lines. “If you’re my soulmate, then I don’t want to keep pretending like it doesn’t mean anything.”
You blinked, the weight of his words sinking in. You didn’t know how to respond—not when the truth was so complicated, not when everything felt like it was teetering on the edge of something you weren’t ready to face.
“I don’t know how this works,” you admitted quietly. “But I can’t just ignore it either. I—” You took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. “But I don’t want to hurt anyone in the process, either.”
Jungwon’s expression softened, the intensity in his gaze giving way to something gentler. “Then let’s figure it out,” he said quietly. “We don’t have to have all the answers right now. But we can’t keep running away from it.”
You nodded, feeling a sense of relief wash over you.
Just as the air between you and Jungwon began to settle, and you were both preparing to leave the small room, a sudden, unmistakable sound echoed through the hallway outside. The telltale cackle of Peeves reached your ears.
"Oi, what's this? A little lover's quarrel?" Peeves' voice was high-pitched and mocking, and you could hear the sound of him shuffling on the other side of the door.
Before either of you could react, the door locked with an audible click, trapping you both inside. You and Jungwon exchanged a quick glance, both of you already understanding what had just happened.
"Peeves, open this door!" you called out, your voice sharp with irritation. "This isn’t funny!"
But instead of an answer, the only thing you heard was Peeves’ signature cackling, growing fainter as he moved down the hall. "Not so fast! You two have got plenty to talk about! Have fun!" His voice echoed as it faded into the distance.
Jungwon let out a frustrated sigh, stepping forward and trying the door, but it didn't budge. He pressed his palm against the wood, his frown deepening.
"Great," he muttered, the annoyance evident in his voice. "We’re stuck here now."
You crossed your arms, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks at the awkwardness of the situation. Of course, Peeves had to pick the exact moment when things were finally starting to make sense between you and Jungwon to lock you both in a room together.
"I guess we should sit down and wait for the magic to wear off," you said dryly, trying to lighten the mood. You were half expecting Jungwon to make a sarcastic comment in return, but when you looked up, you found him watching you, his expression softened, though still a little tense.
"Not exactly how I pictured this," he said with a half-smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. His gaze lingered on you for a moment before he shifted his focus elsewhere, like he was trying to process everything that had just happened.
"Yeah, well, Peeves does have a knack for timing," you muttered, your own smile faltering. You both took a step back, leaning against opposite walls, leaving some space between you.
You couldn’t help but steal a glance at Jungwon, your chest tightening a little at how the room felt smaller now, despite the fact that the walls were the same. The quiet between you two had changed, from tense silence to something that felt heavier, like something important had shifted and you were still trying to figure out exactly what it was.
"So, uh...," you said, breaking the silence. "This is fun, huh?"
Jungwon chuckled lightly, shaking his head. "I’m trying not to think about it. Honestly, I just... I don’t know what I’m supposed to say now. We’re soulmates, but I can’t just expect you to drop everything and choose me, especially with everything that’s been going on with Soobin."
You blinked, feeling a mix of emotions flood you—guilt, confusion, and a strange sense of relief that he was being honest with you. "I never expected you to just—" You cut yourself off. What had you expected? Had you been expecting Jungwon to just accept that you’d be together because of your soulmark? Was that fair to either of you?
"It’s not easy, Jungwon," you said finally. "I care about Soobin. I do. He’s been there for me in ways I didn’t think anyone else would be."
Jungwon’s eyes flickered toward the door, then back to you, and he let out a long breath. "I know you do. And I’m not trying to tell you to stop spending time with him. I just... I don’t want you to think that I’m going to disappear because you’re with him." His voice softened, and he looked at you. "I’m still here, and I’m not going anywhere."
You felt a lump form in your throat at his words. Jungwon's vulnerability was something new, something raw that you weren’t used to seeing from him, especially like this.
You both fell into silence, the weight of the room pressing down on you, heavier than the stone walls surrounding you. Neither of you spoke.
You shifted your position, feeling the warmth of Jungwon’s body too close to your own. Every time you tried to step away, your back brushed against the cold wall, and the small room only seemed to shrink around you. You knew you had to do something to get some space, but the proximity felt... different than it had before. It wasn’t uncomfortable exactly, but it was undeniably intimate in a way that made your heart beat faster.
"Jungwon..." you whispered, shifting slightly, trying to create some distance between you two. But with your movement, his hand instinctively reached out, grabbing your waist and pulling you back toward him.
“Don’t,” he murmured softly, his voice strained, almost as though he were trying to convince himself as much as you. His face was flushed, his breath shallow. His gaze flickered down for a moment before he quickly looked away, a slight embarrassment coloring his features.
“I—uh...” He cleared his throat, still not meeting your eyes. "I think it’s better if we don’t move too much. We’re stuck in here for now, so..."
His words trailed off as you both stood there, your chest pressed against his, the quiet intensity of the moment thick between you. You could feel the warmth of his body against yours, the faintest tremor in his hand still holding onto your waist, keeping you there with him.
You felt a twinge of awkwardness, but there was also a flutter in your stomach, something you couldn’t quite identify. Jungwon wasn’t acting like the confident, teasing prefect you were used to. He seemed almost... shy now. He avoided your gaze, and you could see his cheeks were flushed.
“Jungwon,” you repeated, your voice a little softer this time. You weren’t sure if you were trying to calm him down or if you were trying to ease the tension between the two of you. “You’re really close.”
He winced, as if he hadn't realized just how close you both were until you said it. "Sorry," he muttered quickly, but he didn’t let go of your waist. Instead, he awkwardly shifted to give you a little more space, though it wasn’t much.
You couldn’t help but laugh softly at the absurdity of the situation. Here you were, trapped in a small room, with Jungwon.
A sudden noise broke the tension though —footsteps, echoing from the hall outside. Jungwon straightened, eyes narrowing, before he turned to you.
"Someone’s coming," he said, his tone a little more hopeful. "Let’s see if we can get out of here before Peeves realizes we’re not giving him the satisfaction of getting angry."
You nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "Sounds like a plan."
Jungwon gave a quick nod and moved toward the door, banging on it with the flat of his palm. You joined him, calling out through the thick wood. “Hey! Is anyone out there? We’re locked in here!”
For a few moments, there was nothing but silence. Then, faintly, the sound of approaching footsteps reached your ears. Your heart leapt. Someone had heard you!
“Keep banging,” Jungwon said, his tone lighter now, and you both resumed your effort.
Finally, the footsteps stopped just outside the door. There was a brief pause before a familiar voice called out, “What’s going on in there?”
“Minji?” you called, recognizing the voice of your fellow prefect. Relief flooded through you. “It’s me! Unlock the door!”
There was a muffled sound—probably Minji sighing in exasperation—before you heard her mutter a quick unlocking spell. The door clicked open, and before either of you could adjust, it swung outward, leaving you and Jungwon stumbling forward into the hall.
You nearly tripped over your own feet, but Jungwon’s hand shot out, gripping your arm to steady you.
Minji stood there, her eyes wide as she took in the sight of you and Jungwon emerging together, slightly disheveled and far too close for comfort. Her gaze flickered from you to Jungwon and back again, her eyebrows arching in silent question.
“What—?” she started, but you cut her off quickly, desperate to explain before her imagination ran wild.
“Peeves locked us in,” you blurted out, gesturing toward the now-open door. “He thought it’d be funny to trap us in that tiny room and leave us there.”
Minji’s eyes narrowed slightly, her expression skeptical. “Right,” she said slowly, her tone clearly implying she wasn’t entirely convinced.
You glanced at Jungwon, hoping he’d back you up, but the sight of him made your words falter. His face was still slightly flushed, a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead. His usually composed demeanor was cracked just enough to reveal how flustered he was. And worse, he was still standing far too close to you, his hand lingering on your arm as if he’d forgotten to let go.
“Uh, right?” you prompted him, your voice a little too high-pitched.
“Yeah,” Jungwon said quickly, finally releasing your arm and taking a small step back. His voice was steady, but you noticed how his eyes avoided Minji’s and instead flicked toward the floor. “It was just Peeves being Peeves. Nothing more.”
Minji crossed her arms, her lips twitching upward in a knowing smirk. “Uh-huh. Nothing more.”
You felt your cheeks heat up, and you quickly turned the conversation back to the situation at hand. “Anyway, thanks for letting us out,” you said, brushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “We were starting to think we’d be stuck in there all night.”
“Anytime,” Minji replied, her smirk deepening. Her gaze lingered on the both of you for a moment longer, and you could practically see the gears turning in her head.
“Well,” she said finally, taking a step back, “I’ll leave you two to... whatever it is you’re doing. Try not to get locked in another room together, yeah?”
“Minji!” you protested, but she was already walking away, her laughter echoing down the hall.
You sighed, running a hand over your face. “Great. Now she’s never going to let this go.”
Jungwon chuckled softly beside you, and you turned to look at him. His usual teasing expression was back, but there was something softer in his eyes now, something almost... fond.
“Well,” he said, his voice light, “at least we’ve got a good story to tell, right?”
You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto your face. “Sure. A great story.”
For a moment, the hallway was silent. You stood there, staring at Jungwon, and he stared back. His dark eyes seemed to search yours, like he was trying to figure out what to say—or maybe he was waiting for you to say something first.
The weight of his gaze made your stomach twist, and your cheeks grew warm under the tension that hung in the air. You opened your mouth to say something—anything—to break it, but the words wouldn’t come.
Jungwon shifted slightly, leaning against the wall. His expression softened, the usual teasing edge gone, replaced by something gentler. “Hey,” he started, his voice low and almost hesitant.
It was too much.
“Goodbye!” you blurted, your voice louder than you intended.
Jungwon blinked, startled, but before he could respond, you were already turning on your heel, speeding off down the hallway like a first-year trying not to miss the train to Hogwarts.
Your heart was pounding in your chest, and your soulmark tingled faintly under your sleeve, but you refused to look back. You didn’t trust yourself to face him—not after everything that had just happened.
What was wrong with you? Why did he always make you feel this way? It wasn’t fair.
“Goodbye?” Jungwon called after you, his tone incredulous but amused. You could hear the faint chuckle in his voice, and it only made you pick up your pace.
You turned the corner and pressed your back against the wall, out of his line of sight. Your hand flew to your chest as if that would calm the rapid thumping of your heart.
What was that? Why did it feel like every time you were near him, the air grew thinner, the world smaller?
You groaned softly, covering your face with your hands. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Jungwon was your rival—your frustrating, irritating rival who lived to tease you and get under your skin.
So why did it feel like he was becoming so much more?
--
The crisp autumn air carried the comforting scent of butterbeer and roasted chestnuts as you strolled through the cobbled streets of Hogsmeade. It was your first free weekend in what felt like forever, and you were determined to enjoy it. You’d already picked up a few books from Scrivenshaft's, a bag of Honeydukes' finest chocolates nestled in your arms, and had plans to end the afternoon with a warm mug of butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks.
It was supposed to be a peaceful day.
That is, until you heard the familiar sound of raised voices near the outskirts of the village.
At first, you didn’t think much of it. Arguments weren’t uncommon in Hogsmeade, especially with so many students running around. But as you drew closer, a nagging feeling began to creep up your spine.
You froze when you recognized the voices.
Jungwon and Soobin.
Heart pounding, you hurried toward the commotion, weaving through a small cluster of curious onlookers. The scene that greeted you was enough to make your jaw drop.
Jungwon and Soobin stood face-to-face, their wands clenched tightly in their hands. The tension between them crackled in the air like static electricity, and neither seemed willing to back down.
“I’m saying,” Jungwon snapped, his tone sharp enough to cut glass, “you’re wasting her time. If you actually cared about her, you’d stop pretending you have a chance and leave her alone.”
Soobin’s jaw clenched, his usually soft demeanor hardening into something unrecognizable. “And what makes you think you have any right to decide that? You don’t own her, Jungwon. She’s not some prize for you to claim.”
Your breath caught in your throat.
They were arguing… about you?
You took an instinctive step forward, but neither of them noticed you. Their focus was entirely on each other, the frustration and unspoken emotions they’d been holding back for weeks finally spilling out into the open.
“She deserves better than someone who doesn’t even know what she wants,” Jungwon hissed, his knuckles white around his wand. “You don’t know her like I do.”
“And what do you know, Jungwon?” Soobin shot back, his voice rising. “That you’ve been dragging this on for years, pretending you don’t care, only to step in the moment she starts looking at someone else? You’re just jealous.”
Jealous? Jungwon’s expression darkened at the word, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Jealous? Don’t flatter yourself, Soobin. This has nothing to do with you.”
“It has everything to do with me when you keep butting in!” Soobin snapped, his dimples deepening as his grip on his wand tightened. “For once, stop acting like the world revolves around you and let her decide what she wants!”
The words hit like a lightning strike, and for a moment, Jungwon faltered.
“Enough!”
Your voice rang out before you even realized you’d spoken, startling both boys. They turned to you in unison, their expressions shifting from anger to surprise—and then something close to guilt.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” you demanded, crossing your arms as you stared them down. “Are you seriously fighting over me? In the middle of Hogsmeade?”
Neither of them responded, their silence only fueling your frustration.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into you two,” you continued, your tone firm, “but I’m not some object for you to argue about. I don’t need either of you deciding what’s best for me or who I should spend my time with.”
Soobin looked away, his shoulders slumping slightly, while Jungwon’s gaze remained locked on yours. There was something in his eyes—something vulnerable—that made your stomach twist, but you refused to let it distract you.
“If you can’t act like the grown wizards you’re supposed to be, then maybe I don’t want to spend time with either of you,” you said, your voice softening but still laced with disappointment.
You turned on your heel, clutching your bag of sweets tightly as you marched back toward the village square. The crowd of onlookers quickly dispersed, whispering amongst themselves as they returned to their shopping.
Behind you, you heard Soobin let out a frustrated sigh.
“This isn’t over,” Jungwon muttered, his voice low enough that he probably thought you wouldn’t hear.
But you did.
For days after the argument in Hogsmeade, you stuck to your plan. You avoided both Jungwon and Soobin with a steadfast determination, pouring all your energy into your studies and prefect duties. It wasn’t easy, not when they seemed to pop up everywhere you went, their longing glances and hesitant attempts to talk to you a constant reminder of the rift between you all.
But you were determined to teach them a lesson.
You didn’t stop to acknowledge Soobin when you passed him in the halls, even when his usual cheerful greeting was replaced with a soft, “Hey…” that trailed off when you didn’t respond. You ignored the way his shoulders slumped, or how his dimples didn’t show as much when he smiled at others.
And Jungwon? You didn’t even glance his way during patrols, even when you could feel the weight of his gaze following your every move. You ignored the way your soulmark burned faintly whenever he was near.
It was torture.
Not just for them, but for you too.
You told yourself it was necessary. That they needed to understand how their actions affected you. But that didn’t stop the ache in your chest when you caught Soobin sitting alone at the Gryffindor table during meals, his usually lively voice replaced by silence. It didn’t stop the pang of guilt when you walked into the library and found Jungwon there, staring blankly at an open book, his jaw clenched tightly as he pretended not to notice you.
It hurt.
It hurt to see Soobin’s dimples fade, to watch Jungwon’s confident smirk replaced by a quiet stillness. And it hurt to know that you were the reason for it.
But you didn’t stop.
Every time your resolve wavered, you reminded yourself of that day in Hogsmeade. Of the argument you’d walked in on, the way they’d fought over you like you were some prize to be claimed. You reminded yourself that they needed to learn that you weren’t theirs to argue over.
Still, the distance weighed on you.
There were moments when you almost caved. When Soobin would pass you a small note in class, his handwriting shaky but hopeful, asking if you’d like to meet in the library. When Jungwon would linger after patrols, his expression softening as he quietly said your name, only for you to turn away.
Each time, you swallowed the lump in your throat and pushed forward, ignoring the way your chest tightened and your soulmark burned.
But the worst moment came one evening during dinner.
You were sitting with your friends, trying to focus on the conversation, when you glanced toward the Slytherin table. Jungwon sat at the far end, his head resting on one hand as he absently pushed food around on his plate. His usual liveliness was gone, replaced by a quiet, almost defeated air that made your heart twist painfully in your chest.
Your gaze flickered to the Gryffindor table, where Soobin was seated with a group of his housemates. He was laughing, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His dimples appeared faintly, but they lacked the warmth you’d grown so fond of.
For a moment, you considered getting up. Walking over to them, breaking the silence you’d forced upon yourself and them.
But you didn’t.
Instead, you stayed rooted to your seat, gripping your fork tightly as you forced yourself to look away.
You told yourself this was for the best. That they needed to understand how much their actions had hurt you. But as you sat there, ignoring the ache in your chest and the burn of your soulmark, you couldn’t help but wonder if you were hurting yourself just as much as you were hurting them.
You questioned if this was worth it.
You spent the next few days lost in thought, unable to focus on anything except the whirlwind of confusion inside your mind. The more you thought, the more questions piled up, each one more pressing than the last.
Did Soobin like you enough to consider it love? You could feel the tenderness in his eyes, the way he always seemed to know when you needed a laugh or when your mood shifted. His affection felt genuine, but was it love? Or was it just his natural warmth and kindness? You wanted to believe he cared for you deeply, but could you really be sure?
And Jungwon… You ran your fingers over your soulmark absentmindedly, tracing the faint burn that seemed to pulse with his presence. Was he drawn to you because of the bond you shared, or was there more to it? Did he really like you as a person, or was he just following the pull of fate, following the path that had been set for him? His actions made it hard to tell, and every time you caught a glimpse of his conflicted expression, you only felt more lost.
You sat in your room that evening, a blanket wrapped tightly around you as the cool air from the window brushed against your cheeks. You stared blankly at the wall, the weight of your thoughts pressing down on you. You’d never been one to let yourself get overwhelmed by emotions, but right now, it was impossible not to.
What am I supposed to do? You couldn’t keep ignoring them, couldn’t keep pretending that it didn’t matter how they were affected by your silence. But you also couldn’t let yourself be pushed into a corner, forced to choose between them just because of some soulmark. You were so much more than that, weren’t you?
The tears started without warning—hot, bitter drops that slid down your face as the realization hit. You had no answers. You had no idea what you were doing, what the right choice even was.
The room felt too small, the weight of everything around you closing in. You buried your face in your hands, trying to stifle the sobs that wracked your body. You were exhausted from holding everything in, from pretending that the pain of making this decision didn’t tear you apart.
Why is this so hard? You thought bitterly, as the tears continued to fall, your vision blurring with each passing second. You hated this feeling. You hated that you could hurt both Soobin and Jungwon by simply existing between them, by trying to find your own way without causing pain.
You wanted to be strong, to find clarity, but all you felt now was the sting of uncertainty and the emptiness of not knowing where to turn.
You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but your heart still ached, the silent cry you had been holding in for so long now finally spilling over.
How had everything gotten so complicated?
--
You had tried to go about your day as best as you could, despite the storm of emotions brewing inside of you. You needed a distraction, something to pull you out of your spiraling thoughts. But of course, the universe had other plans.
As you walked down one of the quieter hallways, lost in your own thoughts, you failed to notice the telltale signs of Peeves’ latest prank: a small, harmless-looking puddle of water on the floor. Or, what you thought was harmless. As your foot landed in it, the floor suddenly gave way beneath you, and before you could even react, a burst of confetti and loud horns went off above your head.
The water splashed up around you, and your foot slipped, sending you sprawling to the ground with a sharp thud. The confetti rained down on you, a mocking reminder of Peeves’ relentless mischief.
You groaned, pushing yourself up with shaky hands, the sharp pain in your ankle telling you that this wasn’t just an embarrassing fall. You forced yourself to stand, wincing with each movement. It took everything in you to push through the pain, but you knew you couldn’t stay there. You had to get to the hospital wing.
It felt like an eternity as you limped through the halls, your leg throbbing in protest with every step. But eventually, you made it. Madam Pomfrey immediately ushered you onto a bed and began checking you over. You winced as she poked and prodded at your ankle, muttering under her breath.
You had never been one to ask for attention, but it was clear you couldn’t hide the injury, not when it was as obvious as it was. After Madam Pomfrey wrapped up your ankle and began to administer a pain-relieving potion, you closed your eyes, trying to relax. You really just wanted a moment of peace, to recover from everything.
But peace didn’t seem to be on the menu that day.
The door to the hospital wing creaked open, and you opened your eyes to see both Soobin and Jungwon stepping inside. Their eyes locked on you instantly, their expressions unreadable. Soobin was the first to speak, his voice warm but laced with concern.
“Hey… Are you alright?” he asked softly, taking a few steps forward.
You nodded, trying to smile, but the discomfort from your ankle made it difficult to do so. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little… well, you know, Peeves. Same old story.”
Jungwon, who had been standing a bit further away, finally moved closer. His gaze flicked from you to Soobin, then back to you, his jaw clenching just slightly. "You’re really lucky you didn’t hurt yourself worse," he said, his tone more curt than usual.
You didn’t miss the tension between the two of them. The way Soobin hovered near you, his eyes full of concern, and Jungwon’s more guarded expression. The air between them felt thick, like the two of them were both trying to control the emotions they didn’t want to express.
Soobin, sensing the silence hanging between them, cleared his throat and gave you a soft smile. “I’ll make sure you’re okay. We can talk later, right? After you rest a bit.”
You nodded again, grateful for his kindness. “Yeah, thanks, Soobin.”
Jungwon was still standing off to the side, looking like he was holding back a thousand thoughts he didn’t want to share. He glanced at Soobin once more, before finally turning back to you, his expression softening—just a little.
“You should rest,” he murmured, his voice almost hesitant.
You met his gaze, but before you could say anything, both of them stepped back.
After they left, the tension between them still lingered in the air. You could see it in the way they avoided eye contact, in the short, clipped exchanges they had with each other.
--
Your ankle had finally healed, and you found yourself walking through the hallways, your steps purposefully quick, but your mind racing even faster. You had spent days trying to sort through your feelings, to understand everything that had been happening. Now, you knew exactly who you needed to talk to.
You spotted him from a distance — standing by one of the doorways, lost in thought. It was as if everything else around you faded into the background. Your heart started to beat a little faster, and before you could second-guess yourself, you crossed the hallway and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him with you toward an empty classroom.
He stumbled for a moment, clearly caught off guard by your sudden action. "Hey, what’s—" he started, but you didn’t let him finish. You pulled him all the way inside, closing the door behind you with a soft click, your breath quickening in your chest. The room was dim, the sunlight filtering through the tall windows casting long shadows on the stone floor.
When you let go of his arm, you stepped back, eyes not leaving his face. He blinked, his expression shifting from confusion to something more guarded, almost unsure. “What’s going on?” he asked, his voice quiet.
You took a deep breath, your heart pounding as you finally asked the question that had been eating at you for so long. "Jungwon," you began, your voice steady but laced with uncertainty. "What do you feel about me?"
His eyes softened, and for a moment, he didn’t speak. The silence between you stretched, heavy with the weight of unspoken words. He seemed to gather himself, his gaze never wavering from yours, before he finally answered.
"I..." Jungwon hesitated, running a hand through his hair, and you saw the vulnerability in his eyes. "From the very first time I saw you, sitting there, waiting to be sorted into a house... I knew I wanted to get to know you. Even if it meant teasing you at first, I just... I wanted to be around you."
You could feel your chest tightening, the words he was saying hitting you harder than you expected.
He took a step closer, his voice softer now, almost like a confession. "But as the years passed, my feelings for you... they grew stronger. It was more than just wanting to know you, it was about needing to be with you." He paused, as if the weight of the truth was difficult to say. "Every time I saw you, my heart would beat faster. My palms would get sweaty. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And when I saw your Patronus... and I realized you were my soulmate, I was so happy. I thought everything was perfect." Jungwon’s gaze dropped for a moment, his voice turning quiet. "But then I found out you were hiding it from me. You kept it from me, and it hurt, more than I can explain."
You wanted to say something, to tell him that you were sorry, but you waited.
"As much as it hurt, my love for you didn’t change. It only made me want to be with you even more, to be the one who gets to be with you. But..." He glanced away briefly, as if gathering his thoughts before looking back at you with a pained expression. "When I saw you with Soobin, when I saw you laughing and being so close with him... it hurt. I couldn’t help but feel jealous. I wanted that to be me, not him. I wanted to be the one making you smile like that."
The words hung in the air, thick with emotion, and you felt your heart twist. The truth was out.
You took a shaky breath, your mind spinning with everything he had just said. "Jungwon..." you whispered, not sure what else to say.
His gaze softened, and for a brief moment, he looked like the person you had always known—the one who had been by your side all these years, even when you didn’t realize it. "I just want to be with you."
Your heart raced, the weight of his words sinking deep inside you. It was a confession that you had been waiting to hear.
Jungwon took a step closer, his hand reaching out slightly, as if unsure whether to close the distance between you.
You reached up without thinking, your hand trembling slightly as you cupped his cheek, your fingers brushing against the warmth of his skin. The contact sent a wave of emotions crashing over you—uncertainty, longing, but also an overwhelming sense of rightness. For a brief moment, the whole world seemed to pause, leaving just the two of you standing there in the quiet room, hearts racing in sync.
Jungwon’s eyes searched yours, his breath coming in shallow bursts. You could feel his pulse beneath your fingers, and something deep inside you whispered that this was the moment. No more hesitations, no more confusion.
Before you could second guess yourself, you leaned in. His breath caught in his throat, and for the briefest second, it felt like time stood still.
Then your lips met, soft and hesitant at first, but it didn’t take long for the kiss to deepen. It was as if the world around you melted away, leaving only the connection between the two of you. Jungwon’s hands moved quickly, finding their way around your waist, pulling you closer against him, the warmth of his embrace a comforting anchor.
You responded in kind, your arms sliding up to wrap around his neck, pulling yourself even closer. The kiss was both gentle and urgent, a mixture of emotions that neither of you had fully expressed until now.
Your soulmark burned to life beneath your skin, the familiar warmth spreading through you in a wave, almost like a gentle hum.
You broke the kiss just enough to look at him, your foreheads resting together as you caught your breath. Jungwon’s eyes were dark with emotion, his lips slightly swollen from the kiss. He was staring at you as if he had just found something he had been searching for all this time.
"I never thought it would be like this," you whispered, your voice thick with the emotions you couldn’t quite put into words.
"Neither did I," he replied softly, his hand gently cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin. "But it feels... right. Doesn’t it?"
You nodded, your heart fluttering in your chest as you leaned back in, your lips meeting his again. The kiss started softly, a gentle exploration of each other's mouths, but soon it grew more intense.
Jungwon's breaths became heavier, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he held you close, your hands entwined in his hair.
Suddenly, with a surge of strength, Jungwon lifted you up, his arms around your waist, and set you gently on the desk behind you.
As you landed on the desk, your arms instinctively went underneath Jungwon's Slytherin robe, your hands finding the warmth of his skin. You could feel the muscles of his back as he held you in place.
Jungwon's kisses became more urgent, his tongue teasing and exploring, as if he couldn't get enough of you.
You, feeling the intensity of Jungwon's kisses, decided to playfully pull back, your lips curving into a mischievous smile. As you withdrew, Jungwon's lips followed, his eyes sparkling with a hint of surprise.
"You like that, do you?" you teased, your voice soft and filled with amusement. "Can't get enough of me, huh?"
Jungwon's lips curled into a grin, a smile of mischief. "I could kiss you all day," he replied, his voice low. "Your lips are like a drug, and I'm addicted."
You giggled, a sound that was both playful and inviting. "Well, you better not overdose then," you said, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "Or we might have a problem."
Jungwon's grin widened, and he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours gently. "I'll take that risk," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. "Because being with you is worth any risk."
You melted into his embrace, your arms slipping around his neck, inviting him to continue the dance of kisses. Jungwon's hands, which had been roaming your body with a possessive touch, now caressed your cheeks, his thumbs tracing the curve of your lips.
"You're so beautiful," he whispered, his voice filled with admiration and adoration. "And your kisses... they drive me wild."
His touch was gentle but insistent, like he couldn't quite get enough of you, and honestly, neither could you. Every kiss, every caress sent a thrill through you.
His lips trailed to your jaw, then to the sensitive spot behind your ear, making you shiver involuntarily. "I never thought it would feel like this," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Like... everything I’ve been waiting for, all at once."
You smiled softly, your hands sliding down to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart, matching your own. "I never thought it would happen, either," you whispered back. "But I’m so glad it did."
Jungwon pulled back slightly, looking at you with eyes full of wonder, as if seeing you for the first time. "You make everything feel right," he said, his voice a tender confession. "Like I’m where I’m supposed to be."
Your heart swelled at his words, and you leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "I feel the same way," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I think I always have."
For a moment, you both just stayed there, caught in the magic of the moment, the silence between you full of understanding and comfort.
Then, with a soft laugh, Jungwon pulled you closer again, his arms wrapped securely around your waist. "I think we’re going to be just fine, don’t you?" he said, his lips brushing against your forehead.
You nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "Yeah," you whispered, your voice filled with certainty. "We’re going to be more than fine."
౨ৎ SUMMARY— you broke up because he was too focused on his music dream, but maybe you and love were the real dream all along.
౨ৎ A/N— i saw a lot of people saying they wanted a oneshot with the concept photos from the 2025 seasons greetings, so i made one! i hope you like it, even though it isn’t quite as angsty as you probably wanted :( still, feedback is appreciated and thanks for reading, lovelies! <3 (i’ll tag a few people who said they were interested if someone wrote one: @beabatiny, @goldendynastys, @kibs-and-bits)
Staring at the fire crackling, you try to hold back the tears that threaten to escape. When had it all gone so wrong?
Just last year, you had been enjoying your boyfriend’s Christmas show with his rock band, and now you’re sitting alone, the night before Christmas.
The crackling of the fire adds to your melancholy, the harsh cold winds blowing outside creating a gloomy atmosphere. You know you should forget like he has, but you can’t throw away two years of your life that easily.
The memories of last Christmas come flooding back to you, even as you try to suppress them. Memories of sitting beside the fire with Yunho, cuddling as you watched a cheesy Christmas movie. Or baking Christmas cookies together at his apartment, laughing as you threw flour at each other.
Turning to the remote controller, you press the power button, not expecting to see him on the screen. His band is playing, and you immediately feel a pang in your chest at the sight of him, his fingers dashing across the keyboard.
Even though he’s the keyboard player and not the lead singer, he has an air about him that draws you in, making it unable to look away, even as you know you should. Why is he still having this effect on you?
The song is one you recognize. “Merry Christmas, Please Don’t Call,” by Bleachers.
It’s a song he’d introduced to you last Christmas, and, even though it’s sad, it had been a source of joy for you in a way last year, because you remember dancing to the song with him, smiling and laughing.
Now, it really is sad.
When he gets up at the end of the song, leaning into the microphone, you furrow your eyebrows, listening.
“That song goes out to someone I lost a year ago today.” He looks right at the camera, his brown eyes sparkling with unshed tears. “I’m sorry, baby. I wish it had been different, but know that I never really stopped loving you.”
You gasp, only momentarily questioning if he’s really talking to you, before you jump up, now determined to make things right for some reason. You know it’ll probably end in more heartache, but you have to try.
Grabbing your keys and coat, you hurry out the door into the winter storm, unlocking your car before hopping in.
Even though the roads are horrible tonight, you know the way to his apartment like the back of your hand, only slowing because of the snow.
About twenty minutes later, you arrive at his apartment complex, hurrying out of the car, through the blinding snow, and into the lobby of the building.
You try to calm yourself down, stepping into the elevator and pressing the button to the fourth floor.
When you get to the floor, you walk down the hall, slowing to a stop in front of his door. Taking a deep breath, you knock.
It takes about two minutes, but the door opens, revealing a messy-haired Yunho, a few locks of his dark blue hair having fallen in front of his brown eyes, which widen at the sight of you.
“Y/N?” he whispers, his hand clutching the doorknob so tight you think he might break it. “What are you doing here?”
“I saw the program.”
“Oh.”
With a sigh, you rub your arm, biting your lip, really starting to wonder what you’re really doing here yourself. “H-How have you been?”
“Is that really what you’re going to ask?” Yunho asks, giving you a half-smile.
“What else would I say?” you question softly, suddenly feeling stupid for coming to see him. “I can’t just say Merry Christmas or something stupid like I’ve missed you—”
“Can’t you?” he asks, his dark eyes searching yours. “Because I’ve missed you.”
Sighing, you frown slightly, “This can’t be happening. I don’t know what I was thinking. Let me just—“
He grabs your wrist as you turn to leave, making your gaze snap back to his. “Every day without you has been torture. You came to see me for a reason. Do you feel the same?”
“Yunho, it doesn’t matter how we feel. It can’t work now anymore than it did then. We have different goals.”
“We don’t have to!” he exclaims, almost desperately. “I can give up the band if that’s what you want. You were upset it took up so much of my time? I’ll quit.”
Your eyes widen as you shake your head, “Yunho, the reason you couldn’t give it up for me before is because it’s what you love to do. I can’t take that away from you. I can’t make you live without it.”
“Well, I can’t live without you.”
His words hang heavy in the air, making you suck in a sharp breath, “Yunho…”
“Don’t say anything,” Yunho tells you, taking a single step closer. “Just tell me…”
“Tell you what?” you ask, your eyebrows furrowing.
“What do you feel?” he asks, just before he leans in, his face inches from yours. Your heartbeat quickens as his warm breath fans across your lips. “If you feel nothing, I’ll leave you alone.”
You’re torn between wanting to close the distance and knowing you shouldn’t.
You don’t have to wait for long.
It feels like the world stops when his soft lips brush against yours for the first time in months. It isn’t like an electric shock, with fireworks exploding, rather it’s like coming home after a long time away. Like warmth and softness and… love.
It only takes a few seconds for you to melt into him, the kiss deepening as he lifts his hands to cup your face, your hands finding his chest, his heartbeat quickens beneath yours fingertips.
After a few moments, he pulls away, his forehead resting against yours as he pants softly, waiting for you to respond.
“I wish I could say I felt nothing,” you whisper, feeling a little helpless against your emotions. “But I can’t. I’ve never been able to.”
“Then give us another chance,” Yunho pleads, his thumbs brushing across your cheekbones. “I meant what I said during the program. I’ve never stopped loving you.”
“But what about the band? What about all the reasons we broke up months ago?”
“You and I both know we were being petty then. And I can quit the band, like I said,” Yunho replies, his tone serious.
“I don’t want you to,” you respond quietly, making him furrow his eyebrows.
“What?” he asks slowly, confusion etched into his features.
“I don’t want you to quit what you love,” you clarify. “That’s what ended things between us before. We quit on our love, and I won’t let you quit on the band now. I was stupid to think you loved me any less because of your passion for music. Please don’t stop playing, Yun.”
“Are you sure?” he asks slowly. “It’ll still take up as much time as it did before, maybe more, since we’ve grown a little more popular now.”
“I don’t care,” you smile softly. “All I care about is being with you again. And I won’t let my jealousy over your time get in the way again… as long as you let me come to your shows.”
“Every single one.”
With a small laugh, you lean forward, pressing another soft kiss to his lips before burying your face in his neck, inhaling his calming scent you’ve missed so much.
“Maybe we should get out of the hallway?” Yunho chuckles, tugging your hand, guiding you into his apartment. “We have a lot of catching up to do.”
You smile shyly, nodding, as you let him close the door behind you both.
Three months later, you’re cheering for Yunho and his band as he performs, smiling widely when he finally comes backstage, his arms open as you laugh, throwing yourself into his arms for a hug. “You did so well, Yunnie,” you whisper in his ear.
He grins, nuzzling his nose into your hair, “Thank you, baby. You’re always the best cheerleader.”
“Can’t say I don’t like the fake tattoos on your hands either,” you tell him wryly, tracing the markings with your finger.
“Oh?” he asks, chuckling softly, his eyes sparking with mischief. “Maybe I’ll leave them on for a little while. And I’ll be sure to tell the stylist you like them.”
“Good,” you grin. “I’m good with anything now as long as you never tell me ‘please don’t call’ like you did last winter ever again.”
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