me posting something thats not a fic?? but this is a desperate attempt to try and recruit more volunteers 🥹if you'd like to see ATEEZ get a grand slam (i.e. win every music show this comeback) please sign up through this form!
i promise it will be super simple and i for one am open to answering any and all questions (fr just dm me and i'll answer the best i can if you're scared of asking a general channel / platform)!!
synopsis : In a cold, arranged marriage, a cheerful wife longs for affection. When her husband discovers her romance stories, he awkwardly begins learning how to love—slowly turning their relationship into something real.
genre : slice of life, mafia au, angst, slow-burn, comfort, fluff, little comedy
warnings : none
author’s note : im on holiday rn so ill be posting more hehe 😝
word count : 1.7k
The first thing you learned about your husband was that he didn’t smile.
Not at the wedding. Not during the vows.
Not even when the officiant tried to lighten the atmosphere with a joke about “till death do you part” sounding a little too literal considering his line of work.
Kang Yeosang had simply stood there in his perfectly tailored suit, hands steady, expression unreadable—like he wasn’t marrying you, but signing a contract.
Which, to be fair, he kind of was.
You weren’t naive.
You knew exactly what this marriage was: a strategic alliance between your family and his.
Stability. Protection. Power consolidation.
All the very romantic things that made mafia deals go smoothly.
What you didn’t expect… was how quiet he would be. Not cold in the dramatic, cruel way.
Just… distant.
Like he existed slightly outside of your world.
He spoke when necessary. Ate with precision. Moved like someone always calculating three steps ahead.
Even at home, where most people would relax, Yeosang remained composed—back straight, voice low, emotions tucked away behind a wall you couldn’t even see the edges of.
At first, you tried.
“Do you like tea or coffee?” you had asked on the third morning after moving in.
“Either.”
“…Okay, but which do you prefer?”
A pause.
“Tea.”
You beamed. “Great! I’ll remember that.”
He nodded once. That was it.
No “thank you.” No follow-up.
Just… Yeosang.
You refused to let that discourage you.
If he was a wall, you’d be ivy.
You talked about everything.
Your day. The neighbor’s weird cat. A random documentary you watched. A joke you found funny.
He listened, always. That was the strange part.
He never interrupted, never dismissed you, never told you to stop talking. He just… didn’t respond much.
Still, you noticed things.
Like how his gaze would linger just a fraction longer when you laughed.
Or how he’d subtly adjust the air conditioning because you once mentioned you got cold easily.
Or how your favorite snacks would magically appear in the pantry after you offhandedly said you liked them.
He didn’t show his affection with his words.
He… executed it.
Quietly. Efficiently.
Like everything else he did.
You shared a room.
A large one, elegant and impersonal at first, until you filled it with small touches—books on the nightstand, soft blankets, a ridiculous amount of pillows Yeosang never complained about.
The bed, however, remained a clear line of demarcation.
You on one side. Him on the other.
He never crossed it. Not even in his sleep. Not even once.
It wasn’t rejection, exactly. It just… felt like distance.
And sometimes, late at night, when the house was silent and Yeosang’s breathing was steady beside you, you’d stare at the ceiling and wonder—
Does he even like me?
───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
─────────
If there was one thing you didn’t share with him, it was your stash.
Hidden carefully in the bottom drawer of your desk, beneath neatly folded scarves and old notebooks, was your treasure trove:
Romance novels. Fanfiction printouts.
Dog-eared pages, highlighted lines, sticky notes marking your favorite scenes.
Soft love. Slow burns. Confessions whispered in the dark.
The kind of affection your marriage didn’t quite have.
It wasn’t that you expected Yeosang to suddenly turn into a dramatic romantic lead.
But sometimes—
Okay, a lot of times—
you wished he’d just… reach for you.
───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
─────────
It happened on a completely normal afternoon.
Which, in hindsight, was exactly how life liked to ruin you.
You had left in a hurry, rushing out to meet a friend, completely forgetting that you’d left your drawer slightly open.
And Yeosang… had come home early.
He wasn’t looking for anything in particular.
Just a document he thought might be on your desk.
He noticed the drawer because it wasn’t perfectly aligned.
And Yeosang was, unfortunately, a man who noticed everything.
So he opened it.
And found…books. A lot of books.
He frowned slightly, picking one up. The cover was… pink.
Suspiciously pink.
He flipped it open.
Read a line. Paused. Read another.
His expression didn’t change much. But his ears turned slightly red.
“His fingers traced her wrist, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing every inch of her skin—”
Yeosang closed the book.
Very calmly. Placed it back.
Opened another one.
“You don’t understand,” he whispered, voice breaking, “I’ve loved you from the moment you walked into my life.”
Pause. Blink.
Yeosang sat down.
And, for reasons even he couldn’t quite explain…kept reading.
You didn’t think anything was wrong when you walked in.
“Yeosang, I’m back!” you called cheerfully, slipping off your shoes.
No response. That wasn’t unusual.
You wandered into the bedroom—and froze.
Because your husband was sitting on the edge of the bed.
Holding one of your books.
Your brain stopped functioning.
“…”
“…”
He looked up. You looked at him.
The book.
Him.
The book.
Him.
“I can explain,” you blurted.
“Explain what,” he asked calmly, holding up the book, “this?”
You wanted the floor to swallow you whole.
“It’s—uh—it’s research.”
“Research.”
“Yes.”
“For what?”
“…life.”
A pause.
Then—
“…I see.”
He looked back at the page and continued reading.
You stood there. Processing.
“…Wait.”
You stepped closer.
“You’re just going to keep reading it?”
“I was in the middle of a chapter.”
“That’s not the point!”
He glanced at you.
“Then what is?”
Your face burned.
“That’s private!”
“I didn’t know that,” he said, tone even. “It was not labeled.”
“You don’t need a label, it’s obvious—!”
Another pause.
He closed the book gently. Looked at you.
“…Do you like this kind of thing?”
Your soul left your body.
“Why are you asking that?” you said weakly.
“You read a lot of it.”
“That doesn’t mean anything!”
“It usually does.”
“That’s not—” you stopped. “Okay, yes, I like it, but that’s not the point!”
“What is the point?”
“The point is that you weren’t supposed to see it!”
“Why.”
“Because it’s embarrassing!”
“Why.”
“Because it just is!”
Yeosang studied you. Carefully.
“…It is about affection,” he said.
You froze.
“…What?”
“These stories,” he continued, flipping the book slightly, “they focus heavily on emotional and physical intimacy.”
You covered your face.
“I know what they’re about, Yeosang.”
“Do you want that?”
Your hands dropped. The room went quiet.
He wasn’t teasing. Wasn’t mocking. Wasn’t even embarrassed.
He was just… asking.
Direct. Honest.
Like he always did.
And suddenly, it wasn’t funny anymore.
“…I mean,” you started, quieter now, “I don’t expect… all that dramatic stuff.”
He waited.
“I just…” you hesitated. “Sometimes I wonder if you even like me.”
Silence.
“I do,” he said.
You blinked.
“…You do?”
“Yes.”
“…Oh.”
That was… not what you expected.
───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
─────────
Something shifted after that.
Not dramatically. Not overnight.
But… noticeably. It started small.
One evening, you were reading on the couch when he sat beside you.
Closer than usual. Not touching.
Just… close.
You noticed. Said nothing.
Then—
His hand moved.
Slowly. Carefully.
And rested next to yours.
Not holding. Not quite touching.
Just… there.
You stared at it. Then at him.
He was looking straight ahead, completely composed.
But his fingers… twitched slightly. Like he wasn’t used to this either.
You smiled. And gently placed your hand over his.
He froze.
But he didn’t pull away. Didn’t react.
Just… stayed.
But his grip tightened. Just a little.
───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
─────────
Yeosang approached affection like he approached everything else:
Methodically.
Which led to… some very interesting moments.
“You look… acceptable.”
“Acceptable???”
He paused.
“…Good.”
You burst out laughing. He looked mildly offended.
Another time, you were in the kitchen when he suddenly hugged you.
From behind. Stiffly.
Like he had read instructions but didn’t quite understand them.
You nearly dropped the spoon.
“…Yeosang?”
“…Yes.”
“…Are you okay?”
“I am attempting something.”
“…I can tell.”
Pause.
“…Is it working?”
You turned in his arms, smiling.
“Yeah. It is.”
The third time, you came home one day to find candles.
Everywhere. Way too many candles.
“Yeosang—why does it look like a ritual in here?”
“I read that this creates atmosphere.”
“…For what?”
He hesitated.
“…Romance.”
You stared at him.
Then laughed so hard you had to sit down.
He looked deeply confused.
Despite the awkwardness, the stiffness, the occasional complete misunderstanding of fictional tropes—
He was trying. For you.
And that mattered more than anything.
But the real moment—
The one that stayed with you came quietly. Like everything important did with him.
It was late.
You were half-asleep, curled up on your side of the bed.
When you felt it.
A shift. Warmth. Weight.
You blinked your eyes open.
And realized—
Yeosang had moved.
Closer. Not all the way.
But enough that his arm rested lightly over your waist.
Careful. Hesitant.
Like he was giving you the chance to pull away.
You didn’t.
Instead, you leaned back slightly. Into him.
He stiffened. But then relaxed.
And that meant a lot.
───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
─────────
Yeosang didn’t become a completely different person.
He didn’t start making grand declarations or dramatic confessions.
But you started noticing more. A lot more.
The way he always made sure you ate. The way he’d stand just a little closer in public.
The way his hand would find yours without thinking.
The way he remembered everything you said.
Even the smallest things. Especially the smallest things.
And sometimes, when he thought you weren’t looking… you’d catch it.
A soft expression. A quiet fondness.
Something warm.
Something yours.
───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
─────────
One night, you found something unexpected.
On your pillow. A book.
One of yours.
With… sticky notes. You picked it up slowly.
Opened it.
And saw annotations.
“This is unrealistic.”
“This is inefficient communication.”
“…This is acceptable.”
You laughed. Then flipped to the last page.
Where a single note waited.
“I am still learning. Be patient.”
Your chest tightened.
Soft. Full. Overwhelming.
You looked up.
And there he was. Standing by the door.
Watching you.
“You wrote this?” you asked.
“Yes.”
You smiled. Walked over.
“And what if I said you’re doing really well?”
He paused.
Then, very gently, he reached out.
Tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.
“…That would be… good.”
“Yeosang?”
“Yes.”
“…Do you love me?”
A rare question.
Direct. Vulnerable.
He didn’t answer immediately.
You waited.
Then—
he stepped closer.
Rested his forehead lightly against yours.
And said, quietly:
“I would not be doing all of this… if I didn’t.”
Not dramatic. Not poetic. Not straight out of your books.
But somehow better.
Because it was him.
And as his hand found yours—steady now, no hesitation— you realized something.
Maybe your story wasn’t like the ones you read. Maybe it didn’t have grand speeches or perfect moments.
pairing: seonghwa x hongjoong (matz)
word count: 1334
TW: implied self-offing (doesn't happen)
a/n: happy pride to my other favourite ship hehe... this is lowkey an attempt to also write a bridgerton-ish confession. felt a little 'bane of my existence' there
The kind of quiet Seonghwa enjoyed. Not so loud till the point you could hear your own heartbeat keeping you alive but not so soft until you couldn’t find your own thoughts because the sound of others’ drowned it out.
The perfect kind of quiet.
Seonghwa let out a soft sigh as he melted into his couch. He had to be up extra early tomorrow for some urgent client meeting, so he’s not so sure why he couldn’t fall asleep. Something just tugged at him the way a child did to their parent’s sleeves for attention. But there wasn’t anything out of the ordinary happening in his life thus far.
Then his phone broke the quiet.
He glared at it, mentally cursing himself out for forgetting to switch it back to silent. He had been mere seconds away from feeling the tranquility and possibly finally finding sleep.
Instead, he found himself staring at the name on the screen.
Kim Hongjoong.
They broke up months ago. One too focused on his career and the other on his own ego. Neither dared to admit they would be willing to put the other first. Maybe it was because if he did, Seonghwa felt he would lose control of the life he delicately built. Throwing it all away for a man who couldn’t even be bothered with the 3 simple words.
His phone continued ringing and buzzing and Seonghwa could feel the desperation echoing in his living room. Was this a drunk dial? Hongjoong’s last one hadn’t happened since the breakup.
He knew better. Park Seonghwa knows a lot better than to pick up the call from his ex boyfriend who could be calling for anything other than matters of the heart. That was something Hongjoong seemed to consistently live up to.
But he did.
“Hello?”
It wasn’t Seonghwa who asked it. It was Hongjoong, after a few seconds of silence from both ends.
Seonghwa still didn’t respond.
“Seonghwa… Hwa.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, holding back the choked relief at hearing his voice say his name again.
“You’re there. It’s you, isn’t it? I recognise your breathing.”
Quiet.
“I… Oh, this was a mistake. I don’t know what I was thinking. I just needed to talk to someone and you were the first one I thought of because, well… You’re you.” A soft chuckle escaped Hongjoong’s lips. “You always know how to make me feel better. Anyone, for that matter. Maybe it’s also because it’s a full moon tonight and I just… Well… They say that makes people do crazy stuff sometimes.”
Seonghwa lifted his eyes to look out the window. He hadn’t noticed the sky. Were they both currently looking up at it together, like they used to by each other’s side?
“Anyway, I’m sorry. Sorry for bothering you. I’ll just hang up now.”
“You wanted to talk.”
Hongjoong’s breath hitched at the sound of Seonghwa’s voice. He’d never say out loud just how much he missed it.
“Go ahead. Talk.”
“I…” Hongjoong looked back up at the moon, observing the way it shone. How bright it was. “I wanted to say I’m sorry.”
Seonghwa fell back into the silence.
“I know I messed up. I’m not calling you to beg for your forgiveness or ask you to take me back, I just… I wanted you to know that in case anything happened.”
Seonghwa narrowed his eyes.
“I know I treated you badly. I wish I knew why because honestly you’re the best thing that ever happened to me and you’ll never know how devastated I was when we broke up. Wooyoung had to literally fight me to get out of bed.” Hongjoong let out a half-hearted laugh as he recalled the moment.
“You can’t…” He held back a sniff as the emotions pooled in his throat. “You shouldn’t have ever doubted our relationship. It was entirely my fault, I’m the one who refused to remember birthdays and anniversaries… The one who couldn’t tell you he loved you back when you said it first.”
Hongjoong had to put the phone away for a moment as he dug his nails into his skin to fight the sobs burning in his throat. This wasn’t the time for him to break down. Not when he had so much left to say.
“Life has been hard recently. I’ll spare you the details, but it’s just… I miss you. And I can’t let you think that you loved someone who didn’t love you back or that you weren’t worthy of my love. You are, Hwa. I haven’t stopped loving you and God, loving someone that fiercely makes it terrifying.
“I should have handled it better, I know. You made me feel like I was the best person on this planet, like I could do anything. But I’m not. Oh man, I really am not. With everything I put you through, I… I’m just glad you picked up. You’re probably not even listening anymore, maybe using my voice as a podcast episode to fall asleep.”
A soft smile crept onto Hongjoong’s face. “Yeah, I remember how I used to record them for you. Just memos about my day. But I bet you probably deleted them all now. Wouldn’t want reminders of the pain I put you through. If you were still listening, I’d ask if you would meet at our spot. Just to… reminisce, I guess. I don’t know. Say better goodbyes.”
Just then, he heard the door behind him open. The sound echoed through his phone. He felt it in the air too as he slowly turned around.
He was there. Seonghwa was standing in front of him, his phone still by his ear and his eyes fixated on him. Hongjoong swallowed his reemerging tears, entranced by the man in front of him the same way he was when they first met.
“You… You came.”
“You called.”
The reply was instantaneous as Seonghwa finally hung up the call and placed his phone back into his pocket.
Hongjoong just stared, not daring to move. Like if tried to take a step towards him Seonghwa would somehow dissolve away or that he’d realise he was hallucinating.
“Am I dreaming?” he whispered.
Seonghwa walked towards him instead. As the distance between them closed, the heat rose. He stopped right before Hongjoong, his hands hovering next to Hongjoong’s cheeks.
He was waiting for an invitation.
“Why are you forgiving me?” Hongjoong questioned quietly.
Seonghwa’s head jolted ever so slightly, his hands dropping to his side. The truth was that he didn’t know either. He doesn’t know why he came. All he knew was that Hongjoong sounded so… sad. Broken. The most vulnerable he had ever heard the man.
“You opened up,” he finally replied. “I left because you wouldn’t. It felt like a sign that things could change. That you can be the man I need.”
His eyes dropped to the floor, shifting uncomfortably. “I knew I had flaws in our relationship too. I blew you off a lot for my job. I guess I can’t entirely blame you for ending up that way with me.”
“I love you.” The words escaped Hongjoong before he could consider them. “And I… I need you. Humans have their essentials to live but you, Hwa… I need you. These past months have been torturous without you. I haven’t been able to breathe or sleep or just… exist. But you’re here now and it’s like I can live again. You, Park Seonghwa. You are the key to my existence and my soul. I know I said I wasn’t going to beg you but please, just… Just don’t leave me again.”
The next thing he knew, their lips were connected. Seonghwa’s hands cupped Hongjoong’s face and Hongjoong snaked his arms around his waist, both moving with the same familiarity.
It was still a quiet night as the city slept below them. But no longer the kind that Seonghwa enjoyed.
pairing: lee know x han (minsung)
word count: 581
TW: none
a/n: happy pride month! this was inspired by this tiktok but i had been planning on writing a short minsung fic for pride anyway soo impeccable timing?
That was a lesson Lee Know learnt early. The day he was eliminated from Stray Kids, only to then be brought back in. Every time he struggled, every time he healed. Life’s turbulent waves of events reminded him of it every time. It forced him to keep his walls up ever so slightly, no matter who he was with.
But that’s just the thing. There was someone he never did that with. The one person who grounded him and kept him steady. Someone who he never doubted his feelings for, the one person he was certain about.
Han Jisung.
Oh, the things Lee Know could say about Han. He could tell you possibly every detail about Han, from the simplest facts like Han’s favourite colour to the weirdest and most intimate details like exactly where Han’s back tattoo is.
It’s not hard to forget. Every single one of them is a reason why Lee Know loved him.
But humans are… a diverse bunch. Not just the biological makeup, but opinions. Views. Beliefs.
He’s not the most online person, but Lee Know’s seen enough to know how his country would view him if he revealed the truth. He loves Han, but he loves his career too. He loves his cats, dancing, singing, and he loves Stray Kids.
There are so many things Lee Know loves. Only one of them somehow was deemed inappropriate.
He brought it up to Han once. That night after Stray Kids won their Daesang from MAMA, in the safe space they shared. Just the two of them - no staff members, no other friends, no other eyes. They won a major award and they were all emotional. 7 years of working like it was the only way to live, because it was to them. A dream all of them shared finally reached together.
And he asked, “Do you think one day we could win in their eyes too?”
Han didn’t know how to respond. He too was well aware of the society they lived in. Their truth could ruin everything they’ve worked so hard for and it wouldn’t affect just them. The rest of Stray Kids who accepted their secret, the staff members who’ve accompanied them through everything and fought to keep the secret.
Everything could be jeopardised simply because two of the members were in love.
After a long grueling silence, Lee Know knew the answer. He looked away, refusing to let his tears fall. Would destroy his image, another thing he was ‘certain’ he had maintained thus far.
“Maybe one day.” Han smiled half-heartedly, unsure if the day would ever come. He leaned over to intertwine his fingers with Lee Know’s, placing a gentle kiss on his hand. Lee Know’s posture relaxed though he still couldn’t bring himself to face Han at the moment. Han got up and moved to sit next to Lee Know, melting next to him as he hugged Lee Know’s arm and the two just stared ahead together.
The quiet sound of crickets chirping from outside echoed in their living room. Han’s eyes started drooping, mumbling a soft congratulations to them before Lee Know felt him completely drift off. He couldn’t help but smile, kissing the top of Han’s rose smelling head.
It’s not much, but he’s here. With him. They’re moving through life together, and there are already enough secrets the group keeps from the public because it’s simply none of their business.
Synopsis: After months of almost-confessions, Jisung finally tells you he loves you. But the happiness barely has time to settle before you confess you’re leaving the next morning, turning a long-awaited confession into an almost-goodbye.
a/n: this idea has been in my notes app for agesss i’m so glad i finally wrote it
Wc: 3,408
The studio is quiet except for the soft hum of the computer and the tiny crackle of his speakers. Outside, Seoul is asleep, but inside the room, Jisung is wide awake, sitting cross-legged on the floor with his hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands.
You’re on the sofa behind him, half-buried under his oversized jacket because you complained about the air conditioning twenty minutes ago. He had acted like giving it to you was no big deal, but he hasn’t stopped glancing back at you since.
“You’re staring again,” you mumble, eyes still closed.
Jisung jolts like he’s been caught stealing.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I was checking if you were alive.”
“At three in the morning? Romantic.”
The word makes him freeze.
Only for a second.
Then he laughs too loudly and turns back to the screen, hiding the way his ears turn pink beneath his hair.
You sit up slowly, rubbing your tired eyes. “Play it again.”
“You’re falling asleep.”
“I’m listening.”
“You’re drooling on my jacket.”
“I am not.”
“You are. It’s cute.”
This time, you’re the one who goes quiet.
Jisung realises what he said a second too late. His fingers hover uselessly over the keyboard. His heart is suddenly doing that awful thing again — the thing where it beats too fast around you, like it’s trying to escape his ribs and confess before he can stop it.
He turns around.
You’re looking at him, soft and sleepy and wrapped in his jacket like you belong there.
He thinks, Now.
He thinks, Just say it.
He thinks, I love you.
Instead, the studio door opens.
Chan pokes his head in. “You two still here?”
Jisung nearly falls off his chair.
You laugh.
And the moment disappears.
౨ৎ
He almost tells you again in the car after practice.
It’s raining lightly, little silver lines sliding down the windows as the city blurs past. Jisung is exhausted, his hair damp from sweat, his cheek pressed against the seatbelt as he tries very hard not to fall asleep on your shoulder.
He loses.
His head drops gently against you.
You don’t move.
For a while, neither of you says anything. You just let him rest there, warm and heavy and trusting.
Then his voice comes out small.
“You’re too nice to me.”
You look down. “That sounds like a complaint.”
“It is.” His eyes stay closed. “Makes it hard.”
“What does?”
He swallows.
Your shoulder rises beneath his cheek when you breathe in, and for some reason that tiny movement nearly ruins him.
“Makes it hard not to…” He stops.
“Not to what?”
His lashes flutter open. He tilts his head just enough to look at you, and the car lights pass over his face in soft flashes — gold, red, blue, gold again.
He looks scared.
Not of you.
Of losing you.
“Not to get used to it,” he says finally.
Your expression changes. Softens. Hurts.
“You can get used to me, Ji.”
His nickname in your voice almost finishes him.
He sits up slightly, hands twisting in the sleeves of his hoodie.
“I don’t want to get used to you if you’re not—”
The car jerks to a stop.
The manager calls from the front, “We’re here.”
Jisung closes his mouth.
You both get out into the rain pretending nothing happened.
But his hand brushes yours under the umbrella.
Neither of you pulls away.
౨ৎ
The thunderstorm is worse.
It shakes the windows of the dorm so hard that you flinch, even though you try to hide it. Jisung notices immediately, because Jisung always notices you.
“You okay?” he asks.
You nod too quickly. “Yeah. Totally. Love thinking the sky is breaking.”
He grins, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
Another crack of thunder rolls overhead.
You jump.
Without saying anything, he reaches for your hand.
It’s simple. Natural. Like he’s done it a thousand times, even though he hasn’t. His fingers lace through yours and squeeze gently.
“Better?” he asks.
You stare at your joined hands. “A little.”
“A little?” he repeats, offended. “I’m risking my reputation as a very cool, very fearless man here.”
“You screamed when the toaster popped yesterday.”
“I was caught off guard,” he says quickly, cheeks pink.
You laugh, and there it is again — that feeling in his chest. The ache and the warmth. The impossible want.
He likes making you laugh.
He likes when you steal his food.
He likes when you send him stupid pictures with no context.
He likes when you fall asleep in the studio and pretend you were “just resting your eyes”.
He likes when you say his name softly, like it belongs somewhere safe.
He likes you so much it doesn’t feel like liking anymore.
The lights flicker.
You shift closer without thinking, your shoulder pressing against his. Jisung looks down at your joined hands, then at you.
“You know,” he says quietly, “when I’m with you, I don’t feel so…”
You wait.
“So what?”
Alone.
Scared.
Like I have to be funny to be loved.
Like I’m only worth keeping when I’m useful.
He can’t say any of that.
Not yet.
So he says, “Tired.”
Your thumb moves gently over the back of his hand.
“Then rest with me.”
And he does.
He rests his head against yours while the storm throws itself against the windows. You don’t speak. You don’t need to. For ten minutes, the world is just rain, thunder, and your hand in his.
Then his phone starts ringing.
One call. Then another.
Practice schedule. Messages. Reality forcing its way back in.
You let go first.
Jisung feels the loss all the way down to his bones.
౨ৎ
The fourth time, he almost tells you because he’s too tired to stop himself.
It’s after midnight, after rehearsal, after interviews, after laughing until his cheeks hurt even though his whole body feels made of static. You find him sitting on the floor outside the practice room, knees pulled to his chest, hood up, eyes lowered.
“Ji?”
He looks up.
The smile he gives you is automatic. Tiny. Worn out.
“Hey.”
You crouch in front of him. “You disappeared.”
“I’m here.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
His smile fades.
You sit beside him without asking, shoulder to shoulder in the empty hallway. Then you reach into your bag and pull out a packet of his favourite sweets.
He stares at them.
“You carry those around?”
You shrug. “You get cranky when you’re hungry.”
“I do not.”
“Last time you skipped dinner, you sulked for twenty minutes.”
“It took my money.”
“It was unplugged.”
He laughs then. Really laughs. The sound is quiet and tired, but it’s real, and you look so pleased with yourself that he wants to cry.
“You always do that,” he says.
“What?”
“Make things lighter.”
You look away, suddenly shy. “You make things lighter too.”
“No.” His voice drops. “I hide things.”
The air changes.
You turn back to him.
Jisung is looking at the floor, thumb picking at a loose thread on his sleeve.
“I hide behind jokes. Behind songs. Behind being busy.” He lets out a shaky breath. “I keep thinking there’ll be a better time to say things, but then the time keeps passing, and I’m still just…”
He stops.
You wait for him, patient as ever.
That almost ruins him.
“Still just me,” he finishes quietly.
Your voice softens. “I like just you.”
His eyes lift to yours.
And there it is.
The moment.
No door opening.
No manager calling.
No thunder swallowing his courage.
No phone ringing at the worst possible second.
Just you.
Just him.
And every almost that came before this.
Jisung’s lips part, but for a second nothing comes out. His heart is beating so loudly he’s sure you must be able to hear it. He wipes his palms on his joggers, laughs once under his breath, and shakes his head.
“I had a plan,” he admits.
Your eyebrows lift. “A plan?”
“Yeah.” His ears go red. “I was going to be cool about this.”
“You?”
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
“I’m not.”
“You are literally smiling.”
“I’m fond.”
His eyes soften.
Fond.
The word sits inside him like something warm.
“I was going to write you something,” he says. “Or play you a song. Or wait until we were somewhere nice, not on the floor outside a practice room with my hair looking like I lost a fight.”
“You look fine.”
“I look traumatised.”
“You look like you.”
His breath catches.
There it is again.
You keep saying things that make it impossible for him not to love you.
Jisung looks at you for a long second, then gives up pretending he can survive another almost.
“I love you.”
The words fall out quietly.
No song.
No joke.
No careful timing.
Just the truth.
You go completely still.
For one terrifying second, Jisung thinks he has ruined everything.
Then your face changes.
It crumples so softly it breaks his heart before he even understands why. Your eyes shine, your lips part, and you look at him like he has just handed you something precious and unbearable.
“Ji…”
“I know,” he rushes out, panic rising. “I know this is probably terrible timing, and I know I should have said it earlier, and I know I’m being weird right now, but I can’t keep almost saying it. I can’t keep swallowing it and pretending it doesn’t hurt.”
Your eyes fill.
He keeps going because if he stops, he’ll lose his nerve.
“I love you. I love you when you steal my hoodies and say you’re borrowing them even though I never get them back. I love you when you send me voice notes just to tell me the moon looks pretty. I love you when you fall asleep while I’m working and still say you’re keeping me company.”
His voice cracks.
“I love you when things are easy. I love you when everything is awful. I love you when I’m tired and scared and don’t know how to be anyone except this messy version of myself.”
You cover your mouth with your hand.
Jisung smiles sadly.
“And you don’t have to say anything. I just needed you to know. At least once.”
Silence.
Then you move.
You reach for him so suddenly he freezes, and then your arms are around him, tight and desperate. His breath leaves him all at once. For a second, he doesn’t even hug you back, too stunned to understand that you’re holding him.
Then he folds into you.
His hands grip the back of your shirt. His face presses into your shoulder.
You smell like rain and fabric softener and the sweet drink you bought earlier but didn’t finish. You feel real. Warm. Here.
“I love you too,” you whisper.
Jisung stops breathing.
You pull back just enough to look at him.
Your cheeks are wet now.
“I love you too,” you say again, voice trembling. “I’ve loved you for so long.”
His face breaks open.
Not into a full smile. Not exactly.
Something smaller. Softer. More fragile.
“You do?”
You let out a watery laugh. “You’re not exactly easy to get over, Han Jisung.”
He laughs too, but it sounds like relief and heartbreak mixed together.
“I thought I was being subtle.”
“You once gave me your jacket and then watched me wear it for twenty minutes with the expression of someone seeing heaven.”
His ears turn pink. “That could have meant anything.”
“It meant you were in love with me.”
“Okay, yeah. Maybe.”
You laugh again, and he does too, both of you crying a little now, both of you smiling like idiots on the hallway floor.
For one small, glowing second, it feels like the universe has finally done something kind.
Jisung reaches up and brushes a tear from your cheek with his sleeve.
“You love me,” he says, like he’s testing the words.
You lean into his touch.
“I love you.”
His smile wobbles.
“Say it again.”
“I love you, Jisung.”
He closes his eyes.
The words settle inside him.
Then he opens them again, softer than before.
“Can I kiss you?”
Your answer is to move closer.
The kiss is gentle.
So gentle it hurts.
His hand cups your cheek like he’s afraid of holding too tightly, like this moment might bruise if he isn’t careful. You hold onto the front of his hoodie, keeping him there, keeping him close, kissing him like you’ve been waiting just as long as he has.
When you pull away, he follows without thinking.
You laugh against his mouth.
“Needy.”
“Years of emotional repression will do that to a person.”
You smile, but it fades too quickly.
Jisung notices.
Of course he notices.
His thumb is still resting against your cheek. “What?”
You look down.
Something cold slips into the space between you.
“Hey,” he whispers. “What is it?”
You don’t answer straight away.
And that is when he feels it.
The change.
The way your hands tighten in his hoodie. The way your breathing becomes uneven. The way you look at him like you want to stay in this moment forever because the next one is going to ruin it.
His smile disappears.
“Y/N?”
You close your eyes.
“I need to tell you something.”
His stomach drops.
He tries to make a joke. It’s instinct. Defence. Fear.
“If you’re secretly married, this is a very cruel time to mention it.”
You don’t laugh.
That scares him more.
Your voice is barely above a whisper.
“I’m leaving.”
For a second, he doesn’t understand.
The word is too small for what it does to him.
Leaving.
Leaving the hallway? Leaving the dorm? Leaving him sitting here with his heart wide open in his hands?
“What do you mean?” he asks.
You swallow.
“My flight got moved.”
The silence after that is awful.
Jisung stares at you.
Your eyes are still wet from when you told him you loved him.
Only now they look guilty.
“When?” he asks, even though some part of him already knows.
Your lips tremble.
“Tomorrow morning.”
Everything stops.
The hallway.
The rain outside.
The warmth of your hand still curled in his hoodie.
His own breathing.
Jisung slowly lets his hand fall from your cheek.
“Tomorrow,” he repeats.
You nod, tears spilling over again. “I was going to tell you.”
“When?”
The word comes out sharper than he means it to.
You flinch.
He sees it and immediately hates himself.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean—”
“No.” You shake your head quickly. “No, you’re right. You’re allowed to be upset.”
He laughs once, empty and disbelieving.
“I just told you I love you.”
“I know.”
“And you told me you love me.”
“I know.”
“And now you’re telling me you’re leaving tomorrow?”
Your face crumples. “I didn’t know how to say it.”
Jisung stands because sitting there suddenly feels impossible. He turns away, hands going into his hair. For a second, he just breathes. Once. Twice. Badly.
Then he looks back at you.
“You let me confess.”
Your expression twists with pain.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“But you knew.”
“I knew.”
His eyes shine.
“Why didn’t you stop me?”
That breaks you.
You stand too, wiping at your face even though the tears keep coming.
“Because I wanted to hear it,” you admit, voice cracking. “Because I’m selfish, and I wanted one moment where it was real before I had to leave. I wanted to know what it felt like to have you love me out loud.”
Jisung’s anger collapses immediately.
There is no room for it.
Not when you’re looking at him like that.
Not when he understands too well.
Because hadn’t he done the same thing? Waited and waited and waited because saying it felt impossible, because keeping the almost alive was easier than risking the after?
He presses his palms against his eyes.
“God,” he whispers. “We’re so stupid.”
A tiny, broken laugh leaves you. “Yeah.”
“I had so many chances.”
“So did I.”
“In the studio.”
“In the car.”
“During the storm.”
“When you gave me your jacket.”
“When you fell asleep on my shoulder.”
“When you looked at me like that and I pretended not to notice.”
He looks at you.
“You noticed?”
You smile sadly. “I noticed everything.”
For some reason, that hurts most of all.
Jisung steps closer.
“So what now?”
You stare at him, helpless.
“I don’t know.”
His jaw tightens. He nods, looking down, trying to be brave and failing badly.
“Right.”
“Ji…”
“No, it’s okay.” He smiles, but it’s shaky and wrong. “It’s okay. You have to go. You have your life, and I have schedules, and we both know love doesn’t magically fix distance.”
You cry harder.
He immediately softens.
“Don’t do that,” he whispers.
“I can’t help it.”
“You’re making it really hard to be mature and emotionally impressive.”
A laugh escapes you through your tears.
There. He did it again.
Made it lighter, even when he was breaking.
You step closer. “I don’t want this to be goodbye.”
He looks at you for a long moment.
Then he reaches for your hand.
His fingers tremble around yours.
“It doesn’t have to be,” he says. “But it’s still going to hurt.”
You nod.
“I know.”
He looks at your joined hands.
For once, he doesn’t let go.
“Can I kiss you again?”
You answer before he finishes asking.
This kiss is different.
The first one was soft with relief.
This one aches.
This one knows there’s a suitcase waiting somewhere. A passport. A boarding pass. A morning neither of you can stop. This one tastes like salt and almosts and all the time you wasted being afraid.
Jisung holds your face in both hands.
You hold onto his wrists like you’re scared he’ll disappear first.
When you pull apart, your foreheads rest together.
His eyes stay closed.
“If I had known,” he whispers, “I would’ve told you sooner.”
You shake your head. “I think we both would’ve found another reason to wait.”
He lets out a broken little laugh. “Probably.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
“I love you.”
His mouth trembles.
“Don’t say it like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re leaving.”
You close your eyes.
“I am leaving.”
The words hit him even though he already knew.
Jisung pulls you into his arms.
This time, he holds you tightly. No hesitation. No almost. His face tucks into your neck, and yours presses against his shoulder. You stand there in the empty hallway, wrapped around each other while the building hums quietly around you.
Everything feels normal and ruined at the same time.
He smells like laundry detergent and sweat and the sweets you gave him. His hoodie is soft under your fingers. His heartbeat is fast against yours.
You try to memorise all of it.
So does he.
Eventually, he whispers, “When do you have to be at the airport?”
“Early.”
“How early?”
“Too early.”
He nods against your shoulder.
“I’ll come.”
“You have practice.”
“I’ll come.”
“Jisung—”
“I’ll come,” he says again, voice shaking. “Don’t make me say goodbye here. Not in a hallway. Not after this.”
You pull back enough to see his face.
His eyes are red now, his cheeks damp, his expression trying so hard to be strong that it hurts to look at him.
“Okay,” you whisper.
He nods, swallowing hard.
“Okay.”
For a moment, neither of you moves.
Then, because he is Jisung, because he is heartbroken and terrified and still somehow himself, he says, “When you come back…”
You blink through tears. “When I come back?”
His cheeks turn pink despite everything.
“When you come back,” he says more firmly, “I’m confessing properly.”
A tiny smile pulls at your mouth. “You already confessed.”
“No,” he says quietly. “I want to do it right next time.”
“It was very you.”
“Exactly. I can do better.” He sniffles, then tries to look serious. “Flowers. A song. Maybe a candle.”
“You’re going to burn the dorm down.”
“One candle,” he argues. “Supervised.”
You laugh, and he looks so relieved to hear it that your chest aches.
“And I’ll cry,” he adds. “But in a cool way.”
“There’s a cool way to cry?”
“I’ll invent one.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“You love me.”
Your smile wobbles.
“I do.”
Jisung’s hand finds yours again.
This time, he doesn’t let go until he absolutely has to.
pairing. bf!ateez x reader
cw. none
notes. i'm so ateezpilled rn so pls enjoy this humble offering. still getting back into the groove of posting so bear with me <3 we will slowly but surely get back into zone!! credit to the og posters of these adorable babies btw! reblogs and comments are appreciated <3
Summary: Hyunjin is used to surviving storms, sword fights, and life at sea.None of that prepared him for a curious mermaid with too many questions, a love for stray cats, and a habit of looking at him like he’s something worth keeping.
masterlist
pairing: pirate!Hyunjin x mermaid!female reader
genre: fluff and angst
tags/cw: soft fantasy, emotional intimacy, POC traits, discovery/first experiences, strangers to lovers, first kiss
word count: 11.2k
previous
“Are you going to answer them?”
Silence settles heavily between you after the question.
Outside, the storm screams against the ship hard enough to rattle the cabin walls while thunder rolls endlessly overhead.
Still, neither of you moves.
Hyunjin’s hand remains wrapped loosely around your wrist. Your throat tightens painfully beneath the weight of his gaze.
Because he deserves an answer. Gods, he deserves honesty after all of this. But the truth feels unbearable spoken aloud.
Another thread of singing curls closer beneath the thunder outside. Causing your pulse to stumble violently in response.
Hyunjin feels it instantly beneath his thumb. “You are,” he realizes quietly. Not accusing. Worse.
Heartbroken already.
Your eyes squeeze shut briefly. “I don’t want to.”
The confession nearly tears itself out of your chest. And for one horrible second, relief flashes across Hyunjin’s face before he can stop it. Like that answer alone matters more than the danger.
More than the storm. More than anything.
Then another violent crash rocks through the ship hard enough to throw both of you sideways slightly.
Shouting erupts overhead. A sailor screams somewhere on deck. Your head snaps instantly toward the ceiling. The singing swells sharply beneath the storm outside.
Hyunjin stands immediately, but this time you see it happen differently. Because now you understand exactly what he’s about to do.
He’s going to choose you anyway.
Even if it destroys him.
Even if it risks the crew.
Even if the ocean itself drags the ship under trying to keep you here.
The realization settles cold and awful inside your chest.
Another scream cuts through the storm overhead. Closer this time.
Hyunjin moves instinctively toward the door but you grab his wrist before he can leave.
He looks back immediately, and gods the concern on his face almost ruins your resolve instantly.
“Listen to me carefully,” you whisper.
Something in your voice makes him go still.
The storm groans violently around the cabin while seawater lashes against the windows hard enough to sound almost alive. “If I stay here,” you say softly, “they won’t stop.”
“No,” you say, and your voice breaks slightly this time. “You can’t.”
Because the sirens aren’t trying to sink the ship. They’re trying to take back what belongs to the sea.
You.
Another violent tilt nearly knocks books from the shelves again. The singing rises louder beneath the thunder outside.
Hyunjin steps toward you anyway. “You don’t get to decide this alone,” he says quietly.
The words hit hard enough to nearly destroy what little resolve you have left. Because part of you wants him to stop you.
Gods.
Part of you wants him to make this impossible.
But then another shout erupts overhead. Followed immediately by the sickening sound of something heavy slamming against the deck outside.
Your stomach twists violently.
The crew. Chan. Jisung. Changbin. People who welcomed you and protected you.
Fed you and trusted you without hesitation. People who could die because you stayed.
Your grip loosens slowly around Hyunjin’s wrist, and somehow he realizes what you’re about to do immediately.
The color drains subtly from his face. “No,” he says softly.
Not sounding like a captain at this moment. Not calm either.
Just Hyunjin who has fallen hopelessly in love.
You’ve never heard him sound afraid before. Which makes this infinitely worse. Your eyes burn painfully. “I’m sorry.”
Hyunjin grabs your face before you can pull away. Fast enough that it feels almost desperate.“Don’t do this.”
His voice breaks slightly on the words. And gods, that hurts more than the storm.
“If you leave now—”
He stops. Like he physically cannot finish the sentence. Your hands shake where they clutch the front of his soaked shirt. Because you can’t bear hearing it either.
Another pulse of singing crashes beneath the thunder outside. The ship groans violently and somewhere above deck, sailors shout again.
Time is running out. Hyunjin knows it. You know it. Neither of you wants to say it out loud.
“Please,” he whispers. Not commanding. Not bargaining. Just pleading now. “Stay."
The word nearly destroys you. Because gods, you want to.
You want to stay in this cabin forever.
You want mornings with tea and his shirts draped over your shoulders.
You want bakery trips and storms that end safely and the sound of him humming softly while maps scatter across his desk.
You want him.
The realization crashes through you so painfully your vision burns instantly. Hyunjin notices, as he always does.
His forehead presses desperately against yours while one hand trembles slightly against your cheek. “You don’t have to go,” he whispers again, quieter this time. “We’ll figure something out.”
Another violent scream echoes overhead.
The singing swells sharply beneath it. Your stomach twists hard enough to make you feel sick.
No. There is no figuring this out. Not tonight. Not while the sea keeps trying to drag his crew overboard for your sake.
Your fingers tighten shakily against his shirt. “Hyunjin,” you whisper softly.
He looks at you immediately, and the expression on his face almost ruins you completely. Because he already knows.Some part of him already understands this is the end of something.
“I need you to listen to me.”
His jaw tightens hard enough that you see the muscle jump beneath rain-damp skin. “No.”
Your breath catches painfully. “You asked me before if I was going to answer them.” Your voice shakes slightly now despite your best efforts. “I think… I think I already knew.”
His eyes close briefly, like the words physically hurt.
Outside, thunder splits violently across the sky. The ship lurches again, and this time neither of you moves.
“I can’t lose you,” he says suddenly. The confession leaves him rough and immediate.
Honest enough to tear straight through your chest, because Hyunjin never says things halfway.
Not feelings. Not promises. Not this.
Tears burn violently behind your eyes now. “You won’t,” you lie softly.
Hyunjin lets out something dangerously close to a laugh. Broken around the edges. “That’s a terrible lie.”
That nearly shatters whatever resolve you still had left.
His hands tighten against your face like he’s terrified you’ll disappear the second he loosens his grip.
Maybe you will.
The storm screams around the cabin while seawater crashes violently against the hull outside. The ocean is impatient now.
You can feel it. Calling harder every second.
But all you can focus on is Hyunjin.
Rainwater still clings to his lashes. Blood slips slowly from the cut near his brow. His breathing sounds uneven beneath the thunder.
And somehow, even now, he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing that matters in the room.
Gods.
That’s exactly why you have to leave. Your hands lift shakily toward his wrists. Warm skin beneath your fingers. Familiar already.
“I need you to protect them for me,” you whisper softly.
His expression breaks instantly. “No.”
The answer comes so fast it almost sounds angry. But underneath it, fear.
Real fear.
Another violent crash rocks through the ship overhead hard enough to send something shattering across the deck outside. The singing swells sharply beneath it.
Closer. Your pulse stumbles painfully. “Hyunjin,” you whisper.
“No.”
His forehead presses harder against yours like proximity alone can keep you here. “You don’t get to ask me that.”
Tears finally spill down your face despite your best efforts. Because gods he’s making this impossible. “I’m trying to save them.”
“And I’m trying to save you.”
The words hit hard enough that your breath catches entirely. Silence crashes between you afterward. Heavy and devastating.
Because he means it. Not metaphorically. Not romantically.
Literally, he would choose you. Even now. Especially now, and that’s exactly why you can’t let him.
Another scream echoes faintly above deck, causing your resolve to shatter into urgency instantly afterward.
You grab the front of Hyunjin’s shirt harder before forcing yourself to say the words quickly before courage abandons you completely.
“If I stay, somebody dies.”
He stills.
The storm pounds violently against the cabin walls. Neither of you breathes.
Then he quietly speaks, “Don’t say that.”
Your throat tightens painfully. “But it’s true.”
The ocean pulses beneath the ship hard enough that every lantern in the cabin flickers violently at once. The singing rises.
Demanding you back.
He hears it too this time. Really hears it. You see the exact moment something awful settles into his expression, the realization that the sea is not going to stop.
Not for him. Not for the crew. Not for love.
Your fingers shake harder against his shirt. “I’m sorry,” you whisper again.
His eyes burn into yours desperately, like he’s trying to memorize every part of your face before something takes you away from him.
Then suddenly he kisses you. Not soft this time. Desperate and heartbroken. Like he’s trying to hold onto you with his mouth because his hands aren’t enough anymore.
The force of it nearly destroys what little strength you have left. Your fingers clutch helplessly at his soaked shirt while thunder cracks violently overhead.
He kisses you like someone standing at the edge of losing everything.
And gods maybe he is.
Another scream tears across the deck overhead, snapping reality back into place all at once. You pull away from Hyunjin before you can lose the courage to do it.
His hand catches your wrist instantly. “Wait—”
The word breaks apart in the middle, rough with panic.
Your throat burns painfully. “I’m sorry.” Then you wrench yourself free and run.
The cabin door bursts open against the storm, rain immediately lashing across your skin hard enough to sting. Chaos consumes the deck around you; sailors shouting over the roar of the waves, ropes straining overhead, the ship groaning violently beneath the force of the sea.
And underneath all of it, louder now than the thunder itself, the singing calls to you.
The ocean already knows what you’ve chosen.
“Hey!” Jisung shouts somewhere near the mast. “Where is she going?!”
You barely hear him, because behind you, Hyunjin’s voice cuts through the storm so sharply it nearly stops your heart.
“Stop!”
Gods.
You almost do.
Lightning splits across the sky overhead, illuminating the water beside the ship in flashes of silver-white. Shapes move beneath the waves, pale and waiting just below the surface. The closer you get to the railing, the louder the singing becomes, until it feels less like sound and more like something pulling directly against your ribs.
Another violent wave crashes against the ship hard enough to throw several sailors sideways.
Then suddenly Hyunjin is there.
His hand locks around your wrist, spinning you back toward him before you can reach the edge.
Rainwater drips from his hair into his eyes while panic burns openly across his face now. No captain composure left. No restraint. Just Hyunjin, breathing hard like he’s already losing you.
“You don’t get to do this alone.” The words nearly shatter you.
Because even now, even standing in the middle of a storm trying to drag you back into the sea, he’s still trying to stand beside you through it.
Another cry erupts somewhere across the deck as the ship tilts dangerously again. Hyunjin barely reacts. His eyes never leave yours.
That’s the problem.
He would choose you every time.
Even now. Especially now.
Your fingers fist shakily in the front of his coat, pulling him closer through the rain until your foreheads collide. His breathing catches against yours.
“I love you,” you whisper.
You feel the exact second something breaks across his face.
Then, before either of you can survive what comes after that, you let go.
And throw yourself backward over the railing.
Hyunjin shouts your name. The sound follows you all the way into the ocean.
Freezing black water crashes around you as the sea closes overhead, swallowing thunder, wind, everything except the ache tearing through your chest.
For one terrible moment the storm roars louder than ever above the surface.
Then suddenly, complete silence.
The singing stops. The waves still.
The wind dies almost unnaturally fast.
Above the water, the ship steadies.
You surface only once. Just long enough to look back.
Hyunjin stands at the railing motionless beneath the fading storm, soaked through and staring at the ocean like something inside him disappeared with you.
Even from here, you can see it.
He’s already not the same.
Your chest aches violently enough that you almost swim back to him.
Almost.
But beneath the water, the current curls gently around your body, pulling you farther from the ship, farther from him, carrying you toward the deep like the sea has finally reclaimed what belonged to it.
And this time, despite the way your heart breaks with every passing second, you let it.
Hyunjin doesn’t move.
For a few seconds, nobody on the ship does.
The ocean settles into unnatural calm around the vessel while rain weakens overhead into a soft drizzle.
Silence spreads slowly across the deck. No singing. No violent waves.
Nothing.
Like the storm had never existed at all.
Hyunjin stares at the water anyway.
Waiting.
Breathing hard enough that his chest physically aches beneath it.
Because any second now, she’ll come back. She has to. Another wave rolls harmlessly against the side of the ship.
Nothing surfaces.
Behind him, sailors slowly begin recovering from the chaos around the deck. Someone says his name carefully.
He doesn’t answer. His hands still grip the railing hard enough to hurt.
Cold seawater drips from his sleeves while his eyes search desperately through black water already swallowing every trace of her.
Gone.
The realization doesn’t hit all at once. It arrives slowly. Cruelly.
She really left.
Chan is next to Hyunjin after he finds his footing again, his eyes darting from the place you disappeared beneath the water back toward his captain.
For once, he looks completely lost on what to say.
The rest of the crew stays strangely quiet behind them. No shouting or joking. Just exhausted sailors standing beneath fading rain while the ocean settles into eerie calm around the ship.
Jisung stares openly at the water like he’s waiting for you to resurface too. Like this might still somehow become a story with a different ending.
He doesn’t move.
Chan’s voice comes carefully when he finally speaks. “Captain…”
Nothing.
Hyunjin’s eyes never leave the sea. His breathing still sounds uneven, like his body hasn’t realized the storm is over yet.
Or maybe it has.
Maybe that’s the problem, because the second the ocean calmed down, it confirmed everything she said.
She really saved them.
The realization settles through the deck heavily enough that even the crew seems to feel it.
Chan glances back toward the water once more before looking at Hyunjin again, and something painful flickers across his expression.
Because he’s known Hyunjin a long time.
Long enough to understand immediately, something important just got ripped out of him.
Another wave rolls harmlessly against the ship. Still nothing surfaces. Hyunjin’s grip tightens harder against the railing.
Waiting anyway.
Chan steps closer after a moment. “She’s gone.”
The words leave quietly. Gently.
Like he already regrets saying them.
Hyunjin finally reacts then. Just a slight shake of his head while his eyes stay fixed on the dark water below.
“No.” The answer comes immediately. Certain. Like refusing the truth alone might somehow undo it. Rainwater drips steadily from his hair onto the deck while silence stretches painfully around him.
Then, quieter, “She said she’d come back.”
Chan’s chest visibly tightens at the words, because no.
She didn’t. Not this time.
But Hyunjin is staring at the ocean like a man still waiting for the ending to change, and nobody onboard has the heart to break that illusion yet.
And the worst part? Part of him genuinely believes it.
Not because he’s delusional, but because the last thing you said to him wasn’t goodbye.
It was, 'I love you.'
That changes everything, because now there’s still something unfinished between you.
And unfinished things come back.
That’s what he’s holding onto.
The first thing Chan notices is that Hyunjin stopped humming. Not immediately.
At first, there were bigger things to focus on after the storm: damaged sails, exhausted crew members, repairs along the starboard side.
Life aboard the ship kept moving whether anyone wanted it to or not, but slowly, quietly, the absence started settling into places nobody expected.
And Hyunjin changed with it, not dramatically. That would’ve been easier. Instead, pieces of him simply started disappearing one by one.
The humming vanished first. Then the teasing.
Then the way his eyes used to soften automatically whenever somebody mentioned shore leave or bakeries or anything warm enough to resemble a future.
The crew noticed all of it. Nobody said anything. Mostly because none of them knew how.
જ⁀➴
One month later, the sea is calm again.
Hyunjin hates it.
The ship cuts steadily through dark water beneath a cloudless night sky while the crew settles into quieter routines around him.
Jisung laughs somewhere near the mast at something Changbin says.
Chan checks inventory beside the lanterns near the stairs below deck.
Normal sounds. Normal night.
Hyunjin stands at the railing anyway.
Watching the ocean. Still.
Chan notices that too.
The captain has started taking night watch himself more often lately. Nobody argues with him about it anymore. Not after the third time they found him still standing there at sunrise.
Wind shifts softly through the sails overhead while Hyunjin stares into black water stretching endlessly around the ship.
Waiting. Still.
Like some part of him genuinely believes if he looks long enough, she’ll come back.
Chan’s chest tightens painfully every time he sees it.
Because the worst part is, sometimes he thinks Hyunjin believes it less now.
That’s what changed this month. Not the longing.
The hope.
It faded slowly enough that nobody noticed until it was already gone, or mostly gone.
Hyunjin still keeps her blanket folded in the corner of his cabin. Still hasn’t moved the extra cup sitting beside the washbasin. Still goes painfully still whenever someone mentions storms.
But now there’s something heavier sitting underneath all of it. Acceptance trying to settle in, and Hyunjin fighting it every step of the way.
Chan glances toward him again from across the deck. Moonlight catches silver against the rings still lining Hyunjin’s fingers while seawater moves quietly below.
For a second, he almost says something.
He misses her too.
All of them do. The ship feels different without her presence in it. Quieter. Colder somehow.
But before Chan can open his mouth, Hyunjin suddenly straightens slightly at the railing. Stillness overtakes his entire body at once.
Chan’s stomach drops instantly, because he recognizes that look now.
Hope.
Terrible, dangerous hope.
Slowly, Hyunjin steps closer to the edge of the ship. Eyes fixed somewhere out across the dark water. And quietly, almost too quietly to hear, “No way.”
Chan is moving before he fully realizes it, crossing the deck quickly toward the railing.
“What?”
Hyunjin doesn’t answer immediately. His eyes stay fixed on the water below. For one terrible second, hope flashes so openly across his face that Chan’s chest physically aches at the sight of it.
Then, nothing.
Only dark ocean stretching endlessly beside the ship. A soft ripple amongst the current.
The expression disappears from Hyunjin’s face slowly. Quietly. Like something folding back in on itself.
Chan’s stomach drops.
Gods.
Hyunjin exhales once through his nose before stepping back from the railing. “Thought I saw something,” he says flatly.
The words sound practiced now. That’s the worst part. Like this has happened before.
Neither of them says her name afterward. The sea moves calmly beneath the ship. Giving nothing back.
The ship had gone quiet hours ago. Most of the crew turned in early. Even Jisung had stopped talking eventually.
But Hyunjin lingered above deck until the sky turned completely black. Waiting. Still.
The cabin door creaks softly shut behind him as he steps inside.
And immediately, the silence feels wrong. Not empty.
Worse, familiar.
His eyes catch on everything at once without meaning to: the folded blanket near the bed, the extra cup beside the washbasin, one of his shirts still draped over the chair where you left it. Like you might walk back in and reach for it again.
Hyunjin exhales slowly through his nose before crossing toward the desk.
The ship rocks gently beneath him now. Calm. The ocean hasn’t been rough since the night you left.
That somehow makes it harder to forgive.
He reaches automatically toward the kettle near the lantern, exhaustion heavy in every movement now.
Then pauses halfway through pouring, because he almost grabbed two cups.
Hyunjin goes still for one long second afterward before setting the second cup back down without looking at it again.
Gods.
He’s tired.
Tired in a way sleep hasn’t fixed once this entire month.
His hand drags slowly down his face before he sinks into the chair beside the desk, elbows braced against his knees while the cabin creaks softly around him. The silence stretches.
No laughter. No teasing. No quiet voice asking him strange questions about humans like every answer mattered.
Just waves against the hull, and him.
Hyunjin’s eyes drift unconsciously toward the window beside the bed afterward.
Dark water moves endlessly beyond the glass. Waiting. Always waiting.
Something painful tightens briefly across his expression before he leans back in the chair and closes his eyes.
For one terrible second, he can almost remember exactly what it felt like to hold you.
Warm hands tangled in his coat. Rainwater on your skin. “I love you” breaking apart between breaths before you disappeared into the sea.
His chest aches violently enough that he physically stills against it.
Gods.
He misses you. The realization should not still feel this sharp after a month.
But somehow it does, and somehow it feels worse.
The ocean welcomed you home like nothing had changed.
Currents curled warmly around your body the second you returned to deeper water. Familiar voices echoed beneath the waves. Ancient songs drifted through the sea like soft lullabies while moonlight filtered silver through the surface far above.
Everything should have felt comforting. Instead, it felt wrong. Not enough to hurt immediately. Just enough that you noticed it constantly. The water felt colder.
The silence between songs stretched too long. Even the currents pulling gently against your skin sometimes reminded you of hands instead.
His hands.
Your chest tightened painfully at the thought.
જ⁀➴
A month later, you still woke expecting the soft sway of a ship beneath you instead of endless open water.
And gods, that part was the worst.
Because no matter how deep you swam, no matter how many familiar voices surrounded you again, some part of you kept listening for creaking wood and distant laughter that no longer existed around you.
You surfaced more often now. Too often.
The older sirens noticed eventually, they never stopped you outright though.
But you felt their eyes lingering every time you disappeared toward the surface after sunset.
Watching. Wondering. Maybe understanding more than you cared.
Tonight, the ocean is calm. Moonlight spills silver across dark water while you float just beneath the surface, listening quietly to distant waves rolling through the night.
Somewhere far away, faint enough that another creature would miss it entirely, wood creaks against water.
Your heartbeat stumbles instantly.
A ship. Not just any ship.
His.
You know it before you even see the lanterns.
Gods, you know you should turn away now.
Instead, your body moves toward the sound automatically.
Like your heart made the decision long before your mind had the chance to argue with it.
You stop once the ship finally comes into view.
Far enough away that nobody onboard should be able to see you. Close enough that you can.
Lantern light glows warmly against dark wood while waves rock gently beneath the hull. The sight of it hits you harder than expected. Your chest tightens painfully.
Home.
No. The thought hurts too much to finish.
You sink lower instinctively beneath the surface before slowly resurfacing again closer this time, careful to stay hidden within the darkness surrounding the ship.
The deck looks quieter than you remember.
Then you see him.
Hyunjin stands alone at the railing beneath pale moonlight, dark coat shifting softly in the wind while his eyes remain fixed on the ocean around him.
Waiting.
Gods.
Your chest physically aches at the sight.
He looks tired. Not exhausted in the way storms leave people exhausted. Something deeper than that. Quieter.
The softness that used to live so easily in him now feels buried beneath something heavier, and somehow that hurts worse than anger would have.
You should leave immediately. Instead, you stay. Watching him the same way he spent the last month watching the sea for you.
Wind shifts softly through the sails overhead while moonlight scatters silver across the water between you.
For one terrible second, you almost let yourself imagine swimming closer. Just once.
Just enough to hear his voice again.
Then suddenly, Hyunjin stills.
Your breath catches instantly.
Slowly, he steps closer to the railing. Eyes narrowing toward the water directly where you float beneath the surface.
Hope flashes openly across his face so suddenly it nearly destroys you. Like he sees you. Your heart lurches violently.
Instinct drags you backward beneath the water before you can stop yourself, the movement sending a small ripple across the otherwise still surface.
Silence follows immediately afterward.
You stay hidden beneath the waves, pulse racing painfully while moonlight fractures overhead.
Gods, you almost surfaced.
When you finally rise carefully again farther away moments later, Chan stands beside Hyunjin now.
You can’t hear the words exchanged between them, but you see the exact moment Hyunjin’s expression falls. The hope disappears quietly. Like something folding painfully back into place.
And suddenly your chest hurts so badly you have to press a hand against it.
Because that look.....you caused that.
The ocean moves gently around you while Hyunjin steps back from the railing again, his face unreadable now beneath moonlight and shadow.
But even from this distance, you can tell he’s trying not to hope anymore.
That realization hurts worse than the storm ever did.
You should leave.
Instead, you stay hidden in the dark water beside the ship until dawn threatens the horizon, watching lantern light flicker softly across the deck while the ocean carries you silently alongside him for one more night.
You leave before sunrise. You always do.
By the time the crew wakes, you’re already gone beneath deeper water again, far enough away that the ship becomes only a shadow against the horizon.
And still, somehow, you return again the next night. And the next.
You tell yourself it’s harmless.
Just checking that they’re safe.
Just making sure the storms stay gone.
Just one more glimpse of him.
But deep down, you know the truth long before you’re willing to admit it. You miss him too much to stay away.
The ship eventually docks at a busy port near the southern coast several days later.
You recognize the scene from the cliffs overlooking the harbor: rows of glowing lanterns, crowded streets packed tightly against the shoreline, music drifting faintly through evening air, humans moving endlessly along the docks below.
Human life. Loud and warm and painfully alive.
You should leave before they reach shore. Instead, you follow from a distance as the crew spills into the crowded port beneath fading sunset.
Jisung is the first one off the ship, already talking loudly enough that several nearby merchants turn to stare at him in annoyance. Changbin shoves him lightly toward the dock before hopping down after him while Chan shakes his head behind them, visibly used to this by now.
And then Hyunjin appears.
Your breath catches instantly despite yourself. He looks better than he did a month ago. That realization hurts immediately.
Not happier. Not healed.
Just…functioning again.
His shoulders don’t look quite so heavy anymore. There’s color back in his face beneath the lantern glow. He even responds when Changbin says something to him, the corner of his mouth lifting briefly in what almost resembles a smile.
Your chest tightens painfully watching it, because for the first time since leaving, you suddenly realize something awful, he’s learning how to live without you.
The thought settles deep enough to make your stomach twist.
This was a horrible idea.
Following them into the port. Seeing him again. Letting yourself stay close enough to watch him slowly survive your absence.
And gods, somehow it’s still worth it.
Worth the ache that burns through your legs every time you force your body back onto land. Worth the faint irritation crawling beneath your skin the longer you stay separated from the ocean.
When you surface with legs again, the loneliness of it hits immediately.
You’re doing this alone.
Learning how to walk again without laughter beside you. Searching for clothes in silence. Stealing dry fabric from crowded clothing lines while lantern light flickers softly through unfamiliar streets.
Human life continues around you without noticing, but all you can think about is finding him again.
And once you do, you follow carefully through crowded streets afterward, hidden between shadows and unfamiliar faces while gold lantern light spills warmly across the harbor.
The crew looks more alive here.
Jisung talks with his hands while telling some dramatic story to Chan near a street vendor. Changbin steals food directly off someone else’s plate and nearly gets hit for it.
And Hyunjin tries.
Gods, he tries.
He listens when Chan speaks to him. Responds when Jisung complains dramatically about being hungry again. Even laughs once quietly under his breath when Changbin nearly walks into a fish barrel while distracted.
The sound hits you like a knife. It’s real, and instead of comforting you, panic twists sharply through your chest.
He’s surviving.
Another month and maybe he’ll stop waiting at the railing entirely.
Another few months and maybe the ocean won’t remind him of you first anymore.
The thought makes it suddenly difficult to breathe.
Hyunjin slows briefly near the edge of the street ahead.
Your heartbeat stumbles immediately. A bakery.
Warm light spills through the windows onto the crowded sidewalk while the smell of sweet cinnamon drifts faintly into the evening air.
Gods.
For one terrible second, you think he might go inside. Instead, Hyunjin pauses only briefly before something shutters quietly across his expression.
Then he keeps walking. Like he already told himself not to stop there.
Your chest hurts violently enough that you physically stop moving in the middle of the crowded street.
Because suddenly, horribly, you understand that he is trying to let you go.
And gods, you don’t think you can survive that.
Then he slows suddenly. Not enough for the others to notice immediately. Just a slight hesitation in the middle of the crowded street.
Your breath catches.
His expression shifts almost imperceptibly afterward, brows pulling together faintly while his eyes drift slowly across the harbor around him.
Searching.
Gods.
The movement feels horribly familiar. Like instinct. Like some part of him still notices the space you should occupy before his mind can stop it.
And for one impossible second, his gaze almost lands directly on you.
Your pulse stumbles violently as you step backward into shadow instinctively before he can fully turn your direction.
But the damage is already done.
Because even now, even after everything, some part of Hyunjin still searches for you.
Your heartbeat pounds violently against your ribs while Hyunjin’s gaze lingers briefly across the crowded street.
Then stops, directly on you.
For one impossible second, neither of you moves. The noise of the harbor fades completely beneath the rush of your pulse.
Gods.
He sees you. Not clearly enough though.
Lantern light flickers between passing strangers while shadows cut unevenly across your face beneath the hood pulled over your hair.
Still, recognition flashes across Hyunjin’s expression instantly, sharp enough to hurt.
Your breath catches as Hyunjin takes one slow step forward. Then another. Like he already knows this can’t be real.
“Captain?” Chan says somewhere beside him.
Hyunjin barely seems to hear it. His eyes stay locked on yours across the crowded harbor while disbelief slowly overtakes every other expression on his face.
And gods, that look nearly destroys you.
Because for the first time in a month, hope returns to his face again.
Real hope. Terrible, dangerous hope.
Then someone passes between you.
Only for a second, however, but when Hyunjin looks again, you’re gone.
And standing hidden between shadows half a street away, chest heaving painfully beneath borrowed clothes, you realize with horrifying clarity that, you should have stayed in the ocean.
જ⁀➴
A few days later, Hyunjin stops sleeping properly altogether.
Chan notices because the captain starts appearing above deck before sunrise now, standing silently at the railing while the rest of the ship still sleeps below.
Always watching the water.
At first, Chan thinks it’s habit. Then one morning he hears Hyunjin speaking quietly under his breath and realizes otherwise.
“You’re being cruel now,” Hyunjin murmurs toward the ocean.
The sea answers only with soft waves against the hull. Chan stays hidden near the stairs instead of interrupting, something about the sight hurts too much to intrude on.
Hyunjin exhales slowly afterward, eyes fixed on dark water stretching endlessly around the ship. “I know you’re alive,” he says softly.
Not angry.
Gods, that would’ve been easier.
Instead he sounds tired. Worn thin around the edges by hope he keeps trying to kill unsuccessfully.
Wind shifts gently through the sails overhead.
Nothing answers him.
Eventually Hyunjin laughs once quietly under his breath. Broken around the edges.
“I’m starting to sound insane.” Then he disappears back below deck before sunrise fully reaches the horizon.
But later that night, when he returns to his cabin after inventory checks with Chan, he stops dead in the doorway.
The lantern beside the bed still burns low. The room looks untouched at first. Then his eyes catch on the desk.
Three seashells rest carefully beside the extra cup near the washbasin.
Small.
Perfectly dry.
Hyunjin goes completely still, and for one terrible second, he genuinely can’t breathe.
Because nobody onboard would do this.
Nobody onboard even knows. Slowly, he crosses the cabin. His fingers hover briefly above the shells before finally touching one carefully like it might disappear beneath his hand.
Gods.
Something sharp twists violently through his chest. Hope.
Dangerous, devastating hope.
His eyes search the cabin instantly afterward.
The blanket. The chair. The shadows near the windows.
Nothing.
Then, water drips softly somewhere behind him causing Hyunjin to turn immediately.
Wet footprints trail faintly across the wooden floorboards near the window.
Fresh enough that seawater still glimmers beneath lantern light. His heartbeat nearly stops.
The footprints end abruptly beside the open window facing the ocean.
Like whoever left them disappeared back into the sea seconds before he entered. He stares at them for one long moment before something fragile finally breaks across his expression.
Not grief this time.
Something worse.
Hope returning all at once after he spent weeks trying to survive without it.
His hand braces suddenly against the edge of the desk while he lowers his head briefly, breathing unevenly.
Because gods, she came back.
And left again.
You almost stayed.
The thought follows you through dark water long after the ship disappears behind you again.
Moonlight fractures silver across the surface overhead while currents pull softly against your skin, but your mind stays trapped inside Hyunjin’s cabin.
Inside the look on his face when he found the shells.
Gods.
You shouldn’t have watched. But you couldn’t leave either.
Not after hearing him speak to the ocean like it might answer him back. That alone nearly destroyed you.
‘You’re being cruel now.’
The words replay endlessly in your head while you drift deeper beneath the waves. Because maybe he’s right.
Maybe this is cruel.
Returning only long enough to haunt him. Leaving proof behind like scraps of hope before disappearing again.
Your chest aches violently, because when Hyunjin touched the shells, something inside his expression changed instantly.
Real hope.
The kind you promised yourself you wouldn’t give him again unless you planned to stay.
And gods, you almost did
After that night, staying away becomes impossible.
You return to the ship more often than you mean to. At first only from a distance. Then closer.
Close enough to hear footsteps overhead through the hull.
Close enough to hear laughter drifting across the water late at night.
Close enough to hear them mention you. The first time it happens, you freeze completely beneath the surface beside the ship.
“So a mermaid.” Jisung says quietly.
Your entire body stills beneath the water. A long pause follows.
Then Changbin sighs softly. “You say that like we didn’t already know.”
“I mean…” Jisung hesitates. “We literally got emotionally attached to a sea cryptid.”
Then Chan spoke up, quietly this time, “She saved all of us.”
The words settle heavily somewhere deep inside your chest. Silence follows afterward, broken only by soft waves against the hull. Not awkward silence. Mourning.
You stay perfectly still beneath the surface while footsteps shift faintly overhead. “She made him worse, though,” Jisung mutters eventually.
Changbin snorts softly. “You mean softer.”
“No,” Jisung says immediately. “Like devastatingly sad. It’s upsetting.”
Your throat tightens painfully. None of them laugh this time.
Because they know.
Gods, they all know.
Then footsteps drift farther across the deck, voices fading slowly with them until only ocean wind remains overhead again.
You should leave.
Instead, your eyes lift instinctively toward the captain’s cabin window glowing warmly against the darkness.
And there he is.
Hyunjin sits alone at the desk, head resting against one hand while scattered maps lay untouched beneath lantern light.
Tired.
Gods.
He still looks tired causing your chest to ache painfully at the sight.
Then suddenly, softly enough that you almost think you imagined it, he hums.
Quiet and absentminded. The same melody he used to hum while be dried your hair with a towel.
Your breath catches violently, because he stopped.
Chan said he stopped.
And somehow hearing it again now feels infinitely worse. Like some part of him only remembers how around you.
જ⁀➴
The next night, the ocean is calm enough that the ship barely rocks beneath the tide.
You surface beside it anyway.
Habit now. Or maybe something worse.
Moonlight spills silver across the hull while faint lantern light glows through a handful of upper windows. Most of the crew has already gone to sleep. The deck above remains quiet except for the occasional creak of rope shifting softly in the wind.
You drift closer carefully.
Then freeze.
Hyunjin is already there.
Leaning against the railing like he’s been waiting for you.
Your heartbeat stumbles violently beneath the water.
For one terrible second, neither of you moves.
Moonlight catches silver against the rings lining his fingers while ocean wind brushes dark strands of hair across his forehead. He still looks tired. Softer around the edges now in a way that almost hurts to look at.
But not surprised.
That’s what destroys you.
Gods.
He knew.
Slowly, Hyunjin lifts his eyes fully toward the water where you linger half-hidden beneath darkness.
Directly at you.
No searching this time. No uncertainty. Just quiet certainty settling between you both across the water.
“You’re getting predictable,” he says softly.
The words aren’t teasing enough to disguise the emotion beneath them.
Your throat tightens instantly.
Because gods, he really did know.
You should disappear beneath the surface immediately. Sink back into the ocean before this becomes impossible again.
Instead, you stay exactly where you are while waves curl gently around your shoulders.
Hyunjin watches you for another long moment before exhaling softly through his nose, gaze dropping briefly toward the water between you.
“You have to stop leaving and coming back.”
The words land harder than anger ever could have.
There’s no accusation in them. No bitterness. Just exhaustion threaded painfully through every syllable, like he’s tired of surviving your absence over and over again.
Your chest aches violently. “I tried,” you whisper.
His expression shifts immediately at the sound of your voice.
Gods.
Like hearing it again physically hurts him.
Hyunjin steps closer to the railing slowly, fingers tightening briefly against the wood before relaxing again. “Yeah,” he says quietly after a moment. “I know.”
The ocean moves softly between you while neither of you looks away.
And suddenly the entire month apart feels unbearably visible all at once: the sleepless nights, the waiting, the grief, the pretending.
All the almosts that never stopped hurting no matter how many times you told yourself they would.
Your eyes burn painfully beneath the weight of it.
“You were healing,” you admit softly before you can stop yourself.
Something complicated flickers across Hyunjin’s face at the words. Almost frustration. Almost heartbreak.
“I was surviving,” he corrects quietly. The honesty in it steals the breath directly from your lungs.
Your fingers curl tighter against the side of the ship while moonlight trembles across the water around you. “I thought it would get easier,” you confess.
Hyunjin lets out a soft laugh beneath his breath, broken gently around the edges in a way that immediately reminds you of the storm.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Me too.”
Silence settles between you afterward, but not empty silence this time.
Full silence.
The kind that only exists between two people who already know exactly how much they love each other.
Then his gaze softens again, something quieter moving through his expression while he looks at you like he’s still convincing himself you’re really here.
And carefully, so carefully, like the answer matters more than his own breathing, he asks, “Are you staying tonight?”
Your breath catches painfully at the question, because he says it so carefully.
Not hopeful enough to pressure you.
Not distant enough to pretend he doesn’t care.
Just honest.
Like he already knows this answer has the power to ruin him all over again.
The ocean shifts softly around you while wind brushes cool against your damp skin.
You should say no.
You should disappear beneath the waves before sunrise and never come back close enough to hurt him again.
Instead, your fingers tighten slowly against the side of the ship.
“I don’t know how to do this anymore,” you whisper.
Something in Hyunjin’s expression softens instantly at the confession.
Not pity. Understanding.
Gods, that somehow makes it worse.
“You don’t have to figure it out alone.”
The words settle heavily into your chest.
Dangerous.
Always dangerous with him.
Because Hyunjin says things so simply sometimes, like love is the easiest truth in the world instead of the thing currently tearing both of you apart.
You look down briefly at the water between you, moonlight trembling silver across the surface.
“The others…” Your throat tightens slightly. “They deserve peace after everything.”
Hyunjin’s jaw shifts faintly beneath the lantern glow.
“They have peace.”
“You don’t.” The answer leaves before you can stop it.
Silence follows immediately afterward. Heavy.
Because that’s the real wound underneath all of this.
Not the storms. Not the sirens. Not even the ocean itself.
Him.
His eyes never leave your face while the wind moves softly through the quiet around you both.
Then finally, quieter now: “You really think I’d rather have this?”
Your chest aches instantly.
Because no.
Gods, no.
You know exactly what he would choose.
That’s always been the problem. A faint smile touches his mouth suddenly after a moment, tired and heartbreakingly small.
“You know,” he murmurs, “most people don’t repeatedly haunt someone they’re trying to avoid.”
Heat creeps embarrassingly into your face despite everything. “I wasn’t haunting you.”
Hyunjin lifts an eyebrow slightly. “You left seashells in my cabin.”
Your stomach twists immediately.
“And wet footprints,” he continues softly. “Which honestly felt a little unnecessary.”
You stare at him in horror while Hyunjin’s mouth finally curves into something more real.
Gods.
You missed that expression so much it physically hurts. “I can’t believe you noticed the footprints.”
“I noticed because I nearly had a heart attack.”
A startled laugh escapes you before you can stop it. The sound cuts through the quiet ocean air softly.
Hyunjin stills instantly at the noise. Like hearing you laugh again affects him more than he expected. The smile fades from his face afterward into something gentler.
More vulnerable.
“You disappeared before I could even say thank you.”
Your chest tightens painfully. “For what?”
His eyes flick toward the water briefly before returning to yours again. “For coming back.”
The honesty in the answer nearly undoes you completely.
Because he means the shells.
The footprints.
The harbor.
Tonight.
Every single time you couldn’t stay away from him.
The ocean rocks gently around your body while emotion lodges painfully somewhere beneath your ribs.
“You make it very difficult to leave,” you whisper.
Hyunjin exhales softly through his nose. “Good.”
The word settles warmly and painfully through your chest at the same time.
Wind shifts gently across the water between you while neither of you moves. The ocean rocks softly around your body, cool against your skin beneath the moonlight, but somehow you still feel too warm.
Too aware of him.
Hyunjin’s gaze drifts over your face carefully, like he’s trying to memorize every expression before you disappear again. The thought alone makes something tighten painfully inside him.
You can see it.
Gods, you can always see it with him.
“I kept thinking,” he says quietly after a moment, “if I looked long enough, eventually you’d come back.”
Your throat tightens instantly.
“And then when I stopped believing it…” A faint laugh slips from him. Tired. Broken softly around the edges. “You started leaving shells in my cabin.”
“That was supposed to be comforting.”
“It was horrifying.”
Despite everything, another quiet laugh slips out of you. Hyunjin’s expression softens immediately at the sound.
There it is again. That look.
The one that keeps undoing you completely.
Like your existence alone still feels miraculous to him after all this time.
The ocean moves gently around you both while silence settles softer now. Easier.
Dangerously easy.
Then Hyunjin steps closer to the railing again until he’s nearly leaning over it, close enough now that moonlight catches fully across his face.
Close enough that if you reached up—
Your heartbeat stumbles violently at the thought.
“Please stay,” he says quietly.
No hesitation this time. No pretending he doesn’t want this.
Just honesty.
Raw enough that it nearly steals the air from your lungs.
Your eyes burn instantly.
Because gods, he says it like someone trying very hard not to beg.
Like he promised himself he wouldn’t ask again and lost that battle the second he saw you in the water.
The ship creaks softly overhead while the ocean curls gently around your waist.
You should leave. Instead, your body drifts unconsciously closer to the side of the ship.
Toward him.
Always toward him.
Hyunjin notices immediately.
Something fragile flickers across his expression so quickly it almost hurts to look at.
Hope. Real hope.
Not the desperate kind from before. Something quieter.
Like maybe this time you’re choosing him too.
You look down briefly into the dark water surrounding the ship.
Moonlight trembles softly across the surface while currents curl gently around your body, familiar and endless and safe in the way the ocean has always been.
Home.
But when your eyes lift again toward Hyunjin, something inside your chest aches so violently it nearly feels unbearable.
Because somehow, impossibly, he feels like home too now.
Gods.
That was never supposed to happen.
Your throat tightens painfully while Hyunjin waits in complete silence above you, like he’s afraid speaking again might scare you away.
The restraint in that alone nearly ruins you.
You glance back toward the sea one more time. Then quietly, “Just for tonight.”
For one terrible second, Hyunjin doesn’t react at all. Like he genuinely can’t believe he heard you correctly.
Then relief breaks across his face so suddenly and openly that your chest physically hurts at the sight of it.
Gods.
Nobody has ever looked happier to keep you than Hyunjin does right now.
The realization alone almost drags you under.
His eyes close briefly while he lets out one soft breath through his nose, head lowering like he’s trying to contain the emotion somewhere inside himself before it completely overtakes him.
When he looks back at you again, the softness in his expression feels almost unbearably warm.
“Okay,” he says quietly.
Just that. Like he already understands this is fragile.
Temporary. Maybe dangerous.
And he wants it anyway.
The word settles softly between you both.
Just for tonight.
Hyunjin’s hands tighten briefly against the railing like he’s physically stopping himself from reaching for you too quickly. The restraint alone makes your chest ache.
Then quietly, “Can you come up here?”
Your heartbeat stumbles instantly. The question shouldn’t feel this intimate after everything that’s already happened between you.
And yet somehow it does.
Because this isn’t desperation anymore.
Not the storm. Not panic. Not goodbye.
This is choice and free will.
Changing from your tail to legs became easier. Faster. Less painful. You hesitate only briefly before drifting closer to the ship.
Water slides softly around your body while Hyunjin moves immediately, already reaching down toward you before you fully surface beside the hull.
Warm hands close carefully around your wrists.
Gods, the contact nearly destroys you on impact.
Because it’s been a month.
A month without his hands.
Without his warmth.
Without being touched like you matter.
Your breath catches sharply while Hyunjin helps pull you upward onto the deck with impossible gentleness, like he still half-expects you to disappear if he holds too tightly.
The second your feet hit solid wood again, emotion crashes through you so violently it almost steals your balance.
The ship. The familiar creak beneath your feet. Salt in the air.
Lantern light swaying softly overhead.
Home again.
Hyunjin notices the exact second your expression changes. Of course he does. “You okay?” he asks quietly.
The concern in his voice nearly ruins you immediately.
You nod too fast. “Yeah.” A lie.
Hyunjin’s mouth softens slightly like he knows it too.
But instead of pushing, his thumb brushes lightly across your wrist once before he lets go slowly. Not far though.
Wind shifts softly across the deck while silence settles between you both again, quieter now that there’s no ocean separating you.
You suddenly become painfully aware of everything: your bare feet against damp wood, his coat brushing your arm, the way he keeps looking at you like he still can’t fully believe you’re here. Then he speaks softly, almost shy somehow, “I missed you.”
Your chest caves inward instantly. Because gods, after everything, he still says it so simply. No guilt. No blame.
Just truth.
You look down briefly before admitting quietly.
“I don’t think I stopped missing you once.”
Something in Hyunjin’s expression breaks apart at the confession.
Not painfully. Relief.
Pure, overwhelming relief.
Like some part of him genuinely feared he imagined all of this love alone.
Then before you can overthink anything again, his hand lifts carefully toward your face.
Slow enough to stop.
Gentle enough to survive.
His knuckles brush lightly against your cheek while ocean wind moves softly around you both.
“You’re cold,” he murmurs.
“You dragged me out of the ocean.”
A faint laugh slips from him immediately.
Gods, you missed that sound too much.
Then Hyunjin glances toward the cabin door behind him before looking back at you again.
That softness returns instantly. “C’mon,” he says quietly. “Let me take care of you for a little while.”
જ⁀➴
The second the cabin door shuts behind, Hyunjin pulls you immediately towards him again. Like the month apart erased whatever patience he’d been trying to hold onto upstairs.
Your breath catches sharply as his hands slide instinctively to your waist before he kisses you again, warm and desperate and impossibly relieved.
Gods He kisses you like someone finally breathing properly after nearly drowning.
Your fingers tangle shakily into the front of his shirt while Hyunjin backs you slowly against the door without breaking the kiss once.
Unable to stop like every second apart still lives somewhere inside him.
The ocean-damp air clings cool against your skin, but Hyunjin barely seems to notice. Doesn’t react to the fact that your tail became legs somewhere between the sea, the railing and the cabin.
Doesn’t notice the lack of clothes at all at first.
Only you. Always you.
One hand cradles your face carefully while the other tightens briefly at your waist like he needs physical proof you’re still here.
“I missed you,” he whispers against your mouth again, voice rough this time. The confession nearly destroys you.
Because gods, you know.
You felt it every night beside the ship.
Every ripple. Every almost.
Your hands slide upward instinctively into his hair while Hyunjin exhales shakily beneath the touch, forehead falling briefly against yours like he’s overwhelmed by the feeling of you touching him back.
“You came back,” he murmurs softly, almost disbelieving. Then finally, finally, his brain catches up enough to realize….you’re shivering.
Hyunjin immediately pulls back just enough to look down.
The realization visibly hits him all at once: bare skin, wet hair, water dripping onto the floorboards beneath your feet.
His eyes widen slightly. “Oh my god.”
But before embarrassment can fully settle in, Hyunjin is already reaching for the nearest towel hanging nearby and wrapping it carefully around your shoulders like that matters infinitely more to him than anything else.
And gods, that tenderness nearly ruins you all over again.
Once dried, he trades the towel for a blanket.
But the blanket slips slightly from your shoulders the second he pulls you back toward him again. Gentler this time.
Like now that the panic of losing you has settled, he finally has space to feel everything else underneath it.
Your hands slide instinctively against his chest while he guides you toward the edge of the bed without ever fully letting go.
The cabin feels warmer than before. Smaller somehow.
Filled completely with the sound of your breathing and the soft creak of the ship beneath you both.
Hyunjin sits first, then pulls you carefully into his lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Gods.
The intimacy of it nearly ruins you immediately.
One of his arms wraps securely around your waist beneath the blanket while the other brushes slowly through your damp hair, untangling strands with impossible patience.
Neither of you speaks for a moment afterward.
You just sit there tangled together while ocean wind taps softly against the windows outside.
The realization aches.
Your forehead rests against his automatically, and Hyunjin exhales softly at the contact like even this still feels unreal to him.
“You’re really here,” he murmurs quietly.
You close your eyes briefly. “You keep saying that.”
“Because you keep disappearing.”
The words aren’t accusing.
That somehow makes them hurt worse.
Your fingers tighten lightly against the fabric of his shirt while guilt twists painfully in your chest, but before you can apologize again, Hyunjin tilts his head slightly and presses another kiss against your mouth.
Like he’s trying to soothe something in both of you at once.
The hand in your hair slides gently to the back of your neck afterward, holding you closer while his lips drift softly along your jaw.
Your breath catches immediately.
Gods.
You missed this too much.
Hyunjin feels the reaction instantly. His forehead rests briefly against your cheek before he kisses the side of your neck slowly, lingering there in a way that makes your chest ache more than your pulse race.
Not hungry. Almost reverent.
Like he’s reassuring himself you’re still warm beneath his hands.
Your eyes flutter shut while his arm tightens subtly around your waist, holding you closer against him like some part of him genuinely fears you’ll vanish again if he loosens his grip.
And honestly?
Some part of you fears it too.
“You have no idea how hard this month was,” he whispers quietly against your skin.
The vulnerability in his voice nearly breaks your heart completely. Your fingers slide upward instinctively, brushing softly through his hair before cupping his face carefully between your hands.
“I know,” you whisper back.
For a while, neither of you moves.
You stay curled against him beneath the blanket while Hyunjin holds you quietly in the dim lantern light, his fingers still drifting absentmindedly through your hair like he can’t quite stop touching you now that he has you back.
The ship creaks softly around you.
Waves against the hull.
Wind beyond the windows.
His heartbeat steady beneath your ear.
Gods.
You missed this more than you survived it.
Hyunjin presses another slow kiss against your temple before resting his forehead lightly against yours again.
The contact feels instinctive now. “You’re exhausted,” he murmurs quietly.
“So are you.”
A faint smile touches his mouth at that. Small. Tired. “Yeah,” he admits softly. “But I’m significantly less miserable than I was an hour ago.”
Your chest aches painfully warm.
His hand slides slowly down your back beneath the blanket afterward before he pauses slightly, expression shifting like he’s only just now remembering something important.
“You probably don’t want to sleep wrapped in a blanket all night.”
Gods.
You had almost forgotten the whole naked situation entirely too.
Hyunjin notices your expression and immediately looks unfairly fond about it.
“You’re cute when you’re embarrassed.”
“Please don’t start being smug again.”
“I missed being smug around you.”
A startled laugh escapes you before you can stop it, and Hyunjin’s expression softens instantly at the sound like it physically means something to him now.
Maybe it does.
Then gently, carefully, he shifts you just enough to reach toward the chair near the desk where several clean shirts hang loosely over the back. He grabs the softest looking one immediately before offering it toward you.
“You can wear this.”
Your fingers brush his as you take it. Warm and familiar.
Dangerous in the way only Hyunjin ever is.
The shirt smells like him.
Saltwater and smoke.
Something warm underneath that your chest has apparently decided belongs to home now.
Your throat tightens softly around the realization.“I’m starting to think you just enjoy stealing my clothes,” Hyunjin murmurs.
You glance up immediately. “You gave me this one.”
“Details.” His thumb brushes lightly against your wrist again before he finally forces himself to let go completely so you can change.
Even then, he only moves a few steps away, turning his back politely while running a tired hand through his hair.
The restraint somehow feels more intimate than if he’d stared.
Your chest aches at the sight of him standing there in the soft lantern glow, exhausted and warm and heartbreakingly careful with you even now.
Quickly, you pull the shirt over your head.
The fabric falls far past your thighs, soft and familiar against your skin.
Too familiar.
Gods.
When you look back up, Hyunjin has already turned around again, and immediately stops breathing for half a second. The reaction hits you instantly.
Not lust.
Something softer. Something that looks dangerously close to affection overwhelming him all over again.
“You have to stop looking at me like that,” you murmur quietly.
“Probably,” Hyunjin agrees softly. Then, after a beat, “Not sure I can anymore.”
Your heartbeat completely loses stability beneath the warmth in his voice.
Hyunjin crosses back toward you slowly afterward, one hand lifting instinctively toward your waist before stopping himself just briefly. Giving you room to pull away.
Once you don’t, and he realizes, relief flickers visibly across his face before he pulls you gently back against him again.
“C’mere,” he murmurs quietly. “Let’s go to bed before I convince myself this is another hallucination.”
The bed dips softly beneath both of your weight the second Hyunjin pulls you down with him.
And somehow that alone feels intimate enough to steal the breath directly from your lungs.
You barely settle against the blankets before his hands find you again instinctively, warm palms sliding immediately to your waist like he physically cannot tolerate distance anymore.
Gods. The look on his face nearly ruins you. Still overwhelmed. Still relieved.
Still staring at you like you might disappear if he blinks too long.
Your fingers brush softly through his hair while Hyunjin leans into the touch unconsciously before kissing you again.
Slow at first.
Then deeper the second you kiss him back fully.
The sound he makes against your mouth is quiet. Almost shaky.
Like he’s still carrying too much emotion for his body to hold properly.
You end up half tangled across his lap and the sheets without really noticing how you got there, the oversized shirt twisted around your thighs while Hyunjin keeps pulling you closer every few seconds like he’s unsatisfied with any amount of space that currently exists between you.
Every time the kisses deepen too much, one of you breaks first.
Not to stop. Just because smiling keeps interrupting it.
Or because Hyunjin suddenly pulls you against his chest hard enough to bury his face briefly against your neck like the feeling of you there still overwhelms him.
Or because your fingers brush his face and his expression softens so much it physically hurts to look at.
“You’re smiling,” you whisper breathlessly at one point.
“So are you.”
“I think I might be in shock.”
A quiet laugh slips from him immediately before he kisses you again mid-sentence.
Gods. You missed this. Not just the kissing.
Him.
The warmth of him. The way his hands never stay still for long. The way he keeps touching your face like he’s grounding himself.
Hyunjin’s palm slides beneath the oversized shirt slowly afterward, fingertips brushing against bare skin at your waist.
The contact makes both of you pause for a second. Not out of hesitation. Emotion.
His eyes close briefly while his hand spreads gently against your side like he just needed to feel skin again. More specifically, yours.
Your chest aches so violently at the expression crossing his face that you kiss him again before thinking about it.
Hyunjin exhales shakily into your mouth immediately, one arm tightening around you while the other remains beneath your shirt, fingertips drifting slowly across your back like he’s trying to memorize every inch he lost for a month.
The kisses grow messier after that. Not rushed.
Just impossible to stop.
Slow kisses turning deeper before dissolving into breathless laughter against each other’s mouths. Foreheads pressed together while both of you try unsuccessfully to calm your breathing. His lips brushing your jaw, your cheek, the corner of your mouth because apparently neither of you can tolerate not touching each other for more than a few seconds anymore.
At some point Hyunjin ends up flat on his back with you half sprawled across his chest beneath the blankets, his hands still wandering absently beneath your shirt while your fingers trace slowly along the scar near his wrist.
The touch makes him visibly still beneath you. Your chest tightens immediately. “Does it still hurt?”
Hyunjin looks at you quietly for a moment before answering. “Not as much as you leaving did.” The words hit hard enough that your eyes burn instantly.
Gods.
Before guilt can fully settle in again, he reaches up and cups your face carefully between both hands.
“Don’t disappear anymore,” he murmurs softly. Causing your heart to nearly break at the plea hidden inside the words.
So instead, you lean down and kiss him slowly again while his hands tighten gently against your waist beneath the blankets.
And this time, when the kiss breaks apart, neither of you lets go.
જ⁀➴
Sometime in the middle of the night, Hyunjin wakes abruptly. For one horrible second, panic crashes through him so fast it physically hurts.
Dark cabin. Ocean outside. Cold air against his skin.
His body reacts before his mind fully catches up, hand reaching instinctively across the bed beside him; and freezing immediately. Warmth. Your warmth. You’re still there.
Curled half against his chest beneath the blankets, one hand loosely tangled in the fabric of his shirt like even asleep some part of you refuses to drift too far away from him.
Hyunjin goes completely still. Relief hits hard enough that he actually closes his eyes briefly against it.
The movement stirs you slightly. Your fingers tighten sleepily against his shirt while your forehead presses instinctively closer beneath his jaw.
“Hyunjin?” you murmur softly, barely awake. The quiet concern in your voice nearly destroys him all over again.
“I’m here,” he whispers immediately. Your breathing settles again within seconds.
Hyunjin stares silently at the ceiling afterward with one arm wrapped tightly around your waist beneath the blankets, fingers spread carefully against the bare skin beneath his shirt still hanging loosely on your body.
Not because he thinks you’ll disappear now. Just because he can.
Eventually exhaustion pulls him back under again, his breathing softening slowly beside you while dawn begins creeping pale and silver beyond the cabin windows.
But you stay awake. Watching the ocean. Waiting.
Because this is the first sunrise you’ve stayed through since returning.
And some part of you still expects punishment for it.
The singing beneath the waves. The storms. The unbearable pull dragging you back toward deeper water.
Instead, nothing.
Only soft morning light stretching slowly across calm ocean beyond the glass.
The ship rocks gently beneath the tide while sunlight spills gold across the blankets tangled around both of you.
Quiet.
No warning. No anger. No grief echoing through the sea.
For the first time since leaving him, the ocean feels still. Peaceful this time.
Your chest tightens painfully at the realization.
Slowly, almost disbelieving, you glance back toward Hyunjin asleep beside you, dark hair falling messily across his forehead while one arm remains wrapped securely around your waist even now.
Still holding on. Still choosing you even in sleep.
And gods, the ocean finally is too.
જ⁀➴
Morning sunlight spills softly across the deck sometime later.
Chan emerges above deck automatically, already expecting to find Hyunjin standing near the railing like every sunrise for the past month.
Instead, the deck is empty. He stops immediately.
Ocean wind shifts gently through the sails while calm water stretches endlessly beneath the morning light around the ship.
No storms. No strange singing beneath the tide. No violent waves clawing at the hull.
Real peace.
Behind him, Jisung appears halfway up the stairs carrying bread he absolutely stole from the kitchen again. “What?”
Chan glances once toward the captain’s cabin door. Then back toward the ocean.
A slow smile touches his mouth,“Nothing,” he says quietly.
And below deck, Hyunjin sleeps through sunrise for the first time in weeks with you still tangled safely in his arms while the ocean carries the ship gently forward around you both.
FIN
previous
note: this was my first fluff/angst series. so ty all for giving it love! I'm going to miss this dynamic, but I have another fluff series in the works to gush over.
Can you do a seungmin fic and hes a tsundere but one time you catch him whining to his friends on how he cant tell you how he DESPERATLY loves you???
This Idiot Loves You
kim seungmin x reader
Warnings:angust, romance, university au,jealousy, emotional confusion, kissing, possessive behavior, hurt/comfort
Word count:10k
A/n:honestly I don’t even know what to say about this 😭 I can’t say I liked it and good news: I actually managed to write something without smut 🤓 idk if you wanted it without any, but if you want smut you gotta specify it first bc I don’t wanna look weird writing smut out of nowhere
TAGLIST
Main masterlist / masterlist skz
𝒔𝒆𝒐𝒖𝒍, 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒉 𝑲𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒏📍
Seoul National University was alive with the crisp energy of autumn. Red and golden leaves drifted across the wide pathways, students hurried between towering buildings with coffee cups in hand, and the distant sound of music practice floated from the arts department. You were in your third year of Korean Literature, sharing a cozy off-campus apartment near the subway station with your best friend, Hye-jin.
Hye-jin was loud, loyal, and endlessly entertaining — the kind of friend who roasted you mercilessly but would fight anyone who looked at you wrong. She studied Graphic Design, changed her hair color every few weeks, and had zero tolerance for anyone who hurt the people she cared about. Especially when that someone was Kim Seungmin.
No one knew. Not Hye-jin, not his friends from the Music department, not a single soul on campus. What existed between you and Seungmin was buried deep — hidden behind sharp words, cold stares, and stolen moments that left you breathless.
It had started four months ago at the big end-of-semester party on a rooftop near campus. The night was warmer than usual for autumn, fairy lights strung everywhere, bass pulsing through the crowd. You and Seungmin already knew each other from your shared elective class in Contemporary Asian Literature. Your debates were infamous: he called you an “overly idealistic dreamer,” and you shot back that he was a “cynical asshole afraid of his own feelings.”
That night, after yet another heated argument about a Han Kang novel, Seungmin grabbed your wrist and pulled you into the dimly lit side corridor, away from the noise. You expected another lecture. Instead, he backed you against the cool wall, eyes dark and intense under the weak lighting, and growled low:
“You irritate the hell out of me… but I can’t stop thinking about you.”
The first kiss was rough, desperate, almost angry — like he was punishing both of you for the pull between you. His hands gripped your waist, body pressing into yours as if he needed you to survive. After that night, it became a dangerous, addictive pattern.
Late-night texts. “Meet me at the parking lot behind the library.” Heated make-out sessions in the shadows of the music building after classes, in the back seat of his car with the windows fogged up, or pressed against the emergency stairwell wall when no one was around. Always intense. Always breathless. Hands roaming, lips urgent, soft gasps swallowed in the dark… but it never went further. Seungmin never asked you to be his girlfriend. He never said anything sweet. After kissing you like the world was ending, he would pull away, run a hand through his hair, mutter something dry, and leave.
And the worst part? In front of everyone else, Kim Seungmin acted like he could barely stand you.
---
It was a regular Thursday afternoon. The autumn wind tugged at your scarf as you left your Criticism of Literature class, arms full of heavy books and notes. Your hair was tied up messily, a loose knit sweater over your university shirt, backpack slipping off one shoulder.
In the main courtyard near the popular campus café, you spotted him. Seungmin was leaning against the low stone wall, surrounded by his friends. Hyunjin was dramatically waving his arms while telling a story, Felix laughing brightly, and Changbin chewing on a warm sweet potato pastry. Seungmin stood with his arms crossed, expression neutral, earphones hanging around the neck of his black jacket.
You tried to walk past without looking, but one of the books slid from your stack and tumbled toward the ground.
Before you could react, Seungmin moved. He caught the book mid-air with one hand and placed it back on top of your pile with an irritated sigh, as if helping you was the biggest inconvenience of his day.
“Idiot. You can’t even carry a few books properly?” he muttered, loud enough for his friends to hear.
Hyunjin stifled a laugh. Felix gave you a sympathetic glance. Changbin raised an eyebrow, still chewing.
Your cheeks burned with embarrassment and frustration, but you forced a polite smile.
“Thanks, Seungmin. Your kindness never fails to amaze me.”
He scoffed and turned his face away, refusing to meet your eyes. But you noticed — you always noticed — the tiny, almost invisible movement as he quickly adjusted the slipping strap of your backpack before stepping back.
Changbin shook his head. “Dude, you’re always such an asshole to her. She’s actually really nice…”
“She’s annoying,” Seungmin replied flatly, already slipping his earphones back in and shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “Always in my way.”
You bit the inside of your cheek, hugged the books tighter to your chest, and kept walking without looking back. It hurt more than you wanted to admit. Because just last night, at 11:40 pm, he had pinned you against his car door in the empty parking lot, hands sliding under your shirt, kissing you like he was starving for you. And today he called you an idiot in front of everyone.
---
When you finally reached the apartment, the savory smell of improved ramyeon filled the small living room. Hye-jin was in the kitchen, wearing denim shorts and an oversized NewJeans t-shirt, her hair in a messy bun with a pen stuck through it.
The second she saw your face, she pointed the wooden spoon at you.
You dropped your bag on the couch and slumped onto a stool at the counter with a heavy sigh.
“He called me an idiot today. In front of Hyunjin, Felix, and Changbin. Loud enough for the whole courtyard to hear.”
Hye-jin rolled her eyes so hard it looked painful.
“I swear to God, I don’t understand why you still bother with that guy. He treats you like absolute trash in public. If I were you, I would’ve told him to fuck off months ago. He walks around with that permanent sour face like you personally ruined his life.”
You stayed quiet, tracing patterns on the counter with your finger. Hye-jin was brutally honest, hilarious, and fiercely protective. She made you laugh on your worst days and always had your back. But you couldn’t tell her about the kisses. About the secret moments. Saying it out loud would make everything too real.
“He’s not always like that…” you mumbled.
“Oh really?” Hye-jin slid a big bowl of ramyeon toward you. “Then explain why every time I see you near him he looks like he sucked on a lemon? You’re one of the kindest people I know. You remember everyone’s birthdays, help the freshmen, even bring coffee to those boring professors. And him? He calls you an idiot in front of his friends? One day I’m going to corner him on campus and tell him exactly what I think. And I’ll record it for the group chat.”
You let out a small laugh and accepted the warm bowl. The two of you leaned against each other while eating, Hye-jin’s indie playlist playing softly in the background. She launched into a funny story about a guy who tried (and failed miserably) to flirt with her in Design class today, doing exaggerated impressions that had you genuinely laughing. But your mind kept drifting.
Drifting back to that dark parking lot, to Seungmin’s intense brown eyes when he looked at you like you were the only person in his universe… right before he went back to being the cold, sarcastic tsundere everyone else knew.
---
Later that night, already in your pajamas and lying in bed, your phone buzzed.
𝐒𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐦𝐢𝐧:
Central Library. 11:30 pm. Top floor, foreign literature section. Don’t be late.
Your stupid heart jumped. It was 10:55 pm.
From the living room, Hye-jin yelled, “If you’re going out, text me! And if it’s that idiot Seungmin, tell him to go fuck himself from me!”
You didn’t reply. You just pulled a big hoodie over your camisole, grabbed your keys, and slipped quietly out of the apartment.
Because no matter how much it hurt… you always went when it was him.
────୨ৎ────
The central library was almost eerily quiet at that hour. Most students had already left, and only a few desperate souls preparing for midterms remained scattered across the lower floors. You took the elevator to the top floor, heart hammering against your ribs the entire way. The foreign literature section was dimly lit, the tall shelves creating long shadows that swallowed most of the light.
Seungmin was already there, leaning against a shelf with his hands in his jacket pockets, earphones dangling around his neck. When he saw you approaching, he didn’t smile. He never did. But his eyes softened just a fraction — enough for you to notice, not enough for anyone else to ever see.
“You’re late,” he muttered, voice low.
“It’s 11:32,” you replied softly, stopping a step away from him. “That’s not late.”
He clicked his tongue but didn’t argue. Instead, he reached out, fingers brushing your wrist before closing around it and pulling you deeper between the shelves, away from the faint security cameras and any wandering eyes. The moment the two of you were hidden, the air shifted.
Seungmin backed you gently against the bookshelf, one hand resting beside your head. For a few seconds he just looked at you — really looked — his gaze tracing your face like he was memorizing every detail. Then he leaned in.
The kiss started slow tonight, almost careful. His lips moved against yours with a quiet intensity that made your knees weak. One of his hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer, while the other cupped the back of your neck. You kissed him back just as deeply, fingers threading through his soft hair. For once, he didn’t rush. He lingered, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, a tiny sigh escaping him when your free hand pressed against his chest.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours for a moment. His breathing was slightly uneven.
“You should wear a thicker jacket,” he said quietly, almost grumbling. “It’s cold at night.”
You blinked, surprised by the small concern. “I’m fine.”
He huffed, but his thumb brushed lightly over your waist in a soothing motion before he stepped back. “Whatever. Just don’t get sick and bother me later.”
You smiled a little, unable to help it. “Thank you for worrying, Seungmin.”
“I’m not worrying,” he shot back immediately, turning his face away. But he didn’t let go of your hand right away. His fingers lingered, warm against your skin, before he finally released you.
The two of you stayed hidden for nearly twenty minutes — talking in low voices about nothing important, stealing a few more kisses that grew progressively hungrier. At one point he even adjusted the collar of your hoodie so it covered your neck better, muttering something about “stupid cold air.” It was the closest he ever got to being openly gentle with you.
Before you left, he walked you down to the side exit of the library, keeping a careful distance in case anyone was around. At the door, he stopped.
“Go straight home,” he said, not looking at you. “Text me when you get there.”
You nodded. “I will. Goodnight, Seungmin.”
He gave a small nod and turned away first, hands back in his pockets as he disappeared toward the parking lot.
---
The walk back to the apartment felt longer than usual. The night air was cold, just like he’d said, and your lips still tingled from his kisses. When you finally slipped inside, Hye-jin was already asleep, her door half-open with the faint sound of her breathing. You changed into pajamas quietly and crawled into bed, staring at the ceiling.
What am I to you, Seungmin?
The question wouldn’t leave your mind. In the dark corners of the library he kissed you like he needed you to breathe. He worried about you getting cold. He told you to text him when you got home. But tomorrow, in the daylight, in front of everyone… he would probably call you annoying again. He would look away like your presence irritated him. He never asked you to be his. He never said he liked you. He never stayed.
You turned onto your side, hugging your pillow. The worst part was how much you kept going back anyway. How every small glimpse of the real Seungmin — the one who lingered in kisses and adjusted your collar — made your heart ache with hope.
---
The next day was Friday, and the campus was busier than usual with students preparing for the weekend. You ran into Seungmin again near the arts building after your morning lecture. He was with Changbin and Felix this time, the three of them standing near a vending machine.
You approached with a soft smile, holding two cans of warm coffee you’d just bought.
“Hey,” you said lightly, offering one to Seungmin. “I got an extra. Thought you might want one.”
Felix’s eyes lit up. “Oh, nice! You’re always so thoughtful.”
Seungmin stared at the can for a second before taking it from your hand. His fingers brushed yours deliberately, but his expression stayed neutral.
“…Thanks,” he mumbled. Not sarcastic. Not cold. Just quiet.
You felt a small flutter in your chest. It was the most normal thank you he’d ever given you in public.
“Shut up,” Seungmin said, but there was no real bite in it. He cracked the can open and took a sip, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “You have class now?”
“Yeah, poetry analysis in twenty minutes.”
He nodded once. “Don’t fall asleep this time.”
It almost sounded like teasing instead of an insult. Almost caring.
You laughed softly. “I’ll try not to. Have a good day, guys.”
Felix waved cheerfully. Changbin gave you a thumbs up. Seungmin just looked at you for a second longer than necessary before turning back to the vending machine, but you caught the faint pink at the tips of his ears.
---
Later that afternoon, you sent him a casual text.
𝐘𝐨𝐮:
Finished class. Heading to the café near the main gate if you want to join for a bit.
His reply came ten minutes later.
𝐒𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐦𝐢𝐧:
Busy with practice. Don’t wait.
Short. Indifferent. Typical.
You sighed, slipping your phone back into your bag. Yet when you arrived at the café to study, a sealed packet of your favorite honey butter chips was suddenly placed on your table. You looked up, startled.
Seungmin stood there for half a second, expression blank.
“Saw them on sale,” he said flatly. “Don’t think too much about it.”
Before you could thank him, he was already walking away, shoulders slightly tense like he was annoyed at himself for doing it.
You touched the packet gently, warmth spreading through your chest despite everything.
That night, back at the apartment, Hye-jin was sprawled on the couch watching a drama.
“How was your day?” she asked without looking up.
You hesitated, then smiled faintly. “It was… okay.”
She narrowed her eyes at you. “If that idiot made you sad again, I’m serious about throwing him down the stairs.”
You laughed and shook your head, but inside the same question kept spinning:
What am I to you, Kim Seungmin? A secret? A weakness? Or something more?
And how much longer could you keep pretending it didn’t hurt?
────୨ৎ────
𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫⏳
The last fourteen days had dragged by in a strange, heavy silence. After that small moment at the café where Seungmin left you the honey butter chips, everything cooled. Texts became shorter, rarer. He replied with single words or simple “busy with practice” when you tried to reach out. No more late-night library meetings. No more stolen kisses in empty parking lots. You saw him around campus a few times — always surrounded by his friends, always with that same indifferent mask — but he barely glanced your way. It hurt more than you wanted to admit. The warmth he had shown in small doses suddenly vanished, leaving you questioning every single second you had spent tangled up with him.
You threw yourself into assignments and lectures to distract yourself. Hye-jin noticed your quieter mood but didn’t push too hard, though her side-eye whenever Seungmin’s name came up grew sharper.
Tonight was supposed to be a break from all of it.
The party was at a spacious house rented by Min-ho, one of your closest friends from the Literature department. He was the type everyone liked — outgoing, always throwing gatherings that pulled in people from multiple departments. Music majors, design students, even a few from Engineering. Basically the entire friend group was invited, which meant Seungmin and his circle would almost certainly be there too.
You hadn’t wanted to go.
“I’m tired, Hye-jin. I have a paper due next week,” you had protested earlier, sprawled on the couch in pajamas.
Hye-jin had yanked the blanket off you with zero mercy. “No. You’ve been moping for two weeks straight. We’re going. You’re going to put on something cute, I’m doing your makeup, and you’re going to drink and dance and forget that idiot exists for one night. End of discussion.”
She dragged you out anyway. Now here you were, standing in the middle of a crowded living room where bass-heavy music shook the walls and colorful lights swept across laughing faces. The house smelled like a mix of perfume, beer, and grilled meat from the backyard. People danced in the cleared space near the speakers, others clustered in groups chatting and playing drinking games.
You smoothed down the black dress Hye-jin had forced you into — fitted at the waist, falling just above the knees — and tried to relax. Hye-jin was already in her element, laughing loudly with a group of design majors, her newly dyed silver hair catching the lights.
Your eyes scanned the room despite yourself. And of course, you found him.
Seungmin stood near the kitchen counter, a red cup in hand, talking to a girl you vaguely recognized from the Music department. She was pretty — long wavy hair, bright smile, leaning in close as she said something that made him smirk. Not the full smile he sometimes gave you in secret, but still… a smirk. He didn’t pull away when she touched his arm. Your stomach twisted. You turned around quickly and headed toward the backyard before he could notice you staring.
The night air was cooler, fairy lights strung across the trees. You grabbed a drink and tried to focus on conversations with your literature friends. Time passed. Laughter, more drinks, music changing to something slower. You danced a little with Hye-jin, letting the alcohol loosen the knot in your chest.
Then he appeared.
His name was Ji-hoon — tall, easy smile, from the same poetry workshop as you. He had always been friendly, never pushy. Tonight he was bolder, compliments flowing easily as the two of you talked near the edge of the yard.
“You look really good tonight,” he said, eyes appreciative but warm. “Been meaning to tell you that in class but never found the right moment.”
You laughed softly, the alcohol making everything feel lighter. “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.”
Conversation flowed. He was funny, attentive, asked about your recent essays and actually listened. When he leaned in closer, you didn’t move away. When his hand brushed your waist, you let it stay. And when he kissed you — slow at first, then deeper — you kissed him back. It wasn’t like Seungmin’s kisses. It didn’t set your skin on fire or make your heart race with that dangerous mix of anger and need. But it was nice. Warm. And right now, nice felt like enough.
Ji-hoon pulled back with a grin. “There’s an empty room upstairs. Wanna get away from the noise for a bit?”
You hesitated only a second before nodding.
He took your hand and led you through the crowded house, up the stairs, and down the hallway to a quiet bedroom at the end. The door clicked shut behind you, muffling the music. Only the glow of a bedside lamp lit the space — someone’s guest room, neat and unoccupied.
Ji-hoon kissed you again, harder this time, hands sliding to your hips as he walked you backward toward the bed. You let yourself fall into it, fingers in his hair, trying to drown out every thought of Seungmin. His lips moved to your neck, leaving a trail of warmth, and you tilted your head to give him more access. His body pressed against yours, the moment growing heavier, more intimate.
Then — BANG. BANG. BANG
The door rattled violently, as if someone was trying to break it down. The knocks were loud, furious, nonstop.
Ji-hoon pulled back, startled. “What the hell? They’re gonna break the damn door.”
BANG. BANG. BANG
He stood up, annoyed, and yanked the door open.
Seungmin stood there, chest heaving, eyes blazing with pure rage. His jaw was clenched so tight it looked painful, fists balled at his sides. The hallway light cast sharp shadows across his face. Without a word, he shoved past Ji-hoon, grabbed your wrist in a firm grip, and pulled you out of the room.
“Hey! What the fuck, man?!” Ji-hoon shouted, but Seungmin didn’t even glance back. He dragged you down the hallway, down the stairs, and out through the side door into a quieter part of the backyard, away from most of the crowd. His grip was tight but not painful. Just possessive.
The cool night air hit your flushed skin as he finally stopped near a cluster of trees, spinning you to face him. His eyes were dark, breathing still ragged.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he hissed, voice low and shaking with anger. “Letting some random guy put his hands all over you? In a fucking bedroom?”
You stared at him, shock turning quickly into fury.
“Excuse me? You’ve been ignoring me for two weeks, Seungmin. Two weeks of barely texting, acting like I don’t exist. And tonight I saw you with that girl from Music — smiling at her, letting her touch your arm like it was nothing. But I can’t kiss someone else? You’re going to act like a jealous boyfriend now?”
He ran a hand through his hair roughly, looking away for a second before his gaze snapped back to you.
“That was nothing. She was just talking. You were about to—” His voice cracked slightly. He stepped closer, backing you against the tree trunk. “You let him take you upstairs. Let him kiss your neck like that. Do you have any idea what that does to me?”
Your heart pounded. The alcohol and adrenaline mixed into something reckless.
“And what am I to you, huh? You kiss me in secret, tell me not to get cold, leave me snacks like you care, then disappear and treat me like I’m nothing in public. You never ask me to be yours. You never say anything real. So why the hell do you get to be angry right now?”
Seungmin’s breath hitched. He caged you in with both arms against the tree, forehead almost touching yours. Up close you could see the storm in his eyes — anger, frustration, and something deeper, almost desperate.
“Because I—” He stopped, swallowing hard. His voice dropped to a broken whisper. “Because seeing you with him made me want to punch something. Because every time I try to say what I actually feel, it gets stuck. Because you’re under my skin and I hate it and I can’t stop it.”
His hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your lip roughly.
“You drive me fucking insane. I want you so bad it hurts, but I’m shit at this. And then I see some other guy’s mouth on you and I lose it. Don’t do that again. Don’t let anyone else touch you like that.”
The raw edge in his voice made your chest ache. For once, the tsundere mask had cracked wide open, revealing the desperate boy underneath who had been fighting himself for months.
You stared up at him, breathing fast. “Then stop hiding, Seungmin. Stop pretending you hate me when we both know you don’t.”
He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he crashed his lips against yours — hard, possessive, full of all the things he couldn’t say. This kiss was different from the secret library ones. It tasted like jealousy and fear and need. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him as if afraid you might disappear. You kissed him back just as fiercely, fingers digging into his shoulders.
When he finally pulled away, lips swollen and eyes dark, he rested his forehead against yours.
“Don’t go back to him,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Stay with me tonight. Just… stay.”
The party continued raging inside the house, music thumping distantly, but out here under the trees it felt like the rest of the world had faded. Seungmin’s walls were crumbling, piece by piece, and for the first time you saw just how deeply he had been drowning in his own feelings.
You didn’t know what would happen tomorrow when the sun came up and the masks went back on. But tonight, under his desperate gaze and trembling hands, you knew one thing for certain:
Kim Seungmin was losing the battle against his own heart.
────୨ৎ────
𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫🕰
The apartment door clicked shut behind you with a soft sound that felt too loud in the quiet hallway. The party was still raging somewhere behind you, but you had slipped away after that intense kiss with Seungmin under the trees. He hadn’t followed you when you muttered that you needed to go home. He had just stared at you with those conflicted eyes, jaw tight, before nodding once and letting you leave. Your lips still burned from his possessive touch, your wrist still remembered the firm grip when he pulled you out of that bedroom. Your heart was a chaotic mess.
Hye-jin had texted you earlier saying she was heading back early because her feet hurt from the new shoes. You were glad she was already home. The walk back through the cold night air had done nothing to calm the storm inside your chest.
You kicked off your shoes at the entrance and padded into the small kitchen in your bare feet. The black dress felt too tight now, constricting. You opened the fridge, grabbed some leftover ramyeon from earlier that day, and heated it quickly in the microwave. The savory smell filled the apartment as you sat at the counter, staring blankly at the steaming bowl. You picked up the chopsticks but barely ate — just poked at the noodles, twisting them around mindlessly.
Your eyes stung. You hadn’t cried yet, but the pressure behind them was building, heavy and exhausting.
“Ya, what happened to you?”
Hye-jin’s voice came from the living room doorway. She was already in her oversized sleep shirt and shorts, silver hair tied up messily, holding a glass of water. The moment she saw your face under the warm kitchen light, her expression shifted from sleepy to concerned in a second.
“You look like you’re about to cry. Or like you already did. Spill. Right now.”
You tried to force a smile, but it wobbled and died on your lips. Instead, you shrugged and took a small bite of the ramyeon, the heat barely registering. Hye-jin wasn’t having it. She walked over, pulled out the stool beside you, and sat down, turning fully to face you.
“Hey. Talk to me. Did something happen at the party? Was it Seungmin? I swear if that asshole—”
You set the chopsticks down and finally looked at her. The weight of the past two weeks, the secret kisses, the public coldness, and tonight’s explosion all crashed down at once. Your voice came out quieter than you intended.
“We… kind of fought. Or argued. I don’t even know what to call it.”
Hye-jin’s eyebrows shot up. She reached over and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, her touch soft and grounding.
“Start from the beginning. I’m listening. The whole thing.”
You took a shaky breath and told her everything — not quite everything, because the months of hidden make-outs were still too tangled and private to unpack fully tonight, but enough. You told her how Seungmin had been distant for two weeks, barely replying to messages, acting like you didn’t exist after small moments where he almost seemed to care. How you saw him with that girl from Music, smiling at her. How you let Ji-hoon kiss you because you were tired of feeling invisible. How Seungmin had banged on the door like a madman, dragged you out, and then exploded with jealousy outside.
“He kissed me after,” you whispered, voice cracking. “Really kissed me. Like he was scared I was going to disappear. He said he hates how much he wants me, that seeing someone else touch me made him lose it. For a minute he sounded so… desperate. Like I actually matter to him.”
Hye-jin stayed quiet, listening intently, but her eyes were sharpening with every word.
“But then what?” she asked when you paused.
You pushed the bowl of ramyeon away, no longer hungry. “Then I came home. And now I’m sitting here wondering why I even let him do that. Because tomorrow he’s probably going to go back to ignoring me or calling me annoying in front of his friends. One minute he acts like I’m important — he worries if I’m cold, leaves me snacks, kisses me like I’m the only thing he sees. The next minute? I don’t exist. He treats me like some annoying acquaintance he barely tolerates. I’m so tired of it, Hye-jin. It hurts every single time.”
Tears finally slipped down your cheeks. You wiped them angrily with the back of your hand, but more followed. Hye-jin pulled you into a tight hug without hesitation, rubbing your back in soothing circles. She smelled like her vanilla body lotion and the faint trace of party perfume.
“You deserve so much better than this back and forth bullshit,” she murmured against your hair. “No one gets to make you feel like a secret option. Not even Kim Seungmin with his stupid pretty face and tsundere attitude. You’re not a toy for him to play with when he feels like it and then ignore when it gets too real for him.”
You clung to her, letting the tears fall freely now. The apartment was quiet except for the distant hum of the refrigerator and your occasional sniffles.
“I just don’t understand him,” you continued, voice muffled against her shoulder. “Why act jealous like he owns me if he doesn’t even want to admit he likes me? Why pull me out of that room like a jealous boyfriend and then not say anything real? I feel stupid for still hoping every time he shows a tiny bit of care. Like maybe this time he’ll stop hiding. But he always goes back.”
Hye-jin pulled back enough to look at you, wiping your tears with her thumbs. Her expression was fierce but full of love — the protective best friend mode fully activated.
“Because some guys are emotionally constipated idiots who think being vulnerable makes them weak. Especially someone like Seungmin. He’s always so controlled in public, the perfect sarcastic golden boy. Admitting he’s crazy about you would mean losing that control. But that doesn’t make it okay for him to hurt you like this. You’re not his emotional punching bag.”
She stood up for a moment, grabbed a box of tissues and a fresh bottle of water for you, then sat back down. You took a sip, feeling a little steadier with her there.
“I told him tonight that he needs to stop hiding,” you said. “He didn’t really answer. Just kissed me again. And I let him. Because when he’s like that… it feels real. But I’m scared it’s never going to change.”
Hye-jin nodded slowly, thinking. She reached over and squeezed your hand.
“Look, I’m not going to tell you what to do with your heart. You like him — I see it, even when you try to hide it. But you need to protect yourself too. Next time he pulls that hot-and-cold shit, you call him out. Right there. Don’t let him drag you into another secret corner and kiss you senseless without giving you a real answer. You deserve clarity. You deserve someone who’s proud to be with you, not someone who only shows up when another guy gets too close.”
A small, watery laugh escaped you. “You sound like you’re ready to write my TED Talk on self-respect.”
“I’m ready to write my complaint letter to Seungmin’s face,” she shot back with a grin, trying to lighten the mood. “Seriously though. If he hurts you one more time — if he makes you cry like this again — I’m not joking. I will find him on campus, probably in front of his precious friends, and I will embarrass the hell out of him. Or physically fight him. I’m small but I’m scrappy. I’ve watched enough dramas to know how to throw a decent slap.”
You laughed properly this time, the sound shaky but genuine. Hye-jin smiled, relieved to see it.
“There she is. My best friend doesn’t cry over boys who don’t know what they want. Or at least, she doesn’t cry alone. You have me. Always.”
You leaned against her again, exhaustion settling in after the emotional rollercoaster of the night. The ramyeon sat forgotten on the counter. Outside, the city hummed quietly — cars in the distance, occasional laughter from late-night students walking home.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow,” you whispered. “Maybe he’ll pretend tonight never happened. Maybe he’ll text me something dry again.”
“And if he does,” Hye-jin said firmly, “you’ll have me reminding you that you’re worth more than mixed signals and secret kisses. You’re amazing. Kind, smart, funny, beautiful. Any guy would be lucky to have you openly. Especially a music major who thinks acting cold makes him cool.”
You stayed like that for a long time — talking in low voices, Hye-jin sharing funny stories from the party to distract you, both of you eventually moving to the couch with blankets and snacks. She didn’t press for more details about the hidden history between you and Seungmin. She simply stayed present, letting you vent every frustration, every confusing moment, every little hope that kept breaking your heart.
By the time your eyes grew heavy and the tears had dried, the sky outside was beginning to hint at the earliest shades of dawn. Hye-jin yawned and pulled the blanket higher over both of you.
“Sleep. Tomorrow we deal with whatever comes. Together.”
You nodded, whispering a quiet thank you before closing your eyes. The ache in your chest was still there, but it felt a little lighter. Seungmin’s desperate words from earlier echoed in your mind, clashing with two weeks of silence. The push and pull was exhausting.
But for tonight, in the safety of your apartment and your best friend’s unwavering support, you let yourself rest.
Kim Seungmin had cracked open tonight, just a little. The question was whether he would let the light in… or slam the walls shut even harder tomorrow.
────୨ৎ────
𝐒𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐦𝐢𝐧’𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕
The dorm was quieter than usual for a Saturday night. Or maybe it just felt that way because my head was too loud. I sat on the edge of my bed, elbows on my knees, staring at the floor between my feet. The faint bass from someone’s playlist in the living room thumped through the walls, but it barely registered. All I could think about was her.
Her face when I dragged her out of that room. The way her eyes widened — shock, anger, something else I couldn’t name. The way she tasted when I kissed her against the tree, desperate and possessive like I had any right to be. Two weeks of avoiding her, of forcing myself to reply with dry texts because every time I got close I felt like I was drowning. And then seeing her with that guy’s hands on her waist, his mouth on her neck…
My jaw clenched hard enough to hurt. I ran a hand through my hair, tugging at the strands. Fuck. Why does she do this to me?
I liked her. No — that word was too small, too weak for the storm she caused inside my chest. I was crazy about her. Desperately, stupidly, painfully in love with her. The kind of love that made me notice every little thing: the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was nervous, how her voice got softer when she was tired after late classes, the stupid smile she still gave me even when I called her an idiot in public. She was kind in a way that made me feel exposed. And I hated it. I hated how much I needed her.
But saying it out loud? Admitting that Kim Seungmin, the guy who always had a sarcastic comeback, was completely whipped for a literature major who argued with him in class? Impossible. So I hid. I pushed. I kissed her in secret and acted like she annoyed me in front of everyone. Because if I let the mask slip, there was no going back.
The door to my room creaked open. Felix poked his head in, blonde hair messy, wearing an oversized hoodie. His eyes immediately found me sitting in the dark.
“You’ve been weird since we got back from the party. Can I come in?”
I shrugged. He took it as a yes and stepped inside, closing the door behind him before sitting on the chair by my desk. For a moment he just watched me, those sharp but gentle eyes studying my face.
“I saw what happened,” he said quietly. “At the party. You dragged her out of that room pretty hard. Everyone on the stairs noticed. It looked… intense.”
I didn’t answer right away. My fingers tightened around the edge of the bed.
Felix leaned forward, voice careful but firm. “Seungmin, be honest with me. Are you being aggressive with her? Like, actually hurting her? Because if you are, I’m not staying quiet about this.”
My head snapped up. “What? No. I would never—” I stopped, exhaling sharply. “I grabbed her wrist to get her out of there. I wasn’t trying to hurt her. I just… lost it when I saw her with that guy.”
Felix didn’t look fully convinced, but he nodded slowly. “Okay. But it still looked bad from the outside. You can’t treat her like that and then act like nothing happened. You two have been strange for months. One second you’re ignoring her or calling her annoying in front of everyone, the next you’re pulling her away like a jealous boyfriend. What’s really going on?”
I stared at the floor again. The words felt heavy on my tongue, like they didn’t want to come out. But Felix was one of the few people who could see through my bullshit. And tonight, after everything, I was too tired to keep it all locked inside.
“I like her,” I muttered.
Felix raised an eyebrow. “Just ‘like’?”
I hesitated, then lied through my teeth. “Yeah. A little.”
He snorted softly, not buying it for a second. “Hyung. You looked like you wanted to murder Ji-hoon. You’ve been distracted during practice for weeks. And don’t think I haven’t noticed you buying those specific snacks she likes or disappearing late at night. It’s more than ‘a little.’”
I groaned, falling back onto my bed and covering my face with my arm. “Fine. It’s… a lot. More than a lot. She’s always in my head. Every stupid class, every time I see her on campus, even when I’m trying to focus on music. She makes me feel things I don’t know how to handle. I get so frustrated because I can’t say what I actually want to say. Every time I try, it comes out wrong. So I push her away. I act like she irritates me. But the truth is I’m terrified.”
Felix stayed quiet for a moment, letting me talk. I kept going, the words spilling out now that the dam had cracked.
“At the party… seeing her kiss someone else made me sick. I wanted to drag that guy out instead. I know I have no right. I’ve never asked her to be mine. I’ve kept everything secret because I’m a coward. But when I pulled her outside and kissed her… I couldn’t pretend anymore. She told me to stop hiding. And I want to. I just don’t know how.”
Felix sighed, but there was a small smile on his face. “You’re an idiot, Seungmin. A tsundere idiot. She’s a really good person. Everyone likes her. And from what I’ve seen, she puts up with your cold act way more than she should. If you really feel that strongly, you need to tell her. Properly. Not just when you’re jealous. Not in secret corners. Be honest. She deserves that.”
I sat up slowly, running both hands through my hair. My chest felt tight. The memory of her tears shining in her eyes when she confronted me flashed through my mind. The way she still kissed me back even after everything.
“I know,” I whispered. “I’m scared she’ll realize she can do better. Someone who doesn’t treat her like a secret. Someone who can say ‘I love you’ without it feeling like choking.”
Felix stood up and patted my shoulder. “Then stop being scared. You’re Kim Seungmin. You’re brave enough to perform in front of thousands. Be brave for her too. And stop the mixed signals. It’s hurting both of you.”
He headed for the door but paused. “By the way… it’s definitely more than ‘a little.’ We all see it. Even Changbin asked me what’s up with you two.”
I threw a pillow at him half-heartedly. He dodged with a laugh and left the room, closing the door softly.
Alone again, I pulled out my phone. The screen lit up with our old messages — mostly short and dry on my end. My thumb hovered over her name. My heart pounded stupidly fast.
I typed slowly, deleting and rewriting several times before sending something real for once.
𝐒𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐦𝐢𝐧:
Hey. Can we talk tomorrow? Properly. Not in a library corner or behind a tree. I have things I need to say. Things I should’ve said months ago. I’m sorry for being an asshole. Please.
I stared at the sent message, stomach twisting. For the first time, I didn’t add a sarcastic remark or pretend I didn’t care. I let it stay vulnerable.
Lying back on the bed, I closed my eyes and let the thoughts flood in again. Her laugh during arguments in class. The way she looked under the library lights. How perfectly she fit against me when we kissed. How much I hated myself for making her cry tonight.
I love you
The words echoed in my head, loud and terrifying and true. Desperately true.
Tomorrow I would say them out loud. No more hiding. No more pushing her away. Even if it scared the hell out of me, she was worth it. She had always been worth it.
And if she still wanted me after all my mistakes… I wouldn’t let her go again.
────୨ৎ────
The message came at 7:42 a.m. You barely slept after the party, replaying everything in your head until exhaustion finally pulled you under. When you saw Seungmin’s text, your stomach twisted with nerves.
𝐒𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐦𝐢𝐧:
Hey. Can we talk tomorrow? Properly. Not in a library corner or behind a tree. I have things I need to say. Things I should’ve said months ago. I’m sorry for being an asshole. Please.
You agreed. He chose the small rooftop garden on the arts building at 6 p.m. — a quiet place with string lights, wooden benches, and potted plants that barely anyone visited during the week.
The sun was setting in soft oranges and pinks when you arrived. Seungmin was already there, leaning against the railing, hands deep in his jacket pockets. His posture was tense, shoulders stiff, hair slightly messy as if he’d been running his fingers through it nervously. He turned the moment he heard your footsteps.
“You came,” he said, voice quiet.
“You asked me to.” You stopped a couple of steps away from him, arms wrapped around yourself.
Seungmin nodded and gestured toward the bench. “Can we sit?”
You sat side by side, a small gap between you. The silence stretched for a long moment, filled only by the gentle evening breeze and distant campus sounds. Seungmin kept clenching and unclenching his jaw, clearly fighting with himself. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and unsteady.
“I’ve been a complete coward,” he started. “For four months. Since that first kiss at the party… I told myself it didn’t mean anything. That I could control it. But I couldn’t. You’ve been stuck in my head every single day since then.”
He looked down at his hands, breathing deeply.
“I pushed you away because it was easier than admitting how much you affect me. In public I acted like you annoyed me, called you idiot or burra, because if I looked at you too long everyone would see how much I… how much I care. I’d go home and think about you constantly. The way you smile even when I’m being cold. The way you kiss me back like you actually understand me. Every secret moment we had… I cherished them more than I let on.”
Seungmin turned to face you properly. His eyes were vulnerable in a way you’d rarely seen — glassy, full of regret and something much deeper.
“Last night destroyed me. Seeing you with him… I lost control. Dragging you out like that was wrong. I scared you and I hurt you, and I’m so sorry.” His voice cracked. “I had no right to act like a jealous asshole when I’ve never given you any clarity. I’ve been giving you mixed signals for months — kissing you like you’re everything to me one moment, then ignoring you or treating you like you’re nothing the next. That was unfair. Cruel, even. You didn’t deserve any of that.”
Tears blurred your vision. Seungmin noticed right away and shifted closer, hesitating before gently cupping your cheek with one hand, his thumb brushing away a tear that fell.
“Don’t cry… please,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “I hate myself for making you cry so many times.”
“You’re such an idiot, Seungmin,” you murmured, voice shaking. “One minute you make me feel wanted, the next I feel invisible. It’s exhausting. It hurts.”
“I know.” He rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed, breathing shaky. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. You’ve been patient with me when I didn’t deserve it. You’re kind, smart, and way too good for the way I’ve treated you. I like you… so much it terrifies me. More than like. I’m desperate for you. Every day. I think about you constantly and it drives me insane because I don’t know how to do this right.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you, both hands now gently holding your face.
“I don’t want to hide anymore. I don’t want secret corners and late-night texts that mean nothing the next day. I want to stop being cold to you in public. I want to treat you the way you deserve — with care, openly. I’m not asking you to be anything right now if you’re not ready. I just… I needed you to know how I really feel. And I needed to apologize properly. I’m going to do better. I promise.”
The sincerity in his voice, the slight tremble in his hands, the way his eyes never left yours — it all broke something inside you. You leaned forward and kissed him first. Seungmin froze for half a second before melting into it, kissing you back slowly, deeply, full of all the emotions he’d been holding back. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer until you were almost in his lap. There was no rush. No fear of being seen. Just warmth, tenderness, and quiet desperation.
When you pulled apart, he didn’t let you go far. He tucked your head under his chin, hugging you tightly against his chest. You could hear his heart racing.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “For all the times I made you doubt yourself. For making you feel like a secret. You’re not. You’ve never been just a secret to me.”
You hugged him back just as tightly, inhaling his familiar scent. “Thank you for finally saying it.”
Seungmin let out a shaky breath, almost like a relieved laugh. He pulled back slightly and draped his jacket over your shoulders when he noticed you shiver, adjusting it carefully around you like it was the most important thing in the world.
“You’re still cold even in this weather,” he muttered, the tiniest hint of his usual tsundere tone slipping through, but his eyes were soft. “Stay here a little longer. With me.”
You nodded, leaning into him again. He kept one arm around you, the other hand gently playing with your fingers. The sunset wrapped the rooftop in golden light, making everything feel softer, warmer.
For a long time you stayed like that — quiet, close, his occasional soft kisses pressed to your temple or forehead. No pressure for labels. No rush. Just Seungmin finally letting his walls down, apologizing with every gentle touch and whispered “I’m sorry” and “I care about you so much.”
“I won’t mess this up again,” he murmured eventually, voice barely above the breeze. “Not like before. You mean too much to me.”
You looked up at him, smiling through the last of your tears. He smiled back — small, shy, and genuine — before leaning in to kiss you once more, slow and sweet.
The sky slowly turned dark, stars beginning to appear overhead. Seungmin held you closer, his chin resting on your head, both of you wrapped in his jacket and the quiet promise of something better.
He still had a lot to prove. But tonight, for the first time, Kim Seungmin had stopped running.
And you were right there with him.
────୨ৎ────
The next few days after the rooftop passed in a gentle blur. Seungmin kept his word. He wasn’t cold anymore. He walked you to class twice, texted you good morning messages that weren’t dry or short, and even left a coffee at your usual study spot with a small sticky note that just said “Don’t study too hard, idiot.” It was still very him — a little tsundere, a little awkward — but the warmth behind it was real.
You weren’t dating. Not yet. He hadn’t asked, and you hadn’t pushed. Things felt delicate, like something precious that needed time to settle. But the hope was there, brighter than it had ever been.
On Wednesday afternoon, you were heading toward the music building to return a book Seungmin had lent you. The campus was calm, golden afternoon light filtering through the trees. As you approached the side entrance near the practice rooms, you heard familiar voices coming from the small outdoor seating area behind the building — partially hidden by a wall of climbing plants
Seungmin’s voice. And his friends.
You stopped behind the wall, not intending to eavesdrop, but the moment you heard your name you froze.
“…I don’t know, man. I finally apologized properly. Like, really apologized,” Seungmin said, sounding exhausted but lighter than usual. “On the rooftop. Told her how much of an asshole I’ve been. How I kept pushing her away even though I couldn’t stop thinking about her.”
Felix’s soft laugh reached you. “And? How did she take it?”
“She cried. I felt like the worst person alive. But she kissed me after. She said she still… feels the same.” Seungmin paused, and you could almost picture him running a hand through his hair. “I told her I care about her. A lot. More than I know how to handle.”
Changbin’s deeper voice cut in, teasing but curious. “So you finally admitted it? You’re whipped.”
There was a long silence. Then Seungmin spoke again, quieter this time, but the words carried clearly in the still air.
“I love her.”
Your heart stopped.
“I love her so fucking much it’s actually insane,” he continued, voice cracking with raw honesty. “I think about her all the time. When I’m in practice, when I’m trying to sleep, even when I’m pretending to focus in class. She’s kind even when I don’t deserve it. She puts up with my stupid tsundere shit and still looks at me like I’m worth something. I get desperate just thinking about her. Like… I can’t breathe properly when she’s not around. I’ve never felt this way about anyone.”
“I know,” Seungmin muttered. You heard the sound of him shifting on the bench. “I’ve been such an idiot. For months I couldn’t tell her any of this. I’d kiss her in secret and then act like she annoyed me the next day because I was scared. Scared that if I admitted how deep this is, she’d realize she can do way better than me. But after the party… after seeing her with someone else… I realized I’d rather be scared and honest than lose her.”
Felix’s voice was gentle. “So what now? Are you two together?”
“Not officially. I didn’t want to pressure her after everything I put her through. I just wanted her to know the truth. That I’m sorry. That I love her. Desperately. Like… I’d do anything for her. I want to be better. I want to hold her hand in public without overthinking. I want her to know she’s the only one I see.”
You pressed a hand over your mouth, tears stinging your eyes. Hearing him say it — not to you, but to his closest friends, with that vulnerable, almost frustrated tone like the feelings were too big for him to contain — hit you harder than anything else. This was the Seungmin you only caught glimpses of in dark library corners and stolen kisses. The one who cared so deeply he didn’t know how to handle it.
Changbin chuckled. “Never thought I’d see the day Kim Seungmin would sit here sounding this whipped. But honestly? You two fit. She’s good for you.”
“Yeah…” Seungmin’s voice softened. “She is. She’s everything. I just hope I don’t mess it up again. I love her too much to lose her now.”
You couldn’t stay hidden anymore. Your heart was beating too loudly, too full. You stepped around the wall, clutching the book to your chest.
All four boys turned at the sound. Seungmin’s eyes widened when they landed on you. His cheeks flushed instantly, a deep red that spread to his ears. For a second he looked genuinely panicked.
“…How long have you been standing there?” he asked, voice hoarse.
“Long enough,” you whispered, tears slipping down your cheeks even as you smiled.
Felix, Hyunjin, and Changbin exchanged quick glances and stood up almost comically fast.
“We’re gonna… go practice,” Felix said, grabbing the other two. “Yeah. Practice. Right now.”
They disappeared inside the building, leaving the two of you alone.
Seungmin stood up slowly, looking more nervous than you’d ever seen him. He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes for a moment before finally meeting them.
“I meant every word,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t just saying it to sound good in front of them. I love you. I’m crazy about you. Desperately. I’ve been in love with you for months and I was too scared to admit it properly. But I’m not hiding anymore.”
You walked up to him and wrapped your arms around his waist, burying your face in his chest. Seungmin tensed for half a second before melting, hugging you back tightly. One hand cradled the back of your head, the other rubbed soothing circles on your back.
“I love you too,” you murmured against his shirt. “Hearing you say it like that… it means everything.”
He let out a shaky breath, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.
“I’m still going to be annoying sometimes,” he muttered, classic tsundere slipping through even now. “I’ll probably call you idiot out of habit. But I’ll also tell you every day how much you mean to me. If you’ll let me.”
You pulled back just enough to look up at him, smiling through your tears. “I’ll let you. As long as you keep being honest like this.”
Seungmin’s eyes softened. He cupped your face gently and leaned down, kissing you slow and sweet under the afternoon sun — no secrets, no fear of being seen. When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours.
“I love you,” he whispered again, like he was getting used to saying it out loud. “So much it hurts sometimes.”
“I know,” you whispered back, heart full. “I love you too.”
He hugged you tighter, hiding his flushed face in your hair. For the first time in months, everything felt right. No more mixed signals. No more hiding.
Just Seungmin — your stubborn, tsundere, desperately loving Seungmin — finally letting himself have you.
And you weren’t letting go either.
────୨ৎ────
You were sprawled on the couch in your apartment later that evening, legs draped over Hye-jin’s lap while she scrolled through her phone. The TV played some random drama neither of you were really watching. After everything that happened on the rooftop and behind the music building, you finally told her the full story — no more secrets.
Hye-jin suddenly sat up so fast she almost knocked you onto the floor.
“Wait. Wait, wait, wait. You’re with Seungmin? Like… for real? OMG, I can’t believe this!” She stared at you with wide eyes, mouth open in pure shock. “The same Seungmin who used to call you stupid in front of everyone? The king of tsundere who looked like he hated you? That idiot I swore I was going to throw down the stairs?”
You laughed, covering your face with a pillow. “Yes, that Seungmin. He apologized. Like, properly. And… he said he loves me. I overheard him telling the guys today. He sounded so sincere, Hye-jin. Desperate, even.”
Hye-jin let out a dramatic groan and dramatically fell back against the couch, hand on her forehead like she was in a telenovela.
“I’m going to lose my mind. My best friend, the sweetest person on campus, ended up with the most annoying guy in the entire university. This has to be a joke, right? I already had the whole ‘you deserve better’ speech prepared and the ‘I’m gonna beat him up’ speech too. Now I’m gonna have to pretend I like him? Ugh.”
You were laughing so hard your stomach hurt. “He’s not that bad! He’s trying. He even walked me to class holding my hand today. In public.”
“Holding your hand?! In front of people?! Oh my God, the apocalypse has arrived.” Hye-jin shook her head, but she was smiling. “Look, I still don’t fully trust him. If he makes you cry again, I swear I’ll tattoo ‘idiot’ on his forehead. With a permanent marker.”
You were still giggling when a familiar voice came from the entrance of the apartment.
“Wow. ‘Idiot’ on my forehead? How creative.”
Both of you jumped. Seungmin was standing at the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed and one eyebrow raised. He must have used the spare key you gave him earlier. His expression was the perfect mix of offended and amused.
Hye-jin didn’t even flinch. “You heard everything, huh? Great. Then you already know that if you hurt her again, I’ll become your worst nightmare.”
Seungmin walked over slowly, stopping behind the couch. He looked at you first, eyes softening instantly, before turning back to your best friend with that signature sarcastic smirk.
“Relax, Hye-jin. I love this idiot here more than I can handle.” He said it in the most sarcastic tone possible, but his hand gently rested on your shoulder, thumb brushing your skin. “So much that I can even tolerate you threatening to tattoo my forehead. What an honor.”
You looked up at him, smiling. “Seungmin…”
He leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head, still keeping that tsundere attitude for Hye-jin’s benefit.
“She annoys the hell out of me sometimes,” he continued, voice dripping with sarcasm as he looked at your friend, “always arguing with me in class, making me lose focus, living in my head 24/7… but I love her like crazy anyway. Desperately. So you can keep your threats. I’m not going to hurt her again.”
Hye-jin narrowed her eyes, but you could see the reluctant approval in her expression. “You’re lucky she likes you, Kim Seungmin. Very lucky.”
“I know,” he replied, this time without any sarcasm. He squeezed your shoulder gently. “Believe me, I know.”
Hye-jin stood up, stretching. “Alright, I’m leaving to give the lovebirds some privacy. But if I hear crying coming from that room, I’m coming back with my flip-flop.”
She winked at you before grabbing her jacket and leaving the apartment, the door clicking shut behind her.
Seungmin immediately rounded the couch and pulled you into his arms, sitting down with you on his lap. He buried his face in your neck, breathing you in.
“She’s scary,” he mumbled against your skin.
You laughed softly, running your fingers through his hair. “She’s just protective. She saw me cry too many times because of you.”
“I know.” He pulled back enough to look at you, eyes warm and honest. “I’m glad you have someone like her. And I’m glad you gave me another chance.”
You cupped his face, thumbs brushing his cheeks. “We’re not rushing anything, right? But… I’m really happy, Seungmin.”
“Me too.” He kissed you slowly, tenderly, the kind of kiss that made your chest feel full. When he pulled away, that little shy smile appeared — the one he only showed when it was just the two of you. “I love you. Not sarcastically this time.”
“I love you too,” you whispered back.
He hugged you tighter, resting his chin on your head as the drama continued playing forgotten on the TV.
After months of mixed signals, secret kisses, tears, and misunderstandings… Kim Seungmin had finally stopped running. He was still a tsundere at heart — sarcastic, a little awkward, quick to call you “idiot” out of affection — but he was yours.
synopsis: you had a two and a half year relationship with your boyfriend that was full of infidelity and toxicity before you finally dump him once and for all outside of an award show. As the weeks pass after your breakup, you find herself and your confidence again. The only problem? you're both idols, constantly in each other's presence and dreading every second. Forced together again for music shows, idol awards, and private after parties, you both try to make each other jealous while also just making yourselves jealous.
cw: mentions of cheating, mentions of bang chan from skz, angst, happy ending depending on the angle your device is at.
MASTERLIST
📍reblog banners by @/cafekitsune
(most of the first bit is lots of yappage)
Winning should have felt better than this.
That was the first thought that repeated in your mind as you stood backstage at one of the biggest award shows of the year, your fingers wrapped tightly around a trophy that still felt too cold even in your burning hands
‘Best Solo Performance.’
A career-defining award. The kind younger you used to dream about while singing into hairbrushes and curling irons in your bedroom mirror, the kind of award people cried over, the kind of award your company had already posted across every social media platform with captions about history being made.
You had smiled for pictures, thanked all your fans and everyone who helped you, bowed politely to senior artists.
You had done everything right.
So why did your chest feel so unbearably heavy?
Because twenty minutes earlier, while accepting congratulations backstage, you looked over and saw Yunho laughing.
Not just laughing—leaning close.
Too close.
One of the female idols from a rising girl group had her hand resting against his arm while she giggled at something he whispered into her ear, and he looked comfortable, natural, like a man who had done this before, and not like a man who had promised you he would stop making you feel insane.
You had stared long enough for him to notice, and his smile disappeared instantly.
But the damage had already been done.
Now, your heels struck violently against the concrete floor of the underground parking garage as you stormed toward your waiting car.
Your manager called your name once, security guards awkwardly looked away, staff pretended not to notice your tears.
You ignored them all.
Then—
“Stop.”
His voice echoed through the empty garage.
You kept walking anyway.
“Hey!”
Faster.
“Will you stop walking away from me?”
That made you stop, and slowly, you turned.
Yunho looked equally furious.
Tie loose, hair messy.
He looked beautiful, yet you hated that your heart still noticed.
“You really want to do this right now?” you asked.
He laughed once, a cold cocky tone etched in his throat.
“You’re asking me that after disappearing?”
Your grip tightened around your trophy.
“You were flirting with her.”
“She was talking to me.”
“She was touching you.”
“She initiated it.”
“And you let her.”
His eyes narrowed. “You were practically hanging off every idol during the afterparty.”
Your expression hardened.
“That was work.”
“You were laughing pretty hard for work.”
“At least everyone I ‘entertain’ knows it’s public.” you throw air quotes harshly in his face.
The moment the words left your mouth, everything changed. His face completely changed, shoulders dropped like he was tired of the subject.
“That’s what this is about?”
You laughed in disbelief.
“What this is about?”
He stepped closer.
“Every time we fight, you throw old mistakes in my face.”
“Because they keep repeating themselves.”
“That was months ago.”
“That was every single month.”
He went quiet. Silence that made your anger grow.
“There’s always someone new.”
Your voice cracked despite your efforts.
“A fan, an idol, a model, a random woman leaving your apartment.”
“That photo was misleading.”
“Oh my god,” you let out a laugh so broken it didn’t sound real. “You always say that.”
Because he did.
Every single time.
It didn’t matter if there were photos, videos, rumors, witnesses. He always had an explanation.
And the worst part?
Sometimes you believed him—because loving him made you desperate enough to be stupid.
Then his expression changed, defensive anger replacing guilt.
“And what about you?”
You blinked.
“What?”
“You think I don’t see what you do?”
Your brows furrowed.
“What are you talking about?”
“The male idols, the backup dancers, every single time you let another man touch you?”
You stared at him in disbelief.
“That is my job.”
He laughed bitterly.
“No,” He stepped even closer, “That’s you trying to hurt me.”
Your breathing hitched because you knew he wasn’t completely wrong, and you hated that.
Sometimes you had done it intentionally.
When headlines about him surfaced, when fans sent clips of him acting too comfortable around other women, when you wanted him to feel even half of your humiliation.
You wanted him jealous, wanted proof he cared enough to break.
But his sins were real, yours were reactions.
And maybe that didn’t make you innocent.
But it made you tired.
“So what now?” you whispered.
He looked stunned by your sudden quietness.
“What?”
Your eyes burned.
“What happens after this fight?” You looked at him with devastating exhaustion, “We scream, you apologize, I forgive you, then we wait a few days—weeks if we’re lucky, until something else destroys us.”
He opened his mouth—then closed it. Because there was no lie available this time.
You slipped the ring off your finger.
The matching one he bought after your first major argument, one he promised represented commitment, growth, a fresh start.
You placed it in his defensive hand.
And for the first time all night, Yunho looked afraid.
“What are you doing?”
Your lips trembled.
“Ending this.”
“No,” his voice came fast—panicked, “No.”
You nodded through tears.
“Yes.”
“We can fix this.”
“You say that every time.”
“I mean it.”
“You always mean it just before I want to leave.”
That hurt him, and you could see it, but not enough to stop you, not enough to make you stay.
“You love me.”
You smiled sadly, “That’s the problem.”
And then the final blow, soft enough to haunt him forever.
“If you loved me right…”
Your voice broke.
“…you would’ve never made me leave.”
You turned.
Opened your car door.
And this time—
he didn’t stop you.
Didn’t chase you.
Didn’t beg.
You drove away while he stood alone in the parking garage holding both his trophy and your ring.
And neither of them felt like winning.
· ─ ·✶· ─ ·
The breakup became public three weeks later.
For two people who had spent nearly two and a half years accidentally exposing how deeply entangled your lives were, the sudden absence became louder than confirmation ever could’ve been.
Then your manager released a statement.
"After careful consideration, my artist and Yunho have mutually decided to part ways and remain supportive colleagues."
Supportive colleagues.
You laughed so hard you nearly cried when they read it to you.
Because there was nothing supportive about the way your chest still tightened every time his name trended.
And there was certainly nothing collegial about the fact that you still checked fan forums at three in the morning looking for new rumors involving him and other women.
Healing, apparently, was humiliating, and it started ugly.
You spent the first month sleeping in makeup because removing it felt like too much effort, and your apartment looked like heartbreak had physically moved in.
Takeout containers stacked on kitchen counters, unopened gifts from brands sat untouched by your front door, flowers sent by fans wilted in expensive vases because you couldn’t bring yourself to care for anything living.
Your upcoming album was supposed to be celebratory. You had envisioned bright concepts, summer visuals, festival stages, an undeniable comfort pop theme
Instead, every song you wrote sounded like emotional arson.
Your producers stopped questioning it after the fourth consecutive song about betrayal. By the sixth song, one of them quietly slid tissues across the recording booth when you couldn’t finish recording because your voice kept breaking.
You hated that he still lived in your music, hated that even while trying to destroy him on paper, you kept accidentally writing about how much you missed him.
How good he could be when he wasn’t ruining everything.
You see, the problem with toxic love is that it is still love, and that makes leaving feel like grief instead of freedom.
Until eventually, freedom starts winning.
Slowly, quietly—then all at once.
You began going out with friends again.
Started attending company dinners without pretending to be sick, started laughing in ways that didn’t feel forced.
You cut your hair to just below your collarbone, changed your styling team to wear more of what you liked, stopped asking your manager whether Yunho would be attending events before agreeing to schedules.
Then your album released—and everything exploded.
Your title track was devastating.
Elegant, brutal, and heartbreaking enough that fans began calling it your best work.
Critics praised its vulnerability, it topped charts for weeks, and every single performance felt like reclaiming pieces of yourself.
You looked better, sounded better.
And for the first time in years—you felt better.
But unfortunately for you—he noticed it all.
———
Your first shared event after the breakup happened at a luxury brand afterparty in Seoul.
It was a private guest list: industry executives, actors, models, idols, and enough expensive alcohol to erase common sense.
You nearly turned around when your manager casually mentioned he’d be there, but refusing appearances over a man you had dumped felt pathetic.
So you went, and you looked incredible too.
Well, that part was intentional.
Your dress clung to your body like it had been designed specifically to ruin people, and your makeup was soft but sharp enough to command attention.
Confidence had become your best revenge.
And the moment you entered, you felt him notice. You didn’t look immediately. You didn’t need to. After two and a half years, you knew exactly what his stare felt like.
Heavy, focused, impossible to ignore.
Still, you refused to give him immediate satisfaction.
Instead, you smiled politely at executives.
Accepted congratulations, spoke to actors, posed for photos, dragged a group discussion about pizza longer than normal, and eventually—you looked.
Yunho was across the room, and he looked furious.
Not loud, not dramatic, just visibly unraveling beneath forced composure that only you would be able to point out.
A gorgeous actress stood beside him speaking animatedly.
He wasn’t listening though, he was staring directly at you.
And there it was—that feeling
Because you were looking back at him.
Bored, detached, like he meant nothing. You looked at him exactly the same way you looked at the marble floor beneath your heels.
You turned away first.
And that hurt him far worse than anger ever had.
———
Then you made it worse—deliberately, of course.
Bang chan had approached you.
Talented, attractive, dangerously charming, and very aware of your recent breakup.
He made you laugh, that was all it took.
You leaned closer to hear him over the music, touched his arm while laughing, allowed him to refill your drink.
But you still felt it, that familiar burn.
You looked over Chan’s shoulder, and found Yunho already staring. It annoyed you, the way he cared so much only after you had gotten tired of trying.
But his jaw clenched so hard you thought he might break his teeth.
A new woman beside him was talking, yet he still wasn’t hearing a single word.
Because all he saw was your hand resting on another man, all he saw was you smiling the way you used to smile at him.
The woman laughed while touching his chest, his attention shifting to her and the sudden contact.
Your stomach dropped. Mainly because of the way his attention broke from you so easily, but also because your first emotion wasn’t indifference.
It was rage, then jealousy, then heartbreak—and the ugly realization came crashing down at the exact same time for both of you.
Neither of you had moved on.
You were still performing jealousy like it was a language, still trying to make each other hurt, still watching each other suffer..
He left the party first, and you told yourself you didn’t care, that it didn't matter what he did because he wasn’t yours anymore.
Then you spent the drive home crying so hard your manager pulled over because they were scared you’d throw up.
· ─ ·✶· ─ ·
Three weeks later, dating rumors involving you and chan exploded online.
Photos surfaced.
Dinner dates, late night drives, and private studio visits that your manager neither confirmed nor denied because technically you weren’t even officially dating him.
You liked him.
He was kind, safe, gentle in all the ways your previous relationship wasn’t.
But you also knew part of you liked how loudly the news would reach one specific person, and apparently it did.
Because Yunho stopped entertaining rumors entirely.
No more flirt clips, no more scandals, no more women leaving his apartment, no more suspicious sightings, nothing.
He became quieter publicly.
More reserved.
And according to mutual friends and his group members—miserable.
One night, after another schedule ran late, you returned home exhausted and opened your phone only to freeze.
A clip from one of his livestreams was trending. Fans had asked why he looked sad recently. He laughed it off at first, then grew quiet.
“I think sometimes people become who they should’ve been after they lose the person who needed that version of them the most.”
Your breathing stopped.
The livestream ended shortly after.
And despite everything, you cried.
Because even now he still somehow knew exactly how to break your heart.
· ─ ·✶· ─ ·
By the time award season returned, you had become experts at pretending.
It had been nearly a year since the parking garage, nearly a year since you left Yunho standing beneath fluorescent lights with your ring in his hand and no way to fix what he had broken.
And somehow time had made everything both better and worse.
Your career had never been stronger, your album had earned critical acclaim, your “casual” relationship with Chan had quietly ended months ago after both of you realized he deserved someone who wasn’t still emotionally trapped inside another relationship.
He had been kind about it, too kind, which only made you feel guiltier.
“You still love him,” Chan had said to you.
Not accusatory, certainly not angry, just honest in a way that confirmed other people saw it too.
Still, you had denied it.
He gave you a sad smile, then left anyway.
And you hated that he was right.
· ─ ·✶· ─ ·
Yunho had appeared in public with a quiet control. He strayed away from females, stuck to his group and his silence.
Apparently heartbreak had rebuilt your ex-boyfriend into the version of himself you spent years begging for, and that truth made you angrier than his cheating ever did.
Because it made you wonder—why now? why after you were already gone? why after your trust had been destroyed beyond repair? why did he become everything you needed only when you no longer needed him?
That question sat heavily in your chest the night of the afterparty.
It happened after one of the biggest award ceremonies of the year, a private rooftop penthouse in Seoul. No media, no managers, just idols, actors, and too much alcohol.
You almost didn’t attend, but your manager dragged you there.
“You deserve one fun night.”
That sentence aged terribly.
———
The party was loud enough to blur thought. Music pulsed through the penthouse walls, luxury liquor flowed like water. Famous people acted embarrassingly normal once cameras disappeared.
For the first hour everything was manageable.
You avoided Yunho, he avoided you—or at least pretended to.
Then someone suggested seven minutes in heaven..
The idea was stupid, childish—exactly the kind of thing drunk celebrities somehow found entertaining .
You stayed, because leaving would draw attention.
The first spin landed on an actor, the second landed on a girl group member.
Everyone screamed.
They left the room while others filmed fake reaction videos for private group chats.
Then the bottle spun again, and landed directly at your feet.
The room erupted.
You groaned immediately.
“No.”
Your friends laughed harder.
Then someone yelled for a second spin.
Your stomach dropped before it even happened.
Because suddenly—
Yunho looked just as tense as you felt.
The bottle spun.
Slowed.
And stopped.
Pointing directly between him and the person beside him.
The room exploded.
Screaming, cheering, debates of who should go, a majority vote for Yunho of course. People doubled over laughing because apparently your suffering was excellent entertainment.
You stood instantly.
“I’m leaving.”
Several people physically blocked the door.
“It’s only seven minutes!”
“Lock them in!”
“This is awesome!”
You looked at Yunho for help, but the traitor was already being shoved toward the hallway too.
The bedroom door slammed behind both of you, then locked.
You crossed your arms immediately, “This is ridiculous.”
Yunho leaned against the wall.
“You look good.”
You stared at him.
“Don’t.”
He nodded once.
Silence came, then he ruined it.
“Are you seeing anyone?”
You let out a disbelieving laugh.
“Seriously?”
“I just asked a question.”
“You lost the right to ask those.”
Except he didn't look upset, he looked calm. Calm in a way that brought back the feelings of insanity you felt when you were with him just because he was so controlled while you were dying on the inside.
“So there’s someone?”
“There were plenty of someones for you.”
He flinched, and there it was. Still your greatest weapon, still the most tender place to stab.
“That stopped.”
You rolled your eyes.
“How noble.”
“I mean it.”
You looked at him, and then you realized he wasn’t trying to win an argument that didn't exist.
He looked…ashamed, calmly devastated.
“I know apologies don’t matter anymore.”
You froze, because Yunho never used to surrender this easily.
“I know becoming better now is useless to you, and I know I made you feel insane.”
Your eyes started burning.
“I know I confused possession with love.”
That one shattered you, because that had been the exact thing you never managed to articulate.
He looked down, then laughed quietly at himself.
“But you had my heart in your two hands, and you let it go. That hurt me more than anything else.”
Your tears came instantly. “You cheated.”
“I know.”
“You lied.”
“I know.”
“You made me feel replaceable.”
His eyes lifted to yours.
And he looked destroyed.
“I replaced everything for attention because I thought being wanted made me worth something.”
You went silent.
Because that sounded painfully real.
Relatable.
He looked at you carefully.
“Why did you flirt with people in front of me?”
Your laugh broke halfway through, because what was the point of lying now?
“I wanted you jealous,” You wiped your face angrily. “I wanted you to hurt the way I did. I wanted proof you cared enough to lose your mind.”
He blinked slowly.
Then let out the saddest laugh you’d ever heard.
The room softened, not fixed, honest for the first time in years.
Then he stepped closer.
Not enough to touch, just enough to destroy your ability to breathe normally.
“I loved you.”
You shut your eyes. “Don’t do this.”
“I still love you.”
Your eyes snapped open.
And there it was.
The truth both of you had been outrunning for nearly a year.
Your voice trembled.
“Why do you want to do this again?”
The door clicked.
Your seven minutes were over.
Laughter exploded from outside.
People waited for entertainment, for scandal, for a dramatic reveal.
Instead, Yunho moved toward the door.
Paused.
Then looked back at you one final time.
And with tears in his eyes he said quietly—
“It might make me a better man…”
He opened the door.
The noise rushed in.
Your world tilted.
And before disappearing into the crowd for what might be forever—he finished softly,
“But you’ll never know.”
Is this straight gas or straight ass let me know guys.
pairing: san x gender neutral! reader
word count: 2339
trope credits: @atinyno1likeme (gaslighting-ish)
TW: death
a/n: shout out to my IRL bestie for helping me a little with this given i've never read a reincarnation fic before but decided it would be interesting to try anyway hehe
Choi San was never the kind of person who stood for injustice.
A righteous heart, they said. Despite being in a position of power, he never used it to his advantage. Instead, he hosted donation campaigns for various causes - paediatric hospitals, animal shelters. You name it, he’s held events for it and donated a sizable amount himself to it.
He was loved. By his colleagues, his friends, and his family. Everywhere he went, people recognised him for being the rich, kind hearted owner who took over his family’s business. Some admired him, some hated him.
But no one loved him more than his children.
Every day, San would go home to his loving family. The laughs of his kids filled up his heart that was depleted from the long day he had, and holding them in his embrace warmed his soul in ways he never felt before. There was absolutely nothing he wouldn’t give up for them.
Perhaps, except, his spouse.
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Your husband came home to seek solace in your kids. You couldn’t blame him for it, you did it too. There was nothing comparable in this lifetime to seeing them, the joy it brought you and the love you bled for them.
But there was another you would bleed for. The one you had your kids with.
To the outside world, he was everything he should be. The perfect philanthropist who would never let those organisations take priority over his family. It’s who he is. The one you first fell in love with. It’s not like he was THAT much different when he was with your family.
But lately, things have been changing. You wish you could have pinpointed exactly when it started, but sometimes change happens so mildly you don’t realise it occurred until it’s too late to go back.
It started with minor questions. Genuine “how was your day?” inquiries became replaced with more digging tones of “where did you go?” and follow-ups of every movement you had and every interaction you participated in.
Those were harmless, or so you told yourself. He just wanted to know where you’ve been. It’s normal for partners to ask that, and you had recently got a promotion at your job. Your schedule was different now, and perhaps he was just trying to know it better.
Then the questions became more laced with warning.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were hanging out with them today?”
“Did you bring our kids?”
“Why wasn’t I invited? You know I love that place.”
It was becoming a little much. When and why did he become so interested in every moment of your day? You had always updated each other about major ongoings in your life, that never stopped even after you two got married. You had even been the one to say it was an important part of your communications with each other.
He never seemed to have any sort of… threat behind those inquiries though. They sounded like warnings, but he always asked them with those soft eyes and sulky lips of his. It was impossible to stay mad at him, and as a result, you always brushed off those questions with a simple peck on his cheek and a typical response. It was a last minute appointment, your kids were with your parents, he had something going on at the time so you couldn’t ask him even when you wanted to.
Everything. Was. Normal.
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The questions wouldn’t stop escaping his mouth. Accusation after interrogation, fuelled by feelings of guilt and shame he was making you feel with every subsequent clarification.
“Where did you go with him?”
“Just the mall. We had lunch.”
“You dined at our restaurant.”
“We were both in a rush, and that place had no queue. Sannie, please, calm down.”
“Did I do something wrong?”
“Wha… How did you come to that conclusion?”
“You haven’t been talking to me. I thought I made you mad.”
“San, we have both been busy. You’re out there taking care of the world, and I’m here holding the fort with our kids. I didn’t mean to neglect you.”
“So it’s our children’s fault?”
You paused, his words igniting a furious red flame in your chest.
“This has nothing to do with our kids. Don’t you dare bring them into this.”
San’s chest heaved, the energy of his rapid questioning having beaten it out of him.
“Why are you being like this?”
Pause.
“Like what?”
“Like a stranger. This isn’t an argument we should be having at this stage of our lives, Sannie.”
You closed your eyes in frustration, massaging your temples to fight the brewing headache. San continued to remain silent, shaking his head. He couldn’t deal with this right now. Not with everything else going on in his business and definitely not while he was mad.
“Seriously? You’re leaving?”
“I won’t do this, not right now. We’ll talk more when I’m back.”
“Choi San.”
His name lingered on your lips, the bitter taste following the saliva you gulped. He knew it too. He had frozen in place, clearly not used to hearing it in your voice.
Finally, he was the one to break the tension. It was that same statement again. “We’ll talk when I’m back.”
And once again, you were left in the house. Alone.
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It was a walk. It was just a walk. Yet suddenly, here he is, laying on the sidewalk as bystanders gathered. Some were panicking. Others were on the phone calling for help. They all had one thing in common - no one dared to lift a finger to help the high status business owner before them. At this moment, where he was at his most vulnerable and his most human, no one was willing to risk the chance of doing something wrong because it would not just be his family they’d have to answer to, but also the world.
It started as a walk. San had just been strolling down the path, his frown and pout still evident on his face. Lost in thoughts, trying to determine what went wrong. But he was so lost that he didn’t notice the hooded figure who had synced their footsteps to his.
Being a saint in this world did not eradicate the other devils who lived within it. Having all this success and choosing to still be kind to those who were not as lucky garnered enemies. Rivals jealous of his wealth or wanted to eliminate the competition with a good name. And today, one of them finally struck.
Regardless of his state of mind, he could have never seen it coming. They had been so silent even San himself wasn’t sure if he had been stabbed by another.
All he could do now was hold onto his wound as more of his life oozed out from beneath him. He had never been very keen on religion, never had any reason for it either. But now, he was begging silently. To any deity willing to hear his prayers. He could feel his time running out and he barely heard someone say the paramedics wouldn’t be here for another 5 minutes.
You flashed through his mind. Your kids. All of your smiles, your laughters. When was the last time he heard it all? The last time he got to kiss you and say he loved you?
In that instant, everything clicked for San. It was ironic really, for someone to be running out of breath to realise what exactly they did that caused them to lose it in the first place.
This cannot be the end. Please, there is so much more he should have done for you. So much more time he should have dedicated to all of you. San could feel his eyelids grow heavier despite how hard he tried to keep them open. A warm, comfortable feeling of drowsiness was overwhelming him.
But you weren’t there with him like all the previous times he experienced it.
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“Where am I?”
“Oh, you’re awake!”
San yelped in surprise at the multiple-eyed creature in front of him. The creature jumped back with him, just as shocked.
“Ah, I’m sorry! Didn’t mean to scare you!” It (he?) seemed to be trying to bow, but due to the shape of its body it was more just looking down. With all their eyes.
San eyed it warily. “What are you?”
“Oh, I’m an angel!” It was quite a sight to see all those eyes somehow crease to an eye smile. It was kind of cute in a way, he couldn’t deny.
“What’s going on?”
“Well, to put it simply… You died.”
It all came flooding back. Laying on the sidewalk, all the other people staring down at him, his kids, you. Tears pricked the back of San’s eyes. Oh God. Have you heard the news?
“But you’ve been given a second chance at life, if you want it.” The angel nodded (or tried to) at him. “I’m sorry, I don’t fully know all the details of why or who granted it. Today’s my first day at being one of the angels in this role, hehet.”
A second chance?
“What I do know though, is that this isn’t going to return you back to the moment you died. You’ll be reborn into an entirely new setting. It may be identical to the life you’ve lived so far. It may not. There could be some similarities or major differences.” The angel’s wings spread out from behind its back, hovering around San like it was trying to give a hug.
“It’s a hard decision, I know. But you have to choose now if you want it.”
“Will I remember anything?”
The angel fell silent, and San sensed a hint of hesitation.
“I’m not supposed to, but I can allow you to bring all your memories over. If you’d like.”
He did. He was literally being given a second chance at life, to find you and rectify everything he couldn’t in his previous life. He wants you. He wants you to know that too.
“Yes. I’ll take the chance with my memories.”
The angel’s wings seemed to relax as it once again tried to nod. Right before San could feel himself being swept away from whatever it was he was standing on, he heard a booming yell in the background.
“KANG YEOSANG, YOU LET ANOTHER HUMAN KEEP THEIR MEMORIES?!”
Welp… Good luck to the angel.
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When he opened his eyes again, the air was still. San sat up, and looked down at his shirt. There was no blood, no wound, no pain. He wasn’t on the sidewalk either but seemed to have just been lying down on a park bench.
It was weird. He wasn’t even wearing the same clothes from that moment. People were walking past him without doing double takes. He’s not known here.
It felt surprisingly relieving.
But he had to remember why he chose this. He had to find you.
Although he’s not entirely sure how to start, the universe seemed to have answered it for him. Right as he stood up from the bench, his eyes immediately saw yours.
His breath hitched. Even though you looked to be the same age as you were the day he died, you looked just as good as when he first met and fell in love with you. San could feel the same butterflies from that day swirling in his stomach.
But your age wasn’t the only difference. There was someone else with you, your arms intertwined. Your eyes never looked away, fixated only on that person. And San realised what he saw.
You were giving that person the same look that used to be for him. The one that let him always see the lights and stars reflected in your irises, the one you reassured would have been his for a lifetime. The one that disappeared the day he started questioning and guilt-tripping you for doing things without him.
He called it love and passion. A passionate flame that turned everything it touched into ashes. With its only target being you, it was no surprise you burnt out. Still, you stayed. You fought to keep moving when there was nothing left to use as a motor. All he did was add fuel to his own fire and burn brighter.
This version of you had none of that. Your posture was calm. Your eyes no longer held storms. You were smiling and laughing. You had found someone who could anchor you rather than cause rocky seas.
San’s chest tightened in agony. It had been him. It used to be him. It should have been him.
But he couldn’t bring himself to disrupt the beautiful peace you appeared to have found in this lifetime. It would be too selfish of him to do that, and he’s figured he’s been selfish for long enough. He turned away from the two of you, sinking back into the bench and closed his eyes in defeat.
He owed you that much.
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You had caught sight of someone on the park bench right before you entered the car with your spouse. The feeling that bubbled in you was unsettling, like a familiar deja vu that you’d seen them before in this exact park. But it couldn’t have been possible, you didn’t know their name nor what they looked like. And you had looked for barely a second.
Your gut seemed to tell another story. It was twisting in turmoil, like it did when you felt all kinds of stress and frustrations. A nagging voice at the back of your head screamed that you knew that person. Feelings of love and joy welled in you too, which was freaking you out more because those were what you had felt all your life for your spouse. And you had no doubt that your spouse was the only one you’d ever feel them for.
Who on Earth was this person that was suddenly triggering them for no reason?
popping in to say that while i’m so sad by mark’s departure, i’m also so incredibly moved by mark’s words in his letter.
there’s a particular courage in walking away from the thing that built and shaped you and in being able to leave something so grand and safe to find something bigger than your current self. most people never do that. i am incredibly moved that he has chosen that journey: to leave the thing that made him, so he can become the person he know’s he was always meant to be.
his departure isn’t him just leaving, but it is him also modeling a kind of self-trust people hardly ever have. people often think courage is that moment where someone stands up and declares their new path to everyone, but, truthfully, it is often a quiet, fearful, and private decision where you turn it over in your head a million times and have a million conversations over the same topic over and over again with loved ones before you decide you’ll eventually have to loosen the grip on what’s defined to find what’s waiting for you.
letting go of something big isn’t just courageous either, it’s painful, lonely, and disorienting, and i can only imagine what it feels like when the life you’re letting go of is what’s been the majority of your life AND career.
i don’t mean to sound parasocial. i am, in full honesty, just recognizing the weight of someone making a life changing decision in full view of the world and admiring the courage it takes to do that. as someone who understands the courage it takes to walk away from personal experiences, this has given me the opportunity to watch someone name a truth i’ve been developing for a while now. shout out to mark lee, i truly believe when you choose yourself, you’ll find where you’re meant to be.
CONTENT: Established and secret relationship, idol!AU, heavy angst but happy ending, disappearance, burnout and mental health themes, fame pressure and sasaeng harassment, intense hurt/comfort, storm and reunion in the rain, vulnerability (crying, guilt, breakdown)..
SUMMARY: Bang Chan stops replying to your messages. Then he stops picking up the phone. After that, he disappears from the stage, from the group chat… and from your life — the one you both always kept secret. Between sasaengs, hate comments and empty company statements, the silence becomes unbearable. Until you decide to use the “emergency contact” Chan left you: Felix.
NOTE: I've written a fic based on @karmaghostjess93's idea. Thank you so much for trusting me to write it! I hope you like it.🌼 🌈 💗
CHAPTER 2 AND FINAL
CHAPTER 1
It's him.
Chan. Your Chan.
You get up, this time for real, moving slowly.
Every step you take toward the entryway is as if you were approaching a wounded wild animal: carefully, without haste, fearing that any movement might make him run away again.
He hasn’t moved an inch. His head is slightly bowed, his hands at his sides, soaked, his shoulders slumped.
The storm rages outside, but inside you hear nothing but the dripping of his clothes on the floor.
Your voice comes out on its own, barely a whisper:
“Chan…”
You’re not even sure you said it out loud. It sounds like a thought to you.
But he hears it.
Because, after a second that feels like a year, he slowly lifts his head.
His eyes meet yours.
They aren’t the eyes of the guy who used to flop down on your couch, dramatically moaning, “I’m dying.”
The dark circles under his eyes are deeper, his skin paler, his gaze… empty. There’s such deep exhaustion there that it takes your breath away.
When he pulls off his hood with a trembling hand, you see his hair flattened against his forehead, tangled from the rain. He looks thinner. More fragile.
He stares at you, but says nothing.
For a moment, neither do you.
There are so many things you want to do and say: you want to run and hug him, you want to yell at him, you want to cry, you want to ask him where he’s been, why he left, if he’s okay, if he plans to leave again.
But all you manage to do is move a little closer. Not too close, leaving a space between the two of you.
You raise your hands slowly, as if asking permission with the gesture. He doesn’t step back.
Carefully, you slide your fingers to his mask and pull it down from his face. You set it on the entryway table.
His face, now exposed, is painful to look at.
His lips are chapped, his stubble more pronounced than usual. Small red patches around his nose, as if he’d rubbed it too hard. Above all, that emptiness in his expression, broken only by a glimmer of something you recognize: fear.
You take his hand.
It’s ice-cold.
Your instinct to care for him kicks in before any other emotion.
“You’re soaked…” you murmur. “Come on, take a shower first, please. You’re going to get sick.”
You gently tug on his hand, trying to guide him toward the bathroom.
But his body doesn’t move.
It’s as if he’s rooted to the spot.
You turn around, confused, the question written all over your face.
He lets out a strange sound, something between a sigh and a broken laugh.
“I disappear for weeks…” he says, his voice deep and raspy, as if he hasn’t spoken much in a long time. “And the only thing you worry about is whether I’m going to catch a cold…” He looks at some random spot on the floor, then back at you. “Without even asking me for an explanation?”
His tone isn’t accusatory; it sounds more… incredulous. As if he doesn’t understand how you can take it this way.
You take another step toward him. The distance between you shrinks until you can clearly see the tiny broken capillaries in his eyes, signs of sleepless nights.
You look him straight in the eye, without flinching.
“I trust you,” you say, without hesitation. “If you did this, it’s because you had a compelling reason. And I want to hear it. Of course I want to hear it.”
You take a breath, swallow the lump in your throat.
“But first… I want to make sure you don’t get sick.”
There’s a second of silence.
Something in his eyes changes. It’s not a dramatic shift—they don’t suddenly light up—but the emptiness cracks just a little, letting through a glimpse of something you recognize: the Chan who melts when someone offers him simple care, not based on what he can give, but on who he is.
His shoulders slump slightly, as if he’s letting go of some of the weight.
“You’re still too good to me…” he murmurs, almost as if reproaching himself.
Even so, this time, when you take his hand, he lets himself be led.
The bathroom fills with steam very quickly.
You’ve left his usual towels in their place, as if you’d been unconsciously waiting for this moment. You also still have a set of his clothes that he left here last time: a large sweatshirt, a pair of sweatpants.
You leave them on the counter.
“I’ll be right outside,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “If you need anything… call me, okay?”
He barely nods. He doesn’t look at you directly; his eyes remain fixed on the floor.
You close the door gently and lean against it, on the outside.
You hear the sound of the water turning on, hitting the tile in the shower.
For the first few minutes, the sound is constant, monotonous. Your heart tries to match its beat to that of the drops, but it keeps racing.
You think about sending Felix a quick message, just a simple: “He’s here.”
But an irrational doubt strikes you: What if it’s a dream? What if you open the chat, type the message, and when you look up, he’s gone?
You decide to wait.
Time passes. Five minutes. Ten.
The water still sounds the same.
Something inside you tenses up.
You don’t hear the typical sounds of someone moving in the shower: no bottles being picked up, no curtain sliding, no light thuds of an elbow against the wall.
Just water. Falling. Without interruption.
A different kind of heat, this time from anxiety, rises in your chest.
You knock on the door, softly at first.
“Chan… are you okay?”
Silence.
You swallow hard.
You knock a little louder.
“Chan, can you hear me?”
Nothing.
Your mind jumps to the worst-case scenario with painful ease: Has he fainted? Is he sitting in a corner, unresponsive? Has he…?
You don’t finish the thought.
You turn the doorknob.
“I’m coming in,” you warn, just in case. “I don’t care if you’re naked; I care if you’re alive.”
You push the door open.
The steam hits your face immediately, fogging up the mirror, blurring the outlines.
You step inside, closing the door behind you so the hallway doesn’t get flooded. The sound of the water is louder here, almost deafening.
You yank the shower curtain open.
And you see him.
He isn’t naked. He’s still wearing his clothes, the same dark sweatshirt, now clinging to his body, heavy, dripping. He’s sitting on the shower floor, his back against the wall, his legs bent, his arms on his knees.
The water is pouring directly onto his head and shoulders, as if it were compressed rain.
He’s shivering.
You don’t know if it’s from the cold, anxiety, or both.
Your heart decides for you.
You step into the shower with everything, without thinking about the fact that you’re getting wet too, that it’s dangerous, or anything else.
You close the curtain a little behind you to keep the water inside, kneel down in front of him, the water now splashing against the back of your neck as well.
“Chan,” you say, more firmly this time. “Look at me.”
It takes a few seconds, but finally he looks up.
His gaze, through the water running down his eyelashes, breaks something inside you.
There’s a mixture of extreme exhaustion, guilt, fear… and a hint of shame. As if he feels exposed, not because he’s dressed in the shower, but because he’s letting you see him so broken.
You reach out and cup his face in your hands, shielding his cheeks from the direct stream.
“You’re shaking,” you whisper.
He laughs, a muffled sound.
“I don’t know if it’s from the cold… or everything else.”
His voice cracks on the last word.
And then, as if that small crack had been the signal his body needed, he breaks down.
His shoulders shake in a movement that isn’t exactly a sob, but resembles one. His hands, which had been clenched into fists on his knees, clumsily rise to your wrists, as if he were clinging to you to keep from sinking any further.
“I tried,” he says, the words spilling out in a rush, jumbled. “I tried to be strong.” He swallows, water sliding down his forehead, mixing—who knows if with tears. “I tried to carry on as if nothing had happened, to keep smiling, to keep saying ‘I’m okay’ on the live streams, to tell them not to worry…” He laughs again, without joy. “But everything we do… everything I am…” Her breathing quickens. “It seems like it’s never enough. Never.”
You listen, without taking your hands off her face.
“They’re attacking the guys because of me,” he continues. “Hyunjin, again. Felix, again. Everyone. —His fingers squeeze your wrists a little tighter. —And when they started getting close to you, even though they didn’t even know who you were… when I saw comments talking about your building, your street… —He closes his eyes tightly.— I felt like… like I was putting you in the line of fire just for existing by my side.
Your lungs tighten.
You’d suspected it, but hearing it like this, in his voice, hurts in a whole new way.
“I realized that the closer I brought you to me, the more I was putting you in danger,” he says. “And I didn’t know… I didn’t know how to keep looking you in the face, knowing that I was the one dragging you into all this.”
He lowers his head slightly, but you don’t let him hide completely, holding on tight.
“So I left,” he confesses quietly. “I turned everything off. I cut ties with everyone. I thought that if I disappeared, maybe… they’d stop too. That if they couldn’t find me, they’d stop looking for you. That if I wasn’t there, the kids would have time to breathe.”
The rain keeps falling, relentlessly, on both of you.
You feel your clothes clinging to your body, the cold starting to seep into your bones, but your attention is fixed solely on him.
You look at him, your eyes burning.
“And did it work?” you ask, in a whisper, but with a sharp edge to your voice. “Did they stop?”
He remains silent.
He doesn’t need to answer, but he does anyway.
“No,” he admits. “They just… changed the kind of noise.”
His laugh is almost inaudible.
“All I managed to do was leave you all alone with it. The kids, you…” His voice breaks completely. “I was a coward.” I left you alone when you needed me most. I wasn’t even able to say goodbye. I just… disappeared.” He squeezes his eyes shut, as if trying to erase himself. “I hate myself for that.”
You can’t stand the distance any longer.
You lean forward and hug him, right there, underwater.
Your arms wrap around his soaked shoulders, your body pressed against his. You feel his trembling up close; you feel his hands hesitate for a second and then cling tightly to your back, as if he’s afraid you’ll vanish into the steam.
His forehead rests against your collarbone.
“I don’t need you to be perfect, Chan,” you murmur, almost into his ear, trying not to let your voice break. “I don’t need an invincible boyfriend, or a hero who fixes everything.”
You stroke the back of his neck, feeling his uneven breathing against your skin.
“I just need you to be here. Even if you’re broken. Even if you’re scared. Even if you feel like you can’t handle it all… let me carry some of the weight with you.”
His fingers dig into the fabric of your T-shirt, as if those words had touched a spot that was too sensitive.
“You don’t deserve this…” he whispers, almost inaudibly. “You don’t deserve someone who runs away when they should stay.”
“What I don’t deserve,” you reply, pulling back slightly to look him in the eyes, “is for you to decide for me what I can or can’t handle.” You look at him with as much resolve as you can muster. “If you stay, if you fight, if you break and rebuild yourself… I want to be there. But I can’t be there if you shut the door on me.”
He looks at you as if it pains him to do so.
In his eyes there are a thousand apologies, a thousand “I’m sorrys” that words cannot express.
“I’m not going to ask you to forgive me,” he says at last, his voice hoarse. “Not now. Not after what I did.” He swallows, the water still splashing against his forehead. “But… if you’ll still let me try…” He pauses, searching for the words. “I don’t know how to be ‘Chan’ again for everyone. But I want to…” He looks at you, and for the first time since he walked in, you see a clear glimmer of determination behind all that exhaustion. “I want to try to be ‘Chan’ again for you.”
Your chest tightens.
You don’t respond with words.
You lean in and kiss his forehead, long and gently, letting the gesture speak:
“You’re here. And for now, that’s enough.”
You turn off the water without letting go of him completely.
“Let’s get these wet clothes off before you actually get sick,” you say, trying to regain a bit of lightness in your tone.
He nods, exhausted.
You help him up, out of the shower, and wrap him in a towel. You hand him his dry clothes, step out of the bathroom so he can change with some privacy, and in the meantime, you change too, shivering a little from the mix of cold and adrenaline.
When he steps out, wearing his oversized sweatshirt and sweatpants, the air around him is still heavy, but there’s a difference:
He’s no longer hiding in the darkness. For the first time in weeks, he’s standing in the light of your living room, soaked, shivering, and brutally honest.
And you’re there to see him.
The steam from the bathroom has almost completely dissipated.
In the living room, all you can hear is the rain on the window and the faint creak of the sofa as Chan plops down on it, still wrapped in the towel around his neck, his oversized sweatshirt hanging off his shoulders.
You sit down next to him, leaving a small space between the two of you.
Not because you don’t want to touch him, but because you feel that any contact too soon might make him feel cornered.
For a few seconds, neither of you says anything.
You study his profile: the curve of his nose, the way he clenches his jaw, the slight tremor in his fingers resting on his knees.
He keeps his eyes fixed on some indeterminate spot on the floor, as if he’s afraid that if he looks you in the face, you’ll vanish.
“Where have you been?” you ask finally, in a low voice, without demand, without reproach, but with all the honesty in the world.
He swallows.
A few seconds pass before he answers.
“In… too many places and nowhere,” he says with a dry chuckle. “Sometimes in empty studios they let us use at night. Sometimes in a cheap motel where no one would give a second glance to a guy in a cap and mask.” He runs a hand through the back of his neck, uncomfortable. “A couple of nights… I slept in the rehearsal room. Like when I was a trainee.” He shrugs, trying to downplay it. “Old habits.”
Something inside you shrinks.
You picture those cold, empty rooms, lit only by the white glow of the fluorescent lights. You picture Chan sprawled on a hard couch, one of those he always joked you couldn’t sleep on for even five minutes.
“Alone?” you ask, though you know the answer.
“Alone,” he confirms. “I wanted…” He takes a breath. “I wanted to make sure they couldn’t track me easily.” He sighs. “I turned off my phone. I threw away the SIM card. I changed my route every time.” He laughs, this time with a bitterness that makes your skin crawl. “Irony: I know better how to escape the sasaengs than how to ask for help.”
You lean toward him slightly.
“And what were you thinking while… you were running away?” Your question sounds gentle, but you’re venturing into deeper territory.
He hesitates for a second, then gives in.
“I was thinking… that maybe the world would be better off without me in it,” he admits. “I’m not talking about…”—he makes a vague gesture with his hand—“…disappearing permanently. I didn’t go that far.” His eyes darken. “But I am talking about… being less. Being around less.” “Talking less.” He fidgets with his fingers, restless. “If I was out of the picture, the comments would have to find another target. If I disappeared from the schedules, the live streams, the posts… maybe the group could breathe, maybe you could go back to being a truly anonymous person.”
It hurts to hear him say it, but you don’t interrupt him.
“And the more time passed…” he continues, “the more I realized something that messed with my head even more.”
He turns, finally, to look at you.
His gaze is sharp, unguarded.
“That I don’t deserve any of what I have.”
Your heart skips a beat.
“Chan…”
He raises a hand, as if asking you to let him continue.
“Look at it objectively,” he says, almost clinically. “I have seven incredible guys by my side who still call me ‘leader,’ even though I was the first to jump ship when the seas were at their roughest.” “I have millions of people out there…” he gestures vaguely toward the window, “…who spend these days writing ‘we’re waiting for you,’ ‘come back when you’re ready,’ ‘your health comes first,’ when I’m not even capable of replying to a simple message.” His lips tighten. “And I have someone…”—his eyes lock onto you—“who hasn’t slept well in weeks, hasn’t eaten well, doesn’t know if I’m alive, just because I decided to disappear without saying a word. And all that for what?” He laughs, without humor. “For a guy who doesn’t even know how to exist without hurting the people he loves.”
His words hit like stones.
You notice he’s clenching his hands until his knuckles turn white.
“I don’t deserve your messages,” he continues, his voice rising barely a notch, for the first time a little heavier. “I don’t deserve your patience. I don’t deserve for the guys to keep calling me ‘hyung’ affectionately after leaving them alone with all this shit. And definitely…” He inhales, as if it were physical pain. “…I don’t deserve for you to still be here.”
His confession cuts between them like a knife.
Your throat burns.
“You can’t decide that,” you reply, faster than you expected.
He looks at you, his expression a mix of frustration and pain.
“Of course I can,” he retorts. “If I really wanted what’s best for them, for you…” He closes his eyes for a second, as if the words were hard to say. “I should walk away. I should let them find someone stronger, more whole. Someone who doesn’t crumble at the first blow, someone who doesn’t drag everyone down every time his head stops working right.”
He falls silent for a moment, takes a deep breath, and his voice drops.
“But I don’t.”
The silence that follows takes your breath away.
—I don’t do it because… —his eyes lock onto yours again, brighter, as if he could see his own reflection in your pupils—… because I’m selfish. Because I realized that… I love you so much that the idea of letting you go hurts me more than any other fear. “He laughs, a broken laugh.” “And that just makes me feel worse. Because if I really wanted what was best for you, I would have kept you out of this from the start. If I were truly a good leader, a good… man, a good something…” He shakes his head. “I would have protected you even from myself.”
Every word pierces your chest, but not as an attack on you—rather, as proof of just how incredibly cruel he can be to himself.
You move.
You close the distance between you, until your knee touches his.
You bring your hands to his, which are still clenched into fists, and wrap them firmly.
“Listen to me carefully,” you say, and your tone makes him seem surprised. “I won’t let you use my love as a weapon against yourself.”
He blinks, confused.
“What…?”
“You’re trying to convince yourself that wanting to be with me makes you selfish,” you continue. “That loving your boys makes you a bad leader because you feel responsible for everything. That having fans who support you makes you a fraud because you can’t ‘live up to’ what you think they deserve.” You move his hands to your chest, placing them there, over the rapid beat of your heart. “But the problem isn’t what you feel, Chan. The problem is what you’re telling yourself when the lights go out.”
He swallows hard, his eyes misting over.
“You haven’t forced anyone to love you,” you continue, your voice trembling but not faltering. “The guys chose you as their leader time and time again—even when you weren’t perfect, even when you were afraid. The fans are there because they’ve seen your effort, your vulnerability, your humanity. Not because they think you’re an indestructible robot.” And I…—it’s hard for you, but you say it clearly—…I’m here because I love you. With problems or without them. With breakdowns, with doubts, with sleepless nights. I love you not in spite of your cracks, but with them. Because they’re part of you, too.
He opens his mouth, as if to protest, but you squeeze his hands a little to stop him.
“If tomorrow you decide you don’t want to be with me because you don’t love me anymore, that’s one thing,” you say. “I’ll be heartbroken, but I’ll accept it. But I won’t accept you pushing me away ‘for my own good’ while you still feel the same way. I won’t accept you using my safety as an excuse to punish your own existence.”
His eyes fill with tears now—visible, heavy.
One rolls slowly down his cheek.
“You have no idea how many times I’ve repeated that to myself,” she whispers. “‘If you really love her, you’ll push her away.’ ‘If you really love them, you’ll disappear.’” Her voice breaks. “And every time I imagined you far away…” A small, almost childlike sob escapes her. “I couldn’t breathe.”
His confession pierces you.
You can’t stand the distance anymore.
You lean forward and rest your forehead against hers.
You both close your eyes.
Your voice, close to her lips, is a firm whisper:
“I don’t want you to push me away. I don’t want a ‘safer’ life without you.” I want a life with you, even if it’s scary sometimes. I want to be there when the comments hurt, when the nights are long, when you feel like you don’t deserve anything. I want to be part of the proof that you do deserve it. That you are enough. That you can be loved unconditionally.
He takes a deep, shaky breath, swallowing your words as if they were oxygen.
“I don’t know if I can promise I’ll never feel this way again,” he says, with brutal honesty. “I don’t know if I can promise I won’t get scared again, or want to disappear.” His hands, still on your chest, feel your racing heartbeat. “But… if you let me…” He opens his eyes, fixing them on yours, already shining and red. “I can promise you I won’t do it alone again. That if I ever feel like I can’t take it anymore, instead of turning off my phone and running…” He swallows. “I’ll come here. First. To this couch. To you.”
You laugh through your tears, a muffled sound.
“I’ll accept that as a deal.”
He lets out a small sound that could almost be an attempt at a laugh, too.
You move even closer and kiss him.
It’s not a movie kiss; it’s not dramatic with background music. It’s slow, clumsy, tasting of salt and rain, of apologies and promises still rough around the edges.
It’s a “you’re still here” and a “I’m not leaving” in the same gesture.
When you pull apart, he rests his forehead on your shoulder again, as if that spot were made just for him.
He whispers, so softly you can barely hear him:
“I love you.”
You gently stroke his hair.
“I love you too.”
You stay like this for quite a while.
He rests his forehead against your shoulder, his eyes closed, breathing a little more evenly. You stroke his hair, feeling the knot in your chest loosen just a little for the first time tonight.
But there’s another truth hanging in the air, waiting.
It’s not just you and him in this world.
There’s a group of guys, on the other side of town, who’ve been waiting for weeks for a signal like the one you just received.
You shift slightly, just enough for him to lift his head and look at you.
“Chan,” you say, carefully. “There’s something else you have to do.”
His body tenses slightly.
“I know,” he replies, before you can say it. “I have to call the company, the managers… I have to…”
“That too,” you interrupt him gently. “But… I wasn’t thinking about them first.”
He blinks, confused.
“Who then…?”
You pick up your phone from the table.
You unlock it, find a name in your contacts list, and place it in his hand.
When he sees whose name it is, his fingers freeze around the device.
On the screen: “Felix.”
“I can’t…” he begins, his voice low.
“Yes, you can,” you reply. “Remember when you gave me his number? You said he was your ‘safe person.’ And right now, he doesn’t know if you’re dead in a ditch or hiding in another country. Neither do the others.”
Chan closes his eyes for a second, as if a wave of guilt were washing over him again.
“They don’t deserve for me to just show up like this, out of the blue, as if nothing happened,” he murmurs. “Not after leaving them hanging for so long.”
“That’s exactly why you can’t stay silent,” you reply. “You don’t have to have the perfect words. You don’t have to have a polished explanation. They just… need to know you’re alive. And that you’re coming back.”
He stares at the phone as if it weighed a ton.
For a few seconds, you think he’s going to leave it on his lap and put it off until who knows when.
But then, he takes a breath. His shoulders rise and fall.
“If I put it off… I’ll never do it,” he says, more to himself than to you.
He taps the screen and selects the call icon.
He brings the phone to his ear.
You stay by his side, in silence, your hand resting near his knee—not touching him, but offering your presence as an anchor.
The ringtone sounds once. Twice. Three times.
For a second, you fear Felix won’t answer.
Then, a click.
“Hello?” Felix’s voice sounds clear, though a little hoarse, as if he hadn’t slept well.
Chan closes her eyes.
It takes her a couple of seconds to find her voice.
“Lix…” he says at last, in a broken whisper. “It’s me.”
There is silence on the other end of the line.
A silence so thick you can almost hear Felix’s brain shutting down and restarting.
“Hyung…”—finally, the word comes out, trembling—“Where are you? Are you okay? Do you know what…?”
His voice cracks and trails off, as if he doesn’t know where to start.
Chan grips the edge of the sofa with his free hand.
“I’m sorry,” he says, bluntly.
He repeats it, as if those two words were the only solid thing he could cling to.
“I’m sorry, Lix. I’m sorry for disappearing. I’m sorry for not answering. I’m sorry for leaving you…”
“Hyung,” Felix interrupts him this time, his voice audibly trembling. “Don’t start with that now. Just… tell me: are you safe?”
Chan swallows hard.
He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, as if seeking strength.
You nod, giving him a look that says “I’m here.”
“I’m at…”—he has to clear his throat—“at… her place.” He doesn’t say her name, but Felix understands.
“I knew it,” the other one whispers, relieved yet with a touch of emotion. “Well, I didn’t ‘know’ it, but… I hoped that if you came back, you’d go to her first.”
You feel a lump of emotion in your throat.
“Lix…” Chan takes a deep breath. “I know I’ve been a mess with this. “I know I left you guys alone, which isn’t what a leader should do. I know that—”
“Hyung,” Felix interrupts again, this time more firmly. “You’re our leader because you’re human, not because you’re perfect.” His voice softens. “We’ve been waiting for you. All of us. And… there’s something I think you should know, too.”
Chan frowns, confused.
“What…?”
Felix pauses briefly, as if weighing his words.
“I’m not the only one who knows you were disappearing to a safe place,” he says. “I told them about her. Not too many details, but… they know you have someone important outside of us. And they’re… grateful. Because you weren’t completely alone.”
You feel the impact of those words on Chan as if it were physical.
His shoulders relax slightly.
“I don’t deserve for you to be grateful for something like that,” he murmurs, more to himself than to Felix.
But Felix hears it just the same.
“Well, we’re in the same boat,” he replies. “And, hyung…” His voice sounds a little brighter, despite his exhaustion. “Can you… come over? Not right now, with the storm and all, but…” A nervous giggle escapes him. “We’d like to see you. To see that it’s really you. And… I think there’s someone else who should officially meet us, right?
Your heart skips a beat.
Chan looks at you, waiting for your reaction.
You don’t hesitate.
You nod, with a small, shaky smile.
“You can come here,” he says then, slowly. “Tomorrow. Or when the storm stops. I’m not… I’m not ready to show up in the dorm yet. But…” He digs his fingers into the couch, nervous. “If you want, you can come.”
On the other end, you hear a sigh of relief that you could almost have sworn came from all of them at once, even though only Felix is speaking.
“I’m going to type in the chat right now,” he says. “Get ready for some drama, because Hyunjin is going to cry, Han is going to yell, and Seungmin is going to say it’s your fault for making him worry.” He laughs, with genuine warmth this time. “Hyung… thanks for calling.”
Chan closes his eyes, and for the first time since he walked through your door, the guilt in his expression takes a step back to make room for something else: relief.
“Thanks for… being there for her,” he replies suddenly, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. His words are for Felix, but his gaze is on you. “When I wasn’t.”
Felix pauses for a second before answering.
“Always,” he says. “She’s family by extension. If she’s important to you, she’s important to us.” His voice drops a little. “And you still are, too. Don’t try to argue with that.”
They end the call after a few more words, promises to text, tentative schedules depending on the storm.
When he hangs up, Chan sets the phone on the table, as if it weighs less than before.
He turns toward you.
There are still tears in his eyes, but also a new sparkle.
“Are you sure you want this?” he asks. “It’s not the best setting to meet seven rowdy boys.”
You laugh, a mix of nervousness and tenderness.
“Of all the ways we imagined this would happen…” you say, picking up on that joke, “this one wasn’t on the list either. But yes. I want to meet them.” I want them to see who the person is who brought their leader back to them. And I also want them to see who the guy is that I call home when everything falls apart.
He looks down, his cheeks flushing slightly.
He leans toward you a little, resting his forehead on your shoulder again, as if that’s where he fits best.
He whispers, almost like a prayer:
“I’m going to try to believe that I deserve all of this. Your love. Them. The fans.” He takes a deep breath, and you feel that air as if it were yours too. “I’m going to try. Even if it takes me a while.”
You wrap an arm around his back, pulling him close to you.
“You don’t have to get there alone,” you reply. “We’ll do it together. Step by step. With or without problems.”
Outside, the storm continues to pound against the windows.
Inside, for the first time in weeks, the word “tomorrow” doesn’t sound so scary.
It even sounds a little hopeful.
You wake up before the alarm goes off.
For a couple of seconds, your brain can’t remember a thing. You’re only aware of the weight of the blanket, the distant murmur of the rain—which has now eased off—and the smell of clean cotton.
Then you feel the warmth beside you.
You turn over.
Chan is there, asleep on his side, with his back to you, breathing deeply. His hair, still a little messy from the night before, falls onto the back of his sweatshirt.
He stayed up late. After the call with Felix, you two kept talking for a while longer, but no longer about blame or drastic decisions. You talked about little things: what you’d missed on the live streams, some trainee anecdote he’d never told you before, what he missed most about the routines with the guys.
At some point, the conversation faded away. You rested your head on his chest, listening to a heartbeat that, for the first time in weeks, sounded close. He, with a hand on your back, let himself drift into a deep, exhausted sleep.
And now, he’s here.
Not a memory, not a projection of your anxiety. Here.
You sit up carefully so as not to wake him.
You remember Felix’s message from last night, before you went to sleep:
“The storm is clearing up. We can go tomorrow around 11, if that works for you. Get Hyung mentally prepared. And maybe have some tissues ready for Hyunjin and Han. 😂”
You check the time. It’s 8:40.
Perfect.
You get up quietly, wash your face, and pull your hair back a bit. Nothing too elaborate; you’re still you, but a slightly less haggard version than yesterday.
And then, you head to the kitchen.
You decide that, if you’re going to officially meet his family, you want your home to feel like… just that: a home.
You open the cabinets, take out eggs, flour, milk. You start making pancakes, some fruit, coffee, juice. It’s not a hotel buffet, but it’s the best you can do with what you have.
The smell of hot batter begins to fill the apartment.
You’re so focused on flipping a pancake without burning it that it takes you a second to notice the presence at the kitchen door.
“What are you doing up so early…?” Chan’s hoarse voice comes from the doorway.
You turn around.
He’s leaning against the doorframe, his hair even more tousled than before, his eyes puffy from sleep, his sweatshirt slipping slightly off one shoulder.
The scene is so domestic, so ordinary, that it hits you right in the chest.
“Breakfast,” you reply, as if it were obvious. “We’re having guests, aren’t we?”
He blinks, as if his brain is still starting up.
Then, the memory of last night comes flooding back. His eyes widen slightly, a mix of nerves and something like excitement.
“Oh… right,” he mutters. “The kids.”
He walks over, barefoot, and leans against the counter next to you, watching as you pour another batch of batter into the pan.
“It smells good,” he says. “Better than our dorm food, that’s for sure.”
You laugh, but the sound comes out a little muffled. The nerves you’d kept at bay while cooking come rushing back.
He notices.
“Hey,” he lowers his head slightly to catch your eye. “What’s wrong?”
You take a deep breath.
“I’m… nervous,” you confess, finally. “Really nervous.”
His eyebrows furrow tenderly.
“Why?”
You shoot her a look that says, “Are you seriously asking me that?”
“I’m going to meet the seven guys you love most in this world,” you explain. “The ones who’ve seen you at your best and worst. The ones who call you leader, family, hyung…” You flip the pancake too hard; it almost breaks in half. “And I’m going to do it in the context of your disappearance, of the fact that you were here, of the fact that I… exist.” You shrug. “How could I not be nervous?”
He watches you for a second, then smiles that gentle smile that has always disarmed you.
“They’re going to love you,” he says, with a confidence that contrasts with all his insecurities from last night. “They’ll probably fight over who gets to sit closest to you at the table.” He pauses. “And even if that weren’t the case…” He gently takes your chin, turning your face toward him. “You’re not on trial today.” I’m the one who needs to apologize, not you.
You sigh, but the pressure in your chest eases a little.
“I’m not worried about them ‘judging’ me,” you retort. “I just… want them to see that I’m on your side. That I wasn’t the reason you disappeared, but part of the reason you came back.”
He blinks, as if the words had struck him right in the heart.
He leans in and plants a quick kiss on your forehead.
“They already know that,” he whispers. “Felix made sure they understood.”
You let that sink in as you finish making breakfast.
Chan helps you set the table: he places plates, cutlery, and glasses. He pauses for a second when he sees the space.
His fingers rest on an empty plate, as if he could already see someone sitting there.
“It’s been a while since…” he murmurs, “since I’ve prepared anything for everyone.”
“You’re not cooking today,” you reply, giving him a gentle nudge with your hip. “Today you’re just a guest.”
He smiles, letting that idea sink in a little: for once, he doesn’t have to be the one holding everyone up. He can be the one being welcomed.
It’s 11:07 when the doorbell rings.
Your heart skips a beat, so hard it almost takes your breath away.
Chan tenses up too; his eyes instinctively dart toward the door, then back to you.
“I’ll get it,” he says, but he looks at you, as if asking if you’re ready.
You’re not. But you nod anyway.
He walks toward the door with slow steps, as if each one brings him closer to something he’s been both longing for and fearing for far too long.
You stay a few steps behind, close enough to see, far enough to give them space.
He opens the door.
The hallway suddenly fills with voices and energy.
“Hyung…” The first voice you recognize is Felix’s, choked with emotion.
Suddenly, there are too many people in your doorway: Felix in front, wearing a cap and mask, his eyes shining. Behind him, Changbin with his shoulders squared, Seungmin with a controlled expression, Jeongin peeking around a corner, Han and Hyunjin pressed close together, and Lee Know trying not to block the entrance.
For a second, everyone just stands there, staring at him.
Chan, in his sweatshirt, his hair still a little damp, his eyes red.
“Hi,” he says, his voice cracking on that single syllable.
That’s all it takes.
Felix is the first to move.
He crosses the distance in two long strides and throws himself into a hug, wrapping his arms tightly around Chan’s torso, burying his face in his shoulder.
“You idiot,” he murmurs, his voice choked up. “Don’t ever do that again. Ever.”
Chan laughs through his tears, wrapping his arms around Felix’s back, squeezing him just as tight.
“I’m sorry,” he repeats, over and over, against his hair. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”
Behind them, the dam breaks.
Changbin gently pushes Felix aside to slip his arms into the embrace as well, wrapping his arms around Chan from the other side.
“Do you know how hard it is to raise these kids on my own?” he complains, his voice thick but with an obvious tremor. “I don’t know how you’ve managed it for years, hyung, honestly.”
There’s a general burst of laughter, punctuated by sobs.
Han covers his mouth with his hand, his eyes already red, and then simply gives in and throws himself forward, hugging whoever he can.
“Hyuuung!” he cries dramatically, big tears rolling down his cheeks. “I thought you’d gone to Australia without us! Traitor!”
Hyunjin isn’t far behind.
His eyes shining even before he enters, he takes two steps and joins the group as well, hugging from behind, resting his forehead on Chan’s shoulder.
“I hate you,” he murmurs, in a whisper that fools no one. “I hate you for making me worry like this.”
Jeongin tries to keep his composure, but his eyes are also moist as he approaches, more timidly, and places a firm hand on Chan’s back.
“Welcome back, hyung,” he says, with a small but sincere smile.
Lee Know, standing nearby, crosses his arms as if trying to look tough, but his jaw trembles slightly.
“If you disappear without a word again, I’ll kick you out of bed,” he mutters, looking away as if that could hide the way his eyes are shining.
Seungmin is the last to step forward.
He’s been standing a little behind the others, with a half-smile that’s meant to be ironic, but his red ears give him away.
When he finally takes a step forward, he stands in front of Chan, while the rest slowly step aside just enough to make room for him.
“Hyung,” he says, crossing his arms. “You had me worried. Do you see the dark circles under my eyes now? You’re going to ruin my face, and the company insurance doesn’t cover that.”
There’s a small, general chuckle.
But his eyes, fixed on Chan, tell a different story. You can tell that if he blinks too much, tears will fall.
Chan lets out an awkward laugh, a mix of relief and guilt.
“I’m sorry, Seungmin,” he replies. “I really am.”
Seungmin makes a gesture with his hand, as if clearing the air.
“Just…” He swallows. “The next time you feel like you’re going to break, let us know before you do, okay? We’re not your fans. We’re your family.” He nods toward the others, who nod back, some discreetly wiping their eyes. “You don’t have to be the leader around us all the time.”
The words land heavily yet gently at the same time.
Chan nods, her eyes now completely filled with tears.
“I know,” he says, and for the first time, it sounds as if she truly believes it. “I’m learning. Thank you for… waiting for me.”
The whole group closes in for another hug, this time more chaotic, filled with snickering and pats on the back.
You watch from the sidelines, your chest tight and your eyes glistening too.
It’s like seeing a piece of something that has always been theirs, but of which you are now somehow an invisible part.
Suddenly, Felix steps away from the group, turns toward you, and waves.
“Hey,” he says, smiling, his cheeks still wet. “Come here.”
You notice seven pairs of eyes turning toward you, some curious, others already filled with warm suspicion.
You take a deep breath.
You step forward.
“Guys,” says Felix, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “This is… the person I told you about.”
For a second, no one quite knows what to do.
Then Changbin steps away from the group and approaches you with a mix of shyness and energy.
He bows deeply.
“Thank you,” he says, speaking slowly in Korean so you can understand. “For taking care of him when we couldn’t.”
You hurry to bow as well, shaking your head.
“I didn’t do that much,” you reply, nervously. “I just…”
“You did enough,” Lee Know interrupts, approaching now, his eyes still a little red but his expression steadier. “Enough so he had a place to come back to. And that’s a lot.”
Hyunjin stares at you for a moment, sizing you up, with that air of a dramatic prince that everyone knows. Then, suddenly, his eyes fill with tears again and he hugs you without warning.
“I’m sorry,” he sobs into your shoulder. “If I’d been more attentive… if I’d seen sooner how bad he was…”
You give him a few awkward pats on the back.
“It’s not your fault,” you say. “He hid himself very well. Even from himself.”
Han joins the side-hug, tucking his head between you and Hyunjin.
“Now you have to put up with all of us—sorry,” he jokes, his voice still hoarse from crying. “There are a lot of us. And we’re loud.”
You laugh, the sound shaky but genuine.
“I was already used to the noise of one,” you reply, looking at Chan. “I guess seven won’t be that different.”
“Disagree,” Jeongin mutters from behind, and everyone laughs.
Seungmin approaches with a small, crooked smile.
“If it ever gets unbearable,” he says, nodding toward Chan, “you can send him back to us. Lifetime warranty.”
“Yah!” Chan protests from the group, but he’s laughing.
Felix stands beside you, resting his arm lightly on your shoulder in a friendly gesture.
“You’re not alone in this anymore,” he whispers softly, just loud enough for you to hear. “There are plenty of us to support him. And to support you if we need to.”
Lo miras, agradecida.
“Thanks for… believing me that day,” you reply.
He shakes his head.
“Thanks for writing,” he says. “Without that message, we wouldn’t be here.”
You slowly make your way toward the living room and the table.
When they see the breakfast, there are various exclamations.
“Waaah, hyung, they’re treating you better than us!” Han complains dramatically, already holding a piece of pancake in his hand. “Is this what you’ve been eating while we were surviving on ramen?”
“He didn’t even cook it himself,” you say, raising an eyebrow.
“Double betrayal,” adds Changbin, dramatically clutching his chest.
Seungmin takes a bite, nods, impressed.
“We can adopt you as the group’s chef,” he says, with feigned seriousness. “Sorry, Chan hyung, you’ve got no excuse left to run off to cook when you don’t want to talk.”
The table is filled with laughter, gentle nudges, and overlapping conversations. Chan sits next to you; sometimes he speaks, sometimes he stays silent, just looking around, as if he wants to memorize every gesture, every voice.
At one point, while the others argue over who was the first to cry when they saw him (Hyunjin and Han blame each other, Jeongin tries to act tough), you notice Chan looking at you.
His expression is calm, very different from yesterday’s.
He leans toward you slightly, just enough to whisper in your ear so the others can’t hear.
“Thank you,” he murmurs. “For not giving up on me. For calling him. For being here now, with all of us.”
You look at him, feeling your chest fill with something warm.
“I told you last night,” you reply, in a whisper. “I don’t want an ‘easier’ life without you. I want this one. With problems, with too many people at a small table, with noise, with bad days…” You smile. “As long as, at the end of the day, you keep coming back here.”
His eyes soften; he leans in slightly and brushes his nose against yours, an intimate gesture hidden amid the chaos.
“I’ll do it,” he promises. “Not just for you. For them. For me, too.”
You look up.
You see seven kids laughing, pushing each other, sampling breakfast, arguing over silly things. You see Chan by your side, lighter, surrounded by his chosen family and you.
Outside, the storm has died down to just a drizzle.
Inside, for the first time in a long time, everything feels… in sync.
Not perfect. Never perfect. But real. Honest. Shared.
And when that night, much later, you lie down on the couch with Chan, listening in the background to the group chat notifications exploding with memes about how much Hyunjin cried, you realize something simple and profound:
You don’t know what tomorrow will bring. You don’t know what new attacks, what new rumors, what new difficult nights await out there.
But now you know with a certainty that calms you:
You’ll face it together. He with his boys. He with you. And you with all of them.
And that, even though the world remains noisy and cruel at times, is more than enough.
CONTENT: Established and secret relationship, idol!AU, heavy angst but happy ending, disappearance, burnout and mental health themes, fame pressure and sasaeng harassment, intense hurt/comfort, storm and reunion in the rain, vulnerability (crying, guilt, breakdown)..
SUMMARY: Bang Chan stops replying to your messages. Then he stops picking up the phone. After that, he disappears from the stage, from the group chat… and from your life — the one you both always kept secret. Between sasaengs, hate comments and empty company statements, the silence becomes unbearable. Until you decide to use the “emergency contact” Chan left you: Felix.
NOTE: I've written a fic based on @karmaghostjess93's idea. Thank you so much for trusting me to write it! I hope you like it.🌼 🌈 💗
If the world knew the truth, it would probably go crazy.
The leader of Stray Kids, the guy everyone sees as unattainable, the one who smiles for the cameras, the one who always has a word of encouragement for others… That same guy is right now sprawled face-down on your couch, his T-shirt wrinkled, his hair plastered to his forehead, and a pair of mismatched socks you lent him.
“I’m dying,” he mutters into the cushion, in slurred English.
“You’ve been lying there for ten minutes, drama queen,” you reply, without looking up from your laptop.
He grunts, rolls over, and stares at you. He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches you. His eyes linger on the way you frown at the screen, on how you bite the corner of your lip as you type.
“Stop staring,” you protest, feeling his gaze fixed on you.
“I can’t,” he replies, a slow smile spreading across his face. “You’re pretty.”
You roll your eyes, but you can’t hide the smile that escapes you too. He sits up, literally crawls to the other end of the couch, and rests his head on your lap, turning his body so he can keep watching you.
“Don’t you have more important things to do than bother me?” you stroke his hair without thinking.
“Nothing is more important than bothering you,” he says, very serious, though his eyes sparkle with amusement.
That’s how it’s been almost all the time lately. Chan arrives late, exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes and his shoulders tense from so many hours in the studio… but as soon as he walks through your door and takes off his mask, he lets himself be a different version of himself. Softer, clumsier, sillier. More like you.
It’s a relationship no one knows about.
Not his family, not the company, not your friends back home. He jokes that it’s like a TV drama, but you know the secret carries a weight—a weight you both agreed to bear from the start.
You remember the first time he told you, on a night much like this one, with the two of you sitting on the living room rug, eating cheap ramen.
“I don’t want to hide you,” he had confessed, stirring his noodles without looking at you. “But… for now, I think it’s safest. For you, for us, for the kids…”
“I know,” you had replied then, with a lump in your throat. “I don’t need the world to know, Chan. As long as you and I know, that’s enough for me.”
He had looked up then, and gazed at you with those eyes that seemed to ask for forgiveness and express gratitude at the same time.
“Just… if things ever get ugly,” he added, as if it were a random thought, “and you can’t reach me, or something happens…” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. “I’m going to leave you an emergency contact.”
He had written a number on a piece of paper and handed it to you.
“Felix,” he said. “If anything happens, if I’m not around, if you need help… send him a message, okay? He’s… he’s my safe person too.”
At the time, you didn’t think too much of it. It seemed sweet, responsible. Very “BangChan.”
Now, that little folded piece of paper in your nightstand drawer would become your only lifeline.
But you don’t know that yet.
For now, it’s just you, the laptop, and Chan’s head on your lap, while he looks at you as if you were the only corner of peace in a city that’s way too noisy.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks after a while, breaking the silence.
“How strange it is that no one suspects a thing,” you reply, finally closing the laptop. “You spend way too much time here.”
He laughs.
“I keep my secrets well.”
“Oh, really?” You poke his cheek. “Your members say otherwise during the live streams.” They always ask why you’re smiling while looking at your phone.
Chan blushes visibly and covers his face with his hands.
“They said that?”
“Hyunjin said you looked like a teenager in love,” you tease.
“Traitor…” he mutters, but he’s smiling.
You lean in a little and pull his hands away from his face.
“Well, they’d better get used to it,” you whisper, and kiss him briefly on the lips. “Because I plan to keep giving you reasons to smile at your phone.”
You don’t know it yet, but those little moments of light will be the only spark keeping him going when everything else starts to fall apart.
At first, they’re just isolated comments.
An old tweet taken out of context. A video edited with malicious intent. Rumors you’ve seen before, ones you thought were long buried.
Stuff about Hyunjin is popping up again. Old screenshots, lies that had already been cleared up, evidence that the company and the guys presented back in the day.
But the internet has a selective memory. It forgets the clarifications and clings to the controversy.
“They’re at it again…” Chan says one afternoon, flinging his phone onto the table as if it were burning him.
You’re in your kitchen. He tried to cook something more elaborate than ramen and ended up focusing on chopping vegetables as if they were the enemy.
You approach from behind and wrap your arms around his waist.
“Too much noise?” you ask against his back.
He sighs.
“Too much.” He falls silent for a moment. “It’s not just Hyunjin this time. They’re attacking Lix again. Because of his accent, because of his appearance. Everyone, really.”
You feel him tense beneath your arms. It’s a tension you recognize: that of the leader who feels like everything is his fault even when it isn’t.
“It’s not your responsibility for everything some stranger with too much free time says,” you murmur.
“But I’m the leader,” he replies automatically, as if by reflex. “I’m supposed to keep us all safe.”
He puts down the knife, leans against the counter, head bowed.
“What kind of leader am I if I can’t even protect them from people’s comments and lies?”
You stand beside him and gently turn his face toward you.
“You’re a human leader,” you reply. “They don’t need a superhero; they need Chan. And you’re already doing more than anyone could.”
He laughs without humor.
“Try telling that to the comments.”
When he leaves that night, he does so with a hug a little tighter than usual. When he calls you from the studio later, his voice sounds tired, but he still tries to joke.
“I promise I’m fine,” he repeats. “Just… tired.”
You don’t quite believe him, but you decide not to press him. You trust him. You trust that he’ll tell you if he breaks down.
The days go by and the noise grows louder. The sasaengs start crossing more dangerous lines: showing up at the building, calling the guys’ cell phones, leaking their schedules.
And you, who aren’t publicly part of that world, start to notice how the shadows are creeping toward you too.
One afternoon, while you’re grocery shopping, you could swear someone is following you down a couple of aisles. You turn around, don’t see anyone suspicious, but your heart races anyway.
Later, you text Chan about it.
“I think I’m being paranoid. I felt like someone was following me today.”
It takes a while to respond, but when it does:
“Send me your location when you leave the house, okay? Just… just in case. I want to be sure. I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”
His apologies are becoming more and more frequent. As if every outburst, every comment, every strange look in your direction were an added burden on his shoulders.
The first cracks aren’t visible from the outside.
Fans still see the same smiling Bang Chan on live streams, with his playlists, his jokes, his hands fidgeting nervously in front of the camera.
But you see what happens afterward.
One night he shows up at your apartment unannounced. As soon as you open the door, you notice something different.
He’s paler, his dark circles more pronounced, his jaw clenched. He doesn’t even try to smile.
“Hi,” he says quietly, in a whisper.
You step aside to let him in. He takes off his shoes almost automatically and drops his backpack on the floor by the door.
Instead of heading to the couch like usual, he slumps down on the rug in front of the TV, which is turned off. He rests his elbows on his knees and covers his face with his hands.
You close the door slowly. You walk over and sit down next to him, without touching him yet.
“Chan…” you murmur.
He doesn’t answer. He takes a deep breath, and you can feel his whole back heave. There’s a barely perceptible tremor in his fingers.
You hear it before you see it: a ragged intake of breath, a sound that seems to carry the weight of years of holding back.
He’s breaking. And this time, he can’t hold it in.
“Sometimes I feel like, no matter what I do, there’s always going to be someone waiting for me to make a mistake so they can tear us apart…” his voice comes out choked behind his hands. “And I’m the leader. I’m supposed to keep all of us safe. What kind of leader am I if I can’t even protect you from comments on the internet?”
You kneel in front of him, gently take his wrists, and force his hands down so he’ll look at you.
His eyes are moist, but no tears have fallen yet. He’s at that exact point between breaking down and holding on.
“You’re not a shield,” you say firmly. “You can’t stop every bullet with your chest, Chan. It’s not fair.”
He laughs bitterly.
“But I try anyway.”
“And you’re killing yourself inside,” you reply.
You hug him then, leaning forward and wrapping your arms around him. At first he stiffens, as if he doesn’t know what to do with so much honesty. Then, slowly, he lets himself go.
His hands move up your back, clutching your T-shirt, and you feel him trembling against your shoulder.
He isn’t crying out loud. There’s no noisy drama. There is a heavy silence and a breath that breaks at times, as his weight sinks against you.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers over and over, against your neck. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”
“You have nothing to feel,” you reply, but you keep stroking his back anyway. Even though you know that, for him, guilt is a native language.
That night he stays over. He lies in your bed, facing away, staring at the ceiling in the dark.
You think he’s asleep when you’re about to drift off yourself, but then you hear him whisper:
“Sometimes I think that if I disappeared… everything would be better.”
You open your eyes suddenly and turn toward him.
“Don’t ever say that again,” you reply, your voice harsher than you expected.
He turns his head and looks at you. His pupils seem to glow in the dim light.
“It’s just… a stupid thought,” he says quickly. “I’m not going to do anything, I swear.”
But those words linger there, floating between the two of them, like a crack that refuses to close.
Time passes. The days blur together, and the noise on social media ebbs and flows like a tide that never quite recedes.
You cling to the small signs of normalcy: a message from him in the morning, a voice note laughing at something Felix said, a photo from the studio with a cup of coffee and a “wish you were here.”
Until one day, the messages simply stop coming.
There’s no fight beforehand. No strange argument. The last conversation was normal:
“I’m finishing up late today, but I’ll call you before I go to sleep, okay? 💛”
“Don’t worry if you’re tired—please get some rest. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
And that's it.
That promised call never comes.
At first, you think he fell asleep. It wouldn't be the first time; his schedule is inhuman.
The next day, you send him another message:
“Is everything alright? 🥺”
No answer. A small clock icon next to the text. You try calling him.
It goes straight to voicemail.
You try again several times throughout the day. Nothing.
You wonder if he’s changed his number, or if the company has taken measures against the sasaengs. You try not to panic.
But then, the news breaks.
A statement from the company: Bang Chan will be taking some time off for personal/health reasons.
The internet is flooded with theories. Some talk about burnout, others about scandals, others about pure malice. Meanwhile, you’re sitting on your couch, phone in hand, reading the statement over and over again.
There isn’t a single mention of where he is. Not a single private word for you.
The Stray Kids chat you can’t see is just as silent. The members, with no real information, keep working under the constant shadow of his absence.
Two days pass. Three. Four.
Your messages still haven’t been delivered.
“Chan, please, tell me something.”
“I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m here.”
“I’m starting to get scared.”
The nights turn into an endless cycle of refreshing timelines, reading articles, and scrolling too far down into comments you know you shouldn’t be reading.
There are supportive tweets, fans saying “take the break you need,” “we’re waiting for you.” But there are also nasty comments, people celebrating that you’ve “gone,” people pointing out mistakes, taking phrases out of context.
A thread on a forum sticks with you: someone vaguely mentions your building. Not your name, not your face, but enough to send a chill down your spine.
You take a deep breath, close the page.
On the fifth day, you don’t sleep. On the sixth, you don’t even realize if it’s day or night.
You start to think that maybe he regretted it all. That maybe cutting you off was part of that “disappearing.”
You hate yourself for thinking it. You know it doesn’t fit with him, with the Chan you know. But the silence hurts, and when it hurts, the mind invents monsters.
On the seventh night, with your heart in a knot in your chest, you open the drawer of your nightstand. There, folded in four, is the piece of paper with the number he left you.
Felix. Emergency contact.
It’s taking you longer than it should to write that message.
You write it, delete it, and write it again. You try to make it sound sincere without sounding desperate, but every time you reread it, your eyes well up.
In the end, you give in to the harsh truth:
“Hi, Felix. I don’t know if you’ll read this or if you’ll believe me. I’m… Chan’s girlfriend.”
You stare at those words, feeling your heart race. It almost feels like sacrilege to type them in a chat with someone who doesn't know you.
But you keep going.
“He gave me your number as an emergency contact. We haven’t been able to talk in weeks—his phone isn’t working—and I’m really worried. I understand if you’re skeptical, but I need to talk to someone who knows him.”
You add details—things that only someone close to you would know:
“I know his favorite coffee has changed three times this month. That when he’s really tired, he mixes English, Korean, and sometimes even makes up nonsense words. That he’s always looking out for everyone but himself. That he keeps messages from fans in folders. And that two weeks ago, he cried on my couch because he felt like he wasn’t being a good leader.”
You bite your lip. You think about the photos.
You never wanted anyone to see them. They’re just for the two of you: Chan wearing an old cap in your kitchen, pulling a face at you. You and him on your couch, both wearing masks, but with smiling eyes. His hands intertwined with yours, no faces, just fingers.
You pick three. You attach them.
“Here’s my address: [X]. You can bring your manager, bodyguard, or whoever you want. I don’t expect you to trust me just because of a text message. But I’m on my own here, and I need to know if he’s okay or alive.”
You take a deep breath. And you hit send.
The message stays on the screen for a moment with the clock icon. And then: “Delivered.”
You stare at the screen as if you could force it to flash a reply.
Five minutes pass. Ten. Twenty.
Nothing.
You get up from the couch and start pacing back and forth across your apartment, still holding your phone.
What if that’s not his current number? What if his company changed it? What if Felix thinks you’re just another crazy person and decides to ignore you?
The throbbing in your temples starts to hurt.
Then, it vibrates.
An incoming message from that same number.
“How did you two meet?”
You freeze. You read and reread the sentence.
You reply with trembling fingers:
“We met at a café a while back. He was writing lyrics in a notebook. I spilled coffee on his table. He laughed and said he’d been looking for an excuse to get up.”
The conversation continues, and it almost turns into a gentle interrogation:
“What name does he use with you when he’s feeling insecure?” “When was the last time you saw him in person?”
“What did he tell you about me when he gave you my number?”
You answer everything. You tell him that he calls you “baby” when he’s the one who’s more vulnerable. That the last time you hugged him was a little over a week ago. That when he gave you Felix’s number, he said:
“He’s my safe person too.”
A few seconds pass. Then another message arrives:
“I’m on my way. It’ll take 30 to 40 minutes. I’ll be coming with bodyguards. Don’t let anyone else in until then.”
You feel dizzy.
You realize you’re still in your pajamas, your hair pulled back into a messy bun. You look at yourself in the hallway mirror and barely recognize yourself: red eyes, dark circles, dull skin.
You think about getting changed. Then you think… what’s the point? Felix isn’t coming to judge your appearance.
He’s coming because Chan isn’t here.
You sit on the edge of the sofa, your heart pounding against your ribs, and wait.
The doorbell rings before you feel like half an hour has passed.
You get up, adjust the mask on your face—more out of habit than necessity—and walk to the door.
You look through the peephole: A blond guy, cap, mask, accompanied by two burly men in dark suits. Even without seeing his whole face, you know it’s him.
You open the door.
Felix enters first, giving a slight bow. His eyes scan your face, your body, your apartment—all in a matter of seconds.
The bodyguards stay in the hallway, serious, giving you space.
You bow slightly in response, trying to show respect despite the trembling of your hands.
He speaks first, in soft English, with a recognizable accent:
“You’re…?”
“Of all the ways Chan and I imagined I’d meet you someday… this wasn’t one of them,” you say in a whisper, trying to smile.
Felix stands still for a moment. Then, the corners of his lips turn up ever so slightly.
That small, weary but genuine smile makes something in your chest ease.
“Can I come in?” he asks.
“Yes, of course,” you step back, letting him in completely. “I’m sorry, everything’s a little…” you look around. “Chaotic.”
“Don’t worry,” he replies. “I’ve seen worse bedrooms.”
The lighthearted joke breaks the tension a little. You close the door; the bodyguards stay outside.
You guide him toward the sofa. You offer him something to drink, more to keep your hands busy than because you think he’ll actually want it.
“Water is fine,” he says, sitting down with his hands clasped, his back straight, as if he doesn’t know how much he can let his guard down here.
You bring him the glass and sit down across from him.
There’s a brief silence as you both size each other up.
You see the exhaustion reflected in Felix’s eyes, the constant worry etched on his face. He sees the dark circles under your eyes, the tremor, the contained desperation.
“So…” he begins, setting his glass down on the table. “You’re really…”
“Chan’s girlfriend,” you finish for him.
He nods once.
“Tell me everything,” he says.
And you do.
You don’t know how much time passes while you’re talking.
At first, only jumbled facts come out of your mouth: how you met Chan, how long you’ve been together, small details that, taken together, paint a picture that’s hard to fake.
Felix listens in silence. He doesn’t interrupt you, doesn’t pull out his phone, doesn’t look away. Every so often he nods, as if he’s putting the pieces together in his head.
“Did he tell you about me?” he asks, during a pause.
You nod.
“He said you were his ‘safe person,’” you reply. “That if one day he couldn’t be there… he should trust you.”
Felix looks down for a second and smiles faintly, sadly.
“That sounds like him.”
You tell him about the last time you saw Chan, the night he stayed in your bed, staring at the ceiling, and said that sometimes he thought that if he disappeared, everything would be better.
Felix clenches his jaw when he hears that.
“He never put it that way to us,” he murmurs. “He always… always tried to put on a brave face. For us, for the fans.” He runs a hand through his hair, messing up his blond locks even more. “We knew he was tired, but not… not to that extent.”
“Didn’t the company tell you anything?” you ask, with a mix of hope and fear.
He shakes his head.
“Just that he ‘needs time.’” He swallows. “He’s not in the dorm. He’s not with his parents. He’s… he’s not in any of the places we’d recognize.” He laughs, but there’s no humor in the sound. “Hyung decided on his own that he didn’t want anyone to find him, apparently.”
You feel a twinge in your chest. The thought of Chan wandering alone, with no one, carrying all that guilt, makes the air feel thicker.
“He thinks that… if he disappears off the map, he’ll protect you,” you say, piecing together what you’ve seen and heard.
Felix looks up, staring at you intently.
“Did he tell you that?”
“Not in those words.” But… he blames himself for everything. For the attacks, for the rumors, for how the kids feel. For me. You swallow, feeling your throat burn. “And if those sasaeng are starting to hang around… my building, or my neighborhood…” You don’t finish the sentence, but you let it hang in the air. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he thought leaving was the only way to protect me.”
Felix falls silent for a few seconds, taking it all in. Then he takes a deep breath, as if making a decision within himself.
“We’re going to do this together,” he says. “You and me.” He leans forward slightly. “I can’t promise you we’ll find him tomorrow. Or the day after.” His eyes soften. “But I can promise you that you won’t have to go through this alone anymore.”
That sentence breaks something inside you.
You don’t cry out loud; you simply feel the tears start to roll down, silently, without you being able to stop them. You cover your face with your hands instinctively.
Felix moves, awkward at first, unsure whether to approach you or not. Finally, he leans in slightly and places a hand, lightly, on your forearm.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry you’re going through this.” His voice sounds sincere, heavy with the same weariness and fear as yours, but also with something warm. “Chan hyung… if he knew how much you’re hurting, he’d hate himself even more.”
“He already does,” you reply through clenched teeth. “And that’s what scares me the most.”
You talk for hours.
About Chan. About the group. About the strange atmosphere in the dorm since he left.
Felix tells you things you’d only ever seen from the outside, translated through fancams and variety show clips, but which now have a different texture:
“Seungmin spends more time with his headphones on,” he says. “As if he doesn’t want to hear the silence… Han spends more time in the studio than before, but he’s making less music, Hyunjin…” He pauses, searching for the right words. “He’s… as if he’s waiting for Chan to walk through the door at any moment and say it was all a joke.”
He also talks to you about himself:
“I’ve had panic attacks before,” he admits, quietly. “And without Chan… it’s harder.” He looks at his own fingers, fiddling with the rim of his glass.
“I’ve been thinking that, if this happened to him… it could happen to me, too, or to any of us. And the idea scares me more than I want to admit.”
You realize something then: You’re not the only one losing it.
He’s hanging by a thread too, holding everyone else up while no one is holding him up.
You reach out, without thinking too much about it, and squeeze his fingers.
“You’re not just the ‘happy sunshine’ of the group,” you say. “You have a right to be scared too.”
He looks up, surprised for a second, and then nods.
Before he leaves, you exchange numbers right away.
“I’m going to add you to a group chat with the guys, but…” He grimaces. “I’m not going to tell them who you are just yet. Just that… you were important to Chan.” He looks at you, gauging your reaction. “When he’s ready, let him decide how to introduce you.”
It seems fair to you. You nod.
“If any of us find out anything, we’ll call each other,” you say.
“We’ll call each other,” he repeats.
At the door, before leaving, he pauses.
“He’s going to come back,” he says, as if speaking as much to himself as to you. “He has too many reasons to do so.” He looks you in the eyes. “And you’re one of the biggest ones.”
When the door closes behind him, the apartment feels just as empty as before, but no longer completely silent.
Now there’s an invisible line between you and a group of kids who are also waiting for the same person.
And that, even if it doesn’t fix everything, gives you something to hold on to.
The days that follow blend into a strange routine.
On the one hand, your normal life: work, chores, shopping. On the other, the constant ache in your chest, the lack of messages, the absence of his name on your screen.
Felix texts you every now and then.
At first, the messages are practical:
“The company keeps saying the same thing. ‘Take a break. Don’t go into details.’”
“No one came today to tell us anything else.”
Then they start to get more personal:
“Did you eat today?”
“I couldn’t sleep last night—I was thinking too much. How about you?”
You respond with the same mix of facts and confessions.
“I’ve eaten something. Not much, but it counts.”
“I woke up at 3 a.m. thinking the doorbell had gone off.”
He also shares the occasional anecdote:
“Hyunjin asked who the mysterious person in our new chat group was. I told her it was someone important to Chan. She smiled a little. I think it gave her hope.”
Sometimes he calls you. The first time, you’re surprised by the tone of his voice: lower, softer than you imagined. You cry a little, now and then, but you also laugh at trivial things, because pain needs an outlet.
He’s the only one you can talk openly to about Chan without having to explain anything.
And yet, no matter how much you talk, no matter how much you support each other, there’s one thing that doesn’t change:
Chan still hasn’t shown up.
Days go by. Then weeks.
You start to notice its absence not just on your phone, but within yourself.
You have trouble concentrating. You find yourself glancing at the door every now and then, waiting to hear the code beep. You check two, three, four times to make sure your notification sound isn’t turned off, just in case.
The world outside keeps turning: there are new comebacks, new trends, new scandals involving other people. Your reality, however, seems to have gotten stuck on pause.
It’s been raining since this morning.
At first, a light, steady rain gently tapping against your windowpanes. Then, as the afternoon wears on, the raindrops grow heavier, more forceful. The wind swirls against the buildings, and the trees bend.
The news reports a severe storm and advises people not to leave their homes.
You, in any case, weren’t planning on going out.
You’re on the couch, a blanket over your legs, your phone in your hand. The TV is on with the volume low, a news anchor talking about power outages, flooded neighborhoods.
Your thumb scrolls almost automatically through your social media feed. Every mention of “BangChan” tightens the knot in your stomach a little more.
There are fans asking for respect, asking that he be left alone. There are others starting threads about his mental health, talking about how dangerous it is to put so much pressure on someone. And, as always, there are voices that laugh, that downplay it, that attack.
The thunderclap that follows makes the window rattle.
You shudder. The storm is so intense that for a moment you literally feel like the sky is going to split in two.
You glance at the clock. It’s late. Felix texted you a while ago:
“We’re all in the bedroom today. It’s really quiet without him. Are you okay with the storm?”
You answered him:
“I’m scared, but I’m on the couch with a blanket. Don’t worry, I’m not going out.”
He hadn't answered yet.
You sigh, tuck your feet further under the blanket, and try to focus on something else.
And then, you hear it.
The electronic beep from your door's keypad.
It's a short, familiar, unmistakable sound: the code being entered.
You freeze completely.
Your first thought is ridiculously logical: “No one else has the code.”
Your second thought: “I must have imagined it.”
But then, the lock clicks, followed by the faint creak of the door opening.
Your heart skips a beat so violently it almost hurts physically.
You sit up slowly on the couch, quietly pulling the blanket off yourself. Your whole body is on high alert.
You don’t move right away. There’s something in the air—the way it feels colder—that makes you move forward cautiously.
From where you’re sitting, you see the silhouette.
Someone enters, closing the door behind them.
A black hood covers their head. A mask covers the lower half of their face. Their clothes are soaked; water drips onto the floor, immediately forming a small puddle in the entryway.
They stand there, still, not moving forward. As if they don’t know if they have the right to do so.
It takes your mind an eternal second to accept what your eyes already know.
