i love you ateez. i love you ateez who once got excited that 10 people had watched their music video. i love you ateez who once were scared no one was going to show up. i love you ateez who packed into a van with not enough seats because their company couldn't afford a bigger one. i love you ateez who picked their fan name out because they thought everything happening was destiny. i love you ateez who found a way to include their member who was on hiatus for anxiety at every opportunity they could. i love you ateez who calls their moms every day. i love you ateez who never took a single day for granted. i love you ateez who put together an immortal songs performance on no sleep last minute and won. i love you ateez who still get on stage and perform like it's their last. i love you ateez who talk to each other for hours at a time about all the exciting ideas you have. i love you ateez who keep saying that they want this forever. i love you ateez who puts everything into everything they do no matter how loud the noise is. i love you ateez who love each other so much, so loudly, and with everything they do, because every moment is a love letter to what they've made. i love you ateez
the best fanfiction you've ever read was written by a woman in her 40s before she made dinner for her kids. it was written by a teenager after school when they should've been studying for a history test. and a barista came up with the idea while they cleaned the espresso machine and busser fact-checked it on their break and the post-doc edited between writing grant proposals and the nurse apologized for typos in the notes after a long shift and behind every drabble and one-shot and multi-chapter fic there is a person with a wonderful and interesting and chaotic life and it is such a privilege that we get to be a part of it because they decided to do this thing we all share, for fun.
for mature audiences only, minors will be blocked.
masterlist
⟢ a/n: THIS IS THE SECOND HALF OF PART 12 | this does NOT in any way, shape, or form depict who / how any of ateez are irl. please do not take this fic as fact on their personalities or actions, please and thank you.
⟢ summary: the grande finale™
⟢ total word count for both parts: 56.4k (128 pages....)
⟢ warnings: MINORS RUN FOR THE HILLS | swearing, captive reader, conditioning, use of names (daddy, angel, sir), psychological warfare, manipulation, mentions of death/dying, PTSD, brief/indirect mention of SA
Everything hurts but also… doesn’t. Like something is blocking you from feeling any of the pain from before. A dull, underlying discomfort.
You don’t remember much of what happened, why you ended up here, wherever you are. There’s a black hole in your memory that turns everything fuzzy and confusing. What you do remember is how cold you were, near freezing. Cautiously, you move each finger one by one, and wiggle your toes, making sure all were accounted for. You remember two loud, sudden noises. Someone else got hurt. Two others, you think. You can’t recall who, though.
You remember being touched by strangers. The thought terrifies you all over again, and you slowly squeeze your thighs together, testing for any soreness. You don’t feel anything. A huge mental weight suddenly lifts off of you, and you sink further into the bed, turning your head to the side to cry in relief. Daddy would’ve been so mad…
When you eventually open your eyes, the first things you see are balloons.
Odd.
Off to the side, they float on a large shelf beneath a large flat screen television, telling you to get well soon in funky fonts. Underneath the balloons are an array of gifts, each one differing in packaging and size, and a teddy bear perched on top of the pile like a throne. You wonder if they’ll find and give you Puppy sometime soon. That would be a greater comfort than the teddy bear, even if it did have a cute red ribbon tied around its neck. But you breathe a sigh of relief upon the sight of all the gifts. A wave of comfort washes over you at the thought of Yunho sending you all of these. He must not be mad at you anymore, and sent you these, knowing how scared you are here. You can’t wait to see what he got you.
You see that they have also placed a small Christmas tree in the corner.
Right… you remember, it is Christmas – or at least it was recently.
You groan as you shift to get more comfortable, and feel a small tug within your chest. Your eyes fly open and you panic once you see multiple tubes protruding from your chest and arm. Immediately, you want to rip whatever is in there out, but your hands are still restrained. A rough scream that sounds just like Yunho’s name tears from your throat and two nurses run in, trying to calm you down.
“No!” You try to scream at them, but it comes out as a breathy, broken cry, “No! Leave me alone!”
Both nurses back off right away. One of them calmly tries to explain to you that you’re in the hospital, and the tubes you see are to drain the fluid in your chest, and an IV to keep you hydrated. You don’t respond. You regress further.
Daddy hasn’t given you permission to speak to any of these people.
He’ll take the presents away if he finds out.
He’ll leave you here.
You press your mouth together, refusing to say another word. Curling up on your side, you don’t even look in their direction. In this position, there’s an added pressure somewhere in your chest and a pull in your shoulder that you don’t like. Yet you don’t move. You hate that they’re looking at you. They’re not allowed to.
One of them brings the teddy bear over, setting him down on the foot of your hospital bed, leaning against the footboard. Eventually, after checking your vitals and trying – and failing – to ask you a dozen questions you don’t want to answer, they leave.
You break down as soon as you’re alone again.
You don’t understand… why did Daddy leave you here? He would never leave you out in the world unprotected, no matter what. He didn’t even assign one of the boys to stay with you. It just does not make sense. The not-knowing overwhelms you, and your temples begin to throb from stress.
The only comfort you can find is in being asleep. So you’ll sleep until Daddy comes to get you.
Until he brings you back home.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Sleep is something you’re not really afforded.
You wake up often due to the pain, sometimes pressing the button for the nurse to administer more pain-killing drugs to your system, and several times throughout the day – and night – people walk in to poke and prod you. They keep asking you questions. The same ones, every single time, every single shift. It’s always loud, bright, and disorientating. You hate it here. You miss the blackout curtains throughout the apartment, shielding you from this blinding light. You miss waking up snuggled next to Yunho. You miss that safety.
The nurses finally freed your hands from your sides earlier this morning and you don’t even thank them. You hid your hands under the blankets, like a child that didn’t want to give you their favorite toy. In your somewhat newfound freedom, you pulled the blanket higher over you, so you really didn’t have to look at anyone if you didn't want to. It’s easier to block out the world this way.
By mid-morning, you’re unable to fall back asleep, which you kind of anticipated. Still, it’s desperately annoying. One of the nurses that had come in when you first woke up stands by your bed, checking your vitals and typing something into her laptop. She checks on the dressing that covers your wound. You watch her work for a while. You decide that you dislike her the least. She keeps the shades drawn, having noticed your agitation when the sunlight streamed into the room. And so far, she’s been nice. She can read what you want better than the other nurses.
You startle her by speaking.
“Where is he?”
She jumps and clutches her chest, not expecting a question from you. But she quickly regains her professionalism and asks, “Where is who, dear?”
“Da–” You think twice in the middle of saying it. You need to be specific. “Yunho.”
“Yunho?” She repeats.
You nod twice.
“I– I don’t know, dear. Is he your boyfriend?”
You drop the conversation there, frustrated. And partly because you don’t know how to answer her question. Whatever your relationship is, it’s so much deeper than that.
“You say his name a lot in your sleep,” she mentions, resuming her typing after flicking through your chart again.
She looks up at you, hoping for an explanation, but you just turn onto your side, closing yourself off. You don’t move again until she leaves, and even then you wait a few extra minutes to make sure she’s gone.
Sleep drags you down out of nowhere. It’s welcomed.
But of course, it doesn’t stay with you for too long.
“Honey?” A woman’s voice stirs you out of your deep slumber about two hours later. A gentle hand shakes your shoulder, just enough to wake you up. You grumble and rub your eye, intent on ignoring whoever this is and going back to sleep – it doesn’t register that you’re no longer restrained just yet. But she speaks again, and the words catch your attention. “Someone’s here to see you.”
Your eyes open and you push yourself up all at once, looking around the room. Did they find him that quickly? Is he going to take you home? A dangerous hope blooms within you, watching the door.
“Your parents are right outside. Do you want to say ‘hi’ to them?” The nurse asks.
Parents…?
The word feels foreign. Wrong. The only person in the world you have is Yunho, you know that. Your parents stopped looking for you. They don’t care. Their faces are blurry, names forgotten.
You don’t say anything to the nurse, staring at the mattress in silence, hoping she’ll go away. You hope everyone will just go away. The nurse gives you a minute to answer before going to the door, waving two people in.
A roughly middle-aged man and woman enter your room slowly. The woman clutches the man’s sleeve, staring at you through watery, round eyes. The man holds a small present in his shaking hands. They appear to be exhausted, maybe jet-lagged. There are dark circles under the man’s eyes like he hasn’t slept in days. They both look at you like you’re a ticking time bomb, ready to detonate at any second.
“Hi sweetie,” the woman says softly, keeping her distance even though you can tell it’s taking a lot of effort on her part to do so.
The man chimes in, “Hey, kiddo.” He stops himself from saying more.
The nurses must have said something to them.
Again, you don’t reply. You keep your eyes on them, watching and waiting for them to do something that Yunho wouldn’t like. Their being here… it doesn’t sit well with you. There’s absolutely no way Yunho would ever let them see you. Especially not unsupervised. For the hundredth time, you wonder where he is, why he’s letting this happen.
The two people in your room dare to come closer, and you tense with each step.
Misplaced blame shrouds them both.
Once they’re close enough to see the extent of your injuries, the woman collapses into one of the chairs near the bed.
“Oh, my poor baby.” She cries, unable to tear her gaze from the violent purple and red bruising that covers every inch of your throat up to your jaw, and down towards your chest.
Ugh.
This display of emotion annoys you – or maybe it’s hearing the nickname Daddy gave you coming from someone else’s lips. You even roll your eyes, though you instantly feel guilty for doing so. She weeps harder, covering her face with her hands as she tries to pull herself together. The man places a hand on her shoulder, and the small action triggers something.
A memory.
You remember the airport, waving goodbye to… someone. A man and a woman, the man’s hand on the woman’s shoulder. To control her? To comfort her? You can’t tell anymore. They had waved goodbye until you were out of their sight. They had shouted encouraging words after you so that they may follow you on your journey, far from home.
They had picked you up from school, taken you to doctor’s appointments, held your hand in the dentist’s chair, let you sleep in their bed when you woke up from a nightmare. One of them coached your soccer team when you were a kid, you just couldn’t remember which one. You loved them once.
This was all lifetimes ago, now.
You’re different. You’re not theirs. They stopped looking for you. They gave up.
Yunho would have torn the world apart if you ever went missing. He wouldn’t have stopped his search, not for anything. Of this, you’re certain.
“I’m sorry,” the woman says through sniffles, plucking a tissue from a nearby tissue box and wiping her eyes. “We’re so sorry, sweetie.”
You don’t look at them. You don’t want to, even though your body naturally starts to relax around them. It’s recognizing them before your brain does. The heart monitor records how your pulse gradually begins to slow to a normal pace.
The man changes the subject, pointing out the pile of presents. “Looks like you didn’t miss Christmas after all.”
You almost shrug. The most he gets in response is a slight twitch in your left shoulder.
“Do you wanna see what you got?” He asks.
Yes. But not with them. You don’t want them to touch what Yunho got you. The man picks one of the presents up, bringing it over to you. The tag is written in unfamiliar handwriting.
To: Y/N
From: All The Staff ♡
Oh… well, that’s nice of them, you suppose. All you do is stare at it, unmoving. It’s not from Yunho, so you really have no desire to open it.
But the man takes it upon himself when you don’t unwrap it. Growing more and more agitated, you clench your teeth, hands itching at your skin. You don’t want your first present to be from strangers. No.
You look away before you can see what it is.
“Oh wow,” he says, pulling the gift out of the box. “The staff got you a weighted blanket. That was nice of them.”
Your shoulders hunch and you bow your head, not wanting to hear. He places it over your legs, and it takes every single ounce of self-control to not throw it off of you like a petulant child. The weight of it feels claustrophobic, meant to keep you here forever.
“Gotta make sure to thank them when they come in again,” he reminds you innocently, but that’s the last straw.
He doesn’t tell you what to do. You press the call button for the nurse to come back in. You hope it’s the one you like.
“Are you okay, sweetie?” The woman asks, worry lacing between every syllable. Her eyes are still red from crying. “Are you in pain?”
Right away, the nurse you want comes in, her eyes sweeping across the room, trying to figure out what you need.
“Hey, honey. What’s going on?”
Keeping your head off to the side, all you do to answer is point over at the door. It only takes the nurse a second to realize what you want.
“Okay, no problem. Mom, Dad, we’ll see her tomorrow, okay?”
You want to correct that, to say that you don’t want to see them tomorrow at all, but remain silent. They’ll just keep coming back anyway. Deep down, you know you’re expected to go home with them. But that’s not what Yunho wants.
The woman cries again as the two of them leave, escorted out by the nurse, and you can hear her until she reaches the end of the wing. You don’t relax until you know they’re gone. With a swift kick, the blanket falls off the side of the bed, and the weight is gone as well. That’s enough excitement for one day, surely.
A knock on the door shatters that hope.
Thankfully though, it’s just the nurse from before. She lets herself in quietly, picking up the discarded blanket and setting it down over the back of one of the chairs instead of placing it back on you. Smart.
Then she sits down.
Neither of you say anything for a while, and you don’t look at her. You watch the clock like it’s the most fascinating thing to you, never wanting to miss a single second. You tap your finger against the mattress, the one with the pulse oximeter on it.
“It’ll all get easier,” the nurse says, this time startling you. “Just takes time, you know?”
She doesn’t expect a response, and you don’t really give her one. However, a shrug in response from you is still considered progress. She’ll gladly take it between the alternatives. You suppose she’s right, but you’re not happy about it. You don’t want to get used to a new normal, whatever it may look like. The uncertainty of it all scares you.
There’s another bout of silence.
“Your parents don’t know who ‘Yunho’ is… do you know his address or number?”
You used to know his number, but you haven’t exactly seen your phone in about a year. You’re pretty sure Yunho chucked it into the Han River the same night he took you. He couldn’t have it potentially alert your location and bring the police right to his doorstep, per se. You bite your lip, shaking your head. It’s frustrating to be able to remember select, small details like that, and not what happened recently. Or your parents.
Wanting more answers, you point at your throat and chest and then your wrist, hoping you’re making it clear you’re asking when this all happened. Two days ago? A week? The nurse tilts her head, confused. You point towards the Christmas tree and tap your wrist again.
After a few moments, she seems to understand.
“How many days since…?” She gestures to your injuries.
You nod, looking down again.
“It’s December twenty-seventh today, so… four days ago.”
Huh. So that’s why the man said you didn’t miss Christmas after all, even though technically you did. You woke up only yesterday, the twenty-sixth. A brief memory of being happy to know the date again flashes in your mind, but you can’t place when that was. December something. Someone had told you the date… who was it? Why can’t you just remember?
You look up at her, as if she has the answers. Speaking of names you don’t remember, you point at her nametag, unable to read it. You’re sure she’s told you before but you weren’t exactly in a get-to-know-you mood yesterday.
“My name?” She clarifies. You nod. “Jiyeon.”
Pretty. It’s nice to put a name to a face. You repeat it over and over in your head so you can maybe remember it later. Hopefully everything else will come back to you in time. It’s just going to be frustrating for now. At least you still remember Yunho. The thought of him is keeping you somewhat grounded while you’re here, though it raises a lot of questions you don’t have the answers to. And no one here knows who or where he is, which brings up even more unanswerable questions.
A loud siren blares through the hospital halls, calling all available medical staff to one of the rooms. An automated voice announces that it is a ‘Code Blue’ and Jiyeon springs up from her chair at once, telling you that she’ll be right back before rushing out. Before the door closes behind her, you see other nurses sprinting down the hall as well. You blink, and you’re alone again. The announcement stops after about another minute or so.
Jiyeon doesn’t come back right away like she said she would. Eventually, you just stop waiting for her to return. The silence creeps in, burrowing into your ears and you paw around at the blankets to try and find the remote for the TV. You find it on the table next to you, within reach. It’s similar to the remote you are used to in Yunho’s apartment, which is helpful. With a push of one of the buttons, the television blinks to life. Color explodes across the screen.
You relax once you see it’s some sort of children’s cartoon program, something that Yunho would allow you to watch. It entertains you for a while, but it quickly becomes too overstimulating. The voices and sound effects mixed with the bright colors proves too much for your head to handle at the moment. The channel switches to the news. The two anchors relay all the information about a recent bus crash somewhere in the city before moving on to a singing program, and you decide it’s good background noise. You lower the volume a little more, and turn on your side, intent on trying to fall asleep again.
An hour later, with no success, you just listen to the news anchors once they reappear on screen. You don’t want anyone to come in, but you are antsy that Jiyeon already broke a promise to you. She said she’d be right back. You know it’s selfish of you to think you’re the only patient that she should pay attention to, but you can’t help it. However, you guess you’re used to being alone.
Unfortunately, you’re not left alone for long. A nurse you don’t think you’ve met before comes in, alongside a tall man. A doctor in a long white coat, holding a clipboard. On sight, you instantly tense up, scooting farther up the bed to put distance between you and him. Your pulse quickens, and each pound of your heart hammers against your bruised chest.
“Hi, Y/N,” he says warmly, standing at the foot of your bed. “Glad to see you awake. I’m Dr. Ahn. I just wanted to touch base with you and see how you’re doing.”
You bring your knees in so your feet are no longer that close to him. If he’s going to touch you, you’re going to see him coming towards you first, which gives you time to act. You don’t like him saying your name so casually.
He’s obviously been briefed that you are refusing to speak, because he doesn’t wait for a response from you. He flicks through your chart like he’s reading the newspaper.
“Your vitals are looking good, so no issues there. We’ll be taking the chest tube out this afternoon, see if your lung is doing what it should be on its own. Your parents are gonna be here all day, so if you want them in here when that happens, just let us know.”
You glare at him as he gets closer, checking your IV bag. The squeak of his shoes against the floor make you nauseous. He notices you staring and offers a small smile.
“You’re very brave, you know,” he says, patting your knee. You resist the urge to bite his hand off. Your skin crawls, astounded at his audacity. A wave of anger and fear crashes into you all at once, and you shove his hand away. You ignore the surprise on his face, more preoccupied with how frightened and fed up you are. Can’t they just get all of this over with so you can go home? At this point, you’ll walk back. You don’t care if that’s what you have to do to get back there.
The doctor says something to you, but you ignore him. You watch the door, waiting for Yunho to come in and kill him for touching you.
The young nurse speaks up next, taking his place beside you.
“Y/N, I’m Nari. I’m a sexual assault nurse examiner. I would like to perform a Sexual Assault Forensic Exam on you, but only with your permission. It’ll be entirely up to you if you want to send the results to the police as evidence. Do you think that’s something you’d like to do?”
You freeze. Sexual assault?
Your pulse skyrockets. Is that what they think this is? Is that what you’re a victim of? Is this why they’re keeping Yunho from you? They don’t understand. No one does. Yunho didn’t put you in the hospital, surely not. He wouldn’t. He’d never hurt you this bad. Even when he had burned you, he made sure it wasn’t bad enough of an injury for you to need a visit to a hospital. He’s smarter than that. Minor injuries, or death. No in between, and certainly no hospitals. You breathe heavier and heavier, suddenly feeling like you can’t get enough air into your lungs.
Both of them see that you’re getting worked up again and back away, getting out of your space.
“It’s okay, honey,” Nari says, trying to calm you down.
You want to yell at them, scream, cry, throw things, but you force yourself to keep quiet and still. If they think Yunho made you into such a mess, you won’t just play into that theory so easily. No. You won’t prove them right by acting up.
You flip that same switch that always straightens you out. Suddenly you’re calm, indifferent. You can’t let them continue to think that Yunho was a bad influence on you, so you’ll be on your best behavior. However, you’ll still keep the no-touching boundary. You’ll talk to people when they’ve earned the right. You breathe normally again, settling back against the hospital pillow like nothing happened.
Dr. Ahn and Nari stare at you, utterly perplexed. You don’t meet their stunned gazes. In fact, you only look up again when you hear Dr. Ahn leave.
“It was nice meeting you, Y/N. I’ll see you later to remove the chest tube, alright?” He’s already halfway out the door before he finishes his sentence.
Nari lingers for a little longer before leaving as well. You almost relax once she’s gone but you hear her run into someone just outside your door.
“Jiyeon!” She says, “I’m glad I caught you.”
You perk up. Jiyeon was on her way back to your room.
“What’s going on?” You hear Jiyeon say, lowering her voice.
“Okay so… she’s refusing the SAFE,” Nari starts, seriousness lacing through her words.
Jiyeon exhales. “Okay,” she says, processing that as Nari continues.
“And she responded badly to Dr. Ahn. I think we should keep the male staff to an absolute minimum when it comes to treating her.”
“I agree,” Jiyeon says. “I’ve been trying to tell them.”
Your heart warms a little upon hearing that. She’s been sticking up for you even when you’re not around to hear it. She probably doesn’t realize you can hear her now.
“I’m gonna try and hold off the detectives until tomorrow. Does that sound good?”
“Yeah, she’ll be off the chest tube and in less pain, I think that’ll be okay. Her dad said the family lawyer flew in this morning, too. I’ll talk to her about it. I don’t want her getting caught off guard by such a big visit.”
“Okay… alright, thanks, Ji. Have a good rest of your shift.”
“Thanks, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Knock knock.
Your door gently opens, and Jiyeon peeks in. You’re still curled up, knees bent and feet flat on the mattress, absentmindedly running your hand over the soft blanket.
“Hey, Y/N,” she smiles as she comes in, settling back down in the chair she was in earlier. “Doing okay?”
You nod, keeping your expression neutral.
“Good. Listen, I wanna talk to you about tomorrow. There are some people who would really love to come talk to you, and just figure out what’s been going on the past year. I can try to be in here with you, or, if I’m not available, I can get Mijoo to be there.” Mijoo must be the other nurse, the one who told you that your parents were here.
Jiyeon waits, giving you space and time to say anything before continuing.
“Y/N… I want you to know that all of these people, they just want to help you. Our number one goal is to help you in any way we can. Does that make sense, honey?”
The words impact you, but it just takes a while to process and believe them. They sound genuine coming from her, but you can’t say the same for the others that she’s talking about. Your trust is not so easily earned anymore. Especially not here. Jiyeon is nice, yes, but that doesn’t mean you trust her as much as you did Yunho or–
Oh my god–
There were two shots that night. Both hit their targets.
Three bodies in the snow.
Unbeknownst to Jiyeon, a certain word she said triggers a memory or two. There’s a familiar voice in your head, “There are other people who want to help you. Protect you.”
“Angel, please let me help you.”
Seonghwa’s injured. Mingi’s shot. They’re hurt. Hell, you don’t even know if they’re alive or dead. You cover your mouth with your hands.
Jiyeon’s voice cuts through your panic, “Seonghwa and Mingi?”
You realize you must have said their names out loud without even noticing.
“They came in with you,” she says, scooting her chair closer. She doesn’t try to touch you, which you appreciate in this state. “They’re here, don’t worry.”
“Alive?” You ask, and she hides her reaction to you speaking quite well, maintaining a calm demeanor.
“Stable,” she confirms. “I can’t really tell you anything else, for privacy reasons.”
The sigh of relief that leaves you is from your very soul.
Stable. Alive. Not dead.
If only you knew anything about Yunho.
“Can I see Seonghwa?” You hear yourself saying before you can stop yourself.
Jiyeon shifts, fidgeting with her ID badge. “I– I don’t know, honey. That may not be such a good idea.”
“Why not?” You ask, not understanding why you shouldn’t be allowed to see him.
She shifts again, avoiding eye contact with you, clearly trying to think of a professional answer that will satisfy your question without saying too much. She looks over her shoulder, towards the door. You follow her gaze, not understanding why she’s looking over there.
“I’ll ask,” she says finally, faking a quick, small smile. You don’t return it. “Anyway– back to what I was saying about tomorrow. Do you think you’ll be up for that?”
You almost forgot what she even said. It takes you a long moment to remember. Something about people who want to talk to you, that either she or Mijoo will be with you while they talk to you, how they want to help. Something tells you that you’ll have to do this eventually – it’s not something you can ignore.
You nod, even shrugging a little.
Jiyeon sighs with a small grin playing on her lips, and she pats the bed. “Great. I’ll let them know.”
She gets up to leave again, but you make a small noise, like a cat not wanting their owner to leave for work. There’s something you want to say, on Yunho’s behalf. It takes you a couple minutes to force the words out, pushing past the mental block.
“It’s… not assault,” you manage to get out. Jiyeon’s eyebrows furrow, but she says nothing, waiting for more. “He– he didn’t sexually assault me.”
Now her face is unreadable, but it’s clear she doesn’t believe that at all. It’s rather jarring when she doesn’t say anything back to you. She just pats the mattress again, and sees herself out.
You look away too quickly, missing the two policemen guarding your door.
You deflate once the door clicks shut behind her. The teddy bear continues to stare at you, still leaning against the footboard. You’re rather surprised you haven’t kicked it off in your sleep yet. Or maybe you have, and someone put it back on the bed.
Whatever.
You pull the blanket up and over you, ready for this day to be over already. At least you got some answers, though. Seonghwa and Mingi are accounted for. They’re both here, somewhere. Since you have similar injuries, you bet that Mingi is probably even on the same floor as you. Two people you know and are familiar with. They’re here and they’re ‘stable’.
It’s quite a comforting thought.
You hug the blanket, tucking it under your chin where the bruises aren’t so bad, and decide to try and sleep again.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
You get about three hours of sleep before you’re woken up to remove the chest tube from you.
Gladly.
Every time you breathe, you can feel it rubbing against your ribs. It’s rather uncomfortable.
It’s a semi-quick procedure, albeit a bit painful as it’s being removed. Later, they wheel you into a room to be X-rayed, to make sure your lungs remain expanded, working properly. Judging by the satisfied looks on the nurses faces, it must be a success.
By the time you get back to your room, you’re exhausted, but you already know you’re not going to be able to go to sleep until tonight. You eat your lunch quietly, finishing everything on the plate and showing Mijoo when she comes back in to take the tray away. You flick through the same channels before finally giving up and landing on the sports network. It’s a replay of a baseball game from over the summer. You’ve never been interested, but you remember Yunho talking about a team he liked several months ago. You can’t think of the name of the team for the life of you, but you know it isn’t either of the ones on screen right now. Hm.
You’re trying to figure out and understand the rules of the game when there’s a soft knock on your door. As usual, you don’t really react, but your eyes instantly snap to the door, waiting to see who walks in.
It’s two men. One is obviously a police officer of some kind, complete with a badge pinned to his chest. You’re taken aback by his presence entirely. The second man, you don’t recognize at first. Dressed head to toe in black, sunglasses on even though he’s indoors, face mask, and black fluffy hair. It’s the hair that gives him away, as well as the sweater he’s wearing.
“Seonghwa!” You gasp, sitting up.
He takes his sunglasses off, looking over at your window. Of course you still had the shades drawn. He won’t need his glasses in here. Unsteadily and slowly, he makes his way over to the chair by your bed, taking your hand in his when you reach out for him. He sets something down on the floor that you didn’t realize he was holding before. His eyes linger on the officer who stays put by the door, waiting to see if he’ll break you two apart.
“Hi, angel,” he says quietly, like talking any louder will earn him another concussion. The officer shoots him a look, which Seonghwa sheepishly looks away from.
You lower the TV volume, as well as the volume of your voice, “Are you okay?”
He shrugs, glancing down at his sunglasses that dangle off of his free hand. The obvious answer is ‘no’. You both know that.
“Linear skull fracture. Could’ve been worse. I got discharged today,” he says, lightly touching the back of his head. On instinct, he checks for blood when he lowers his hand back down. “Are you okay?”
You squeeze his hand, bringing it closer to you. “Yes… kind of. They want to bring in detectives tomorrow to talk to me.” As you finish your sentence, you look over towards the officer. He doesn’t look like he’s paying too much attention to what you’re saying. Then again, you could be wrong.
You still have no idea what he’s doing here.
Seonghwa nods, taking that in. He pulls his face mask off too, putting it in his pocket. His lip is split but healing, the skin there a noticeably darker color. The dark circles under his eyes are fading, and his skin has more color to it than before. That’s good. He looks much better than last you saw him. He looks alive.
“You should talk to them.” He clears his throat, playing with the face mask and sunglasses in his hand.
“Okay…” you acquiesce. Only Seonghwa could’ve made you agree to do that. Him or Yunho. Maybe that’s why the nurses let him in to visit you.
Seonghwa chews the inside of his cheek for a moment or two, looking down at your intertwined hands before seeming to remember something.
“Oh yeah,” he mutters to himself, leaning down to give you what he had brought in. It’s a little gift bag, with sparkly white tissue paper peeking out at the top. You prop yourself up even more. He glances over at the pile of presents on the desk, comparing the size of some of them. He hopes you like what they got you.
“The boys and I, um… we got you this.”
You unlock your hand from his so you can open your gift, setting the tissue paper down on your lap to unveil two items: a leather-bound journal, and a small, flat box. You pause, knowing what type of box this is. Seonghwa’s leg bounces from nerves, alternating between watching you open it, and the baseball game that apparently just got interesting. You take the journal out first, flipping through the fresh, blank pages. The edges are silver lined. The leather feels expensive, definitely high quality, and there’s a pure white ribbon attached to the spine of it for you to use as a bookmark.
“I needed a new one,” you murmur, saying it more to yourself than to Seonghwa. “Thank you.”
You set it down on your lap, peering into the gift bag to see if that box is still inside. It is. It wasn’t an illusion or trick of the light. You pick it up like it’ll break, glancing up at Seonghwa as if to verify that they really got you jewellery of some kind. His leg keeps bouncing rapidly, carefully watching your reaction.
Engraved within the deep maroon lid, is the word, ‘Cartier’, and your heart skips a beat. No way. When you lift the lid off, you’re met with a stunning silver bracelet, thin and delicate and beautiful. There are tiny black stones intricately embedded into the silver, and you look back at Seonghwa for answers on what they are.
“It’s obsidian,” he explains rather sheepishly, “it’s meant to um… it’s supposed to protect you. At least, that’s what Wooyoung said.”
“Wow,” you breathe, almost too nervous to take it out and try it on. It looks so dainty and fragile nestled between the velvet interior of the box. “It’s just… it’s so beautiful. Thank you.”
Seonghwa scoots forward, taking it from the box to help you put it on. It’s so light against your skin, and it catches what little light filters through the shades effortlessly. If you thought the journal was expensive, this must be worth so much more. You bring your wrist up to your face, looking at it closer. Every single detail is perfect. How did they– why did they do this for you?
“You deserve it,” Seonghwa says, as if he was reading your thoughts.
There’s a long pause between the two of you. The baseball game and the accompanying commercials break up the silence adequately. Your free hand keeps touching the bracelet, running your finger over the deep black stones. It’s much prettier than the hospital one you have to wear. The officer keeps staring at Seonghwa, like he’s waiting for him to make a wrong move, or say the wrong thing. Occasionally, you’ll steal a quick glance over to both of them before returning back to the game. Before long, you and Seonghwa just pretend to be interested in it, unwilling to talk about anything serious just yet.
“Do you…” you swallow hard, hoping he’ll actually tell you something about this. “Do you know why Yunho hasn’t come to see me? Is he still mad at me?”
Seonghwa pales.
The officer clears his throat. Seonghwa stops talking. You glare at the officer, anger flaring up.
“Can you give us some privacy, please?” You ask, tone more impolite than your words. When the officer doesn’t move, ignoring you to just continue staring directly at Seonghwa, you almost lose it. You’re so tired of not being listened to here. And the way he’s just standing there silently, observing and eavesdropping like an invasive ghost is making your fucking skin itch.
“An– Y/N, he has to be in here with me… it’s for your safety.” Seonghwa explains in a meeker, unsteady voice.
“You won’t hurt me,” you insist, a little surprised at how much you actually believe that. It was barely a formed thought in your head before you said it out loud. It must be true. “He won’t,” you say to the officer, trying to convince him.
Seonghwa takes your hand again, “It’s alright, it’s alright. He has to be in here to make sure that we’re both safe. That we’re not mixing up our stories.”
You bring his hand closer, frustrated tears starting to gloss over your eyes.
“I don’t understand…” you mumble dejectedly. “I can’t even remember most of it.”
He gets it. His memory is just as patchy, if not worse due to his injury. “No one’s expecting anything from you right now. All you need to do is focus on getting better.”
You try to agree with him, stubborn as you are. You know he’s right. In time, you will know everything, you’re sure. It’s just hard to be patient when there are gaps in your memory you’d really like to fill. Which brings you to ask your next question.
“Have you seen Mingi?” You ask, suddenly very interested in your blanket, avoiding eye contact for now. You feel kind of stupid for asking, but are curious nevertheless. Of all people, you know that Seonghwa will give you the answers you’re looking for if you ask him.
He sighs shakily, squeezing your hand tighter. “I’ve heard that he’s okay. I’m not really allowed to see him.” It’s obvious that he’s trying extra hard to cherry-pick the words he uses in front of you and the officer.
‘Keep it vague,’ they had told him before entering your room. ‘Don’t push it.’ Jiyeon had to pull so many strings to even get him allowed to be in the room in the first place. Even more to allow him to bring the gift in. Seonghwa knows his lawyer is probably freaking out right about now. Oh, well.
“But– why–?” You shake your head, pressing your free hand to your forehead. You know you should just drop it, but you can’t. “Seonghwa, where is Yunho? Tell me.”
He leans back, away from you and peeks over at the cop. This, he knows, he really cannot say anything about.
Basically, he only knows what Wooyoung and Jongho told him. Both of them came to the hospital yesterday to visit him, and to supply him with some updates, as well as your gift on the off chance he’s allowed to give it to you. In a word, the two of them are conflicted about their roles in all of this. They feel just as guilty, but were never as involved as the rest of the group. Hongjoong, effectively, saved them from most of the legal trouble the others are currently facing now. They’re free. They spent one night at the police station, answering questions, and that has been it so far.
Hence, the need for a cop or two outside your room, as well as Mingi’s. It makes everyone who knows more details about this than the general public feel more at peace, knowing that there are two that essentially ‘got away with it’.
Wooyoung and Jongho told him that Yunho has been charged with aggravated assault since neither you, Seonghwa, or Mingi died. However… they’re having a hard time finding any concrete evidence to pin any of the attacks on him. They have the group as witnesses to the shooting of Mingi, but nothing else. Just word of mouth simply isn’t good enough. It’s highly likely that Mingi will testify against Yunho, so his security will be ramped up soon. Apparently, since the boys told them, the cops working your case have been trying to find any evidence that links him with the manager’s death, and the girls before you. The apartment has been picked apart piece by piece, swept through by forensic teams and equipment. Evidence collected, bagged, and shipped off for analysis. The detectives have a lot of grieving families and loved ones looking at them for answers right now. The pressure is building.
You are their miracle. The one who can put him away for good.
The question is: will you?
“Tell me, Seonghwa. Please?” You shake his hand, trying to convince him.
“He…” Seonghwa gradually begins to shake, pulling at the collar of his sweater with his free hand, looking anywhere but at you. He’s just so nervous as to how you’ll react. The only way to find out though, is by telling you.
But the officer beats him to it.
“He’s been arrested. That’s all you need to know.”
Seonghwa winces, and you blink.
First of all, you’re angry that the cop so rudely interrupted your – what should be – private conversation, and secondly, what he said just doesn’t compute.
“Was Hongjoong arrested too?” You ask Seonghwa in a quieter voice, ignoring the cop once again.
He takes a deep breath. “No… not yet, at least. But they’re gathering evidence against us–”
“What more evidence do they need?” You interrupt, gesturing towards yourself.
“What?” He asks, eyebrows furrowing together in total confusion.
“Hongjoong shot me.”
Now Seonghwa is really taken aback. Who told you that?
He blinks before repeating his last question, “What?”
“Hongjoong shot me.” You repeat yourself as well. In your patchy memory, what you do recall seeing clear as day is Hongjoong reaching for the gun right before you were shot, and holding it in his hand afterwards. It makes sense to you that that is what happened.
The cop in the corner starts to get antsy, silently making sure his bodycam is still recording everything accurately. Anything said in here has to be reported back, especially if it relates directly to the case. You saying that someone else shot you could be detrimental to the aggravated assault charge they booked Yunho with.
“A-angel, no…no, no, Hongjoong didn’t shoot you. Yunho did.” Seonghwa says as gently as possible, subconsciously leaning farther back to avoid a potential explosion. This time, the officer lets the pet name slide.
“How do you know?” You snap at him. “You were unconscious almost the whole time.”
He doesn’t even flinch. “Wooyoung and Jongho told me.”
Well… Wooyoung and Jongho were definitely awake during that whole ordeal, so it’s hard to discredit what they say. Nevertheless, your mind argues against believing it. They’re just trying to demonize Yunho, surely. Of course.
“No, that… he wouldn’t… that doesn’t make sense.”
Your breathing turns erratic, though you fight to control it. The thing is, it does make sense.
Even if you deny it, your memory reorders itself.
Hongjoong trying to get the gun away from Yunho, he grabbed his arm, not the gun. Not until after you were already on the ground. Even then, you try to reason against your memory that because he touched Yunho, the shot was accidentally aimed at you. That explanation would satisfy you if you didn’t remember moving to protect Seonghwa at the same exact time. The look of pure shock on Yunho’s face… wasn’t because Hongjoong shot you. It was because he shot you.
Well… you always knew he would. He’d made it clear to you that he would. This is an outcome you’ve been trained to expect if you acted out. You stood in front of a loaded and aimed gun. That probably counts.
Contrary to what Seonghwa expects, you process this information quietly. There’s no outburst. Not yet. Just a silent realization that you’ve been wrong. Confident in your incomplete and ungrounded recollection. You go into damage control right away. It was an accident. He didn’t mean to. But there’s a price to having your memory begin to repair itself: the truth. You had prepared to die. You accepted it.
And yet the knowledge that Yunho isn’t coming to bring you home nearly kills you. All the time you wasted in this room waiting for him, wondering why he let you come here…
So, you attach yourself to the nearest person. As usual. You clutch Seonghwa’s hand with both of yours, desperate to keep him here. Maybe he’ll take you back to the apartment. You can wait there until Yunho is released, right? They can’t make you go home with your parents. You’re an adult. But you can’t convince yourself that you can function on your own. And you can’t ask Seonghwa to uproot his life, though a selfish part of you wants to. However, before you interrupted him, he mentioned that the police are gathering evidence ‘against us’.
The thought of losing Seonghwa next is almost catastrophic.
Your pulse spikes, beeping incessantly on the monitor. Unfortunately, the cop notices. And, with the worst timing imaginable as you feel the world as you know it on the brink of falling apart, the officer takes a step towards Seonghwa.
“That’s enough. Let’s go.”
Without a fight, Seonghwa stands, sending an apologetic look your way.
“No, no, don’t–” You pull him back, “Please, please don’t leave.”
“It’s okay–” He tries to reassure you, but the cop pulls him by the arm, breaking you two apart.
You call his name again, but the officer hurries him out, calling for a nurse. You don’t want a nurse. You want him to bring Seonghwa back to you. Alone, preferably. Body shaking uncontrollably, you throw the blankets off of you, and set your feet on the ground, trying to remain steady. You’re already out of breath by this point, and sobbing rather loudly from distress. Not a good combination for your lungs. Again, your pulse increases its pace.
You don’t even hear Jiyeon come in, but suddenly she is at your side, helping you lay back down. No one is listening to you. Jiyeon said they care, that they want the best for you, so why can’t they just give you what you obviously really want?
Jiyeon is saying something to you, but the world suddenly seems so far away and way too close all at once. The feeling of her hand around your wrist causes you to panic, reminding you of the rope tied around it a few nights ago, as well as the restraints on the hospital bed, and you twist and yank it out of her hold. You must’ve accidentally scratched her because she too pulls her hand back quickly, keeping it close to her chest as she assesses the damage done to it. Nothing bad, but you definitely scratched her hard.
Another nurse runs in, then two more. Jiyeon shoos them out before they can crowd your space and overwhelm you more, calmly but firmly telling them that she’s fine and to go back out. It was her own fault, touching you in this kind of state. She’s just worried about you.
Once back down against the pillows, you keep your hand on your chest. You’re not sure why… maybe you’re just waiting to feel your lungs collapse or your heart stop. Something to blame this panic on other than the truth.
The truth that everyone you have loved has left or is leaving you.
“Honey, let’s calm down now. Tell me what’s wrong.” Jiyeon prompts after checking your vitals to make sure you’re stable.
“They took him,” you sob, looking back at the door to the room, hoping and praying he comes back in. “I– I got upset ‘n panicked so they t–took him away.”
Jiyeon nods sympathetically as you talk, giving you the space to air everything out that’s weighing on you.
“I ruined it, I ruined everything,” your voice pitches all over the place. “They’ll never let me see them again.”
The door doesn’t open, no matter how many times you look over at it, and no matter how hard you internally beg him to come back. No one is coming to save you anymore. That plan has already been carried out. Yunho’s locked up somewhere, Seonghwa isn’t allowed to see you unsupervised, and even if you decided that you wanted to see him as well, you’re sure Mingi is beyond off-limits now, too. Especially if and when he tells the truth.
God… everything is such a mess, and it’s all your fault. If you had told Yunho about the plan to get you out, maybe none of this would’ve happened. There’d be hell to pay, sure, but you wouldn’t have disappointed him as badly. If you didn’t look at Mingi through rose-colored glasses, maybe you'd still be in the apartment, impatiently waiting for Yunho to come home. Mingi wouldn’t have been shot. Seonghwa would’ve never gotten hurt that badly. Yunho wouldn’t have been taken from you. Glancing around at your hospital room, a heavy thought makes you sink deeper against the pillows.
Technically, you aren’t even supposed to be here. And you don’t just mean in this hospital.
You wipe your eyes with the corner of the blanket until Jiyeon hands you a couple of tissues. They’re from the box that your mom had used that morning. Another wave of guilt crashes over you, remembering how you’d been rather mean to her.
She lets you cry it all out. You’re not sure how long that takes. When you eventually calm down just enough to speak again, you crumple the tissue in your hand, staring at it for a moment.
“Are my parents still here?” You ask, tossing the tissue into the nearby trashcan.
Jiyeon nods. “They are. They’ll be here tomorrow as well.”
You bite your lip. You’re not ready to see them again, moreso out of fear that you’ll end up hurting them again. But it’s a nice thought that if you need them, they’re available. It’s a tricky thing to want to be alone, but not feel alone.
“Tomorrow…” you echo, not finishing the rest of your thought out loud. Maybe tomorrow you can try again. Your eyes flick over to her, hoping she understands.
As usual, she does.
Once she makes sure you’re calm for the time being, she jots down your vitals for her notes later, and sighs.
“Okay, honey,” she says, and pats the side of the bed again, “I’ll talk to them. Get some rest for now, I’ll have Mijoo bring in some dinner later. Okay?”
You respond with a short hum, retreating back into your silence. Maybe it’s best if you’re just seen and not heard after all. Maybe Yunho was right… of course he’s right. But something demands to be said. It sits uncomfortably in your mouth, pressing against your teeth and blocking your airway until you let it out. Jiyeon twists the door handle, just about to let herself out.
“I was supposed to die…” you mumble, sniffling into your pillow. You trace the silver bracelet against your skin.
Jiyeon freezes in place, the door halfway open. She doesn’t look back at you, doesn’t try to put you right. The staff assigned to you have recently been notified of what happened.
She knows you’re right.
The door closes behind her with a small click, and you’re alone again. And being alone is exactly what you wanted, and at the same time, your biggest fear.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
The rest of the afternoon into the evening goes by less eventfully.
You manage to sleep, even sleeping through your prescribed dinnertime, and wake up to a tray covered in tinfoil to keep the food hot. You eat slowly, having no one to show your progress to, and come to terms with the fact that Yunho isn’t going to find out if you ate everything you’ve been given or not. It’s rather hard to ignore that so far, they haven’t given you proper utensils to eat with. More like knives and forks for kids, rounded and blunt so as to not inflict any potential damage to the user. The spoons are always nice, though. You lazily push around some of the rice left on your tray, a little unnerved that no one’s watching you anymore… and a little relieved.
No more newcomers or visitors come into your room for the rest of the day. As night creeps in, you keep replaying your interaction with Seonghwa. You wish you can just be… you don’t know. Normal? Is that the word? Everyone looks at you like you’ll shatter any moment, and they’re basically right. You pretty much proved that today. But what he said sticks with you: “No one’s expecting anything from you right now. All you need to do is focus on getting better.”
So that’s what you’ll do. Yunho placed him in charge of you while he was gone, and now it’s just extended time. You follow directions, you obey orders. That’s what you’re good at. That’s what you can concentrate on for now, until you and Yunho can see each other again.
If they’ll let you.
You run a hand through your hair as if to push that thought away, but your hand gets caught halfway through. Ugh… you haven’t bathed in way too long. You look towards the bathroom, hesitant to go in. Mijoo had told you how to properly wash around the stitches and bandages to avoid any infections or accidentally removing them. It’s just… the water.
Facing the water by yourself is more daunting than you know it should be. But you feel just gross enough to at least try. You decide to at least stay in there long enough to wash your hair, you feel like you can still smell the forest air from each strand.
It’s a slow trek from your bed to the bathroom, often taking breaks to breathe and reset. Luckily, it’s not too far of a distance. You manage a small grin at your efforts when you finally reach your destination, this being the farthest you’ve walked by yourself since you’ve been here. But now, you have to continue standing up and face one of your biggest fears. One hurdle down.
Flicking on the light, your ears ring at the sudden, blinding brightness of the sterile room. It’s a small space, no bigger than Yunho’s closet. The strong scent of the level of cleanliness in here disagrees with what you just ate, but you try to ignore it as best you can.
You almost back into the door when you catch a glimpse of yourself in the bathroom mirror. For the first time, you see how bad your injuries still are. Nasty red and purple bruises cover your throat and neck, your chest is basically grey from the severity of the surgery you underwent, and your eyes and cheeks are both sunken in. You’re scary. A patchwork nightmare. After being so used to keeping up appearances for Yunho, this is like getting a lightning bolt straight to the brain. This is what Seonghwa saw when he walked in earlier today. You cover your face with your hands.
“Oh, god…” you lean against the door for support, sneaking another glimpse at your startling reflection. You’re not just smaller, you’re diminished. The hospital gown wilts off of your thin frame like it’s meant for someone else, there’s a matching cut on your bottom lip that’s similar to Seonghwa’s, and a hauntedness about you that doesn’t sit right at all. A would-be corpse stares back at you through the mirror. You can almost see the dirt that’d be covering you, embedded into your decaying skin.
All you want to do at this moment is to wash that corpse away.
Undressing winds you, but you’re too determined now. You have all night to sleep, and you know you’ll feel much better once you’re clean. It’s just the process of getting clean you have to get through now. That’s your one and only goal for tonight.
The rush of the water hitting the tile nearly decimates all of your confidence in one fell swoop, though. You have to grit your teeth and close your eyes, pushing back against the memories as they come. You force yourself to breathe deeply as you finally step into the shower, the warm water only comforting for a fleeting moment. Turning your back to it helps a little, and after a while your shoulders start to relax, no longer tense and hunched by your ears. The lack of curtain aids you tremendously, as you can see the entirety of the bathroom at once, knowing you’re still safe. No one’s watching you or keeping track of how long you’re taking. You can take this as slowly as you want to.
Keep going, you tell yourself.
It also helps to imagine that Yunho is just outside, waiting for you to return to bed, even though your brain keeps replacing him with Seonghwa. Now that you know what you looked like today, you feel a huge crash of embarrassment overcome you more than anything else. You forget your fear just for a second, leaning a little farther back than you are ready for. The water cascades down, dripping off the ends of your hair and you freeze.
This part is the biggest hurdle.
You’re not in the apartment… you’re not in trouble… you control it.
You have control.
The droplets that drip past your ears kind of make you want to die, but you push through it. Little by little, you tilt your head back, letting more and more of the water fall over your hair. You cover your face with your hands, keeping it as dry as possible, and just sit with the discomfort for as long as you can. Instead of any feelings of accomplishment, you only notice the beginnings of panic stirring somewhere in your body. Time to wrap it up while you’re able to keep yourself in here. Shampooing is easy, and you get through rinsing your hair okay, repeating the process even slower than before.
By the time you get out, you still don’t feel very proud. Not yet. You’re exhausted, and ready to lay down again. What warms your heart as you finally step out is thinking about how much Yunho had praised you after every bath since that day he corrected you. To the best of your ability, you combat every negative, fearful thought with something you think Yunho would say to you. How proud he’d be. It’s enough to keep you on your unsteady, weakening legs to redress and open the door back out into the room.
Halfway back to bed, that’s when the exhaustion really hits you. You sit down in a chair by the window and catch your breath. You’re not dizzy, but you’re definitely caught between the borderline. Looking up, you see that your water is both mere feet and hundreds of miles away.
“Fuck…” you sigh.
Your hand jumps to cover your mouth, horrified. You look around the room out of instinct, waiting for someone to yell at you for saying such a vulgar word. You know better. Only Daddy is allowed to say that word. Yet the room stays the same. Nothing happens. No one redirects you.
But they’ll have it on camera, you tell yourself. In the dark, you try to find where they’ve hidden theirs. You don’t see any.
You’re digesting this when something blinks at you from outside.
Something white casts the faintest glow past the edges of the shades that cover the windows. High in the sky and constant, unblinking and unmoving – at least not that you can see from where you are. It is no plane or light atop a building.
The moon.
You hadn’t seen it in such a long time. In all honesty, you had stopped trying to look for it, especially after Yunho covered up all the windows. The sunlight in the apartment could only creep in around the sides, lighter than air and able to weave its way past the smallest opening. The moonlight was never granted access to you. But this moon tonight is full and glowing brightly, and you wish you could see it properly beyond the shades.
It hits you hard: you don’t have to wish to see the sky anymore.
You lean forward before stopping and looking back over your shoulder, just waiting for someone to stop you at any second. You sweep the room one more time for cameras. Maybe you’re tired and missed one because you didn’t look hard enough. Regardless, no matter how hard you search and double check, you find none. Your hand pulls the shades back, only about two inches, just to peek. No one appears behind you. The shade lifts easily, opening even further. No one intervenes.
The window is now fully uncovered, unobstructed. And you’re unharmed. Your forehead presses against it, your breath fogging up the glass as you exhale through your mouth.
The snow is in the process of melting away, only a couple of inches left on the ground. The roads below, from what you can see, are completely clear with the amount of hospital traffic in a big city like Seoul. There’s no one outside on the streets, just a couple of nurses, doctors, and other hospital staff leaving work for the day, pulling their puffer coats closer to their bodies as they juggle their car keys and bags. Stoplights take their turns turning green, yellow, red, and cars glide past to dozens of unknown destinations. You decide you like the world like this, with less people and quieter streets. Sleepily humming instead of the shouting of car horns, the music in stores to entice people inside, the hundreds and thousands of strangers that you’ll never know the names or stories of.
You wonder if you’ll feel like this forever, always looking at life from above and never from within.
It’s quieter in the world that Yunho has kept you in. Safer… right?
‘You’re safe,’ says the voice that sounds more and more like you, slowly advancing forward again, venturing back from her forced hibernation. The other voice in your head is still there, just without her pedestal and carrying less authority than before. Less weight to each word. That one doesn’t have too much to say tonight, which is a first.
You stay by the window until sleep beckons you, unwilling to sleep so uncomfortably in the stiff chair. When you finally tear yourself from the view, closing the shades again and tucking yourself back in bed, you fall asleep with moonlight flooding the entire suite. Though a part of you misses the tealights, you think this is not a bad alternative.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Head clearer than it has been since you woke up, the next day carries the calm theme from last night.
You’re still selective on who you give your voice to – Jiyeon is off today, so you’ve been mostly silent so far – but there seems to be… life within you again. More than what the staff have seen thus far. It’s promising. It’s better. Everyone’s feeling a similar cautious optimism to your sudden switch. Although they’re quick to note your ever-present, continuing aversion to male staff.
Which is why you’re still nervous about meeting with these detectives soon. They’re supposed to be here in two hours, and you don’t feel ready. Exactly what you’re not feeling ready for, you’re not sure. It’s not something you can pinpoint exactly and neutralize the problem. Unfortunately, you’re sure you’ll find out if and when the detectives do something to unintentionally set you off. You sigh, once again feeling out of control in a situation that hasn’t even happened yet.
You push your empty lunch tray further away, like it’s offended you by overstaying its welcome. Your hands itch to wash it, to be good. The television is a good distraction. Today you’ve got it tuned into a nature documentary. You have a theory that maybe seeing the outside world inside may help you assimilate back into it later if need be, although deep down, you really hope you don’t have to. It’s the fear talking, but it's so loud and impossible to ignore. It’s the self-doubt that makes you want to give up and turn the TV off altogether, the memory of going out onto the balcony and feeling fresh air again hitting you hard. And the woods… that’s a whole other battle.
Let’s just say you’re very happy the little Christmas tree in the corner of your room is fake. The scent of sap and bark will haunt you for quite a long time.
At two o’clock, you’re making some progress, walking around your room, still avoiding the pile of presents you’ve yet to open. The gift Seonghwa gave you is enough. You’re just trying to build up endurance again, impatiently wanting to walk without difficulty. For some reason, it felt much easier to walk last night. Maybe it’s because at night it feels like less eyes on you, no spotlight from the sun even if the shades block most of it out. The day just feels too exposing. There’s too many people who could walk in and start fussing over you. You don’t want that. You know your limits better than anyone else.
You may as well have spoken it into existence though, because you’re just catching your breath when you hear someone coming right up to your door. As if you’re getting caught doing something you’re not supposed to be doing, you quickly sit in the chair by the window that you were in last night. The door opens just as you sit down. At first, you avoid eye contact with whoever it is, hoping that they don’t comment that you’ve moved. Giving yourself something to do to really sell the nonchalance, you play with your new bracelet again. The person in your room pauses near your bed, mere feet from you. You almost cover the bracelet protectively, not wanting them to ask where you got it… or who gave it to you.
“I’m glad you liked our present,” a man’s soft voice says, cutting through the silence.
You react at a record speed. You know that voice. It’s the same one you heard in here yesterday.
“Oh my god–! Seonghwa!” You nearly shout, standing up a bit too quickly than you’re used to.
He must see you stumble or sway, because he makes it to your side in two strides, hands ready to catch you if you fall back into the chair. But you’re determined. You stay upright. You resist the urge to paw at him, to make sure he’s real and that he’s here again so soon. He fusses with you to sit, to rest ‘like he told you yesterday’, he nags. If it was anyone else, you’d be staring daggers at them right now. With him, it just warms your heart, and you cooperate, sitting down slowly and smiling as you watch him drag a chair over to sit with you. You’re just happy he’s here.
He’s wearing sunglasses indoors again, so the bright lights of the hospital must still be bothering him. You look over at the shades, just in case they can be drawn any tighter to totally block out what little light comes in.
“Technically you asked for me specifically, so they let me come back. Still supervised, of course.” He answers your question before you even ask it. You look away from him for the first time and see a different officer than before, standing by the still-open door. “The door will just stay open the entire visit. Alright?”
Honestly, you’ll take it. It’s a small price to pay if it means that Seonghwa is allowed to come see you.
“Yes, sir,” you say habitually.
You watch his small grin slip completely from his face. The room feels a bit colder.
He supposes he can’t just expect all the ‘training’ and trauma you endured to just melt away all at once merely because you’ve been freed of Yunho, but he can’t deny that it shocked him back into reality. Such a small, simple word, and yet the history within its use is ten months long.
Seonghwa ignores the moniker usage, and does a really good job of pretending that that doesn’t affect him at all. But it does. You can tell it does.
You self-consciously look away, hand still covering up the bracelet as if you’re scared he’ll take it away as a result of his disapproval of your word choice. Gifts are never permanent, never your sole property. They are privileges, not rights. Based on a reward system, they’re the best way to steer you towards good behavior – following rules, staying quiet, knowing your place.
Luxuries can be taken away.
“I– um,” you stall, trying to change the subject, “how– how are you?”
Glad to shift the focus somewhere else, Seonghwa replies, “I’m alright. How about you?”
“Okay. I have my ‘meeting’ soon… the lawyers.” You glance at the clock, hoping that time hasn’t somehow jumped forward an hour. You hope this time Seonghwa will stay for longer.
He scratches the back of his neck. “Right,” he says, keeping his tone as natural as possible. “I had one of my own this morning.”
There’s an uneasiness to his voice there that you pick up on. He still hasn’t removed his glasses, so you can’t tell if he’s looking at you or not. Something’s not sitting right, and it’s not just because of a certain word slip. He must notice your look of concern, because he rolls his shoulders back, trying to relax himself. The facade he kept up around you at the apartment is getting to be too heavy to carry with him now.
“The story will break tomorrow,” he says through an obviously fake grin, trying to make you not feel guilty about it. He keeps his eyes fixed on the floor. Once or twice, he looks up at your bracelet that you’re still playing with.
It takes you a minute to understand what he’s saying. You adjust how you’re sitting, just to give yourself something to do. All you can say in response is, “Oh.”
‘The story’... reported by outside perspectives with a mystery narrative. No one has asked for your side of it all yet. The boys have probably already given their testimonies, their witness statements as to what happened. Days ago, most likely. That’s one thing you forgot about while staring out the window last night: the world keeps turning. It doesn’t wait around for you. But that’s what today is for. The public can have their crumbs of facts and multitudes of theories about you, but only those closely involved will ever really know the truth of all of it.
“Listen… as far as, y’know, the legal aspect of everything, we want you to know that we will accept any charges you wish to file against us.”
There’s a grim, solemn air around Seonghwa that unsettles you. The cop by the door side-eyes the two of you but ultimately says nothing. He’s better than the one yesterday, that’s for sure.
But… charges. You vs. all of them. Your legal team against eight different sets. Nine stories, all with varying perspectives. You wonder if anything you say will hold any weight to it on account of how bad the fogginess in your memory has become. You wonder if Seonghwa’s worried about the same thing. He keeps subconsciously touching the back of his head, making sure nothing is behind him that could hit it. You desperately want to ask how that happened, but it’s probably a not so pleasant subject to talk about. You’d rather avoid making him feel more uncomfortable than he already is.
In the silence between you, Seonghwa just listens to the background noise coming from the hospital hallways. The nurse’s station is mere feet from your door, so he lets their quiet chatter fill in the spaces. What he said to you is true; they will accept any charge brought onto them. It’s the very least they can do for you, to accept full responsibility for not doing more.
The public is going to eviscerate every last one of them, and they brought it on themselves the countless times they could’ve gone to the police and didn’t. All for the same result. Yunho threatened to drag them down with him, and it’s happening, albeit by their volition.
A gentle, repeated three-note chime coming from his phone seems to pull him back from his brief stupor. Automatically, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small medicinal bottle. You watch as he taps two white pills into his palm before popping them into his mouth, chasing them down with water.
“Pain-killers,” he explains, twisting the cap of the water bottle back on. He leans back in his chair, but not before feeling the air around where his head will be, and sighs. The exhale comes from deep within his chest. You watch his hands, searching for something. He notices you looking.
“What?”
“You’re not wearing your ring.” You point out.
Seonghwa looks down at his hand, as if to confirm. “Yeah,” he mumbles, “it just… doesn’t feel right anymore.”
In all honesty, he didn’t think you’d even notice. He had taken it off on the second day of his hospital admission, when Yeosang and San had come to visit him. It felt heavy in his palm, like a weight that he could no longer bear. He’s not quite sure where it is, as he told San to take it back to the dorms, wherever they had all put theirs. The only ring missing from the pile is Yunho’s, but it has more than likely been confiscated by that point already.
“What time is your meeting?” He asks, changing the subject.
You glance at the clock on the wall. “It’s at three,” you inform him, finding a stray piece of hair to play with. You lean back against your chair, mirroring him. “How long can you stay?”
At this, he hesitates. The officer by the door offers no help or answer.
“Well… I can stay until the detectives get here.” He says uncertainly. Again, the cop says nothing to contradict what he says.
You nod. “My parents may get here before them.”
“Ah…” Seonghwa rubs his arm, a subconscious way to try and calm himself. “I doubt they’ll want to see me hanging around you.”
“I asked for you,” you counter, leaning forward again for emphasis, wanting him to hear and remember that part. “I get… I get nervous when you’re gone.” You admit in a murmur, barely audible.
Seonghwa still doesn’t look at you, staring off a thousand yards into the tile floor, his hand on his arm pausing a couple of seconds every so often before continuing the attempt to soothe himself. Honestly, he doesn’t know how to feel right now. He supposes he should feel flattered maybe, or content with knowing that his presence is beneficial to you, but is it really? He fears that his presence only keeps you stuck… he reminds you of Yunho based on association. That name you called him by earlier only proves that. Although he knows there’s no one else around that you trust right now, he doesn’t feel very deserving of that trust. He should give you space after today, let you rebuild a new relationship with your parents, and restart a normal life. As normal as you can possibly achieve after all of this.
“Still, you should be with your family,” he says carefully, “I think it’ll help.”
You don’t say anything right away, unhappy that he doesn’t volunteer to stay. You’re behaving like a child, you know that, but you can’t help it.
“If they weren’t here, would you stay?”
Seonghwa picks up where you’re trying to go with that question at once. “A– Y/N, don’t replace your parents with me. Give them time.”
Of all people, why must Seonghwa not listen to you, either? Your fuse never used to be this short. Why is it sparking and hissing now?
“What if I don’t want to? I asked for you specifically–”
“You only asked for me because you’re not allowed to see Yunho instead.” Seonghwa snaps, speaking before he could think.
The flames of his words settle in the short distance between you two. He pinches the bridge of his nose, wincing at the throbbing in his head as well as what he just said. Hopefully the painkillers work fast, his vision is already going black around the edges every other time he blinks. If he’s honest, he doesn't regret saying it, moreso how he said it. It’s a sentiment he’s been harboring since the first day he was assigned to look after you. Something far from love, but a relative fondness. A soft spot just for you that he doesn’t know what to do with. Nothing about your situation nor your relationship with him is easy to navigate or filter through. He’ll keep his distance because he wants to do the right thing, show his support for you always but never cross an invisible line he’s drawn for himself.
He won’t be like Mingi. He won’t believe your traumatic attachment to him is real, or healthy for that matter. It’ll only hurt you in the end.
At the same time, he knows he’s hurting you now.
You lean back again, wrapping your arms around yourself defensively.
It’s not true… it’s not. You’re happy to keep telling yourself that, even if you don’t fully believe it. It doesn’t matter anyway.
The blunt truth of the matter you’ve been avoiding and ignoring like the plague is that Yunho has been arrested. He’s not coming back for you. Not anytime soon. The detectives coming to your room today are going to take whatever you say as evidence against him. Even if you don’t say anything, they’ll take it to mean you’re so traumatized, the whole ordeal has rendered you mute. No matter what, you’re not going to be allowed to see Yunho ever again.
You swipe at the tears that pool in your eyes, refusing to let them fall. If they do, you’re afraid that the cop may take Seonghwa away again. God dammit, you think before mentally berating yourself again for using another swear word, even just in your head.
“I didn’t do that for someone I don’t genuinely care about,” you sniffle, speaking to him but keeping your eyes down.
Seonghwa’s breath hitches slightly, and you wonder if he’s starting to cry underneath those sunglasses. A petty part of you thinks, good, I hope he is.
Besides, you only jumped in front of a bullet meant for him.
But you think back to when you had upset him only a few nights ago now, in the living room in the middle of the night. It never feels good to intentionally hurt the ones you care about. The ones you let in. You’re just lashing out because he struck first, trying to get the last word in. Very Yunho-esque.
Needing to lie down, you stand shakily, slowly trudging back to bed. With time, eventually you calm down. You let Seonghwa sit there, working it out on his own, until the clock nearly runs out. The officer whistles for his attention, breaking him out of another dissociation, and signals him that it’s time to leave. You don’t shy away from looking at him this time.
When he’s only a couple of feet from the door, you call out to him one more time.
“Seonghwa?”
He looks over his shoulder. The officer does too.
“I’d still like you to come back… if you can.” The insinuation of the incoming chaos ahead is thinly veiled in your words.
Seonghwa nods once, internalizing what you said, and leads the officer out. It’s a bittersweet change from yesterday, when he was basically dragged out.
Barely granted two minutes of silence and alone time to process everything, there’s another knock on the door. This time around, you know who it is.
Your dad opens the door slowly, like he’s trying to not startle you.
“Hey kiddo, it’s us.”
Your mom follows suit, a small bakery to-go box in her hands as she comes in. “Hi, sweetie.”
You swallow hard, managing a small “Hi…” in return.
Your mom looks like she could explode, cry, and laugh all at once. It’s a lot to contain so as to not overwhelm you.
She’s really trying her best to hold it together for you. It’s thoughtful. You remember she was a sweet lady. Always wanted the best for you, supported your dreams no matter what.
Naturally, mainly because it’s such a bright pink color, your eyes drift to the bakery box in her hands. She places it on the portable table near your bed. Her perfume smells familiar… like home somehow. It’s nice.
“Don’t feel pressured,” your mom starts, “I know you just had lunch not too long ago but… you used to love the chocolate cupcakes I used to make for you, so I just…” she trails off, knowing she’s over-explaining herself a bit too much.
Your eyes light up – you haven’t had cake in god knows how long. And your favorite, too.
You grab the box and set it on your lap, sitting up against the pillows. Once open, the chocolatey smell hits you at once and the corners of your mouth twitch, almost grinning. Your parents try not to stare at you, not wanting to make you feel like you’re under a microscope while eating, and you appreciate that as you take a small bite of the cupcake.
Perfect.
It’s so rich and decadent your eyes close as you chew.
“Thank you,” you mumble, placing the cupcake back in the box to eat later. You don’t particularly want chocolate all over your face when the detectives arrive. And, you’ll enjoy it more when you’re not as full from lunch. Maybe you’ll find a way to ask her for another one.
Your dad helps you put it back on the table and goes over to the window to retrieve a chair for your mom to sit in. He drags it back to its original spot near the bed and you just keep looking at it. Seonghwa had been in that chair mere minutes ago. You’re not sure how kindly your parents would take that piece of knowledge; Seonghwa had gotten so antsy at the idea of being seen in here with you by them.
“So,” your dad says, standing by your mom who is placing her purse down by her feet, “did they tell you about talking to the detectives today?”
You nod.
“Okay, good. We’re also gonna have a lawyer here as well. She’s really good, I’ve heard.”
You’re not really sure how to respond so you just… nod again, looking down at your lap, picking at your nails.
Your mom notices how fidgety you’re becoming and asks, “Who gave you that? It’s beautiful.”
She points to your bracelet with a small smile, curiosity in her eyes. Your heart drops to your stomach. Do you tell them? Yunho had beaten it into you not to lie, but you really don’t want to deal with a lecture or horrified reactions or worse, the two of them making it impossible for Seonghwa to come see you. Something tells you it will already be borderline impossible without their help.
“A friend,” you say carefully. Not a lie, but not a very detailed answer either.
The universe has such divine timing for you because before either of your parents can ask anything about this ‘friend’, there’s a knock on the door. You hide your sigh of relief as they turn to look towards the three people who enter, two women and a man. One of the women and the man are dressed similarly, a slight step above business casual, while the other woman is dressed formally, everything tailored and sharp down to her briefcase. All business. But she smiles at your parents and instantly goes over to shake their hands and mention how good it is to meet them in person and not over the phone. Then she turns to you. There’s still a smile on her face but her eyes change into something more serious.
“Hi, Y/N, I’m Choi Hyein, I’ll be representing you in this case.”
She pauses then, but not to wait for you to say anything. Her pause feels intentional, giving you a chance to really look at her, and to register that she’s on your side for this. She is no threat and no enemy. It’s definitely reassuring.
The two detectives linger about six feet from the door, measured and alert. The man scans the room like he’s mapping it. The woman lingers half a step behind, already pulling a small recording device from her pocket. You stiffen at the sight of it. But you’re grateful that they don’t crowd you; there’s already so many people in here – more than you’re used to – and they’ve been advised to give you your space.
“Ms. Y/L/N,” the man says, voice steady. “I’m Agent Lee. This is Agent Jang. It’s nice to finally meet with you. We’re here to take your statement.”
You simply nod politely, not quite sure what to do with your hands. For now, you just keep them on your lap, still twisting and playing with the bracelet.
“I know this is overwhelming,” Ms. Choi says, voice pleasant but serious. “So we’re going to walk you through this carefully. If anything becomes unclear or too much, please don’t hesitate to ask for clarification or a break.”
Her words make you feel less trapped. You’re not going to be forced through anything if you panic. Hopefully, you won’t, but the exit ticket is nice to have just in case. A choice. Options.
You’re in control.
“Okay,” you breathe, straightening up a little more.
The detectives seem to relax, knowing that at least for now, you’re onboard. You may give them the answers they need, the final pieces to fit the puzzle. Your mom gets up and lets Ms. Choi sit in the chair by you, while she and your dad stand against the wall near your bed. The two agents move to the window, Agent Lee leaning against the sill and Agent Jang taking the chair. There’s so many eyes on you.
Agent Jang presses the record button on the little device, crossing her arms and holding it by her elbow. At first, she speaks quietly into it, like she’s talking to herself. “This is Agents Jang and Lee conducting an interview with Y/N Y/L/N. It is the twenty-eighth of December, two-thousand-twenty-five.”
She rolls her shoulders back, clearing her throat as quietly as she can before looking up at you again. Ms. Choi opens her briefcase to retrieve her laptop, intent on writing notes throughout the entire process. You imagine she is also recording this conversation.
“Let’s start from the beginning,” she suggests, leaning forward a bit. “Can you describe what happened on the day you were taken?”
Taken. Like you were plucked out of existence.
“Um…” you itch your arm for no reason other than to just give your hands something to do. Everyone’s watching you. Analyzing you. Waiting for you.
It’s just like the shower: one thing at a time. But last night, you didn’t have five pairs of eyes looking at you the whole time.
You look down, trying to recall as much as you can. Something about ice cream… a nightclub maybe? It was blindingly bright and then harrowingly dark. The air was cold, but less so than your recent night in the woods. You had a coat… or he put his around you? What was the weather? There was something pressed against your face, it made the lights above you swirl and your head hurt until you fell asleep in his car. You woke up in his bed.
“We went out,” you swallow hard.
“Do you remember where?”
You shake your head.
And then comes the question you’ve been dreading since yesterday. Agent Lee is the one to ask it.
“Do you remember who took you?”
The first instinct is to deny Yunho had anything to do with it. Protect and deny everything – clear his name, be good, be quiet, shift the blame elsewhere, go back to him somehow, deny, deny, deny. It wasn’t safe, you could say, someone else was after you. Yunho just let you stay with him until that mystery threat was removed. There is someone still on the run, loose in the world. But you imagine that the police have swept through the apartment by now. They’ve seen the footage and the chemicals he had on hand to knock you out, they’ve probably found the gun.
Not many people in South Korea have a gun.
You’re torn. If he’s already been arrested, though… no– you can’t turn your back on him. This is exactly what he was talking about. Yunho gave you an inch of freedom, leaving you with Seonghwa, and you immediately disregarded all of your rules and responsibilities. But you’re not stupid. Being arrested for his actions towards you obviously means what he did was rather… harmful, to put it into a simple word.
You press your lips together, stress making your arm even more itchy. There’s no clear answer, at least not in your mind. How can you turn your back on him so easily?
“Honey…do you know who took you?” Your mom asks, squeezing your dad’s hand so tight he winces. She loosens her grip for a couple moments before forgetting and repeating the same pressure.
“No,” you say monotonally, “I have no idea.” Your nails leave white scratches against your reddening skin.
The mood in the room shifts, like everyone already knows the answer and you just won’t confirm it for any of them. Your parents look at Ms. Choi, helplessly, as if she can make you give him up at the drop of a hat somehow. They all stare at you in complete disbelief. They look at your body, shadows of intense abuse and malnourishment, shaking like a leaf, your irises dulled grey from seeing too much, haunted by memories and nightmares alike.
“Are you sure?” Your mom presses, her rings digging into your dad’s hand. “You don’t have to protect anyone. You can tell us. Whoever it is can’t hurt you anymore.”
But it will hurt him…
And it will hurt them.
Part of you says ‘fuck it, tell them’. Let all of the boys fry, let them burn, make them watch everything they’ve worked for come crashing down in a shameful spiral. Give them just a taste of your suffering.
But you think of Seonghwa.
Hongjoong, Yeosang, San, Wooyoung, Jongho… even Mingi. The ones who worked tirelessly against their own friend – someone who was once considered their brother – to free you. Do they deserve that? The knowledge of what they’ve done, what they’ve been forced to become a part of, may be punishment enough. You will be the source of their shared guilt and shame forevermore.
You will haunt them to their graves regardless.
That quieter, but equally sinister voice pipes up in your head, reminding you that they’re the ones who tore you and Yunho apart. Though, it is getting harder and harder to be angry with them about that.
The decision you make is not said without a slight waver, that loyalty to Yunho still digging its claws into your vocal chords, but it needs to be said before you tell the room anything further.
“I don’t want to punish the ones who helped me,” you preface.
Based on the vague facts they’ve heard from the detectives, it’s quite hard for your parents to hear the plural attached to that noun. Your dad crosses his arms and covers his mouth, keeping his eyes glued to the floor. Your mom is shaking. A small part of you wants to reach for her.
You don’t.
“That’s a reasonable position,” Ms. Choi says, closing her laptop halfway. “We can advocate for that. We can make it clear that certain individuals acted under duress or made sincere efforts to protect you, which led directly towards your release. However, I will not promise that I can fully exempt them from the law if they are held liable in court.”
The weight of relief that lifts from your shoulders as she talks suddenly slams back down on you again. You wonder if Seonghwa’s lawyer has told him this exact thing already. Most likely. And the others as well. As for Yunho and Mingi, well… their lawyers are going to be in a much harder position if either of them tries for a ‘not guilty’ plea. You have no idea if Mingi is even coherent or awake to have had a talk with his yet.
Regardless, if there’s a chance you can help them, even just a fraction as much as they’ve helped you, you’ll do it.
Agent Jang draws your attention back to her, “Y/N, can you tell us who did this to you?”
Your heartbeat feels erratic, like your pulse is skipping every other beat and then really hammering the next to make up for it. Are you going to denounce him like this? Condemn him like he means nothing to you? You feel like your chest is opening back up again, as if your ribs are trying to crawl out of the wound like a spider. That authoritative, warning voice tries to convince you to not say anything, that he’ll find out and somehow come back to kill you – this time for real.
What if you tell them and he gets out? Will he even want you back?
There’s so many outliers, variables, differing scenarios, all being met with uncertain outcomes. You can’t predict the future. You have no idea what will happen tomorrow…how can you decide the fate of all these people? You were so level-headed and clear this morning. It’s overwhelming that his influence has this much of a chokehold on you.
Even now, you’re just his little puppet, aren't you?
You look down at your arm that you’ve been lightly scratching this whole time, just skin and bones. The image of the walking corpse in the mirror last night pushes to the front of your thoughts.
Just tell the truth. Let them decide, it says.
Maybe you don’t have to make the decision. Everything you say will be without bias, only reciting facts about what happened, and you’ll let them reach their own conclusions. That’s… reasonable, right?
You roll your shoulders back again, breathing in as deep as your damaged lung allows you to without starting a coughing fit.
Your lips part.
All five people wait with barely contained suspense.
The name fights against your tongue, but you push it out anyway.
“Jeong Yunho…”
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
One week later…
Your last full week at the hospital feels surreal.
Less people come and go, only your nurses and your parents. Ms. Choi came back three additional times the past few days, but you mostly just let your parents talk to her with you present in the room.
It’s still undecided whether or not you will actually speak at the trial.
The trial itself will be held a few months from now, but there’s no set date yet. Ms. Choi informs your parents that she will be keeping you all updated as soon as she knows anything new about it. Right now, you decided that you will not attend, and Ms. Choi supports this decision. Seeing Yunho again is most likely a very bad idea, especially while testifying against him.
Your parents bought you a new phone, but the most you’ve done with it is peel the protective sheet off of it and set it up. The wallpaper on the lock and homescreens are the default options. You don’t have any photos anymore. You definitely remember taking many when you first arrived here, though. Now, your old phone could be anywhere in the entire world. More than likely, it’s already been drowned in the Han River. You almost envy it some days when the pain medications wear off. It’s a gradual fight towards recovery, but you’re happy that you can at least take deeper breaths.
It’s admittedly been rather awkward between you and your parents, especially after the interview with the agents. Both of them had to leave the room, and you weren’t even exactly giving explicit details of what you went through. Regardless, it was more than they could bear to hear. You can tell every time they see you, they’re replaying what they heard.
It’s been interesting getting to know them again. Every now and then you remember small details and inside jokes, shared memories together, those sorts of things. You’re speaking to them as much as you would if Seonghwa were here.
But you haven’t seen Seonghwa all week.
The story is probably everywhere by now. Globally, more than likely, but you haven’t seen or read a single article about it. There are several reasons why, but mainly because you just don’t want to relive everything through a stranger’s words. Your television is firmly set on the documentary channel and or the drama channel. This is mostly enforced by Ms. Choi and your parents. Anyway, you imagine Seonghwa has his hands rather full, dealing with all of this public outrage and shame brought upon the group’s name. You know it’s almost impossible for him to come see you at all, and yet you find yourself waiting for him to show up every afternoon and evening. Just in case. You really don’t want your last conversation with him to end in a panic, or a heated exchange. Since it’s your last day, your hopes are really being tested as each minute and each hour passes without him coming through the door.
Your parents had left maybe ten minutes ago to go back to their hotel for the night, leaving you to the rare silence of your room, save for the background noise of a history documentary that’s playing on the TV. Something about spies in World War Two. You’re not really paying attention to it, but the snippets of what you do hear sound interesting.
The phone your parents got you is by your side, nestled on top of the blanket. Your curiosity of the severity of the story and how bad it is for the group nags at you to check. You unlock it, but tap on the TikTok icon instead, scratching the itch to be on your phone but not to search the case. The app successfully numbs that nagging feeling to check for about ten minutes, until you stumble across someone talking about your case. No search required.
The person talking in the video refers to your case as ‘unfortunate’, but ‘hot’ at the same time. A lump forms in your throat rather quickly the more she talks about how jealous she is of you.
The video ends with her asking Yunho if she can be next.
By this point, you’re shaking badly, and the comment section is no better. You had hoped there would be a majority of people defending you, calling her out on such a strange and controversial opinion, but what you see shocks you to the very core.
[user1603275809]: my dream ughhhh
[b<3]: ungrateful bitch lmao
[SAW ATEEZ 07/31]: girl move over i’ll be your next victim yunho🤪
You shut your phone off.
Definitely a mistake. You doubt that you’ll reach for your phone again until you get on the plane back home, and even then, you’ll only use it for music. It’s not even the comments and the whole general message you’re getting from the video that hit you the hardest, it’s the fact that they don’t know about the others. The dead girls in the forest. You wonder if they’d laugh online so freely if they knew about them.
There’s an abrupt gunfire sound effect that explodes from the TV, even on low volume and it startles you that much more. You’re quick to change it back to the drama channel, hands shaking as you sit up and swing your feet onto the floor, intent on getting up and walking this off. The nurses have been encouraging you to go on walks, longer and longer distances each time. You’re almost up to a mile without needing a break. Now’s as good a time as any.
Walks help not just your body, but your mentality too. And you need a bit of both right now.
You’d been adamant the past two days that you want to walk alone, without a nurse present and hovering, waiting for you to fail. They’d respected your wishes, but you noticed how they watched you until you’re out of sight or if you caught them looking. Hopefully, because the evening is already giving way to the night, there won’t be as many eyes on you this time.
When you step out of your room, you’re proven right save for the officer that guards your room. The officer outside your door gives you a look but you draw a circle with your finger, indicating that you’re going to be walking around. He makes an ‘ok’ sign with his hand and waits for you to set off. He gives you as much privacy as he can on these walks, remaining quiet and keeping his distance, staying about ten feet or so behind you. The hallways for now are clear in both directions, and the nurse’s station is only occupied by two nurses, facing the opposite way. Jiyeon is one of them. She looks up from the computer, a brief look of concern flashing across her face before she lifts her hand, her pointer and middle fingers alternating to mimic leg movements.
‘Walk?’ She mouths the word. You nod. She nods as well, and just goes back to whatever she’s doing. You’ll miss her.
As you finish up your second lap, you’re already starting to feel a bit better. That video you watched only had a couple of hundred likes anyway. Surely, not everybody thought the same as she apparently does. It’s just hard to forget about it completely… or forgive.
A male nurse opens a door to a room you’re just about to walk by, and he wheels out what looks like a medication cart. You stop to let him go with a small bow, and glance at the name written on the wall to indicate who is occupying this room.
Someone named ‘Song, M’.
Nosy by nature, you can’t help but peer into the room before the door closes. You can hear the steady, rhythmic beat of a heart monitor, and all the lights appear to be off, just like how you like your room to be. The soft glow of light from the hallway is always enough to keep the rooms dark enough to fall asleep comfortably, but lit well enough to be able to see where everything is. There’s a man propped up in the bed, his face mostly covered by the water cup he’s using to knock back the pills the nurse no doubt just gave him.
You pass by the room and continue your walk.
You don’t think much about it, refocusing on thinking about the flight home tomorrow. Home. You can barely remember what your house looks like. Your parents, upon hearing this from you, have started showing you pictures that were taken in the house, and it’s all slowly coming back to you. There’s pieces being filled in the puzzle again. You imagine it’ll be different actually being there again rather than just seeing pictures of it. They showed you pictures of your room as well, and some different memories from varying ages came back rather easily. Sleepovers and sleepless school nights doing homework at your desk, childhood stuffed animals, shelves full of photos and trinkets collected over the years.
When it comes to your clothes and other belongings here in your old apartment, apparently your parents had received everything a few months ago when it was released from the police. Your old roommates had sent you several of the presents still sitting in your hospital room. The balloons wilted a couple of days ago.
Rounding the corner, from down the hall you can see another police officer standing guard and you look behind you to see if yours is still following you. He is. He looks up at you when he sees you turn around.
“You okay?” He asks, also looking behind him to see if you saw something.
“Yeah, I just…” you trail off, watching the other officer again. He doesn’t look like he’s standing outside your room, he’s too far away. He’s further down the hall, near to where you had stopped to let the nurse go in front of you.
A slow realization dawns on you then. Who else could it be?
Continuing on, albeit at a much slower pace, you stop once again at your room. Wordlessly, the officer assigned to you retakes his post, but you don’t push open the door to go back inside. You hesitate, staring down the hallway.
“Jiyeon?” You quietly call her, moving closer to the nurse’s station.
Her head pops up from her computer again, at the ready. The light from the screen reflects in her eyes, making them partially glow white and blue.
“Who’s in that room?” You ask, already knowing the answer. You just want it confirmed.
Jiyeon follows where you’re pointing with her eyes and leans forward slightly to speak quieter. “I can’t tell you who, hon. Patient confidentiality.”
You bite your lip.
“If I know who it is…” you begin, “are you able to tell me if I’m allowed to see him?”
Jiyeon looks back over towards the room and the cop that guards it. You can almost see her thinking, recalling protocol and hospital rules.
“It’s Mingi, right?” Your voice barely above a whisper.
“Honey, I’m just not sure it’s a good idea for you to see him,” she says gently. “Actually, I really doubt that they’ll let you in.”
You rest your arms on the desk, picking at your nails again. “I know it’s not a good idea,” you agree. You understand completely. Honestly you’re rather bewildered that you’re even asking to see him. “I just… I don’t know.”
Jiyeon sighs, looking up at you apologetically. It’s not her fault. Again, you understand. And maybe it’s for the best that you can’t see him. Maybe he doesn’t want to see you, and then what? More chaos, more heartache, more trouble than you need right now. Even so, that nagging tugs at you.
“Is it possible for me to maybe write him something?”
At that, Jiyeon looks down at her computer again, like the answers are on the screen. She hums as she thinks.
“Possibly. Whatever you write will have to be approved by these guys,” she says, gesturing to the officer outside your door and the one outside his, “so keep that in mind. Some things may be redacted.”
You nod, looking back at the officer outside Mingi’s door one more time.
“Alright,” you say, turning on your heel and disappearing back into your room for the night.
You set about writing your message to him right away, using the new journal and pen that Seonghwa had given to you from the boys. Although, you do spend a majority of the evening staring at a blank sheet of paper. Luckily, the nurse that brings in your dinner doesn’t ask what you’re doing or who you’re writing to. She minds her business, setting your food down with a small smile and a quiet ‘of course’ when you thank her.
The words don’t come easily, and you don’t expect them to. Dozens and dozens of potential things you want to say to him come to mind, but none of them sound or do any good. It has to be short and simple if you want to avoid any potential redactions, but also carry meaning. You dig deep, searching for what you truly want to say. If you were allowed to go into his room and see him, and say anything to his face, what would it be?
Your pen moves not too long after you ask yourself that.
You deliver the note to Jiyeon, on the off-chance she is allowed to bring it to Mingi’s room and she sets it down by her keyboard with a promise that she will have the officers look it over. With a small nod of acknowledgement, you wish her a goodnight and settle down in your room for the last time.
A part of you wishes you had time to look around Yunho’s bedroom the same way you’re taking in the hospital suite you’ve been in for the past week and a half. Just to say goodbye to it, but how were you supposed to know you’d never return there? You sigh as you tuck yourself in one more time even though it’s still pretty early – not yet eight-thirty – and you admire the patterns of light on the floor coming from the hallway and the television. The volume is low in case you wake up in the middle of the night, you don’t want to wake up to dead silence. That’s almost as bad as not being able to see.
But you sleep soundly, letting the occasional quiet beeps from the machines lull you.
And with perfect timing, with twenty minutes left to spend in visiting hours, Seonghwa knocks on your door.
He ignores the side-eye from the cop by your door as much as he can, adjusting his face mask even higher up on his nose so the top of it grazes his bottom lashes. Those dark circles under his eyes from his injury never quite went away on account of the lack of sleep lately. When he pushes open the door, he freezes in place. You’re turned on your side, facing the door, and he can tell that you’re asleep. He hesitates, not sure if he should come in anyway or just turn around and leave. He knows you have an early flight tomorrow.
Just five minutes, he tells himself.
Leaving the door open as instructed, he quietly makes his way over to the chair by your bed. You don’t stir. You look peaceful… healed, at least physically. The lines on the heart monitor jump in a standard, healthy rhythm, and there’s some plumpness to your skin now. It no longer clings to your bones. It’s nice to see you like this.
He definitely stays longer than five minutes, just watching you sleep. He feels like a creep for doing so, but he can’t help but hope that you’ll just wake up on your own and know that he came back to say goodbye. In his head he replays all of your shared time together, internally apologizing to you for all the chances he had of getting you out sooner rather than later, and wishing that he could’ve done more to help. He stares at the fading, leftover patches of bruises around your neck that he put there until his eyes unfocus and his vision blurs. He lifts the heel of his hand to his temple, pressing it there for a second to combat any oncoming dizziness. It’s an internal battle to not cry. He doesn’t feel like he really deserves to.
There’s some murmuring outside your door, and he looks up at the clock to check the time. Five minutes after nine. Time to go. Jiyeon knocks as she comes in.
“Visiting hours are over,” she politely informs him.
Seonghwa fixes his jacket for no reason. “Right. I’m sorry,” he says as he stands, patting his pockets to make sure he has everything and leaves without another word.
Jiyeon catches him in the hallway before he gets to the elevators. “Mr. Park,” she calls softly, jogging after him to close the distance.
He looks over his shoulder, then turns around to face her, awaiting some sort of scolding for staying later than allowed. He’ll take it.
“I’m sorry–” he starts to say, but Jiyeon cuts him off.
“I wanted to thank you. I think you played a big part in her recovery,” she says sincerely. Her words startle him, catching him off guard. It’s definitely not what he was expecting to hear. Seonghwa doesn’t meet her eyes anymore, choosing to inspect the tiled floor instead.
Of course, he denies this. “I didn’t do that much… all I did was upset her each time I came.”
“You remind her of a very difficult part of her life,” Jiyeon says bluntly, not one to sugarcoat, “one that will stay with her forever. But, you’re also part of the reason that she’s safe. You helped to get her out.”
Seonghwa shakes his head, refusing to accept any responsibility of aiding in your rescue. He’s part of the problem that you escaped. Jiyeon steps closer, trying to make him look at her.
“Whether you realize it or not, you’re probably one of the only truly safe people she has right now,” She says. “You’re very important to her.”
He keeps his head down, crossing his arms over his chest and hunching his shoulders.
“ I–I didn't do enough,” he says, his voice betraying him by breaking right at the beginning of his sentence.
Every pent up emotion hits him then. Right there in the middle of the hospital hallway, under bright, accusatory fluorescent lights, outside of your room where he believes he put you, even if he wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger. By not informing the police beforehand, he believes that he is part of the reason you were hurt, indirectly or directly. He promised you that night that you’d be okay. He told you to trust him. Every bottled up feeling suddenly demands to be felt. His stress threatens to make him explode like a pressure cooker.
Jiyeon cautiously places her hand on his back, guiding him into an empty office area and sitting him down. She fills a paper cup with water and hands it to him, advising him to breathe.
“I’ll never be able to m-make it up to her,” he says, close to crumpling the cup in his grip. “I told her she w-wouldn’t get hurt and–”
He stops in the middle, too ashamed of himself to continue. Glancing at the clock, he winces, knowing his manager is probably wondering where the hell he is. He won’t come looking for him though… the whole KQ staff have kind of stopped talking to them unless absolutely necessary. Nevertheless, he feels bad for making him wait.
“From what she’s told me, you did your absolute best to protect her. You kept showing up for her, even now, and that will help her heal in the long term. It’ll remind her that she had someone good by her side at the end of all this.”
Seonghwa sniffles quietly, running a hand through his hair and pausing halfway through.
“She still got hurt though,” he says dejectedly. “She got hurt by saving me. I didn’t deserve such kindness from her… I didn’t deserve to be saved. It should’ve been me instead.”
“She’s alive,” Jiyeon reminds him, “and she’s going home tomorrow because of you. Because of all of you. She didn’t even have to think before she chose to save you. Doesn’t that tell you all you need to know about how much she cares about you? Don’t make her decision meaningless by saying that you didn’t deserve it.”
A beat passes.
Seonghwa nods once, slowly, like he doesn’t quite believe what he’s agreeing to just yet, but maybe one day he will. Her words imbed themselves within his mind, branding into his brain and sticking with him for the foreseeable future.
You’re alive. You’re going home tomorrow.
Except for two snags, not including his own injury, the plan was successful. They achieved what they set out to do: free you from Yunho. They got you out. The risks involved in said plan were well-known, and they knew the level of danger they’d be exposed to if things went south. Despite it all, you and Mingi are both alive and recovering, and Yunho is where he should be: in jail awaiting trial.
Jiyeon hands him a tissue box from one of the desks, and he plucks one from it to blow his nose. He calms down gradually, and she lets him take his time. Glancing up at the clock again, he stands abruptly. He’s way over time now. He wouldn’t be surprised if his manager left him there.
“Oh– I should go,” he says, but doesn’t break for the door just yet. Again, he pats his pockets to make sure he has everything, and pauses when he dips a hand into the one in his jacket. He pulls out a small, torn piece of paper with a number scribbled on it. He’d forgotten to leave this in your room. Dammit.
“I’m sorry, could you please give this to her?” He asks, “It’s… it’s just in case she wants to keep in contact. If you don’t think it’s a good idea though, it may not help her recovery–” he rambles, overthinking.
Jiyeon interrupts him, “Y’know what? Why don’t you stay with her tonight. I think she’d like that. You can give it to her yourself.”
Seonghwa blinks before bowing to her, thanking her sheepishly.
She waves him off, guiding him out of the room and back down the hall to your room. She exchanges a few quiet words with your room guardian, letting him know what’s going on. He side-eyes Seonghwa again, but luckily, says nothing.
“Thank you,” Seonghwa says to her again when she turns back to him, “really. For everything.”
“Of course. Have a good night, Mr. Park.” Jiyeon says with a small wave, already starting to head back to the nurse’s station.
Seonghwa sends a quick text to his manager and takes off his face mask, taking a deep breath before placing his hand on the doorhandle.
This time, your back is facing him as he walks in and you stir when the door is opened again. You sleepily rub your eyes and make a small noise upon hearing someone come in. A nurse, you assume. You lazily drape your arm out to the side to make it easier for her to check your vitals or something. They always need your arm out for some reason or another.
Instead, someone sits in the chair. Someone takes off their jacket. A familiar scent of cologne hits your nose and your eyes snap open.
“Hello?” You ask, confused.
“Hi, angel,” he says quietly, taking your hand that you reach for him with.
“What time is it?” You mumble, looking around the bed for your phone.
“Late,” Seonghwa says with the slightest twinge of a laugh, “they’re gonna let me stay the night with you. Is that alright?”
You nod immediately, worried he’ll change his mind within the millisecond of time between him ending his sentence and you responding. A small grin plays on his lips.
“I’ll stay up–” You start to push yourself upright, but he stops you.
“No, no, it’s okay. I’ll just…” He scoots the chair closer and leans forward, resting his head on his arms. You worry about his back, though. This position can’t be good for his neck either.
You pull his arm towards you until he sits on the bed. Closer, but not what you’re trying to get him to do. Sure, you could outright say what you want, but you’re tired and admittedly still shy around him. So you scoot over, to the very edge of your bed to make room for him. He sighs as he hesitates, and eventually gives in. You unsuccessfully hide your victorious – and honestly, shocked – smile as he gets in next to you in the cramped space. You throw your blanket over him and both of you turn on your sides to face each other. Draping your arm over his shoulder, you play with his hair on the nape of his neck. His eyes flutter closed, allowing himself to relax. He keeps his hands to himself, not assuming that you want to be touched in any way until you tell him.
You breathe him in, snuggling closer to his chest, silently giving him his answer. Your free hand finds one of his, guiding it over your body. The comforting weight of it calms you just as well as any sedative. He presses you close, dropping his arm down towards your lower back, and sneaking his right arm under your neck to embrace you properly like this. You sleepily smile into his chest. His hair is soft between your fingers. The added heat from his body makes the cold hospital room perfectly warm.
You fall back asleep in no time at all.
And so does he.
In the meantime, your little note does make its way to Mingi’s room. The only thing the officers decide to redact is your name at the end. He’ll know it’s from you, but he will be denied that small verification at the bottom of the page. He won’t get to see you or say a proper goodbye. He knows, though, that he doesn’t deserve to. This little note is the best he’s going to get, and he’s grateful nonetheless.
Mingi,
Though I may not feel this way 100% right now, I know in time I will mean what I write wholeheartedly:
I forgive you.
Thank you for helping me.
– ◼/◼
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
The morning is rather busy.
Busier like it had been when you first woke up here. Your parents arrive first thing, bags packed and passports already at the ready. You can tell they can’t wait to leave. To bring you home. The butterflies in your stomach are rather agitated at the thought. ‘Pre-flight nerves’, you refer to them as when your mom asks why you’re so antsy.
Seonghwa had left an hour before they got there, around five in the morning. You had set your alarm at that time to give yourself some time alone, to mentally prepare for the day ahead. Instead, that time was spent exchanging Kakao IDs and resuming playing with his hair. Time seemed against you, moving faster than it ever had here before. Each minute seemed to last ten seconds.
He squeezed your hand tight before he left. You can still feel it now.
Much to your surprise, Agent Jang comes into your room ten minutes before you’re due to leave, carrying a lumpy bag. You hadn’t expected to see her again. Your parents greet her warmly, eyeing what she has in her hand.
“Your clothes,” she explains to you, “from when you were first admitted here.”
All you can think to say in response is “Ah.”
She sets it down on one of the chairs and asks how you’re doing. The two of you actually have a nice little conversation for a couple of minutes before she has to go back to the station. You wish her luck as she walks out. For what exactly, you’re not sure, but you think the sentiment of what you said makes itself known. She wishes you all the best and steps out, nodding to the morning shift officer guarding your door. His shift will be short today, although he is going to be accompanying you to the airport. Then, airport security will take you and your parents through.
“I’ll go through them on the plane,” you decide, gesturing to the bag and the presents that all three of you managed to somehow stuff into an extra suitcase and your carry-on. You read some of the tags. None of them are from Yunho.
Your mom crosses her arms, looking at it like it’s a bug. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“I just… I don’t want you to be triggered and then we don’t know how to help you.”
You sigh, but not in annoyance. This could very well happen, and happen while you’re 30,000 feet in the air with no escape. But you’re stronger now. “That’ll happen anyway. Doesn’t matter when, really. I’ll tell you how to help me.”
Unconvinced and wary, your mom lets it go. She trusts you on this. You’re the expert on you.
Jiyeon isn’t working this morning, but she did leave you a little card for Mijoo to give to you. You’ll read it later, right now your parents are checking their phones and watches over and over, silently telling you it’s almost time to leave.
You thank the staff as you pass them in the hallways, stealing a glance down towards Mingi’s room again before stepping into the elevator and descending down, back into the world. You don a face mask and sunglasses, feeling a bit like Seonghwa, and tie your hair up. The last thing you want is for people to easily see what you look like now.
As expected and dreaded, the airport is swarming with reporters and devastated fans who all want a glimpse of the girl who survived the idol. Luckily, you’re well hidden by your parents and the officers protecting you. You’re on autopilot until you actually board the plane, ascending and accelerating towards the clouds.
The mini screen helps the ride go by a lot faster. You alternate between movies, listening to the music and closing your eyes, and just resting your head against the window, watching the clouds drift below. You sleep for about an hour, and when you wake up, the plane has already begun its initial descent. Home. Your skin starts to itch again.
To distract yourself, you reach into your carry on for that bag Agent Jang gave you and the note from Jiyeon. Your mother next to you takes her AirPods out, but says nothing to deter you from looking through it. She’ll just keep a close eye on you, watching for any signs of incoming distress while your dad is passed out, still asleep next to her.
The note from Jiyeon is short and sweet, wishing you all the best, and signing her name with a little drawing of a bunny on the side of it. You pass it to your mom so she can read it, and then you start in on the bag.
The clothes themselves are wrinkled from being in the snow for so long and not being dried properly. You don’t unfold your sweater, not particularly keen on seeing the hole where the bullet ripped through the fabric. The pants are bloodstained on the waistband. Your socks are crumpled like your sweater, soaked through and sad looking. You shove the socks and sweater back into the bag, curiosity over. But you feel something in the pants front pocket. Your eyebrows furrow together, not knowing what this could be.
But the second your fingers touch it, you know exactly what it is. And who it belonged to.
You pull the rosary out slowly, almost bead by bead until you’re holding it up in front of your face. The cross at the bottom points directly down towards the bloodstains.
“Who’s is that?” You hear your mom ask through the roar of the engines and your screaming thoughts.
Quickly, you lie. “Seonghwa’s.”
Though visibly tense, she doesn’t say anything further. You’ve told them a little about him. They’re not particularly crazy about him, as they have a harder time seeing him for anything other than being part of the group that took and had access to you. She looks at it like she wants to chuck it out of the plane window. If only she knew who it really belongs to.
You put the pants back in the bag, holding onto the rosary for the remainder of the flight.
The cold metal burns your skin the whole way down.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Eight months later…
The sun warms your skin as it blinds you.
You cover it with your hand as much as you can, squinting and blinking away the eye floaters that creep into your field of vision. Cars rush past, threatening to splash you from the puddles left overnight. It had been an impressive storm, but you slept through most of it.
The sunlight that reflects off the building makes it look like it’s sparkling all over. You remember this place well; at least, the interior of it. You lower your hand and look across the street, heading the opposite direction. The walking signal shines for the pedestrians and you join the crossing groups of people seamlessly.
Seoul in September is always pretty.
That certain floor and apartment right at the very top look down upon you. They didn’t think they’d ever see you again. Last they saw of you, you were being driven out to the woods again. They should’ve known. You’re the only one who survived the woods… twice.
Sadly, there’s no time to gloat or reminisce, as you’re currently running to find your Uber before they drive off.
Once located, you confirm your names with each other and situate yourself in the backseat of the car. It’s rather nice, and you double check that you didn’t accidentally pay for the Uber Black or something. You’re thankful for the strong air conditioning. Tucked under your thigh, your phone vibrates a few times but you ignore it – you already know it’s your mother texting you for the hundredth time today. She has your location on like she did last year, but now she wants live updates in real time of how you’re doing and where you’re going and who with, every possible detail.
You had to really plead your case to her and your father to let you come back.
Before the entire question was even finished, they flat out forbade you from coming back, especially by yourself. It took a lot of persuasion, a couple big fights, multiple reminders that you’re an adult, and a promise to be monitored at all times while there, but eventually they allowed you to fly back. You’re staying at a nice hotel in the heart of the city, somewhere you’re rather familiar with. Yet another topic of discussion you had to fight over. They wanted you to stay with your old roommates, but you vehemently opposed this – you didn’t want to infringe on their lives by staying with them and make them have to babysit you all hours of the day. That’s not fair to them. You did agree to spend the first two nights back in Seoul at their apartment, though.
You’re 99% sure your mom is also keeping in touch with them as well.
Holding in an exasperated sigh at the fourth and fifth buzz of your phone, you shoot a quick text to your mom as proof of life and safety, screenshotting the route you’re taking to your hotel to check into your room. She reads the text immediately and answers with a thumbs up emoji. It’s both comforting and suffocating that you know she’s watching your location at this very moment. It reminds you of where you were last year at this time.
Driver tipped, bags collected, and key handed over, you finally flop down on the plush hotel bed, sighing into the memory foam. You’re looking forward to these next two hours spent alone before you go back out again. You definitely need them.
You unpack, taking your time to set everything where you want it around the room, quietly enjoying how therapeutic small stuff like this feels. Habitually though, you do check in the upper corners of the walls, in the lamps, and in the bathroom for hidden cameras. Every search conducted ends in the same result: finding none. It’s one habit you’ve yet to fully shake off. Another one is how you tend to freeze when you hear people outside of your room, even muting the TV so no one can hear you inside. Once the sound of their voices fade away, you’re okay again.
You try to tighten up. You have to, especially today.
After sending your mom a picture of you, safe in the hotel room, she finally relents and leaves you alone. It’s annoying, but it’s what you agreed on in order to be here, so you force yourself to not roll your eyes every time your phone goes off.
You spend the next hour sitting on the floor in front of your suitcase, looking down at it like the right outfit will just jump out at you. It’s not that you’re trying to look good, just… confident. Confident and put together without overstating it. You rummage through the shirts, pants, socks, and one dress you brought with you, but none of them feel right. Now only thirty minutes before you have to leave, you give up on it for the time being and just focus on your hair and makeup.
Even though you want to, you can’t bring yourself to wash your face. There are good days and bad days when it comes to water, and today is one of those bad days. Instead, you run one of the hand towels under the sink and lightly dab your face with it to feel more refreshed. You forego winged eyeliner simply because your hands are shaking too much and you don’t have time to make them match, and then find yourself brushing your hair right back where you started, standing in front of the open suitcase without a clue of what to wear. In the end, you just decide on some baggy jeans and a hoodie.
You text your mom that you’re gonna nap and stay in the hotel the rest of your night, and switch your phone completely off.
Sunglasses on and purse in hand, you’re out the door.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
You’re very hyper-aware of your skin.
Specifically how your clothes feel on your skin, brushing up against it. Your chest hurts. Stress causes some pain flares from time to time, so you’re used to the feeling, but it doesn’t make it any less comfortable. You lightly trace your collarbone through your hoodie with your knuckles, just to ground yourself more. It tells you that nothing is touching your chest or your neck.
You’re glad you chose the hoodie because it is freezing in here. The cold metal of the chair seeps through the fabric of your jeans and takes a while to warm up as you wait. Your nails tap against the metal table in front of you. It’s a rather small room, only two other ‘booths’ like the one you’re sitting at now, and dim. You run your hands up and down your arms to self-soothe and to warm yourself up. Your anxiety grows more and more the longer they make you wait.
Maybe you shouldn’t’ve come here. This was a mistake of gigantic proportions, and you know it. Your hands start to itch instead of soothe. Your bottom lip is already bitten to hell, and you stand up, ready to leave and forget you ever even tried to do this.
But the door opens.
And there he is.
You freeze in place, no longer as put together as you tried to appear. Instead, you’re right back into who you were last year. Your heart hammers against your ribs, trying to escape through them to get as far away from him as it can. You wish your feet would follow.
The rattling and jingling of his handcuffs hitting the small table as he sits opposite you make your ears ring and static erupts in your brain. All systems sound the alarm: danger, danger, danger, get out. But you block it out. There’s glass in between you, he can’t hurt you.
You take a small step forward, back towards the chair you were just in. He watches you like a snake would a mouse.
A heavy sound behind him informs you both that the guard has left, the door shutting behind him. The air around you feels thick, like you have to double your efforts just to breathe normally.
He still looks just as handsome as he did when you last saw him. Dammit.
The metal of the chair scrapes unpleasantly against the floor as you sit back down, ignoring the giant lump forming in your throat. For a moment, you still can’t bring yourself to look at him, but you can feel the weight of his stare. You’re glad you chose this baggy, loose-fitting outfit. Subconsciously chosen so that he couldn’t see your body. Yunho makes a face as he looks at your outfit as he sits there, waiting for you to say something. You can tell that he disapproves.
Your entire body starts to feel feverish the longer you prolong this.
“Hi…” you mumble, clearing your throat right after.
Yunho tsk’s, waiting for a certain word to accompany that greeting. You know which one. You look down at your lap, picking at the skin around your nails. If you thought you felt hot before, it’s nothing compared to now as a fierce blush blooms across your cheeks, warming your whole face.
“I’m not supposed to call you that anymore,” you inform him, still not quite meeting his eyes. He seems to tower over you even while sitting. Was that always the case or did he get taller?
Yunho places his elbows down on the little table and rests his chin on the heels of his hands. The little chain linking the cuffs pulls taut. “Mhm. And who told you that?”
“T-the… my…” you trail off, unable to speak. The words ‘the officers’ and ‘my psychologist’ just die on your tongue.
Yunho smirks, knowing the effect he’s having on you.
“Why are you here, baby?” He purrs, tilting his head to one side.
The pet name makes your skin crawl and a dark part of your mind sing. Your hands begin to shake again, but you just sit on them, trying to remain calm and strong. At least externally. You can do this.
You’re in control.
He’s the one behind bars – well, glass at the moment. He can’t get to you physically, and if he tries, the two guards keeping watch of your visit will tear you away from him before you could even blink. It’s like seeing a shark at the aquarium. Protected and kept apart by the glass, you know you’re safe, but there’s always the same thought that looms in the back of your mind: if the glass suddenly disappears, you’re in his element. At his mercy. Would you scream and kick for the surface, or would you just succumb to him like you used to? An hour ago you were sure of which one you’d pick. Now, you’re not so sure. Not while face to face with the threat itself.
Despite this, there’s a reason you came to see him. You have something for him.
Instead of verbally responding to his question, you simply reach into your pocket and pull out his rosary. His eyes widen at the sight of it. So that’s where it’s been this whole time.
“This belongs to you,” you murmur, stating the obvious. “I w-wanted to return it.”
You can tell you’ve gotten under his skin this time. You don’t feel smug or proud about it. No matter how thick the glass is, you’re still afraid of him. Of all people, you know exactly what he’s capable of. He doesn’t need to touch you to hurt you.
He lowers his hands back down, drumming his fingers on the table. The sound makes your skin crawl. You gently place it down in front of you. He almost reaches for it, like he forgot the glass is there for a second before retracting his hand, cracking his knuckles in quiet and controlled frustration.
“How thoughtful,” he hums, his voice tight.
Involuntarily, you blush again, your lips parting to thank him for such small praise. You nervously run a hand through your hair, trying to pass it off as nothing. The air shifts. The power dynamic between the two of you skews even further towards him.
The smirk that slowly grows on his face is pure evil. Sickly sweet, manipulative. Your skin crawls, waves of adrenaline zip down your spine and into your legs, every instinct telling you to get out there now.
“You missed me, didn’t you?” He sneers, leaning forward to get even more into your space. He lazily gestures to the rosary, “Just wanted to see me again?”
Unwilling to back down from him, you ignore those instincts. You stay put, right where you are. You pull the collar of the hoodie away from your neck, suddenly feeling rather suffocated.
“No.” You say as firmly as you can, not offering him anything more to work with. A simple ‘no’ is good enough.
He laughs, his amusement evident. “You’re not being very nice to me, are you?”
“I j-just… I n-needed to see you in h-here,” your voice wobbles a little as you stammer. You’re unable to think or speak clearly. It’s like your mind’s been suddenly placed on pause, slamming on the brakes while going one hundred miles an hour. You try to remember if you had been like this when he first took you. This pathetic. “I don’t have t-to be nice to you.”
“Look at you,” he smirks, leaning back in his chair, without a single care in the world. Superior to you even now. “Acting so high and mighty all of a sudden. Already forgotten who’s in charge, huh?” His voice lowers in volume on the last sentence spoken, leveling you with just a sharp glare.
You shake your head, refusing to let him get in your head like this. Not without a fight. “You’re not in ch-charge of me anymore.”
Yunho doubles down, his voice a soft purr. The same timbre he used to make you forgive him for almost drowning you in the bath. Sympathetic, warm, caring, safe.
“Aww, poor baby. Is it hard to have nobody telling you what to do anymore? Bet you miss that structure, don’t you?”
“Stop it,” you snap at him, though there’s not a lot of edge to your voice. “I’m not yours.”
“Yes you are. You keep waiting for me to praise you… is that what you want? Need my validation? Need to know I don’t hate you for ratting me out to the police?”
“I only came back for Seonghwa.” You say before you can stop yourself. One of your hands flies up to your mouth before hesitating, twitching in the space between your mouth and your lap. Using every single ounce of courage, your eyes flick up to garner his reaction.
You’ve seen that look before.
Through fire, water, earth, and air, you’ve seen it. You’ve never been so grateful to have a thick pane of glass separating you from him.
From the cold metal of the room, you can smell the forest again. The water burns your throat and nose. The snow freezes your skin. The flames lick at your legs.
His jaw twitches and he laughs once, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. There’s no readable expression on his face, not that he lets you see. His hands curl into fists and he hides them in his lap. His bangs cover his eyes as he looks down, jaw clenching and unclenching.
“Park fucking Seonghwa…” he says under his breath, shaking his head in amused disbelief.
Your hand massages your throat, trying to ease the lump in there. He can’t hurt you. You can leave any time.
So why aren’t you?
You came all the way here to give his rosary back to him, to see him in jail with your own eyes in an attempt to stop your nightmares and paranoia. You’ve done what you set out to do. Leave.
However, you’re glued to your seat, and you start to wonder if he’s right in some of the things he’s saying. Are you still seeking his validation? Even though you wanted to come across as confident and better off without him, that charade quickly vanished upon seeing him again. You instantly retreated back into your timid, obedient self that took months to shed off of your normal behavior. Back at square one, you can’t stop the brutal self-deprecating thoughts that berate and jeer at your failure. How easily you crumble in front of him. How small you feel when his eyes are on you. The past months of work you’ve put in with your therapist and the fruition of progress you’ve been so proud of disappear altogether as if they never happened. As if you never left.
You steal another glance at him, and fight against the intensely strong urge to comfort him, clarify what you meant. You hate seeing him upset, especially when you’re to blame for it. He looks so dejected… you’ve never seen him like this. There’s no fire within him anymore, not like before. You have to really force yourself to not say anything to him. It’s none of his business what your relationship with Seonghwa is or is not, especially when you aren’t even sure.
You wipe your eyes with your sleeve, smudging the mascara and eyeliner.
Don’t cry. Please, don’t cry, not in front of him.
You inhale sharply, trying to collect yourself and keep the tears at bay as long as you can. In all honesty, you just want to put your head down on the little table and scream. You don’t have to explain yourself to him. You don’t owe him anything, right?
It’s a question that’s still hard to answer. Obviously you don’t owe him anything, not a damn thing. But you can’t block out the quiet moments you two shared as easily. The good times you had were so good, even if they will never come close to cancelling out the bad. You think, at least for a period of time, you may have actually loved him. Or, felt something quite close to it. Maybe that’s why you want to explain yourself to him, because you still can’t fully deny that you don’t feel anything towards him anymore. You doubt you’ll ever really know. It’s not that simple. Trying to move on from a man who would burn the entire world for you is not something easily done.
The most terrifying realization you’ve had to face at home was feeling that you may never feel as strongly for someone other than Yunho ever again.
Your shoulders hunch and you shrink in the chair, chin to chest.
What you don’t see as you bow your head, is the drastic and visible change in Yunho. No longer smug or condescending, he becomes distant as he holds back his true emotions. Head down as well, his eyes search the floor, his lap, his hands. For what exactly, he himself isn’t even sure. For once, he doesn’t have a quick, lashing reply to give back to you. He bites the inside of his cheek. He slouches in the chair.
Another fantasy dragged back into harsh reality. Disintegrating right in front of him. Again.
Because as much as he denied it, and despite what he has told you… Yunho really does love you.
You were never nothing to him, you were everything. Telling you that he only loved broken things turned out to not be true. Not exactly. At one time, he thought it was true, but he realized he was only talking through his anger and frustration. Not from any substantial meaning. No, he only let you in as deep as he let anyone else get, just surface level. Treading the water there so he can keep an eye on everyone he allows in. You were dangerously close to venturing further, getting to the very heart of him.
He denied himself of you. From seeing you that night in the convenience store, he denied himself of you.
Call it an act of self-sabotage, or that he didn’t know what he was in for, but he saw something in you that none of the others had. A certain spark, a glow, not just potential for his own sick view of what he could shape you into, but also a strength that told him you can persevere. Kindness, humility, beauty, and a natural magnetic attraction that damn near pulled all the members towards you. Of course Mingi fell for you. And now Seonghwa…
Surprisingly, he’s not mad. Not at all. Actually, for the first time, he feels quite defeated. Seeing you past the glass only confirmed that he’ll never have you the way his soul wants. A rather delusional part of him thinks you still want him. That you’ll always want him. That you love him.
He needs to hear you say it so bad. So bad.
But he won’t ask you. He won’t even entertain the thought. Not when there’s a chance you’ll refuse to say it – he doesn’t think he’ll be able to handle that.
So what can he do? He can either push you away and come to his own conclusions based on how easy it is for you to leave, or he can push you harder, see if you’ll break for him again. Neither one reaps many benefits for either of you. It’s just another assessment of loyalty. Another test.
“Why are you here?” Yunho asks you again.
The rosary starts to turn cold on the table. You don’t have an answer for him. The words just won’t come together in the right order, nor do they hold the depth of what you want to attempt to convey to him. Nothing fits or sounds good enough. Each choice is just as cold and lifeless as this room you’re in, void of any real meaning. None of them hold any weight.
Is there anything worth saying at all?
“I’m not…” you swallow hard, knowing that he’s staring at you without needing to look up and verify, “I’m not afraid of you anymore.”
This silence is different. Instead of coming back immediately with a quip or smug response, he simply lets what you said fully process. He really does seem different. It’s the same kind of mental distance you experienced with him when you and Mingi were still close. Jealousy? Maybe, but you don’t want to assume. For all you know, he could just be pissed off that you’re presumably giving your free attention to Seonghwa instead of him now. He must think you’ve completely abandoned him – which, you know you should do, and yet here you are. But again, Yunho doesn’t know how that specific relationship with you and Seonghwa works.
What you say is true, for the most part. There’s a large part of you that still hungers for his approval, yearns for his touch, misses the idea of him. And there’s another part of you that is comforted knowing that he cannot dictate your life anymore, nor touch you like that ever again. The idea of him you hold onto is your own fantasy, conjured up by the fleeting and counterfeit imitations of care and love that he showed you. Seeing him in here does calm your nervous system though, it tells your paranoid mind that he really is locked in here. He can’t get to you. There are dozens of people, several laws, and physical distance between you that will not allow him to touch you again. The thick glass and the handcuffs aid this thinking as well.
For Yunho, all he can hear is white noise and a sentence he’s haunted himself with for almost a year. His lips press together. He can’t be too surprised that you really were afraid of him the whole time, but again that delusional side of him has been very convincing. It was so easy to believe in his own lie until Mingi derailed it with one fatal blow. Just six words. Now here you are in front of him, speaking freely as yourself for the first time since last February, telling him that you’re not afraid of him.
He’s almost split in half. One side glowing, singing that now you can love him, there’s nothing holding you back from it now, and the other realistic side of him shooting all of that nonsense down. He can’t ignore reality forever.
One of your hands rests on the table, drumming your fingers close to the rosary. He subconsciously mirrors you. Tap, tap, tap.
When he doesn’t say anything for another few silent minutes, you pick your purse up from the floor, placing it in your lap. “I should go…”
Yunho wants nothing more than to jump up and beg you to stay with him. So, he doesn’t. He keeps control, clenching his fists tight, knowing he’s solely to blame for how he ended up. If he was just a little more careful…
He watches you stand, the scraping sound of the chair against the floor digging into his ears. Once again, he holds back what he really wants to say.
“I’ll um–” you pick up the rosary, gesturing over to the guard. Why won’t he speak to you? You shift your weight, not wanting to leave like this. You’ve always been the type to not rest so easy knowing that you’ve said something that hurts someone. Even someone like him.
Ready to go, you don’t move. You don’t knock on the door to let the guard know that you want to leave. You have an idea of why he’s gone so quiet.
“We’re not– Seonghwa and I… it isn’t like that.” You tell him, not as eloquently as you wanted to be.
But it does invoke a response of some nature. A single nod, indicating that he understands as simply as possible.
You continue, “I’m not ready for that kind of thing yet.”
“‘Yet’,” Yunho echoes, surprising you by replying quickly this time. “But you will. One day.”
He sniffs, leaning back in the chair. The rest of his sentence goes unsaid, insinuated and understood by you. ‘And it won’t be with me’.
You bite your lip, hand absentmindedly tugging at your sweatshirt, pulling it away from the healed scars on your chest. Your heart is threatening to leak through them.
“I don’t know,” you admit honestly. Right now, you don’t see yourself getting into any kind of relationship in the near future. You don’t want to. You’re afraid everything will remind you of him. You’re afraid you’ll compare – that fear of never feeling the same level of devotion to someone ever again keeps you alone.
“You will. And he’ll be there, I’m sure.” Yunho fails to hold back a scoff. His nails dig into his palms, close to breaking skin. “But all he’ll do is remind you of me.”
Your muscles tense.
There’s a hurt tone to his voice that he tries in vain to hide. Not enough to be obvious unless you knew him quite well… which you do.
It dawns on you then that the two of you trigger each other so much. He triggers your fears, your perfectionism, your traumas, and you trigger his abandonment issues, his overprotectiveness, and his desperate desire for love. Fake or real. He was so close with you. This time, he felt it. The others told him they loved him like they were reading a line from a book. Too rehearsed, without any feeling. You were the only one who almost convinced him.
You know he thinks it’s easier to just push you away if he can’t have you the way he wants.
And suddenly, you think of something worth asking him.
“Were you going to kill me that night?”
He pauses to keep his true emotions in check. He’s not about to let you read him so easily when it comes to this topic.
“Which one?” He asks, lazily, trying to come across as unbothered, nonchalant, but his eyes betray him.
You can see a slight twinge of wariness, like you’re getting too close to the truth of him. Something he’s hidden from everyone else so seamlessly. That’s how you know you’re on the right track, asked the right question. Also, you’d genuinely like to know. Having the answer, fake or real, may help some of the nightmares you keep having ever since that night.
“The last one,” you clarify quietly.
He clears his throat, procrastinating by readjusting how he’s sitting in the chair, straightening up and crossing his legs. He feels caught. The handcuffs dig into his wrists. The only way he can keep control is to not give you what you want – a straightforward answer, but instead, he speaks truthfully.
“I don’t know,” he says, his eyes landing on the silver bracelet fastened on your wrist.
He wonders who gave that to you… it matches his rosary.
You nod once, knowing that’s the best you’ll get out of him. It does kind of tell you everything you needed to know, though. It pairs well with what you remember from that night, the shock and horror on his face when he realized he shot you instead of his intended target, and his many attempts to try and break out of Jongho’s hold on him to rush to your side. You have your answer.
And now you’re not sure what to do with it. You’re still standing in front of him like an idiot, leaving and not leaving at the same time.
His eyes flicker over towards the door on your side of the room. “You should go.”
That startles you almost, and your feet move immediately, like they were waiting for his permission. You don’t miss how the corner of his mouth twitches, and you’re thankful that this time, he doesn’t point it out. He doesn’t have to. Such a small thing like that all but confirms his delusional side’s way of thinking. He latches onto it quickly as he watches you try to slip through his fingers again.
Even if you choose Seonghwa down the line, you’ll still be his. When you’re just a step away from the door, he lets you know that.
“No one will ever love you as much as I do.”
That nearly kills you. It strikes you harder than a fist or a bullet ever did. Hearing the admission you’d been waiting for for all of last year… it almost makes you crumble completely. You knew it, you knew you were right.
He loved you, and still does.
You feel your breath leave your lungs like you’ve been hit there again. Shakily, you turn to look over your shoulder, expecting to see him basking in his small victory, taunting you that his claws are deep in you even after all of this time apart, and that they will continue to be for the foreseeable future.
Except you don’t see that at all. What you thought was a jeering, condescending comment, doesn’t quite match the look on his face. A mix of a small, knowing smile which you expected, and utter desperation, selfishly hoping you’ll never be able to move on from him, that you’ll always come back to him. As hard as it is to admit it to himself, he needs you. So, he’ll revert back to methods that he knows worked on you once. Manipulation, for one.
The desperation that he fails to conceal is what gives him away. You stand your ground, refusing to fall for him again.
“And no one will ever hurt me as much as you have.” You mean to stay strong, but your voice cracks and wobbles halfway through.
You watch his lips part, his eyes widening ever so slightly.
He's always had a talent for hand-picking words and placing them in the exact order that will make you remember them for months to come. Maybe even years. You really have learned from the best.
You tear your eyes away, and it turns out to be the hardest thing to do. Your fist knocks on the door too hard, too urgently. The guard lets you out quickly and asks if you’re okay. You just nod, breathing erratically. He doesn’t believe you, but you’re already walking away, eager to get the hell out of here. Even well past his line of sight, you can somehow still feel Yunho’s eyes on you. Your teeth start to chatter as you collect your phone from one of the guards, barely audibly thanking them as you hitch your purse higher up on your shoulder. You force yourself to walk slower. High stress, high emotions, and high pace can’t be a good combination for your lungs.
When the sun hits you again, you gasp for the fresh air. The very thing you used to hide from, in this moment, you can’t get enough of it. You sit on a bench outside, hands shakily ordering an Uber that cannot come fast enough. Pressing a hand to your head, you will your body to calm down before you act crazy in front of this poor stranger coming to pick you up. You can imagine the headlines if the driver recognizes you, first of all, and tells the press that you were shaken up after visiting the very same prison Yunho is being kept in.
Your parents would never let you leave the house ever again, much less the fucking country.
For a moment you panic, and then remember the time difference. Both of them are surely asleep now, and you relax at the lack of frantic text messages from either of them. Thank god–
The fresh air helps, a gentle breeze occasionally caressing your hair off of your shoulders. You busy your hands by sending Seonghwa a text.
Luckily, he responds right away. Unluckily, he asks how your visit went.
Obviously, he’d been rather opposed to the very idea of you going to see Yunho by yourself. It led to a fight between you, though both of you saw where the other was coming from. He knows you’re an adult and can make your own decisions, and you know that he didn’t want you to give Yunho another chance to hurt you again. When the anger had subsided, he let you know he’d support you no matter what you decide to do. As always.
By the time the Uber gets there, you still haven’t answered Seonghwa’s question. All you send back is a simple, ‘omw’.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Seonghwa opens the door before you can even knock.
You duck inside, knowing how bad it’d be if anyone saw you going into his apartment. It’s smaller than the one you were kept in, but a lot more lived in. Signs of life decorated every inch of it. He’d told you it’s taken a while for him to adjust to living alone. Whenever he gets out of the shower, he still sometimes expects to see San curled up in his bed instead of his own down the hall.
It’s a temporary place. For now, it works.
You think it’s lovely.
“Hongjoong came by earlier,” Seonghwa says. “He um… yeah, he just told me to say that he hopes you’re doing okay.”
You nod, sitting down on his couch. Something tells you there’s more to that, but you don’t press him for details. All you can think to say in response is, “Oh. Well… tell him I said ‘thank you’ and ‘same for you’.”
“Are you?”
“Am I?” You ask, tilting your head.
Seonghwa sits next to you, one cushion over. “Are you okay?”
You know he wants to know about your visit with Yunho, and you’ll tell him eventually. Right now though, it is the last thing you want to do. You haven’t seen Seonghwa in person since your last day in the hospital, eight months ago. Sitting here, on his couch, not two feet away from each other, all you want is to just… sleep, actually. You want to be held, even though you know it’s selfish to want to ask of him, and fall asleep together like you did last December. Before either of you were hurt.
You push that need down.
“I’ll be alright,” you say behind a weak smile.
He looks like he wants to say something, but ultimately decides against it, keeping his mouth shut. Instead, he places his hand on the cushion between you. He lets you decide whether or not to hold it.
Of course, you do.
The reconnection feels like coming home. So many things are conveyed through just a simple touch. Commiserations, apologies, trust, and admissions that you’re both glad to see each other again. It’s a special, impenetrable bond, and for the time being, that’s good enough for both of you. It has to be. There’s still too many things to work out and work through to be anything other than just… two people there for each other. It’s an unspoken arrangement. Neither of you are willing to admit why it’s needed.
“How are the others?” You ask, genuinely curious.
Seonghwa leans back, resting against one of the pillows on the couch. “They’re alright. We’re still constantly in touch with each other, so… that’s nice.”
Well, the six of them are.
Mingi’s being held in a separate prison on the opposite side of Seoul, on the outskirts of the city. He’ll get out before Yunho does, having taken a plea bargain and willingly cooperated with law enforcement.
You ask about each of them, where they are and what they’re doing. You’re not surprised to know that they all live quite close to each other. Yeosang and San even live in the same apartment complex. It’s nice to know that they’re all still somewhat together despite everything. You’ve been told about the fight Jongho, Wooyoung and San are leading to keep Yunho in prison for longer than he was sentenced. Without the USB or the files from his laptop, they’re trying to find other forms of evidence to get him charged with homicide, and get justice for the girls and the manager. You’ve seen the mixed social media reactions. Some view it as admirable, others call it performative.
Hongjoong and Yeosang are both relatively off the radar, intent on maintaining a low profile. This, apparently, is almost normal for both of them. ‘Chronic homebodies’, Seonghwa calls them. Still, you naturally worry about them.
The three of them are planning to move abroad early next year. Since the three of them were most implicated in the case, the public outrage towards them despite their contributions towards your rescue, and despite your written testimony that they were not privy to the truth of who you were when Yunho introduced them, has proven to be impossible to simply ignore. Not even the ‘chronic homebodies’ want to be sheltered inside forever, anxious about going outside.
Hopefully western Europe will be more peaceful for them.
An hour into talking, you’re now curled up on the couch while he plays with your fingers, making small noises of disapproval wherever he sees that you still pick at your nails and the skin around them. He just doesn’t want you to hurt yourself like that. On more than one occasion, he’s threatened to buy you a fidget toy or something to help you stop the habit.
He closes your hand, setting it down again and rubs his thumb against the back of it. Another hour later, there’s a natural lull in the conversation as the apartment starts to darken. The sun is peeking out from behind some of the taller buildings in Seoul, beginning its early descent.
The two of you stand in his kitchen as he cooks dinner. He swears he’s gotten better now that he has to fend for himself. The money he’s made from being an idol won’t hold out forever, so he’s trying to be smart about it now and not order takeout so much anymore. He offhandedly says that you should have something that Wooyoung cooks sometime, as he’s the best chef in the group, but he gets quiet afterwards. You don’t push it.
You eat in the living room, feet tucked under you as Seonghwa flicks through all the options on Netflix. You eat slowly, but you’re almost halfway done before he picks something from the ‘Oscar Winning’ category. It’ll do for now. Good background noise while you eat. He checks in on you twice, asking if the food is actually good or if you’re being nice to him, and offering to get you more. You wave him off playfully both times, likening him to a mother hen. It’s a nice little dynamic.
Halfway through the movie, the sun has disappeared altogether. You haven’t planned on staying the night with him or anything like that, but he’s not kicking you out either. You look down at your purse on the floor, resting against the couch, making a mental inventory of what you have in there. Wallet, perfume, headphones, fan, gum, pill pouch stocked with Tylenol in case of flare ups, and a portable charger. You sneak a glance at Seonghwa, who’s busy finishing his second serving of food, eyes flicking up from the bowl to watch the movie. It doesn’t feel like you’re intruding, but you hate to overstay your welcome. The unofficial plan you made for this visit was only a couple hours at most. Already, you’re dangerously close to several hours.
A couple minutes later, Seonghwa collects the empty bowls and dishes that have accumulated on his coffee table, and places them in the sink to wash later. He wants to now, but instead he just lets them soak until the movie is over. You watch him as he walks back to you, sitting himself down a little closer to you than before.
You don’t allow yourself to think anything of it. Not even when you adjust the way you’re sitting, leaning towards him. If you think about it too much, you know who you’ll hear. You know what you’ll remember. You’d rather keep the world and everyone in it out for as long as you can. Since arriving here, you’ve been doing a pretty good job so far, despite the state you were in when you left the prison earlier.
It’s comforting knowing that any silence between you isn’t awkward or tense, it’s just natural. Even more comforting to know that you can’t say or do anything that will ever make him lash out or physically hurt you. The bare minimum, you know, but you’re working on it. You just… feel safe with him in the little things.
That’s the tricky part – the little things, they all pile up, don’t they?
You know you may have waded too deep when you rest your head on his shoulder and he sighs, letting his body relax more into the couch. You lift up, thinking he may be opposed to you doing that, but he guides you back down, not making a big deal of it. The rest of the movie goes by with the two of you staying just like that. Nothing more, nothing less.
When the movie ends, you know you should leave.
You engage in polite small-talk about your assessments of the film, coming to a similar conclusion about it: ‘pretty good’. His eyes glance up towards the kitchen sink, and he bites his lip.
“Would you mind if I washed the dishes really fast?” He asks.
“Oh, no, go ahead,” you say, sitting up straight to let him go. “I can um… I should probably go back to my hotel.”
Seonghwa stops mid-stride to turn around and look at you.
“Oh–” he starts to say but pauses for a moment, wrestling with his inner monologue on what to say next. He looks at the digital clock on the oven. “It’s um…”
“Yeah… I don’t want to intrude.” You smile weakly, gathering your purse. It’s not that late yet, but you’re not terribly keen on going back by yourself in the dark if you can avoid it.
Seonghwa fidgets with the hem of his shirt, alternating between looking at you, the kitchen, and the television. You’re not sure what he’s thinking. He hops from one foot to another as you stand from the couch.
“Hwa?” You check on him, noticing his anxious behavior. It’s rare that you call him by that nickname, but you’re trying to do it more often.
He scratches the back of his neck, stuck in his own thoughts.
“I uh… if you want– I mean, you can stay here, if you want.”
You’d tease him for his eloquence if you weren’t busy processing what he’s saying. Now you’re stuck.
“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” you say quietly, looking down at your purse. If you stay, you’d need to ask for so many things from him for the night. Clothes to sleep in for one, a toothbrush, a blanket and pillow for the couch, makeup remover, and… no, not that. You put the end of that thought out of your mind. There’s no need for it, you tell yourself.
Seonghwa steps closer to you, “No, not intruding at all. I’d like it if you stayed, but… if you’d rather leave then that’s fine too.”
In danger of sounding too enthusiastic, you make sure he’s being serious about his offer. “Are you sure?”
This time, he just nods. He lets you think it over.
He watches you place your purse down on the couch. You shyly look back up to him, hoping he’s being serious about his offer. He seems to relax again. A hand reaches out for you to take, which you do, and he leads you into the kitchen. You hop up on the kitchen counter, letting your heels gently hit the cabinets as he washes and dries the dishes. You try to convince him to let you help, at least drying them, but he refuses.
“A guest shouldn’t have to do any work,” he states.
When the dishes are done, he brings you into his room so he can get some clothes for you. His room is very… him. That’s the best way you can describe it. You emerge from his closet, in his T-shirt and sweatpants that you roll up so you don’t step on them. He lets you use his bathroom to take your makeup off and tells you there’s a new toothbrush in its packaging in one of the drawers there. That, there is.
You look away quickly when you place the toothbrush next to his in the little holder.
Y/N, it’ll never work, you tell yourself.
He’s back in the living room when you come out of the bathroom, tying your hair up. He looks up at you from the couch and offers a small smile, and your pick for a ‘double feature’ night. You grin as you take the remote from him, sitting next to him and beginning your search. You’ll show him one of your favorites.
As the movie starts, the two of you resume your earlier positions – you leaning against his shoulder, and him settling back against the couch. This time, he has his arm over the back of the couch, and almost halfway through the movie, he lets it drift closer, but ultimately doesn’t touch you. He’s still so overly cautious. You kind of want him to snap out of it, but at the same time, you feel that much more safe with him. He’ll keep himself close enough to make you feel protected, and not like he’s expecting anything from you. By doing this, he gives you the option to either lean into it or ignore it and keep to yourself. It’s there if you want it, and it’s immediately taken away if you don’t.
You wouldn’t have such a choice with Yunho…
By the time the double feature comes to an end, and the credits start to roll up the screen, you’re sleepily smushed into Seonghwa’s side. He gently shakes you and you mumble incoherently that you’re awake while your eyelids lose the fight to stay open. Very convincing. He turns the TV off and takes your hand to help you off the couch. You wake up just enough to stand and rub your eyes.
“Do you have an extra blanket?” You ask, gesturing to the couch. It’s definitely comfortable enough to sleep on.
Seonghwa blinks before understanding. “Oh, yeah, I do.”
He disappears into his room to retrieve it and hands it to you. You wrap it around your shoulders. He shoves his hands in his pockets, unsure of what to say or do in this standstill. He won’t outwardly say what he wants for fear of sounding like Yunho, and you won’t say what you want for fear of making him uncomfortable. The kitchen light casts shadows against both of your faces. You hug the blanket tighter around you.
It’ll never work.
The polite exchanges of ‘goodnight’ send you both off to sleep.
In theory.
You spend an hour on the couch trying to reclaim the heaviness in your eyelids and the deep relaxation needed in order to sleep, but neither will return.
Two hours later, still with no success, you give up for the time being and scroll on your phone. However, you exhaust all of your social media apps rather quickly – you don’t follow many people anyway. Phone set back down, you get up and shuffle to the kitchen to get some water. You feel like you’re snooping through his stuff as you try to find a glass to put said water in, and eventually pull open the right cabinet. As you set it down carefully on the counter, you note the time on the oven clock. Almost two-thirty. You groan inwardly, knowing you’re probably in for a sleepless night.
Oh, well. It’s better than potentially having a nightmare on his couch, you suppose.
You wince as the cabinet closes a little too loudly, hopefully not disturbing Seonghwa while he sleeps. Trying to be even more quiet, you fill your glass with water and lean against the kitchen counter, just taking in the view of his apartment from there. You like the huge windows in the living room the most. It takes up most of the wall space and boasts a rather pretty view of the city. You take a small sip, the water feeling nice so late at night. Definitely needed.
There’s some small rustling noise from Seonghwa’s bedroom and you freeze, hoping you didn’t wake him up with that cabinet.
But he pads out to the kitchen, rubbing one of his eyes and stopping in his tracks once he sees you.
“Hey,” he says quietly, looking over at the discarded blanket on the couch. “You okay?”
You set your glass back down, “Yeah, I’m okay. Can’t sleep.”
He hums, nodding. “I can’t either.”
Instead of awkwardly standing still in front of each other, he moves to your side to get himself a drink as well. Instead of water, he substitutes it for soju. He reasons it might help him sleep. From the same cabinet, he grabs a smaller glass and fills it up about halfway with soju. He drinks it all in one go, wincing slightly as it burns down. You laugh lightly at his expression, and his ears turn pink. You wonder what type of drunk he is. Maybe one day you’ll find out, you doubt he’s about to get hammered tonight. He takes another shot, and then puts the bottle away.
Something tells you he drinks in order to sleep quite a lot.
You cradle your little glass of water self-consciously. Being here may be nice for you, but it could be triggering him, and he’s just too nice to you to say anything. You look down at his clothes hanging off your body and bite your lip.
“Hey,” he gets your attention, “enough of that.”
“What?” You ask, even though you know he caught you overthinking.
“I want you here. And this,” he gestures to the bottle, “is getting better.”
You lower your head again, feeling caught. He also all but confirmed that what you were thinking is true, or was up until recently.
“I don’t dream if I drink,” he says in a quieter voice. “So…”
Maybe it’s late-night courage, or what have you, but you set your water down and wrap your arms around him in a hug. You’ve wanted to do this since you walked in. Luckily, he doesn’t tense or back away from you like you’re afraid he will. No, he pulls you tighter against him, sighing against your hair as one of his hands rests on the back of your head.
Two broken people in the kitchen, holding the pieces of each other together.
You’re not sure how long you stay like this, but when you two eventually pull away, he takes your hand. He avoids eye contact again, trying to build enough confidence to say something.
“I don’t like sleeping alone,” he admits.
Your cheeks warm. He knows you don’t either. That’s one of the things Yunho told him the night he left. “Me neither.”
Seonghwa nods once. You look back over at the couch. Surely the two of you can be comfortable there for the night? You don’t want to intrude on his private space. You feel like a vampire, you can’t go into a room without being invited first.
This invitation isn’t verbal.
Seonghwa gently leads you into his room before hurrying back to the couch to grab the blanket again. When he reenters, you’re still standing in the middle of his room. God, both of you are so awkward and so overly cautious with each other. You think it’ll just be like this until you both get better mentally. You already plan to talk with him in the morning. For now, you let him know that you don’t feel pressured, and that you want to be here.
He physically relaxes, obviously worried about that until you said something. He gets into bed first, sighing once he settles down. You get in after him slowly, still checking him to see if it’s okay, if he’s not regretting his offer. It doesn’t look like it.
You lay apart, with a few inches of distance between you two, for a couple of minutes, both trying to sleep. It is quickly apparent that this won’t help. You risk moving closer to him, laying your hand next to his. Still awake as well, he plays with your bracelet for a while before he moves to hold your hand properly.
It’s a gradual shift, testing the waters to see what the other is okay with. Eventually, there are no more inches of distance between you, and you’re curling up by his side, your arm laid over his torso, and his arm wrapped around you.
“Does this feel… is this okay?” He checks one more time as the soju starts to kick in, dragging him towards sleep. He fights against it for a little longer, needing to hear your verdict.
You look around the room.
Trinkets overflow off of shelves, a huge monitor on his LED illuminated desk, an equally large Lego collection showcased behind glass, a bladeless fan perched on his nightstand, also equipped with soft LED lights, and small, miscellaneous plants anywhere else there’s room.
You look up at him.
His eyelashes dust the tops of his cheeks as he waits for your reply. He holds a slight tension in his hand, ready to either let go of you entirely, or pull you in closer.
And suddenly, there’s no more forest. No more cameras or fire. No more water or knives or guns, or belts. There’s no more betrayal, tests, or fear. There’s only him. And for tonight, that’s enough. That will make all the difference in the world. Everything else you’ll figure out in the morning, already visualizing the many texts you’ll wake up to from your mother, asking where the hell you are. You’re content to stay right here until your flight home, honestly.
You nuzzle your cheek against the space between his shoulder and his chest. His cheek rests against the top of your head and he gently presses you closer. Both of you breathe in the other.
your husband, YUNHO, pouted as you placed your son in his lap, because for some reason the little bundle of joy always cries when he is in his father’s arms, while you are somewhere else for not even five minutes… mama can’t even go to the bathroom if the baby is not attached to her hip.
“honey, no,” you smile, sitting next to him and putting your head on his shoulder while you gently tickle your son’s tummy, “he loves you, okay? he’s just… attached to me right now.” the baby immediately curls into your side, gripping your sleeve, wanting to pull you closer or for you to cuddle him instead of this grown unknown man that looks like a giant tree from one of the cartoons that plays on the tv.
“attached is an understatement.”
“he’ll grow out of it.” you kiss yuhno’s cheek, nuzzling more into his warmth when the pure possessive rage hits your son when you kiss his dad, seeing how you give your attention to someone else and squawks, like a warning shot. the baby language is all about doing faces and just mouthing things, little pop-pop sounds that come out of him, as yunho understands one thing that is: stay away from mama.
yunho groans, bouncing him lightly. “that’s actually insane… where does he get that possessiveness from?”
you stare at yunho, raising your eyebrow, and he looks at you, blinking, then his ears turn bright red from embarrassment, because hmm, you wonder from where and from who your son got so much personality even if he hasn’t learned to talk yet?
“okay fine, maybe from me.”
but at one point, you just wanted to go to the kitchen for a bit and got up when both boys’ puppy eyes shot at you the second you took one step toward leaving. because what do you mean you are leaving them to attend the human needs to hydrate your body, and maybe grab something to eat... how can you leave them alone? this is not good parenting behaviour, you shouldn't leave your children unattended since your husband is a man-child.
“where are you going?”
“to get water?”
“okay, but… are you coming back?”
“yunho, the kitchen is five meters away.”
“yeah, but still...”
in the meantime, your son giggles, arms wrapping around his dad’s neck, squealing every time yunho spins him in the air. the dad’s face is just as bright, cheeks hurting from grinning, whispering baby gibberish, and when you come back, he lights up like a dog whose owner just returned from a two-month trip.
“there she is,” he murmurs proudly, cooing softly at his son, holding him high like he’s a giggling basketball. “my beautiful wife and your mother, the love of my life… ow, little man, don’t grip my finger that tight—”
your son literally beams at you, same puppy eyes, arms out, tiny hands clutching air like yeah, give me to mama. the sunshine is only ten months old, but grows more attached every day, and more clingy to the woman he considers the centre of his tiny universe. and when he looks at his dad, his mouth is a tiny pout, looking so done with yunho.
the baby melts against you, tiny yawns sneaking in as he drifts toward sleep in your arms, and your husband just… watches. heart practically exploding, because even if the little sunshine clearly has you wrapped around his chubby finger, he knows that deep down, he loves him too, it's just… he loves you more, and honestly, yunho can’t even be mad about it, as he leans down to kiss the top of his son's head, "sweet dreams, baby."
yunho might have been the superstar out of the two of you, but you have always been the center of his universe. (you — it's always been you.)
▷ genre, warnings. bffs2l, childhood friends 2 lovers, pining, popstar/singer au, swearing, fluff, humor, angst, hurt/comfort, kissing, mentions of alcohol, mentions of anxiety/nervousness, they physically cannot be apart for too long sorry they've got Attachment Issues low-key..., one kiss (is all it takes—)
▷ word count. 16.3k (guys,, this was supposed to be only like 6-8k i swear 😭) (ao3 link)
▷ associated tunes. keep smiling (demxntia), gone too long (lullaboy), tear in my heart (twenty-one pilots)
a/n: hope u guys like this :'))) i had one of the scenes from here stuck in my brain for awhile and so i had to build the rest of the fic around it, and it turned into this monster, so uhm yes... also much love to @jaehunnyy tysm for reading thru it for me 💖
THE DAY YUNHO'S ALBUM hit the Billboard Hot 100, you knew that you were going to need a lot more hands on deck than just you, your roommate, and Jeong Yunho himself.
“There's not enough albums, not enough time in the day, not enough of you!” you exclaimed with your fingers shoved into your hair as you took in the landscape of chaos before you on your living room floor. “Yunho, why couldn't you be ambidextrous?”
His eyes widened, body frozen where he was shoving a slice of beef jerky into his mouth. “Mwe? Pwhy are pyu yellinh ap mwe por?”
“I'm not yelling at you; I'm just wondering why you weren't born with eight arms instead of just two.” There were simply too many albums for him to sign before his agent came to pick them up in two hours, and there were also too few albums for the amount of demand. You always knew your best friend would make it big one day, but you also thought he would have had a whole team by that time.
Technically, you were his team—you, your roommate Trinity, and Mingi who was at his grandmother's for the long weekend. Mingi was five texts away from driving back down to help you guys four hours ago though. But his family needed him right now, and Yunho was firm in ensuring Mingi didn't have to come down and help. We got this, he'd said. It'll be easy, he also said.
Sure. Easy.
“We can't just forge his signature?” Trinity joked in a sleep-deprived daze as she leaned back against the couch cushions. Her mouth opened wide in a yawn. “I'm kidding. Let's not ruin his career.”
Yunho swallowed his bite. “That would be nice.” He cleaned his fingers on the Wet Wipe he had handy by his thigh, then picked up his black Sharpie, spinning the writing utensil between his fingers. “Now where were we? Album number fifty-six—?”
This had taken place just four months after Yunho released his second album, Aurora. It had been nearly a year and a half since Yunho debuted himself onto the music scene, and it was about time people finally began to recognize your best friend for all that he was—multi-talented, charismatic, handsome (on some occasions; you wouldn’t let him catch you slipping up there, though).
Within the next year and a half, Yunho skyrocketed into further altitudes of fame.
There were plenty of changes that occurred, many evolutions to Yunho's team and additions to his discography, but you were always a part of it. Even with your own career dealings, you would drop anything to be there for him, and him for you. Between the morning show interviews and late night recording sessions, there were also the research presentations and study session pick-me-ups.
“Are you sure you don't wanna come with?” you asked from where you were stationed in front of the bathroom mirror, putting on the final touches for your look this evening.
You could hear Trinity's fingers clacking away at her keyboard at the speed of light through her open bedroom door. “I'd love to, but I unfortunately did screw myself over by procrastinating on this paper. Have fun though, and tell Yunho congrats for me.”
Tonight was the album release party for Yunho's third full studio album entitled Youth. It was something he had been working on for years now, only recently having become satisfied with the tracks he chose and produced for it. Due to his sudden rise in fame, the release party was said to be hosting a myriad of big name celebrities and figures in the music industry. And of course, you. You were no one special, in hindsight, but Yunho couldn't begin to imagine celebrating a milestone without you by his side.
By eight o'clock, you were ready to head out.
You bid Trinity goodbye as you hustled out the front door of your apartment and down to the street below. Yunho and Mingi and everyone else would already be at the party; you would arrive on your own via Uber. You wished you could've been with him to get ready like all the other times, but your schedule had been unfortunate as of late. You were lucky enough to have gotten off of work this early.
As you sat in the backseat of your ride, you anxiously fidgeted with your phone in your lap.
(You were, without a doubt, excited to arrive at the party. Due to yours and Yunho's ever-busy and ever-conflicting schedules nowadays—yours because of work and PhD candidacy stuff, Yunho's because of rehearsals for his upcoming world tour—it had been awhile since you were able to hang out in person. You missed your gentle giant of a best friend.)
A loud vibration from it made your heart leap into your throat, and your face lit up in the dark with the incoming notification.
rockstar 🤟: pls tell me you've left the house
You snorted and typed out a swift reply. If I told you I was still in my pajamas…
rockstar 🤟: then i would call u a liar cuz u don't go to work in pjs, weirdo
rockstar 🤟: just getting antsy tbh
rockstar 🤟: need my star here w me :’)))
You couldn't help the touched pout that came to your face. I'm almost there, don't worry. And who are you calling a star when that's you? He always got a little sappy when he was nervous.
rockstar 🤟: im literally not having fun here without u hurry up ://
your phone: isn't this UR album release party 😭 yun, why aren't u having fun?
rockstar 🤟: just hurry up
your phone: aish okok 🤧 eta 8min mr. impatient
You knew it was the jitters making him say things like that. Once you got there, you hoped you could help reassure him that he could stop worrying for just a second to enjoy himself. Even if Yunho worried about the album and what people thought, you were just as nervous. You hadn't even heard the entire thing—he’d been cheeky and didn't tell you he added a song to it last minute, but you'd listened to everything else.
You just hoped that people would continue to celebrate him and give him the love he deserved.
When your Uber driver pulled into the drop off loop at the front of the venue, you thanked him on your way out and threw the strap of your small purse over your shoulder. Already, however, as you were met with the residuals of flashing camera lenses and frantic paparazzi calls just a little ways down the driveway, the anxiety slowly began to settle in the pit of your stomach.
You could see the celebrities going up the entrance with people asking them to pose for their cameras, to say a word into their recorders.
Immediately, you turned on your heel and began slipping your way to a side entrance. The last thing you wanted was for dozens upon dozens of people to be staring at you, wondering who you were and why you were important. There were definitely people who knew you—you were plastered all over Yunho's social media because that was just what best friends did. But compared to everyone else walking up that driveway? Not a chance. You were nobody, and that was ay-okay to you.
Just as you thanked one of the employees coming out the side door for letting you in, you felt your phone buzz in your hand again, this time with an incoming call.
You picked it up and squeezed it between your ear and shoulder. “You're gonna need to speak up—the kitchen is super loud.”
“You're here finally!” Yunho exclaimed through the phone. “I was starting to get worried.”
You chuckled as you ducked out of the kitchen and into the main lobby to get to the elevators. The party was taking place somewhere on the seventh floor… if you could get there without getting lost. “Hey Yun, do me a favor?”
“Sure.”
“Calm down, man.”
The elevator sang its arrival and you stepped inside to the sound of Yunho sucking in a deep breath, then exhaling slowly. “I am calm… wait, are you in the lobby? Let me come down and get y—”
“I just got in the elevator, so don't worry—and I really don't think you should be leaving your own party, rockstar,” you teased. “Man, Mingi and Hwa really pulled out all the stops for this place,” you marveled quietly as you gave the elevator carriage a thorough look. It was made of marble and mirrors, every surface polished and crisp, like that of a tailored suit if tailored suits were made of crystals.
“Yeah, it's really great,” he agreed. “Remember the release party we threw for Crescent?”
A fond laugh tumbled out of your lips as you stepped out of the elevator and onto the seventh floor. Your mind filled with memories of his debut album's release party hosted in yours and Trinity's living room with three extra large Domino's pizzas, root beer floats, and a cheap disco ball. It had been a party for four that night—you, Yunho, Mingi, and Trinity—but your friends didn't need the fancy shit to have fun. “Definitely leagues away from this.”
There was a bouncer at the far end of the hallway, and you were certain now that you were in the right place.
“I kind of miss it,” Yunho murmured. You heard the sound on his end shift, simultaneous to watching the doors in front of you crack open and see Yunho's head pop out into the empty hallway.
“I kind of miss it, too,” you said into the phone, your eyes locked on his and a smile blooming over your features at the sight of your best friend, in the flesh.
There was a tender gleam in his eyes as he took you in and said something in a low tone to the bouncer. He stepped out into the hallway, letting the doors behind him shut fully.
“Slowpoke,” was his greeting to you as he scooped you into his embrace. The smell of his cologne was something familiar and delicious, and permeated your senses.
“Worrywart,” you quipped back, wrapping your arms around him to reciprocate.
When you both pulled back, he kept you at arm's length so he could take a better look at you. “I can't believe you're calling me the worrywart! I do recall that one night when Aurora hit the Top 100—”
You silenced him with a look and a playful punch to his shoulder. You pressed your lips together to suppress a smile as he tilted his head back in a jovial laugh. “Quiet, you. For once, I can't believe you're more nervous than I am.”
He gave a sheepish grin, fussing with the unbuttoned collar of his dress shirt, adjusting the chain he wore on his collarbones so the clasp sat right at the hollow of his throat.
You softened. Oh, he was really nervous.
“This album's just big for me; you know that,” he said, almost like he was trying to brush it off.
“I do.” The two of you began slowly making your way back towards the party doors. “Though, I'm excited to hear this mystery song that you snuck on there. I'm sure everyone will fall in love with the album, just like I did.”
He peered over at you then, and you couldn't understand why you were unable to read his expression then. It was… different. “Really?”
You blinked. “Of course,” you replied automatically. “I mean,” you added, “it's you, Yun. What's not to love?”
Yunho seemed speechless for a second, but moments later, he was breaking into a soft-cornered smile. “You always know what to say, Yn. Come on, there are some people who are dying to meet you.”
“Dying to meet me?” you laughed in disbelief as the bouncer let the two of you into the party.
The party room was a rented out lounge space with wraparound windows that looked out at the skyline in the valley below. The main lights were kept low and warm, illuminating strategic places throughout the space to highlight the prohibition-like interior design. It was something out of a 1920s speakeasy with its velvet couches and dark mahogany wood finishes.
Yunho took you over toward the side of the room to get food first. There was a variety of snacks and small bites on the buffet table, and there was a bar counter shoved into the far corner where a bartender served drinks.
“I've pretty much socialized with everyone in this room already,” Yunho murmured to you as he shoved his hands into his pockets and grinned. “Meaning I can bug you for the rest of the night.”
Your eyebrows shot up. “There has to be, like, fifty people here. We still have the whole party left.”
“Yeah, but I have more fun with you anyway,” he said with a shrug. He reached for one of the little serving cups that held a little roll of rice armed with a slice of wagyu beef on top, all wrapped together with a strip of nori. “Now these—these are fucking amazing, dude. You have to try one.”
You snorted, but grabbed one of the little cups. “How many of these have you eaten already, Yun?”
He tapped his cup against yours like he was clinking glasses together. He chuckled, averting his gaze. “We don't have to talk about that…” His eyes caught onto someone nearby, and he perked up, shoving the entire bite into his mouth so he had a free hand to flag down whoever it was. “Mmh!”
You nearly choked on your own bite as you watched your best friend, whose cheeks were stuffed like a chipmunk's, flap his arm around in the air to get this person's attention because his mouth was currently occupied.
You turned your head to see who he was waving over, and nearly choked again, having to cup your hand over your mouth to prevent rice from falling out. Your eyes widened an alarming amount. “Mmno—” you shrieked through your bite.
“What? I can't hear you,” he snickered. “Hongjoong hyung! There's someone I want you to meet.”
You made a crazed gesture—no, no, I'm not ready! How dare you ambush me with social interac—you swallowed the food in your mouth as Hongjoong made his way over. You had never met the famed Kim Hongjoong—legendary producer, prodigy musician, favorite model to ever strut down the Paris Fashion Week Runway. He dropped off the grid for a brief three-month hiatus until he suddenly reappeared, but in your best friend's Instagram story. At some point, Yunho had met Hongjoong and won his favor. Then again, it was easy for Yunho to win over anyone's favor.
No one really knew why Hongjoong disappeared like he had, but some speculate it had something to do with his new relationship status: single.
You were always starstruck seeing Hongjoong on Yunho and Mingi's social media, as well as Hongjoong's own platforms. Tonight was no exception.
Hongjoong's hair of the season was a simple light brown that complimented his skin tone and the warmth in his smile. You were used to seeing him in more extravagant garb, but tonight, he chose something very simple, but chic like Yunho.
Yunho and Hongjoong clasped hands in greeting. “What's up, man?” the latter chirped, eyes flickering over to you as you attempted to behave normally.
Yunho gestured toward you, his eyes twinkling as he swept his arm around your shoulders to bring you forward. “This is Yn. Yn, this is Hongjoong. He's the one who produced the album—”
“Now, don't downplay your own efforts, Yunho,” Hongjoong cut in with a knowing look. “You produced so much of it on your own; I fine-tuned and made a couple tracks, but the rest was all you, man.”
“I always tell him he's far too humble,” you agreed.
Hongjoong sent you a smile, extending his hand out. “Great minds think alike, Yn. It's very nice to meet the person this guy doesn't ever stop talking about.”
You laughed good-naturedly and saw Yunho's flushed sheepishness out of the corner of your eye. You shook Hongjoong's hand with a firm, confident grip. “Nice to meet you, too. You're—you’re incredible, by the way. I remember when Yunho posted a photo with you, and I literally screamed his ear off over the phone.”
Yunho winced and held a hand up to his ear, as if remembering the physical sensation of that phone call. “Yup, definitely damaged my eardrum that day.”
“Well, thank you; I'm flattered,” Hongjoong replied pleasantly. “So I'm assuming you've probably heard as much of the album as I have then?”
“I'm sure you've heard the whole thing,” you said. “Yunho has withheld one of the tracks from me, but I've listened to all the rest.”
He cocked his head to the side. “Oh? Which track did—oh.” As he and Yunho made eye contact, you watched as a silent understanding passed between them, and Hongjoong's mouth tugged upward in a teasing smile. “That song.”
You blinked. “What does that mean?”
Hongjoong flourished his hand as if to wave away the thought. “He just wanted it to be perfect, so we were working on it up to the last second. Nothing terribly concerning.”
Ah. You relaxed, but the curiosity still lingered in your mind's eye. “I'm sure it's great, nonetheless.”
“Oh yeah, you're gonna love—”
“Oh-kay! That's enough about the song,” Yunho chuckled nervously as he grabbed your shoulders and began steering you away from a clearly amused Hongjoong. “Let's go say hi to Mingi, hm?”
You threw him a look from over your shoulder, but went along with him toward wherever he'd seen Mingi wandering around. “What has gotten into you tonight?” you teased, though, you also hoped to know why he was so jittery. He wasn't even this nervous about dropping his debut album.
Yunho showed you a bright smile, the same kind of golden-retriever expression that the media knew him well for. It would have been enough if you didn't know him. “Again, it's an important album to me. And the song I added last minute is on the deluxe version, so I wasn't really confident in putting it on the original release.”
“Ah,” you murmured. You reached up to pat the hand that rested on your left shoulder reassuringly. “I'm sure it really is a great song, Yun, and I'm not just saying that. You can make an awful omelet, but you can't make an awful song.”
Your best friend bursted into laughter at the latter comment, and your heart soared to see the genuine smile on his face now. That was your Yunho shining through. “You're right—if I can't scramble eggs, at least I can write a song.”
Over the next hour and a half, Yunho took you on a tour around the room, jumping from friend to friend to introduce you to more of his world. For the most part, however, it felt like an excuse for you to bond with all his friends in teasing him about something or other. But he seemed content enough to see you getting along well with the other people close to him.
He had met plenty of your friends at your work, so it was only fair that you got the same opportunity.
At some point while you were with Wooyoung and San discussing all of the rehearsals for Yunho's upcoming world tour, Hongjoong summoned everyone's attention to announce that it was time to listen to the album. It would be a rather casual affair with the Youth album playing in the background of the party, but you were certain people would minimize their conversations to listen in.
You craned your neck to peer around the crowd to see where Yunho had gone off to. “Wait, guys, did you see where Yunho went?”
Wooyoung and San joined your search, but quickly hustled you into a nearby booth to sit and enjoy the album with your drinks. “He'll find us,” Wooyoung assured you as the three of you slipped into the leather seats. “He wouldn't miss this.”
“He'll at least be here by the last song,” San said offhandedly, his eyebrows wagging up and down.
Your lips parted, your face morphing into feigned offense. “Wait. Did he let you guys listen to the deluxe edition song, too?”
“Maybe,” Wooyoung giggled.
San cooed at your pout. “Awwh, don't take it to heart, Yn-ie. It was supposed to be a surprise for you.”
You raised your drink to your lips, sighing before taking a sip. “Everybody talks about this damn song as if he wrote it for me.”
Unbeknownst to you, the two others at the table exchanged pointed looks between one another when you were looking away. It was a wonder how Yunho was able to keep this all a secret from you. Though, even San and Wooyoung knew how busy you could get nowadays, so perhaps it really was just that easy. Plus, they had all at one point or another been privy to Yunho’s feelings—
“Speak of the Devil,” you perked up at the sight of your best friend emerging from the crowd with the others—Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Mingi, Jongho (vocal coach and album feature), and Yeosang (PR management)—in tow behind him. “We were wondering where you had gone off to.”
Yunho grinned as the lot of them squished into the circular seating arrangement with you, San, and Wooyoung. “Sorry, had to go round everyone up. The album should be queued up and ready to go.” He chose to sit on the end of the booth to your right while everyone else filled it up from the other side.
You offered him a sip of your drink, and he gladly took the glass from you. “So San and Woo were just telling me about how their tour prep is coming. You guys are leaving—what was it—two weeks from now?”
He hummed, smacking his lips as he set the glass back down on the table. “Yeah, it should be just about two weeks,” he said. His arm came up to rest against the back of the booth seat behind you. “You know, you can still come to the first stop with us…” This was said with a very pointed look at you from Yunho, followed by similar expressions from everyone else around the table.
“And you know that day’s when my supervisor holds quarterly meetings that are mandatory,” you shot back. As much as you hated the timing, the day that Yunho and the team planned to fly to their first stop on his world tour, you were required to be present for a very important meeting at work.
The Youth World Tour was something Yunho had been looking forward to and preparing for a long time. Besides working on the Youth album itself, his working hours extended over the past year or so to get ready for this major milestone. You would definitely be able to meet up with them at one of the tour stops, you just weren’t sure which one yet.
Things at your workplace were a little rocky as of late due to shifting management, but you would play it by ear. For your best friend, of course you would make it work somehow.
Your ears pricked up at the sound of strings strumming overhead and your heart leapt out of your ribcage for a moment. “Oh my god, I love this song.”
“You and me both, Yn,” Hongjoong chuckled across the table from you, reaching over so you could bump fists with him, “you’ve got good taste.”
“You’re only saying that because you wrote this one specifically,” Yunho sputtered out a laugh while rolling his eyes.
“It’s a good message,” you said, picking up your drink to take a generous gulp of it. There was a little left at the bottom of the martini glass and you swirled the liquid around before handing it over to Yunho to finish. “I think this one will definitely make it onto my work playlist.”
Yunho draped the back of his hand over his forehead, setting the now empty glass on the table. “Wow, relegated to the work playlist. Is that all I am to you?”
“You are a mood maker,” you pointed out with a teasing smile.
“Bro, you're complaining as if Yn doesn't put her work playlist on for everything she does.” Mingi arched his brows over the rims of his sunglasses. (Why was he wearing sunglasses indoors and at night? You didn't know; he said something about looking cool.)
Wooyoung chuckled. “What? So let's say you're trying to sleep—”
“Yah, I have a different playlist for that! I'm not completely unreasonable.”
“Completely,” Yunho and Mingi said at the same time, then looked at each other with wide, excited eyes. They bursted out laughing at once, too, leaving you to deadpan at the two clowns to your eleven o'clock and three o'clock.
You sighed. “I hate you guys.”
That only made them laugh louder, spurring on the others to crack smiles and for you to do the same.
Yunho calmed slightly, his cheeks hurting from smiling. “Aw, you walked right into that one, Yn.”
“So you're saying you are, in some capacity, unreasonable—oh my god, don't hurt me!” Mingi shrieked as he shoved Yeosang's body in front of him like a human shield as you lurched forward and threatened to grab him.
Yeosang sent Mingi a dirty look as he wrestled out of his neighbor's hold. “Dude.”
“Jongho, protect me.”
The vocal coach popped the olive from his martini into his mouth. “If you can't handle the heat, hyung, stay out of the kitchen.”
You nodded, raising your pointer finger up. “Exactly.”
For the next hour, you and your friends shared good company and conversation, while also commenting on, praising, and enjoying the tunes from Yunho's Youth album. There were a good thirteen songs featured on the album, and while most of them were inspired by real life, you remembered the days and nights when Yunho would break out the white board under his bed to draw out a concept map of the storyline he'd created in his head for some songs. It was like a miniature Easter egg hunt for fans to piece together from album to album.
When the clock hit nearly midnight, you recognized the song that marked the end of the conventional album—track number thirteen, 22. It was a song that reflected and lamented on his early stages of adulthood, all the goods and bads, all the hopes and dreams he had left. It was something that tied the regular album with a satisfying bow, but you were also giddy to hear the secret fourteenth deluxe track.
But as his ethereal voice from 22 faded out, the same guitar chords from the first song of the album began to play.
Everyone at the table paused in confusion.
“Uhh, I thought you were revealing the hidden track tonight, Yunho?” Seonghwa asked from across the table.
Yunho tilted his body out of the booth to peer into the sound booth at the very back of the lounge, a furrow in his brow. “I thought I was, too,” he said as he stood up. “I’ll be back in a sec.”
Before anyone else could say anything, Yunho disappeared past the door to the sound booth. You frowned as Hongjoong excused himself to catch up with him, mumbling something about helping with any technical difficulties.
In retrospect, it wouldn't be the biggest deal if you didn't get to hear the song tonight. You would simply listen to it when the deluxe album dropped in about a week, but you wouldn't deny that you were a little disappointed. Everyone else at this table had already listened to it—why had Yunho not shared it with you yet? Did he think you would judge him or not like it? You didn't think you were ever so harsh a critic, but that would explain why he was so nervous all night.
Regardless, you remained positive.
When Yunho and Hongjoong returned to the table, the rest of you all looked on to them expectantly.
“Something wacky is going on with the system right now and won't play the file for the hidden track,” Hongjoong huffed. He passed Yunho a sidelong glance, and you saw how Yunho avoided his friend's eyes like the plague. “Sorry to disappoint, Yn.”
Everyone's attention whipped toward you, and you straightened like a deer caught in headlights. “Oh, uhm, it's no biggie,” you said. You glanced over at Yunho who, if anything, seemed guilty. Or maybe it was just something apologetic. “Really—I can wait for it to drop officially.”
You didn't like how the air seemed to shift during this exchange, as if all the other boys were sitting on the edges of their seats, faces morphed into mixed ranges of confusion and disbelief.
You cleared your throat. “Anyone want more drinks?”
As the night waned and the party came to a close, you found yourself being helped into another Uber car to head home. After the supposed tech glitch, the remainder of the party passed by without a hitch. At the very end, Yunho popped open a theatrical bottle of champagne for all his guests to close out the celebration.
The backseat door closed just as Yunho ducked in with you, his hand waving out the window to San, Wooyoung, and Jongho passing by along the curb.
The alcohol had gradually made its way to your brain, and there was a light buzzing at the base of your skull that made you feel all warm and fuzzy. You yawned, leaning your head against Yunho's shoulder.
He chuckled, one of his hands coming up to gently pat your head. “Tired?”
“Mhm,” you hummed as your eyelids fluttered closed. “You didn't have to lie, y'know.”
You felt his shoulder tense under your cheek. If only you could feel the rapid beating in his chest, then he'd be as good as done.
“I don't know what you're talking about,” he replied innocently, nimble fingers running over the chain links of his wristwatch.
Your eyes cracked open slowly. “Yunho.”
A beat passed, then he sighed. “Are you mad?” he asked quietly and his hand nearest to you found yours as he began to mindlessly inspect the chipped nail polish on your fingertips.
“No, silly. Why would I be mad?” When he didn't respond right away, you let out an exhale of your own. “I mean, I could tell you were nervous about me listening to the song all night. And if you weren't ready for me to listen to it yet, then I totally get that, and I'm okay with waiting. I just would rather you tell me that instead of make Hongjoong lie for you.”
He stopped playing with your fingers. “I'm sorry, for the record. Thank you for understanding.”
You hummed in reply.
The drive continued on with the accompaniment of a random radio station playing on low volume. You weren't going to fall asleep just yet with the alcohol still working its way through your system, but you kept your eyes closed nonetheless.
“I missed you, you know?” were his first words to break the next silence.
A small smile wormed its way onto your face. “I missed you, too. I feel like we haven't seen each other in forever.”
He chuckled, the low sound rumbling through his chest and into your ear. “Texting can only take us so far. Isn't that crazy? We can't even survive a week without hanging out, but we're… we're about to be separated for so much longer timewise and distance-wise.”
You grumbled. “Don't remind me—wait. Has it really only been a week?” You peeked one eye open, a frown coming to your lips. “No way.”
Yunho smiled, shaking his head. “Believe it or not, stargirl. It's been only a week.”
“In-fucking-sane.”
“You're telling me.”
“How are we going to survive?” you pondered aloud, genuinely. If you couldn't fly out to see him within the first handful of tour stops, you and Yunho at the soonest wouldn't be able to see each other for three weeks. And if you couldn't escape your work duties and your PhD responsibilities, then it would be longer than that. “You're gonna have a closer relationship with your Valorant account than me.”
Yunho snorted. “I already have a closer relationship with my Valorant account than you.”
“Shucks.” You breathed out. “Guess I'll just text Hongjoong then. You know what he told me tonight when we were exchanging numbers? All eight of you nerds have a group chat and he gets ignored like a mom in a family chatroom.”
Your comment made a laugh tumble out of Yunho's mouth. “Did he make that analogy?”
“No, Seonghwa did when he overheard.”
A wheeze. “That tracks.” Yunho licked his lips as he turned his head slightly to glance down at you leaning on his shoulder. With his free hand, he warmed his palm over your head like he could keep you here forever. “So what's this about texting Joong?”
You shifted your position to get more comfortable and clung to his arm to press yourself closer. There was still a little ways to go before you reached your apartment. “I told him offhandedly that I wanna pick up a new hobby… something about crocheting or something, and apparently that guy is like… amazing at everything, so he's gonna help me out.”
“Ah.” The sound was quiet. “I'm glad you guys got along.”
You smiled to yourself. “Me too. He's really cool.”
“Not cooler than me though, right?”
You blindly reached over to pat his chest in warm reassurance. “Don't worry, big guy. I guess you're still the coolest guy I know.”
He clicked his tongue at you with a weak chiding, “Yah. You only guess? Don't tell Mingi that.”
“Oh, I wouldn't dream of it.”
The Uber eventually pulled up along the curb outside your apartment complex. You lifted your head up from Yunho's shoulder and woke yourself up with a good stretch of your limbs.
He helped you out of the car, handing you your purse when you finally got your bearings. “Are you sure I can't walk you up? You look like your knees are about to buckle,” he chuckled.
You shook your head. The cool evening air was helping your brain to sober up. “No, no. Don't worry about it—I’m not as drunk as that one year.”
“Dear heart, how could I forget,” he teased. “Mingi still has the recording of when you begged to be bridal carried.”
Your face warmed at his mention of that memory and you wrinkled your nose at him. “I was gonna say ‘I love you’ along with goodnight, but I suppose not.”
Yunho froze. “What?”
Maybe you really weren't sobering up, because you didn't catch his strange reaction. “Nevermind,” you said flippantly. “Love you, Yun. Good night. Get home safe!”
He seemed to unfreeze, his lungs filling with breath again. A soft smile melted onto his pretty lips as he looked on toward you with a warm fondness. “Love you, too. Good night, Yn.”
He remained where he was outside the car door as he watched you dig your keys out from your purse and open the complex door. When you had one foot inside, you stopped, and turned back to him with a big grin on your face. “Hey!”
“Hey?” He laughed.
“I'm proud of you.”
For the thousandth time tonight, you made him lose his breath, his hold on reality. He swallowed—he wanted to kiss you. “I love you. Get some rest, stargirl.”
You waved to him in reply and he waved back. Then you disappeared through the door and left him there, his heart full and beating fast, the longing in his chest weighing heavier than before.
When you and Yunho were thirteen, you spent the longest period of time away from each other for the rest of your lives. It measured to about one summer break long when Yunho flew to South Korea to spend the entire vacation there and you could do nothing but chat with him via good, old fashioned e-mail.
Now that the two of you were older, even a couple days dragged on like an eternity. And because of your clashing and stacked schedules, a couple days almost always bled into a week.
A week since the release of Youth marked the inevitable release of its deluxe edition and the ever mysterious fourteenth track.
“Yn, wait, can you just help me finish this set of primers?”
You were this close to escaping the lab before one of your colleagues caught you. Taking a deep breath, you resolved to turn back and help them out. One less thing to worry about later, right? You could still listen to the track once you got home.
Except you couldn't, at least not right away. You saw the email on the bus ride home:
Hello TAs! One of your peers has unfortunately been involved in a motorbike accident early this evening. We have been informed that they will recover to full health, but because they are hospitalized, we will need to redistribute responsibilities regarding grades and as to who will cover their TA sections…
You skimmed down the email's contents, knowing you wouldn't be the one filling in as an actual TA. Because you were a first year graduate student in your first quarter, you opted to start off with grading work for now. But even if you didn't have to deal with a whole section of undergraduates, you could feel the blood drain from your face.
“You've gotta be shitting me,” you said, then slapped your hand over your mouth once you realized you'd said that aloud. You mouthed a sheepish “sorry” to a parent and her child nearby, then ducked your head to look at the contents once more.
There was no way they wanted—no, needed—all of those graded by tonight.
This was cruel and unusual punishment, but you knew you were going to do it anyway.
By the time you finished grading, shoveled dinner into your mouth, and took a therapeutically scalding hot shower, it was sometime past two in the morning. Thank fuck it was Saturday.
It was less than twelve hours later that you settled into the passenger seat of Yunho's Lexus sedan with a pair of shades covering your dehydrated, puffy eyes from the world and whatever paparazzi was stalking his car. Yunho glanced over at you with barely concealed amusement. “Well, good morning, princess.”
“You can't see it but I'm glaring at you,” you grunted as you strapped yourself in with the seatbelt. “I can't believe you wake up before noon now.”
“Unfortunately,” he chuckled, peeling his car away from the curb. After an unsatisfactory six hours of sleep, Yunho had woken you up with the obnoxiously loud sound of your phone ringing. You managed to negotiate for him to pick you up in two hours rather than half an hour—and now here you were. You never truly considered yourself a breakfast person and you would have happily slept all the way to lunch, but even through the exhaustion, you wanted to see him as much as he wanted to see you.
He would be gone by the end of the week, after all.
You leaned your head back against the headrest. “I used to have to lure you out of bed with the smell of bacon. Remember when you ate that entire plate of raw-ass bacon and pancake batter that Mingi made?”
Yunho let out a loud laugh that made you smile. He glanced over at you. “Bro,” he sighed, shaking his head, “you know I'll eat anything. Oh my gosh, I will never forget the horrified look on your face when you came out of the bathroom and found out what happened.”
“You looked like a kicked puppy when I told you that you shouldn't have eaten raw bacon,” you snorted. You'd felt so awful that Yunho was such a good eater who didn't complain; he didn't have any negative side effects afterward, thankfully, but you swore to never let Mingi in the kitchen or to let Mingi feed Yunho ever again, so long as you lived.
There was a café a few minutes’ drive from your apartment complex that the two of you liked to go to. It was a little hole in the wall, located on the second floor above a pet shelter, and the entrance could only be accessed through the stairs in the next-door alleyway.
Yunho adjusted the beanie over his bangs and you shifted your sunglasses up to the top of your head as you entered the establishment. There were a few people seated in the area to the right, but something you liked about this place was its hidden gem quality. (And the drinks and food they served, of course.)
“Hi, welcome in!” the barista behind the counter called before ducking behind the espresso machine. “Give me two seconds, and I'll be right with you.”
“No worries, take your time,” Yunho chirped back as he scoured the menu, eyes squinting and tongue darting out to wet his lips.
You had a general idea of what you wanted already, and you let Yunho know what it was before slipping off into the restroom.
By the time you emerged from the back hallway where the washrooms were, Yunho had finished ordering and was standing by one of the open two-seater tables by the far window with the soft autumn sunlight painting over his features. For a second, you stood at the opening of the hallway, just admiring him. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep making you envision the sunlight dancing around him as he sat down in one of the seats.
Heat rushed up your neck as your eyes met across the café. Gazes locked, you stood frozen, but a smile bloomed on your best friend's face like the coming of spring. It was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen.
And then he made a face, cocking his head to the side like a puppy with a question. 'Why are you just standing there?’ he seemed to ask.
You shook yourself out of whatever strange daze you'd slipped into, then walked over to join him.
“You okay?” he asked as you took the seat across from him, a teasing lilt to his voice, yet there was still concern in the curve of his mouth.
You waved said concern away. “Yeah. I think I'm still waking up or something.”
“Ah,” he nodded in understanding. He frowned. “What time did you go to sleep last night?”
“Like… some time past two.” On cue, you let out a large yawn, lifting your sleeve up to cover your mouth. “It's okay. I'll just sleep early tonight or something. One of the other TAs got into an accident, so we just had to do some make-up work and I just happened to get home late as it was.”
You could already see the guilt manifest on his face for waking you up, and you were swift to add, “I'll be fine with food and coffee, so 's alright. What about you? How'd you sleep last night?”
“I slept decently,” he replied, leaning forward to rest his cheek against his fist. “I didn't end up dropping the deluxe album, so it was a little more restful than—”
Your brain took a second to catch up. The… the deluxe album… oh. Your eyes went from half-mast to wide open. “You—you didn't release the deluxe? Sorry, I was so busy yesterday that I didn't check my socials.”
“Don't worry about it,” he said with a sheepish smile. “But yeah, I told my manager that I still wasn't ready to release it to the public just yet. I don't know when I'll postpone it to, but it probably won't come out until while I'm on tour.”
Ah. There was that disappointment settling in the pit of your stomach again. This wasn't about you, but why did it seem like he was avoiding your eventual listening to this song? He was almost always sending you audio files without prompting, so what made this one different?
Nonetheless, it wasn't your song. You would respect Yunho's privacy if he wanted to keep this one to himself and his friends.
You unconsciously rubbed your arm. “Oh okay. Yeah, I mean—take your time, Yun. I'm glad you don't feel pressured to release it when you aren't ready.”
His expression softened to something tender that made your chest feel fuzzy. “You'll listen to it soon, I promise.”
The barista called out Yunho's order number, and your friend stood up to go retrieve it. You sighed as you fiddled with the sleeve of your shirt and peered over your shoulder as a pair of newcomers asked him for his autograph and a picture. You watched the pleasant smile spread on Yunho's face as he conversed with them as easy as breathing air, alongside the faint blush over his cheekbones.
You didn't know what had gotten into you this morning.
“No, no. You have to loop it through this piece here—yeah, there you go.”
You were so concentrated on following Hongjoong's directions that you didn't even register the sound of Yunho's front door opening and closing. Hongjoong clicked his tongue and scooted closer so he could direct your hands and the crochet hook himself.
“Uhm… hey?”
Both yours and Hongjoong's heads whipped up at the sound of Yunho's confusion. He stood at the entrance to the living room area where, scattered all around you and Hongjoong, were clothes, toiletries, and other essentials laid out for Yunho to throw into his bags.
Tonight marked the evening before Yunho and the team were to set off on the Youth World Tour. Tomorrow, they would fly out sometime in the afternoon, which meant that you would have time to send them off before heading to work and class. However, because you hadn't seen Yunho since this past Saturday when he dragged your ass out of bed for breakfast, you invited yourself over to his apartment to oversee his packing. Hongjoong just so happened to be swinging by Yunho's apartment and you asked if he was up for an impromptu crocheting lesson.
Hongjoong arrived some time while Yunho ran out to the Chinese place down the block to grab dinner, and the two of you had been hunched over the ball of yarn and hook ever since.
“Oh, you're back!” you exclaimed. In your distracted state, Hongjoong took the opportunity to take the crochet piece from you and subtly fix the mistakes you made.
Yunho's brows creased, eyes darting from you to Hongjoong as he slowly placed the takeout bags on the semi-cleared coffee table. “Yeah… Joong, when did you get here?”
You leaned forward to help clear off the rest of the coffee table and to also assist in unpacking all of the takeout containers. Yunho shucked the baseball cap he was wearing off to the side, carding a hand through his dark locks.
“Like… seven minutes ago,” he replied cheekily. His mouth curled into something mischievous as he locked eyes with Yunho. “I can leave, though, if you wanted to be alone—”
“Hyung—”
“I'm messing with you,” he snickered as he handed you the yarn and hook. “I only came by to drop off the emergency backup files hard drive and to give Yn-ie a sneak peek of her crocheting lessons to come.”
(Yunho's eyes narrowed a millimeter. Yn-ie?)
You set the unfinished crochet square down on the couch to walk Hongjoong to the door. “Are we still on for tomorrow, by the way?”
“What's tomorrow?” Yunho twisted around where he was seated on the floor to watch you and Hongjoong make your way to the front door.
“You,” said Hongjoong with raised eyebrows at your best friend, “are going on a plane with everyone else. Because I'm not leaving until the day after tomorrow, Yn and I are bonding over lunch after we see you all off.”
You and Hongjoong finished up finalizing plans in the doorway, followed by amiable farewells. Yunho called out a “good night” to his friend as Hongjoong slipped out the door, and left you and him to the apartment by yourselves.
You claimed the spot on the floor next to him and accepted the pair of wooden chopsticks he extended to you. “I'm sorry if I wasn't supposed to invite him in. I probably should've asked,” you said sheepishly as you snapped the chopsticks apart.
“Oh, no, he's been over quite a few times, so it's all good,” he replied swiftly. “I just didn't expect you two to be so close.” He added a laugh at the end that sounded more nervous to him than it was supposed to.
“We've been texting back and forth, but I guess so. Nothing like the two of you,” you jested, lifting your eyebrows up and bumping your elbow against his.
Yunho grinned. “What's that supposed to mean?”
“You guys spend all that time together in the studio—WHA—NO! Keep those hands to yourself!” You shrieked, rolling out of the way to dodge his hands that threatened to tickle you into submission. Yunho had thrown his head back in a carefree laugh, a beautiful expression in itself, that had you reciprocating.
When you were sure he wasn't going to attack you (affectionately), you scooted back over to your original spot next to him. He smiled to himself at the sidelong glance you casted him, and he went and grabbed one carton of rice for himself and the other for you.
“Thank you for dinner, by the way,” you told him as you opened up your carton, his somehow already opened and spilling over with food.
You once again caught him with his mouth full, and Yunho swallowed the bite of food he had before replying. “Yeah, man. Of course.”
“I swear that I will definitely get the next meal we have—”
“Yn.” He bumped the back of his hand against your arm to draw your attention to him. “You literally were the one to make sure I made it out of college alive, like, I can never thank you enough for how much you did for me then and continue to do for me now.”
You swallowed, suddenly blown back by the way he looked at you right now. “I did it because I care about you, Yun. It's not something I expect to be repaid for.”
“I know,” he said with a nod, lips pulled into a tender smile that made your stomach do flips. This was the look no one else got to see from him. Sure, he could fill stadiums of people who would see his big, bright grin that shone brighter than the sun, but… but this one, this smile, was yours. “That goes the same toward this meal, okay?”
Yunho notched his finger under your chin and tilted your head up slightly to meet his eyes. “Don't worry about it.”
You set your carton of rice and chopsticks on the table, he copied your movements, and you wrapped each other in your mutual embraces. The startling realization that you wouldn't see him for longer than a week from tomorrow onward rushed toward you like the coming of a tide to shore. Before you knew it, the water was up to your knees, and you—what were you going to do without him here?
“I miss you already,” you whispered.
You felt him squeeze you tighter, nose pressed against the side of your neck. “I won't be gone too long.” A promise.
“Thank god Seonghwa and Wooyoung can cook.” At the sound of his snort from above your head, you squawked out in your defense, “Who else is gonna make you bacon and pancakes in the morning when you’re dead tired?”
“Hey! I can fry bacon, I’ll have you know!”
You pulled away from him so he could see the look of pure disbelief on your face. “Okay, rockstar. I believe you.”
He scrunched his nose up at you. “That’s not very convincing.”
“I’m glad we’re on the same page.”
Yunho scoffed, reaching over to flick your nose. You let out a sound of indignation and rubbed your nose, a scowl on your face at Yunho’s very pleased expression. And even if you were currently conspiring on how to get back at him, you couldn’t help but resolve something right that second—you would do everything in your power to see his show in two weeks’ time—to see Yunho in two weeks’ time.
The thing about cheap plane tickets was that the cheaper you bought them, the less “amenities” that it came with. The one you’d purchased specifically for two weeks in the future did not allow you a refund. This meant that if something were to arise, you would be a good several hundred dollars poorer, and your plans to surprise Yunho at his show would fall completely through the floor.
Good thing you weren’t about to let that happen, right? …Right?
“You’re sick.” Those were your roommate Trinity’s first words to you as you stumbled out of your bedroom and found her perched on one of the stools at the kitchen counter. She fixed you with an unimpressed look as she stirred around her morning coffee.
“I’m not” —your own response was cut off by one very untimely cough into your elbow. You wrinkled your nose at the metallic taste at the back of your throat. Great— “sick.”
“And I’m Oprah,” she deadpanned.
“You could be.” Did you really sound as much like a dying walrus as you thought you did? Holy shit.
She stood up from her stool, setting her coffee cup on the counter, then walked over to you to direct you back into your room. “I’m not permitting you exit from this apartment until you're better. Back to bed with you.”
“But—”
“No buts! If you wanna still be able to fly by the end of this week, then you have to get better, Yn.”
You really, unfortunately, could not argue with that. Nearly a week and a half had passed since Yunho started touring. Opening night had been a massive success, as you’d seen the broadcast and read the reviews on social media. In the concert photos and videos slowly being released online, there was no doubt in your mind that Yunho belonged onstage. He was radiant as a diamond in each depiction of him, and he sounded better and better each night.
Suffice to say, you were beyond proud and happy for him.
In order to make your surprise successful, you informed Yunho’s team of your plans so they could help you get into the concert once you arrived. Your part consisted mainly of finishing all of your work ahead of schedule so you weren’t swamped when you got back. It was nearing the end of the term, meaning there was lots to grade and study, but when you had a goal, you were determined.
The only downside was that, between the long days and nights of work, your body couldn’t fight against the swift rush of early winter air that swept through the city in the past week. Your working hours stretched out longer and longer until your body just… gave up. Or at least, it was giving up.
After calling in sick to your workplace, you crashed back into bed for what you hoped to be a restful nap. Maybe when you woke up, this would all just turn out to be a 24-hour fever.
(It was not a 24-hour fever.)
You didn't even know what time it was when you woke up groggy and your head pounding like there was an active construction site taking place in your skull. Your bedroom was dark, and the world outside your window was also dark. The sound of your phone ringing drilled into your cranium, and you groaned as you felt around your mess of blankets and sheets for wherever that damned thing was—
“Hello?” you croaked into the receiver when you finally grabbed ahold of your phone.
There was a pause on the other end, and you were about to ask who it was when they responded. “Oh my god. You're sick.”
Your heart leapt into your throat at the sound of your best friend's voice and you shoved your face into the pillow. “I'm not sick.”
“Yn, sweetheart, you literally have the sexy sick voice.”
“You think I'm sexy?” you asked in a drowsy, unwell daze. “But anyways, I'm not” —you lifted your face into your elbow in time to practically hack out your lungs. You groaned. “Okay, maybe I am sick.”
Could things get any worse?
You could hear the frown in his voice. “You sound like my worst nightmare.”
“Am I sexy or your worst nightmare? You need to pick an adjective.” You whimpered as you struggled to pull yourself up into a sitting position.
“At least I know it did nothing to that attitude of yours,” he laughed. He sobered for a moment when he heard you groan as the blood rushed to your head. “Hey, do you have meds with you? I can order some and have them there in half an hour.”
You waved him off, even though he wouldn't be able to see. “No, it's okay. I should have taken an ibuprofen before I crashed. I'm sure we've got extra Nyquil around here somewhere…”
You attempted to stand up, a swear falling from your mouth as the vertigo hit you and sent you tumbling back down onto the edge of the bed.
“Yn, I'm sending you medicine—and dinner. That one bistro near your apartment is still open, right? I'll let Trinity know that deliveries are on the—Yn?”
You lifted your head and broke out of your return to unconsciousness. “Hm? Sorry… I did not hear anything you just said.” You rubbed your hand down your face and scooped your phone up to make your way out of your room. You somehow made it to the door, and you leaned against the doorjamb as you pushed out into the dark hallway. “You don't have to send anything, Yun. Trinity's studying for her law school finals, so I don't wanna bother her. Plus…”
You opened up the medicine cabinet in the bathroom and bit back a sigh of disappointment. No cold medicine. There was pain medication, at least, so that should hopefully help you fall asleep again.
At your lack of words, Yunho asked, “No medicine?”
“No, I have some medicine,” you countered. “Just—not the right ones.” Before you could swallow any pills, you hacked out another lung into your elbow; you swore your coughs were sounding worse and worse.
“You know what? I'm flying home—”
You slammed the pill bottle on the bathroom counter. “Don't—what? Yunho, do not fly home. It's literally just a little” —you coughed— “cold. You have another show in two days. If you show up on my doorstep, I'm not opening the door.”
From the silence on his end, you knew he wasn't in total agreement with you. Maybe the bottle slamming was a little much, but his statement had surprised you. It didn't make sense for him to drop everything for you when you were experiencing something so trivial as a cold.
Not unkindly, you said to him, “I appreciate the concern, but you have bigger things to worry about and care about.”
“You will always be the most important thing I care about.”
His admission was so sincere that your heart gave a violent palpitation in your chest. You struggled to swallow, and it wasn't just because your throat was sore. “And I feel the same way about you,” you murmured, “but I can take care of myself, okay? I'll be back to normal in no time.”
You heard a sigh from his end. “I know; you're right. I just… wish I was there with you right now.”
You could understand that—it was how you felt. But some things couldn't be helped, and Yunho needed to be where he was and you needed to be where you were. You could hold down the fort while he was gone taking over the world by storm.
You closed the bathroom door to give an extra barrier between your voice and where Trinity was studying in her room. After knocking back a couple painkillers, you seated yourself on the floor with your back against the bathtub and your knees pulled up to your chest. “You know what's kind of ironic?” You coughed into your elbow and wrestled down another one bubbling up in your throat. You shouldn't have been speaking so much, but you could deal with the repercussions later. “I think I freaked out when you said you were going to fly home, not just because that's insane, but also because I was going to surprise you by flying out to your show in a couple days.”
He sucked in a breath. “You were gonna come surprise me?”
“Yeah,” you muttered, swiping at your nose and tucking your chin to your knees. Then you had to go and screw it all up, and you couldn't even get your money back. You pretty much accepted that you weren't going to be better by the time the day rolled around, especially not for travel. “I'm sorry I couldn't come see you.”
“No, don't be sorry,” he cooed. “I'm—I’m really sorry you're sick and I'm sad you couldn't make it, but… but think of it this way, hm? As soon as you get better, I'll fly you out to whatever city I'm in and we can hang out and you can come to the concert. All you have to do is get better for me.”
You didn't know if your schedule would allow after this setback, but you were going to remain optimistic. With a small glimmer of hope peering through your chest, you replied, “Okay.”
“Okay,” he said, and you could hear the fond smile in his voice.
“By the way,” you began, and had to clear your throat from how congested it was getting. Maybe some hot tea would do you good. You clambered to your feet to get out of this bathroom and do just that. “Was there a reason you called originally or was it just to say hi?”
A beat of hesitation passed between your question and his answer. “Ah…” There was a wince in his voice, “I, uhm, called because I wanted to know if you'd seen something online, but obviously you haven't 'cause you were asleep, but…”
Seen something online? Your movements paused. Had someone posted something about Yunho? “What is it, Yun?” Who's ass did you need to beat?
“Seonghwa hyung found out that someone leaked the hidden track online a few hours ago.”
You leaned your cheek against your palm, eyebrows knitting together. “Shit, dude. I'm so sorry,” you said with a frown. That meant some rando on the internet had hacked into someone's files and leaked the song.
A sharp exhale from Yunho's end. “Yeah, I dunno. We're working on getting it taken down right now, but in the event it can't be done soon enough, I think I'm just gonna release the deluxe version in a couple hours.”
It seemed by his response that it wasn't the hacking that was his primary concern. Leaked, unreleased songs happened to every major artist in the industry, and it had most definitely happened to Yunho before this. But this time… this time felt different. You knew how hesitant he was to release this, and having the track get released to the public on terms that weren't his? Well, that just wasn't fair.
“You don't,” you said softly, reaching for a mug in the top cabinet to plop your tea bag into, “have to release it officially right now. You can still wait until you're comfortable.”
You heard sounds of shuffling on his end, followed by the sound of a door opening. You thought you heard Yeosang's voice as he murmured something to Yunho. The exchange was swift, but it reminded you that your time with your best friend here was limited.
“Do you need to go?” you asked, trying to cover up your hope that he didn't have to with nonchalance.
He hummed. “It's okay, I have a few minutes left. They want me to 'okay’ a couple things out on set, but that can wait. Uhm… as for what you said about releasing it—I,” he sighed, “I think this was the push I needed to finally drop it, y'know? I think either way I was going to be scared for—for people to hear it—for you to hear it. But uhm… yeah. That's all I wanted to say. I think it'll probably be released whenever you wake up.”
You poured the hot water of your tea bag, setting the kettle down gently. Letting the steam rise up to help clear your congestion, you could finally think a little clearer now. “I'm sorry this didn't happen on your terms.”
“I appreciate that. I hope you like the song—I… I really hope you like the song.”
A smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “I'm going to like the song, rockstar. You have nothing to worry about, I promise.”
He let out a small laugh and the sound of his happiness, however big or small, made your chest feel heavy. “I’ve missed you so much,” he rasped out. “So much.”
You pressed your forehead to your fist, willing the prickling feeling of tears at bay. “I wish I was there—I’ve wished I was there with you the moment you left. But I'm so, so proud of you. I know I've said this before, but you belong on that stage, Yunho. I'll be there… I'm always there in spirit.”
“You can't say that and expect me not to fly my ass home right now.”
You sputtered out a laugh, which was probably a bad idea, because it led to an utter disaster of a coughing fit. When you finally managed to get a reign on things, you picked up your mug of tea and took a couple ginger sips. It was still piping hot, but whatever scalding temperature it was at somehow soothed your throat and your head.
You set the cup down. “Again, I'll be there in no time, I promise.”
“You swear on your life?”
You sighed, but you pressed your lips into a smile. “I swear on my life.”
Yunho's departure from this call was imminent, and so you made further promises to get plenty of rest and to take care of yourself. You only did so when he promised to do the same for himself. Just after you both hung up, you received a text message from him: Stay up for five more minutes!! The delivery's almost there.
You huffed out a rough-sounding laugh, and bit your tongue around a smile. Of course he had still ordered you stuff. You shook your head to settle on one of the kitchen stools to nurse your tea and wait for the delivery to get here.
When the driver was safely out of bounds of your door, you poked your head out into the hallway to grab the paper bags seated on your doorstep. You had only expected medicine and maybe dinner, but not only were there cold medicines, orange juice, and hot soup from the bistro down the street, but there was a bouquet of flowers there, too.
Butterflies fluttered in your stomach as you pulled everything into the safety of your apartment. Damn Jeong Yunho and his gestures. It didn't mean anything—they were just Get Well Soon flowers, but why did you kind of wish they were more than that?
The Youth album's fourteenth track entitled your space hit the charts at number two. By the time you woke up, still sick as hell, the track had been officially released for about eight hours. You rolled over in bed to guzzle down half a bottle of water and cold medicine, then grabbed your phone.
It seemed that social media blew up while you were asleep. The deluxe drop was trending under a couple different tags, and based on initial skims, you were happy to report that most had everything good to say about it.
Though, some of the commentary made you pause. He has to be seeing someone, said one user. Look at these lyrics. These could only be produced by a man in love.
You had to swipe out of the app at that point. Instead, you went over to yours, Yunho's, and Mingi's group chat together where Mingi and Yunho had waged a meme war while you were asleep after Mingi wished you a “Get Better Soon” message. You sent back your own meme in response and opened your music streaming app to find track fourteen.
The boys would probably all be asleep by now, so they wouldn't respond any time soon.
You found your space exactly where you thought it would be, at the very bottom of the deluxe album. You sat yourself up against your headboard, plugged your earbuds in, then hit play.
If only you knew how much it would rock your world.
Hongjoong was never wrong about his hunches. It had been about a week and a half since you came down with an awful cold and couldn't make it to your intended surprise show, and slightly less than that since the deluxe album dropped. Even before the tour started, life was a whirlwind, but now that the tour was only ramping up further from this point, it had been nothing short of a total rush.
Different cities every week, at least two nights a city—all of it took a toll on both the staff and artist involved. Hongjoong's hunch, however, regarded the artist in particular as he watched said artist keep his smile up to say goodnight to the remainder of the stadium workers who lingered for cleanup. Yesterday was their last show date in this city, and today, Yunho and his team had come by to help load everything up for transport to their next destination. Tomorrow, they would fly out and be in the next city to begin preparing for the next round.
But as Yunho began making his way toward the exit where Hongjoong was waiting for him, it was impossible to miss the immediate exhaustion that flooded his features. He carded a hand through his hair as he checked his phone, then pocketed it in the back pocket of his pants.
“Hey,” Yunho nodded to Hongjoong as he met him at the exit and they both walked out into the chilly evening together. There was already a car waiting at the curb to take them back to their hotel—there was still so much that needed to be done before they left for the airport tomorrow.
“Hey,” he said back. “Everything okay?”
Yunho glanced over at him. “Huh? Oh, yeah. I'm fine; just tired. I think it's a good thing I started packing before we came here earlier,” he mused. For him to pack early? A miracle.
Hongjoong bobbed his head in understanding. “Yeah, I get that, but that's not really—you know you can be honest with me, right? I know this has all been… a lot.” And Hongjoong would understand; he had been in the public eye for so long now, and all of that could be so incredibly draining. From catering to fans and journalists and sponsors, it could be difficult finding himself amongst all that mess.
Plus, Yunho had the added bit of being away from home for a very long time. From what Hongjoong understood, Yunho only used to tour relatively close to home, and when it was farther, it was during his school breaks. He also knew that you were an integral part of Yunho's sanity, and that even before he reached this level of fame, you were his rock, his anchor, his ground control.
Being away from you for so long was beginning to show. When Hongjoong brought it up offhandedly to Mingi, Mingi was swift to agree.
“I” —Yunho began as he slipped into the passenger seat and Hongjoong into the back of the car. He murmured a soft greeting to the driver before strapping himself in with a seatbelt. “It definitely has been hard,” he admitted with a sigh. “I don't know, Joong. You know that rush you get while onstage, but it just comes crashing down a couple hours later? Like the adrenaline leaves you all at once and all you crave for is home?”
Hongjoong pursed his lips, watching Yunho lean the side of his head against the window as he watched the world pass by. “Yeah, I do,” he said quietly. “The moments between all the rush and excitement, you're no longer distracted from how much it all is.”
A nod. “Yeah.”
“You miss her?” It was less of a question and more so a statement. Hongjoong's hunches were never incorrect. It was both a blessing and a curse.
Yunho's quiet was answer enough.
Hongjoong played around with the back of his phone case. He knew you had listened to the song—he’d asked Yunho and you'd texted Hongjoong, too. Yunho reported that you gushed about the song and affirmed him in all his choices and lyricism as always, but he was certain that you didn't get it. But when you had run to Hongjoong questioning your own feelings and if Yunho had been scared to tell you if he was in love with someone, Hongjoong could confidently say that you did get it, just not one hundred percent.
There was still miscommunication in the message, but he knew that was only something that the two of you could sort out.
“Have you guys talked since last week?”
“Yeah, we have. She's been…” He pushed a breath out of his mouth, “She's been working her ass off trying to make up for the amount of time she was sick. I don't even know how she isn't getting sick again. I mean—all the shit she has to weather through—I wish I could help.”
And he couldn't, not like how he wanted to, not from so far away. Maybe that was what was eating him up inside the most, besides the fact he believed his feelings to be unrequited.
The car pulled up to the back entrance of the hotel Yunho and his team were staying at for the time being. The two of them thanked the driver on their way out, and they were swiftly greeted by employees coming out of the back for their breaks.
When they reached the warmth of their hotel floor's hallway, Yunho said to Hongjoong, “I miss her so much.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his Youth World Tour hoodie, eyes lined in silver. “I worry about her so much, too. I'm sure she worries just as much about me and I know that she's more than capable of taking care of herself—’cause god, she was the one who kept me afloat all these years, and I—”
I love her.
He slapped his key card against the reader and shoved into his hotel room with Hongjoong trailing after with a sympathetic frown on his face.
“It just feels wrong sometimes when I can't be with her. Is that crazy?”
Hongjoong settled a warm hand on Yunho's shoulder as the latter sat down on the edge of his bed. “It's not crazy,” he said. He'd felt like that about a person, once upon a time. After everything Hongjoong had gone through with his last relationship, one might think he didn't believe in love, but he was still clawing for it. He wanted something that he could see manifesting between you and Yunho. He wanted to help you reach that.
He sighed and sat down next to him. “It's completely valid to feel this way, y'know? She's been a huge part of your life and your passions, and for you to see all this without her seems incomplete.”
Yunho nodded. “Yeah.”
“You can go home whenever you want, you realize that?” Hongjoong asked. “We have time built into each week to give you rest days, man. We can make that work.” It might be a little tiring for so much travel, but one trip back wouldn't hurt, especially when it could help his mental state more than simply powering through.
“I know,” he replied. “I don't… I just feel like I want her to see that I can do this, that she didn't put her trust and energy into someone who would fall so fast—”
“Do you seriously believe she would think about you that way?”
Yunho's expression shuddered, and he let out a shaky breath as he shook his head.
Hongjoong arched his brow. “Exactly. She would never fault you for needing a break. Being human is not a sign of weakness, Yunho. She's your best friend—I think she has more forgiveness and compassion for you than that.”
Yunho swallowed. Of course what Hongjoong said was right. You wouldn't look at him any different if he needed a break; it was just a thing about being kinder to himself. But sometimes it was hard to put that into perspective, and perhaps he just needed someone to do that for him.
With no good choice made without a decent night of sleep, Hongjoong bid Yunho goodnight.
As soon as Hongjoong slipped out of his friend's room, he sighed and mentally calculated what time it would be where you were. You should have been awake.
And awake, you definitely were.
You would be lying if you said you hadn't been listening to the song your space on repeat for the past week and a half. Even as you sat in one of the campus dining halls doing work and eating your crappy sandwich for lunch, your headphones were spilling with your best friend's gorgeous croons.
You questioned everything at the same time. You'd figured out two days after you first heard it that you were in love with your best friend.
The lyrics had resonated with you, and you had come to the startling conclusion that you felt the song's meaning toward Yunho.
All you could do since was freak the fuck out and tell Yunho that the song was incredible. You didn't know who the song was for or about, but you knew it was important to him because of how scared he was to release it. Had he been scared to tell you he was in love with someone? Why?
Sometimes you found yourself tearing apart the lyrics like a rabid trash panda.
I couldn't ever leave you behind
They couldn't ever take me away
Baby, if I could pick a heaven on Earth
It would be anywhere in your space.
You broke away from your work and sandwich to the sound of a text notification. Suddenly remembering how loud your vibration ringer was, you silenced it, then opened up Hongjoong's message: I know you're probably moping and eating a shitty sandwich—what. You glanced down at said shitty sandwich that sat in its equally sad plastic container. How did he know…? —and he's not doing well either. He's miserable, dude.
Everything slowed for you, and it was no longer about your so-called epiphany. You felt your entire body and mood drop at the news. You'd seen the social media posts commenting on Yunho's stage presence and brightness never fading, but there were always the one or two who noted something along the lines of him seeming too tired or that perhaps he didn't have enough stamina for this.
The latter comments made your blood pressure spike, but there was, unfortunately, some truth to it. You just didn't think it was this bad.
You pressed the backs of your knuckles against your eyes. You hadn't been doing the best, clearly, and you knew that it was largely because you missed him. Being away from someone you considered home for so long meant that you were bound to get homesick.
You didn't know what to do. There was so much work to be done, and you had just caught up. On top of that, you were short a few hundred dollars from the last time you tried to fly out.
Another message buzzed in from Hongjoong: I think you guys really need to talk.
The organ in your chest rattled around in its cage; it longed to be with its partner. You were starting to understand that now.
The song playing in your ear was slowly petering out, and all you could hear was his voice.
And I've kinda been wanting to ask if we can
Skip the 'why’ and get to the 'our’
Because baby, I love your space
But I love ours more.
Yunho had not flown home that week. Some emergencies had sprung up as soon as they landed in their new city, and all bets were off to be able to go home. All that he could do was buckle down and get comfortable. Even so, he knew how to make the best out of a situation.
As he stood at the very center of the main stage, he held a hand up to shield his eyes from the bright spotlights shining down on him now.
“Is that better?” Hongjoong's voice echoed throughout the near-empty stadium.
From one of the balconies, Jongho cupped his hands up around his mouth to scream at the top of his lungs, “LOOKS GOOD, HYUNG!”
“Jongho,” Yunho chuckled into his microphone, “did someone not get you a headset, bro?”
A beat passed, and then, “NO.”
Mildly amused laughter cropped up around the stadium in reaction to the youngest's troubles. It was little moments like these where Yunho could forget for one second just how tiring all of this amounted to become. His smile was genuine, and his tongue darted out to trace his teeth—
“Jeong Yunho, put your damn tongue away.”
Yunho's eyes went as wide as saucers, his expression morphing into something like childlike surprise as he immediately retracted his tongue into his mouth. But in the split second it took his brain to process the words that had been said, he also recognized the voice who'd said them. From the big screen, any one of the staff members or you could see the way his face stretched into the widest grin possible, his eyes lighting up like spotlights.
He lifted the mic in his hand up to his lips as he tilted his eyes up to the sound and lighting box far up in the stands. From where he was onstage, he could just make out the shape of you in the box next to Hongjoong—the sneaky bastard. “Ln Yn, get your ass down here right now,” he said, hardly able to contain the excitement in his voice.
You didn't need to be told twice.
You raced down the stadium steps from the box, your legs carrying you as fast as humanly possible without falling. Yunho leapt off the stage and left his microphone behind to meet you in the middle.
Somewhere between the pit and mezzanine, you flew into his arms and he caught you, spinning you around. The glee on both of your faces was enough to make everyone stop and appreciate the tangible love before them. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and you pursed your lips to subdue them. You squeezed him as tight as you possibly could; his arms held you firmly around your waist, head tucked into the joint between your neck and shoulder.
“You're here,” he croaked with tears in his voice now. You heard him sniffle, and only held him tighter. He felt the added strength and let out a sob. “I missed you so much.”
Oh, for fuck's sake—you started bawling like a baby. “I” —you sucked in a breath— “I heard—so I booked a flight—”
This only caused his body to tremble harder. “Oh god… Yn… I…”
You sniffled and brushed your hand over the back of his head in an attempt to get both of you to calm down. “Hey, don't worry about it, okay? It doesn't matter; you know I'd drop everything for you.” When his only response was to press his wet eyes against the heat of your neck, you blinked away your tears. “Plus, I missed you, too, rockstar.”
Yunho let out a watery laugh, gently setting you down onto solid ground. You both looked like a hot mess and a half: snot dripping out of your noses, eyes red and drowned in salty tears. The adrenaline rush from the surprise had trickled out of your system, but your heartbeat continued to rattle around in your chest with reckless abandon. His messy, damp hair; the wobbly shine in his dark brown irises; the way he smiled at you with that something on his face… he was everything to you.
“Glad to know the feeling's mutual,” he said, nudging you with his elbow, then pawing at his eyes to wipe the tears away.
“Good to see you, Yn!” San piped up from the stage with his microphone. He had picked up Yunho's microphone from where he'd abandoned it to come meet you.
You laughed, lifting a hand up in a wave. “Hey, San! Hi everyone!”
Chimes of greetings from all the other boys and staff members cropped up from all around the arena.
Yunho brushed a hand through his hair and wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “Did all you fuckers know about this?”
Mingi was perched on the ledge of the stage. His grin seemed to be the widest after watching your reunion. He tugged the microphone attached to his earpiece closer to his mouth. “Don't tell us you're not grateful now.”
“Nah, I'm just surprised Wooyoung was able to keep his mouth shut.”
Wooyoung didn't need a microphone to let you all know of his offense. You could hear his squawk of disapproval all the way from where you stood—crazy how acoustics worked.
Yunho heard your laugh from beside him, and he glanced over at you to catch the fond look on your face. He hadn't stopped smiling for the past five minutes, and it didn't matter how much his cheeks hurt. You were here, and it was all that mattered.
“This place is…” you marveled as the two of you began walking down the stairs together toward the stage. The backs of your hands brushed against one another, breaths away from touching, from lacing, from being together. “Huge. It's so much more…” You felt your lip wobble again. “I don't even know why I'm getting emotional. It's all you dreamed of as a kid, wasn't it?”
The tears pricked at the edges of his eyes again, and the two of you looked back at each other with equally wet eyes and bright smiles. “Yeah,” he nodded, swiping at his eyes.
“You deserve it.”
“All thanks to you,” he said with a sniffle, hugging you to him again. You were solid and real beneath his fingertips—he was so happy you were here. This was where you belonged; none of this felt right without you.
When you finally reached the bottom of the pit, Yunho had to run back up to the stage, and you went through the aisles until you found your perfect seat. It wasn't long before Mingi bounded up the steps to come join you. He brought you in for a long awaited hug of his own.
“What's good, Yn?” he asked with a soft chuckle as he pulled away and settled in the seat to your left.
Just ahead, Yunho appeared onstage with his microphone in hand, and the two of you lifted your hands in sync to wave to your best friend.
You adjusted your bag in your lap, and clasped a hand on Mingi's shoulder. “This is surreal. Does it feel surreal?”
Mingi's lips pulled into a smile as nostalgia made his vision cloudy. “It does, every single time. I'm glad you're finally here—we’re all very happy that you're here now.”
You bumped your head against his shoulder and let it rest there for a moment, and his hand came up to gently pat your head to tell you he understood. You didn't need to say anything.
For the next hour and a half, you and Mingi got to watch Yunho and everyone else run through the last of the day's lighting checks. Periodically, someone else from Yunho's personal team would come and sit with the two of you, then leave quickly when they had something else on their to-do list.
At last, when the session wrapped up and everyone was sent to go home for an early night, you rushed down to meet with Yunho again.
He waited for you to be at his side before leading you down toward backstage. “There's a couple things I need to grab in my dressing room before we can head back to the hotel.” A thought suddenly interrupted his thoughts and his eyes widened. “Do you have accommodations? Please tell me you do.”
“Don't worry—I promise I'm not sleeping on the streets,” you teased. You'd figured all of that out pretty last minute with Hongjoong and Mingi's help.
Yunho nodded, a smile coming to his face. “Okay, good. I was gonna offer my room and I could sleep on the pullout couch.”
The thought of sleeping in the same room as him made your skin warm, and if you hadn't realized your feelings for him before, you would be confused as to why you were so flustered at the thought now. It wouldn't be the first time you had a sleepover. But this would be… different. Oh lord.
The backstage hallways were scarce and dimly lit in order to save energy, but it was enough to guide you and Yunho's way to the star dressing room. You swallowed as you reached the door—the facade plastered with a pretty, gold star with his name on it—and followed him inside.
“Hey, Yun?” you asked him as you lingered by the door and he rushed around to grab his things. The room was decently spacious, and definitely larger than all the other ones from his past tours.
“Mhm?”
“Could we… talk about something?”
He glanced back over his shoulder as he threw things into his bag. “Yeah, ‘course.”
You toed at the polished ground, fingers twisting and wringing in front of you. “It’s about the song. The, uhm, the your space one.”
His movements paused. He looked up and connected gazes with you through the vanity mirror in front of him. Yunho cleared his throat and ducked his head to zip up his bag. “What—what about it?” he asked, shouldering his bag and meeting you back at the door.
He seemed unable to look you in the eyes directly now as he closed the door behind the both of you as you stepped out into the empty hallway.
“I just,” you stammered. Blood rushed up to your face and you could hear your heartbeat thundering in your ears. “I needed to know—I didn’t need to know—it’s your life and your song, and you have every right to have feelings for someone without me knowing. And I think I’m asking this for selfish reasons, but… are you seeing someone?”
The question caught him off guard, his eyes blowing wide open. “Wh—no. No, I am not seeing anyone. Why do you ask?”
“The song—I know I shouldn’t be indulging in what people on the internet say, much less in the opinions of those who don’t even know you, but I couldn’t help but agree with them when they say the lyrics, the—the feeling of the song—you’re in love, and I” —your breath caught in your throat as you choked on the words lodged there: And I am in love with you.
Yunho pushed an exhale out of his mouth and stepped toward you. So much shone in his eyes right then, and it didn’t matter how much light there was in this damn hallway, his eyes would always glitter like twin diamonds. “I am in love with someone. Yn, I’m in love with you,” he said. “I thought that the song would make it obvious, which is why I was so scared for you to hear it, but I realize now that this was just something I should have said outright.”
Your heart fluttered in your chest and it wasn’t from the nerves anymore. God, your knees felt like buckling from the force of the tenderness in his eyes alone. “You’re—you’re in love with me?”
“I am,” he nodded. He slowly reached for your hands and clasped them within his own. “I’ve been in love with you since that day you ran out of Science Olympiad practice to come to my audition; I’ve been in love with you from the moment you yelled at me for not being ambidextrous and I had beef jerky in my mouth—”
“I did not yell at you!”
He broke out into a cheeky, yet fond grin, his hand coming up to cup the side of your face with his hand. “I’ve been in love with you for so long that I can’t imagine what life was like before I was in love with you—and yes, you did yell, but you can yell at me as much as you like, and I would still be head-over-heels for you.”
Your lip curled in on itself at all of his words, at everything he was revealing to you now. You wished you had known—oh, god, you wish you had known. You didn’t know if things would have been different, but for some reason, you had a feeling that all paths might have led here nonetheless.
You squeezed his hand between your own now. “You’re everything to me, Yunho,” you rasped out, unable to put strength behind your voice for fear of all of the emotion about to spill out. “And I’m so stupid for taking so long to figure it all out, but I’m in love with you, too, and I’d be damned if I let another day pass without you knowing that.”
Something washed over him in that moment, and he laughed, leaning over to cup the back of your neck and rest his forehead against your own. It was ridiculous, the fact that both of you were giggling and smiling at such a precipice of emotion, but it felt right.
You could feel the warmth of his breath against your lips as he murmured, “Fuck, I wanna kiss you so bad.”
“Then come kiss me, rockstar,” you said, looping your arms around his neck. You drew him down to your mouth and felt his body mold against your own. Every crevice and curve slotted so perfectly with one another, and the heavy longing in your chest slowly eased.
“You guys have been incredible for me tonight” —Yunho beamed as he walked toward the front, center stage and looped the electric guitar strap over his head to the sound of the roaring crowd— “so I've got a little surprise for you.”
One of the staff members had set out a mic stand and bottle water for him, and he approached both items to fit the microphone into place. Tonight was the Friday night concert being held in this city, and the energy was dialed to one thousand in all the best ways.
He held onto the microphone with one hand. “This song is dedicated to—written for—my best friend in the world, the love of my life, my stargirl. I'm sure you know it—you crazies debuted it at number two on the charts—this is your space.”
His smile tugged up wider at the reaction he received. If anyone in the crowd didn't know the song, they were about to fall in love.
Yunho laughed, shaking his head, as he began checking to make sure his guitar was tuned with practiced, nimble fingers. “Oh, by the way” —he pointed up at the accessory he wore, the crocheted headband holding his hair up and out of his face, with a row of stars across its band— “she made this for me. Isn't it cute?”
The stadium echoed in choruses of “aw” and cheers.
He could only duck his head with a smile, eyes twinkling with fondness and tenderness at the thought of you. You were in the crowd, but you could be up here with him in spirit. “Yeah, that was me, too.”
After you and Yunho left the stadium yesterday, hands intertwined and a new page in your relationship turned, you’d gone back to his hotel to share a restful evening in one another’s presences. You revealed later that night that you spent the four or five days you were bedridden practicing your crocheting skills until you were able to make him a headband. A row of three stars studded the length of it—stars for your rockstar.
Yunho struck his fingers down the strings of his guitar with a gentle rocking motion from his opposite hand to let the sound reverberate around the stadium. The crowd cried in love as his soulful, beautiful voice filled their ears with love of his own. And as his fans filed out of the stadium for the night and headed home, Yunho could finally return to his home. Because you were here now… no matter how far, no matter the distance, the two of you would always find a way to be in the other's space.
a/n: pls remember to reblog, comment, and send asks if you enjoyed!
yunho might have been the superstar out of the two of you, but you have always been the center of his universe. (you — it's always been you.)
▷ genre, warnings. bffs2l, childhood friends 2 lovers, pining, popstar/singer au, swearing, fluff, humor, angst, hurt/comfort, kissing, mentions of alcohol, mentions of anxiety/nervousness, they physically cannot be apart for too long sorry they've got Attachment Issues low-key..., one kiss (is all it takes—)
▷ word count. 16.3k (guys,, this was supposed to be only like 6-8k i swear 😭) (ao3 link)
▷ associated tunes. keep smiling (demxntia), gone too long (lullaboy), tear in my heart (twenty-one pilots)
a/n: hope u guys like this :'))) i had one of the scenes from here stuck in my brain for awhile and so i had to build the rest of the fic around it, and it turned into this monster, so uhm yes... also much love to @jaehunnyy tysm for reading thru it for me 💖
THE DAY YUNHO'S ALBUM hit the Billboard Hot 100, you knew that you were going to need a lot more hands on deck than just you, your roommate, and Jeong Yunho himself.
“There's not enough albums, not enough time in the day, not enough of you!” you exclaimed with your fingers shoved into your hair as you took in the landscape of chaos before you on your living room floor. “Yunho, why couldn't you be ambidextrous?”
His eyes widened, body frozen where he was shoving a slice of beef jerky into his mouth. “Mwe? Pwhy are pyu yellinh ap mwe por?”
“I'm not yelling at you; I'm just wondering why you weren't born with eight arms instead of just two.” There were simply too many albums for him to sign before his agent came to pick them up in two hours, and there were also too few albums for the amount of demand. You always knew your best friend would make it big one day, but you also thought he would have had a whole team by that time.
Technically, you were his team—you, your roommate Trinity, and Mingi who was at his grandmother's for the long weekend. Mingi was five texts away from driving back down to help you guys four hours ago though. But his family needed him right now, and Yunho was firm in ensuring Mingi didn't have to come down and help. We got this, he'd said. It'll be easy, he also said.
Sure. Easy.
“We can't just forge his signature?” Trinity joked in a sleep-deprived daze as she leaned back against the couch cushions. Her mouth opened wide in a yawn. “I'm kidding. Let's not ruin his career.”
Yunho swallowed his bite. “That would be nice.” He cleaned his fingers on the Wet Wipe he had handy by his thigh, then picked up his black Sharpie, spinning the writing utensil between his fingers. “Now where were we? Album number fifty-six—?”
This had taken place just four months after Yunho released his second album, Aurora. It had been nearly a year and a half since Yunho debuted himself onto the music scene, and it was about time people finally began to recognize your best friend for all that he was—multi-talented, charismatic, handsome (on some occasions; you wouldn’t let him catch you slipping up there, though).
Within the next year and a half, Yunho skyrocketed into further altitudes of fame.
There were plenty of changes that occurred, many evolutions to Yunho's team and additions to his discography, but you were always a part of it. Even with your own career dealings, you would drop anything to be there for him, and him for you. Between the morning show interviews and late night recording sessions, there were also the research presentations and study session pick-me-ups.
“Are you sure you don't wanna come with?” you asked from where you were stationed in front of the bathroom mirror, putting on the final touches for your look this evening.
You could hear Trinity's fingers clacking away at her keyboard at the speed of light through her open bedroom door. “I'd love to, but I unfortunately did screw myself over by procrastinating on this paper. Have fun though, and tell Yunho congrats for me.”
Tonight was the album release party for Yunho's third full studio album entitled Youth. It was something he had been working on for years now, only recently having become satisfied with the tracks he chose and produced for it. Due to his sudden rise in fame, the release party was said to be hosting a myriad of big name celebrities and figures in the music industry. And of course, you. You were no one special, in hindsight, but Yunho couldn't begin to imagine celebrating a milestone without you by his side.
By eight o'clock, you were ready to head out.
You bid Trinity goodbye as you hustled out the front door of your apartment and down to the street below. Yunho and Mingi and everyone else would already be at the party; you would arrive on your own via Uber. You wished you could've been with him to get ready like all the other times, but your schedule had been unfortunate as of late. You were lucky enough to have gotten off of work this early.
As you sat in the backseat of your ride, you anxiously fidgeted with your phone in your lap.
(You were, without a doubt, excited to arrive at the party. Due to yours and Yunho's ever-busy and ever-conflicting schedules nowadays—yours because of work and PhD candidacy stuff, Yunho's because of rehearsals for his upcoming world tour—it had been awhile since you were able to hang out in person. You missed your gentle giant of a best friend.)
A loud vibration from it made your heart leap into your throat, and your face lit up in the dark with the incoming notification.
rockstar 🤟: pls tell me you've left the house
You snorted and typed out a swift reply. If I told you I was still in my pajamas…
rockstar 🤟: then i would call u a liar cuz u don't go to work in pjs, weirdo
rockstar 🤟: just getting antsy tbh
rockstar 🤟: need my star here w me :’)))
You couldn't help the touched pout that came to your face. I'm almost there, don't worry. And who are you calling a star when that's you? He always got a little sappy when he was nervous.
rockstar 🤟: im literally not having fun here without u hurry up ://
your phone: isn't this UR album release party 😭 yun, why aren't u having fun?
rockstar 🤟: just hurry up
your phone: aish okok 🤧 eta 8min mr. impatient
You knew it was the jitters making him say things like that. Once you got there, you hoped you could help reassure him that he could stop worrying for just a second to enjoy himself. Even if Yunho worried about the album and what people thought, you were just as nervous. You hadn't even heard the entire thing—he’d been cheeky and didn't tell you he added a song to it last minute, but you'd listened to everything else.
You just hoped that people would continue to celebrate him and give him the love he deserved.
When your Uber driver pulled into the drop off loop at the front of the venue, you thanked him on your way out and threw the strap of your small purse over your shoulder. Already, however, as you were met with the residuals of flashing camera lenses and frantic paparazzi calls just a little ways down the driveway, the anxiety slowly began to settle in the pit of your stomach.
You could see the celebrities going up the entrance with people asking them to pose for their cameras, to say a word into their recorders.
Immediately, you turned on your heel and began slipping your way to a side entrance. The last thing you wanted was for dozens upon dozens of people to be staring at you, wondering who you were and why you were important. There were definitely people who knew you—you were plastered all over Yunho's social media because that was just what best friends did. But compared to everyone else walking up that driveway? Not a chance. You were nobody, and that was ay-okay to you.
Just as you thanked one of the employees coming out the side door for letting you in, you felt your phone buzz in your hand again, this time with an incoming call.
You picked it up and squeezed it between your ear and shoulder. “You're gonna need to speak up—the kitchen is super loud.”
“You're here finally!” Yunho exclaimed through the phone. “I was starting to get worried.”
You chuckled as you ducked out of the kitchen and into the main lobby to get to the elevators. The party was taking place somewhere on the seventh floor… if you could get there without getting lost. “Hey Yun, do me a favor?”
“Sure.”
“Calm down, man.”
The elevator sang its arrival and you stepped inside to the sound of Yunho sucking in a deep breath, then exhaling slowly. “I am calm… wait, are you in the lobby? Let me come down and get y—”
“I just got in the elevator, so don't worry—and I really don't think you should be leaving your own party, rockstar,” you teased. “Man, Mingi and Hwa really pulled out all the stops for this place,” you marveled quietly as you gave the elevator carriage a thorough look. It was made of marble and mirrors, every surface polished and crisp, like that of a tailored suit if tailored suits were made of crystals.
“Yeah, it's really great,” he agreed. “Remember the release party we threw for Crescent?”
A fond laugh tumbled out of your lips as you stepped out of the elevator and onto the seventh floor. Your mind filled with memories of his debut album's release party hosted in yours and Trinity's living room with three extra large Domino's pizzas, root beer floats, and a cheap disco ball. It had been a party for four that night—you, Yunho, Mingi, and Trinity—but your friends didn't need the fancy shit to have fun. “Definitely leagues away from this.”
There was a bouncer at the far end of the hallway, and you were certain now that you were in the right place.
“I kind of miss it,” Yunho murmured. You heard the sound on his end shift, simultaneous to watching the doors in front of you crack open and see Yunho's head pop out into the empty hallway.
“I kind of miss it, too,” you said into the phone, your eyes locked on his and a smile blooming over your features at the sight of your best friend, in the flesh.
There was a tender gleam in his eyes as he took you in and said something in a low tone to the bouncer. He stepped out into the hallway, letting the doors behind him shut fully.
“Slowpoke,” was his greeting to you as he scooped you into his embrace. The smell of his cologne was something familiar and delicious, and permeated your senses.
“Worrywart,” you quipped back, wrapping your arms around him to reciprocate.
When you both pulled back, he kept you at arm's length so he could take a better look at you. “I can't believe you're calling me the worrywart! I do recall that one night when Aurora hit the Top 100—”
You silenced him with a look and a playful punch to his shoulder. You pressed your lips together to suppress a smile as he tilted his head back in a jovial laugh. “Quiet, you. For once, I can't believe you're more nervous than I am.”
He gave a sheepish grin, fussing with the unbuttoned collar of his dress shirt, adjusting the chain he wore on his collarbones so the clasp sat right at the hollow of his throat.
You softened. Oh, he was really nervous.
“This album's just big for me; you know that,” he said, almost like he was trying to brush it off.
“I do.” The two of you began slowly making your way back towards the party doors. “Though, I'm excited to hear this mystery song that you snuck on there. I'm sure everyone will fall in love with the album, just like I did.”
He peered over at you then, and you couldn't understand why you were unable to read his expression then. It was… different. “Really?”
You blinked. “Of course,” you replied automatically. “I mean,” you added, “it's you, Yun. What's not to love?”
Yunho seemed speechless for a second, but moments later, he was breaking into a soft-cornered smile. “You always know what to say, Yn. Come on, there are some people who are dying to meet you.”
“Dying to meet me?” you laughed in disbelief as the bouncer let the two of you into the party.
The party room was a rented out lounge space with wraparound windows that looked out at the skyline in the valley below. The main lights were kept low and warm, illuminating strategic places throughout the space to highlight the prohibition-like interior design. It was something out of a 1920s speakeasy with its velvet couches and dark mahogany wood finishes.
Yunho took you over toward the side of the room to get food first. There was a variety of snacks and small bites on the buffet table, and there was a bar counter shoved into the far corner where a bartender served drinks.
“I've pretty much socialized with everyone in this room already,” Yunho murmured to you as he shoved his hands into his pockets and grinned. “Meaning I can bug you for the rest of the night.”
Your eyebrows shot up. “There has to be, like, fifty people here. We still have the whole party left.”
“Yeah, but I have more fun with you anyway,” he said with a shrug. He reached for one of the little serving cups that held a little roll of rice armed with a slice of wagyu beef on top, all wrapped together with a strip of nori. “Now these—these are fucking amazing, dude. You have to try one.”
You snorted, but grabbed one of the little cups. “How many of these have you eaten already, Yun?”
He tapped his cup against yours like he was clinking glasses together. He chuckled, averting his gaze. “We don't have to talk about that…” His eyes caught onto someone nearby, and he perked up, shoving the entire bite into his mouth so he had a free hand to flag down whoever it was. “Mmh!”
You nearly choked on your own bite as you watched your best friend, whose cheeks were stuffed like a chipmunk's, flap his arm around in the air to get this person's attention because his mouth was currently occupied.
You turned your head to see who he was waving over, and nearly choked again, having to cup your hand over your mouth to prevent rice from falling out. Your eyes widened an alarming amount. “Mmno—” you shrieked through your bite.
“What? I can't hear you,” he snickered. “Hongjoong hyung! There's someone I want you to meet.”
You made a crazed gesture—no, no, I'm not ready! How dare you ambush me with social interac—you swallowed the food in your mouth as Hongjoong made his way over. You had never met the famed Kim Hongjoong—legendary producer, prodigy musician, favorite model to ever strut down the Paris Fashion Week Runway. He dropped off the grid for a brief three-month hiatus until he suddenly reappeared, but in your best friend's Instagram story. At some point, Yunho had met Hongjoong and won his favor. Then again, it was easy for Yunho to win over anyone's favor.
No one really knew why Hongjoong disappeared like he had, but some speculate it had something to do with his new relationship status: single.
You were always starstruck seeing Hongjoong on Yunho and Mingi's social media, as well as Hongjoong's own platforms. Tonight was no exception.
Hongjoong's hair of the season was a simple light brown that complimented his skin tone and the warmth in his smile. You were used to seeing him in more extravagant garb, but tonight, he chose something very simple, but chic like Yunho.
Yunho and Hongjoong clasped hands in greeting. “What's up, man?” the latter chirped, eyes flickering over to you as you attempted to behave normally.
Yunho gestured toward you, his eyes twinkling as he swept his arm around your shoulders to bring you forward. “This is Yn. Yn, this is Hongjoong. He's the one who produced the album—”
“Now, don't downplay your own efforts, Yunho,” Hongjoong cut in with a knowing look. “You produced so much of it on your own; I fine-tuned and made a couple tracks, but the rest was all you, man.”
“I always tell him he's far too humble,” you agreed.
Hongjoong sent you a smile, extending his hand out. “Great minds think alike, Yn. It's very nice to meet the person this guy doesn't ever stop talking about.”
You laughed good-naturedly and saw Yunho's flushed sheepishness out of the corner of your eye. You shook Hongjoong's hand with a firm, confident grip. “Nice to meet you, too. You're—you’re incredible, by the way. I remember when Yunho posted a photo with you, and I literally screamed his ear off over the phone.”
Yunho winced and held a hand up to his ear, as if remembering the physical sensation of that phone call. “Yup, definitely damaged my eardrum that day.”
“Well, thank you; I'm flattered,” Hongjoong replied pleasantly. “So I'm assuming you've probably heard as much of the album as I have then?”
“I'm sure you've heard the whole thing,” you said. “Yunho has withheld one of the tracks from me, but I've listened to all the rest.”
He cocked his head to the side. “Oh? Which track did—oh.” As he and Yunho made eye contact, you watched as a silent understanding passed between them, and Hongjoong's mouth tugged upward in a teasing smile. “That song.”
You blinked. “What does that mean?”
Hongjoong flourished his hand as if to wave away the thought. “He just wanted it to be perfect, so we were working on it up to the last second. Nothing terribly concerning.”
Ah. You relaxed, but the curiosity still lingered in your mind's eye. “I'm sure it's great, nonetheless.”
“Oh yeah, you're gonna love—”
“Oh-kay! That's enough about the song,” Yunho chuckled nervously as he grabbed your shoulders and began steering you away from a clearly amused Hongjoong. “Let's go say hi to Mingi, hm?”
You threw him a look from over your shoulder, but went along with him toward wherever he'd seen Mingi wandering around. “What has gotten into you tonight?” you teased, though, you also hoped to know why he was so jittery. He wasn't even this nervous about dropping his debut album.
Yunho showed you a bright smile, the same kind of golden-retriever expression that the media knew him well for. It would have been enough if you didn't know him. “Again, it's an important album to me. And the song I added last minute is on the deluxe version, so I wasn't really confident in putting it on the original release.”
“Ah,” you murmured. You reached up to pat the hand that rested on your left shoulder reassuringly. “I'm sure it really is a great song, Yun, and I'm not just saying that. You can make an awful omelet, but you can't make an awful song.”
Your best friend bursted into laughter at the latter comment, and your heart soared to see the genuine smile on his face now. That was your Yunho shining through. “You're right—if I can't scramble eggs, at least I can write a song.”
Over the next hour and a half, Yunho took you on a tour around the room, jumping from friend to friend to introduce you to more of his world. For the most part, however, it felt like an excuse for you to bond with all his friends in teasing him about something or other. But he seemed content enough to see you getting along well with the other people close to him.
He had met plenty of your friends at your work, so it was only fair that you got the same opportunity.
At some point while you were with Wooyoung and San discussing all of the rehearsals for Yunho's upcoming world tour, Hongjoong summoned everyone's attention to announce that it was time to listen to the album. It would be a rather casual affair with the Youth album playing in the background of the party, but you were certain people would minimize their conversations to listen in.
You craned your neck to peer around the crowd to see where Yunho had gone off to. “Wait, guys, did you see where Yunho went?”
Wooyoung and San joined your search, but quickly hustled you into a nearby booth to sit and enjoy the album with your drinks. “He'll find us,” Wooyoung assured you as the three of you slipped into the leather seats. “He wouldn't miss this.”
“He'll at least be here by the last song,” San said offhandedly, his eyebrows wagging up and down.
Your lips parted, your face morphing into feigned offense. “Wait. Did he let you guys listen to the deluxe edition song, too?”
“Maybe,” Wooyoung giggled.
San cooed at your pout. “Awwh, don't take it to heart, Yn-ie. It was supposed to be a surprise for you.”
You raised your drink to your lips, sighing before taking a sip. “Everybody talks about this damn song as if he wrote it for me.”
Unbeknownst to you, the two others at the table exchanged pointed looks between one another when you were looking away. It was a wonder how Yunho was able to keep this all a secret from you. Though, even San and Wooyoung knew how busy you could get nowadays, so perhaps it really was just that easy. Plus, they had all at one point or another been privy to Yunho’s feelings—
“Speak of the Devil,” you perked up at the sight of your best friend emerging from the crowd with the others—Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Mingi, Jongho (vocal coach and album feature), and Yeosang (PR management)—in tow behind him. “We were wondering where you had gone off to.”
Yunho grinned as the lot of them squished into the circular seating arrangement with you, San, and Wooyoung. “Sorry, had to go round everyone up. The album should be queued up and ready to go.” He chose to sit on the end of the booth to your right while everyone else filled it up from the other side.
You offered him a sip of your drink, and he gladly took the glass from you. “So San and Woo were just telling me about how their tour prep is coming. You guys are leaving—what was it—two weeks from now?”
He hummed, smacking his lips as he set the glass back down on the table. “Yeah, it should be just about two weeks,” he said. His arm came up to rest against the back of the booth seat behind you. “You know, you can still come to the first stop with us…” This was said with a very pointed look at you from Yunho, followed by similar expressions from everyone else around the table.
“And you know that day’s when my supervisor holds quarterly meetings that are mandatory,” you shot back. As much as you hated the timing, the day that Yunho and the team planned to fly to their first stop on his world tour, you were required to be present for a very important meeting at work.
The Youth World Tour was something Yunho had been looking forward to and preparing for a long time. Besides working on the Youth album itself, his working hours extended over the past year or so to get ready for this major milestone. You would definitely be able to meet up with them at one of the tour stops, you just weren’t sure which one yet.
Things at your workplace were a little rocky as of late due to shifting management, but you would play it by ear. For your best friend, of course you would make it work somehow.
Your ears pricked up at the sound of strings strumming overhead and your heart leapt out of your ribcage for a moment. “Oh my god, I love this song.”
“You and me both, Yn,” Hongjoong chuckled across the table from you, reaching over so you could bump fists with him, “you’ve got good taste.”
“You’re only saying that because you wrote this one specifically,” Yunho sputtered out a laugh while rolling his eyes.
“It’s a good message,” you said, picking up your drink to take a generous gulp of it. There was a little left at the bottom of the martini glass and you swirled the liquid around before handing it over to Yunho to finish. “I think this one will definitely make it onto my work playlist.”
Yunho draped the back of his hand over his forehead, setting the now empty glass on the table. “Wow, relegated to the work playlist. Is that all I am to you?”
“You are a mood maker,” you pointed out with a teasing smile.
“Bro, you're complaining as if Yn doesn't put her work playlist on for everything she does.” Mingi arched his brows over the rims of his sunglasses. (Why was he wearing sunglasses indoors and at night? You didn't know; he said something about looking cool.)
Wooyoung chuckled. “What? So let's say you're trying to sleep—”
“Yah, I have a different playlist for that! I'm not completely unreasonable.”
“Completely,” Yunho and Mingi said at the same time, then looked at each other with wide, excited eyes. They bursted out laughing at once, too, leaving you to deadpan at the two clowns to your eleven o'clock and three o'clock.
You sighed. “I hate you guys.”
That only made them laugh louder, spurring on the others to crack smiles and for you to do the same.
Yunho calmed slightly, his cheeks hurting from smiling. “Aw, you walked right into that one, Yn.”
“So you're saying you are, in some capacity, unreasonable—oh my god, don't hurt me!” Mingi shrieked as he shoved Yeosang's body in front of him like a human shield as you lurched forward and threatened to grab him.
Yeosang sent Mingi a dirty look as he wrestled out of his neighbor's hold. “Dude.”
“Jongho, protect me.”
The vocal coach popped the olive from his martini into his mouth. “If you can't handle the heat, hyung, stay out of the kitchen.”
You nodded, raising your pointer finger up. “Exactly.”
For the next hour, you and your friends shared good company and conversation, while also commenting on, praising, and enjoying the tunes from Yunho's Youth album. There were a good thirteen songs featured on the album, and while most of them were inspired by real life, you remembered the days and nights when Yunho would break out the white board under his bed to draw out a concept map of the storyline he'd created in his head for some songs. It was like a miniature Easter egg hunt for fans to piece together from album to album.
When the clock hit nearly midnight, you recognized the song that marked the end of the conventional album—track number thirteen, 22. It was a song that reflected and lamented on his early stages of adulthood, all the goods and bads, all the hopes and dreams he had left. It was something that tied the regular album with a satisfying bow, but you were also giddy to hear the secret fourteenth deluxe track.
But as his ethereal voice from 22 faded out, the same guitar chords from the first song of the album began to play.
Everyone at the table paused in confusion.
“Uhh, I thought you were revealing the hidden track tonight, Yunho?” Seonghwa asked from across the table.
Yunho tilted his body out of the booth to peer into the sound booth at the very back of the lounge, a furrow in his brow. “I thought I was, too,” he said as he stood up. “I’ll be back in a sec.”
Before anyone else could say anything, Yunho disappeared past the door to the sound booth. You frowned as Hongjoong excused himself to catch up with him, mumbling something about helping with any technical difficulties.
In retrospect, it wouldn't be the biggest deal if you didn't get to hear the song tonight. You would simply listen to it when the deluxe album dropped in about a week, but you wouldn't deny that you were a little disappointed. Everyone else at this table had already listened to it—why had Yunho not shared it with you yet? Did he think you would judge him or not like it? You didn't think you were ever so harsh a critic, but that would explain why he was so nervous all night.
Regardless, you remained positive.
When Yunho and Hongjoong returned to the table, the rest of you all looked on to them expectantly.
“Something wacky is going on with the system right now and won't play the file for the hidden track,” Hongjoong huffed. He passed Yunho a sidelong glance, and you saw how Yunho avoided his friend's eyes like the plague. “Sorry to disappoint, Yn.”
Everyone's attention whipped toward you, and you straightened like a deer caught in headlights. “Oh, uhm, it's no biggie,” you said. You glanced over at Yunho who, if anything, seemed guilty. Or maybe it was just something apologetic. “Really—I can wait for it to drop officially.”
You didn't like how the air seemed to shift during this exchange, as if all the other boys were sitting on the edges of their seats, faces morphed into mixed ranges of confusion and disbelief.
You cleared your throat. “Anyone want more drinks?”
As the night waned and the party came to a close, you found yourself being helped into another Uber car to head home. After the supposed tech glitch, the remainder of the party passed by without a hitch. At the very end, Yunho popped open a theatrical bottle of champagne for all his guests to close out the celebration.
The backseat door closed just as Yunho ducked in with you, his hand waving out the window to San, Wooyoung, and Jongho passing by along the curb.
The alcohol had gradually made its way to your brain, and there was a light buzzing at the base of your skull that made you feel all warm and fuzzy. You yawned, leaning your head against Yunho's shoulder.
He chuckled, one of his hands coming up to gently pat your head. “Tired?”
“Mhm,” you hummed as your eyelids fluttered closed. “You didn't have to lie, y'know.”
You felt his shoulder tense under your cheek. If only you could feel the rapid beating in his chest, then he'd be as good as done.
“I don't know what you're talking about,” he replied innocently, nimble fingers running over the chain links of his wristwatch.
Your eyes cracked open slowly. “Yunho.”
A beat passed, then he sighed. “Are you mad?” he asked quietly and his hand nearest to you found yours as he began to mindlessly inspect the chipped nail polish on your fingertips.
“No, silly. Why would I be mad?” When he didn't respond right away, you let out an exhale of your own. “I mean, I could tell you were nervous about me listening to the song all night. And if you weren't ready for me to listen to it yet, then I totally get that, and I'm okay with waiting. I just would rather you tell me that instead of make Hongjoong lie for you.”
He stopped playing with your fingers. “I'm sorry, for the record. Thank you for understanding.”
You hummed in reply.
The drive continued on with the accompaniment of a random radio station playing on low volume. You weren't going to fall asleep just yet with the alcohol still working its way through your system, but you kept your eyes closed nonetheless.
“I missed you, you know?” were his first words to break the next silence.
A small smile wormed its way onto your face. “I missed you, too. I feel like we haven't seen each other in forever.”
He chuckled, the low sound rumbling through his chest and into your ear. “Texting can only take us so far. Isn't that crazy? We can't even survive a week without hanging out, but we're… we're about to be separated for so much longer timewise and distance-wise.”
You grumbled. “Don't remind me—wait. Has it really only been a week?” You peeked one eye open, a frown coming to your lips. “No way.”
Yunho smiled, shaking his head. “Believe it or not, stargirl. It's been only a week.”
“In-fucking-sane.”
“You're telling me.”
“How are we going to survive?” you pondered aloud, genuinely. If you couldn't fly out to see him within the first handful of tour stops, you and Yunho at the soonest wouldn't be able to see each other for three weeks. And if you couldn't escape your work duties and your PhD responsibilities, then it would be longer than that. “You're gonna have a closer relationship with your Valorant account than me.”
Yunho snorted. “I already have a closer relationship with my Valorant account than you.”
“Shucks.” You breathed out. “Guess I'll just text Hongjoong then. You know what he told me tonight when we were exchanging numbers? All eight of you nerds have a group chat and he gets ignored like a mom in a family chatroom.”
Your comment made a laugh tumble out of Yunho's mouth. “Did he make that analogy?”
“No, Seonghwa did when he overheard.”
A wheeze. “That tracks.” Yunho licked his lips as he turned his head slightly to glance down at you leaning on his shoulder. With his free hand, he warmed his palm over your head like he could keep you here forever. “So what's this about texting Joong?”
You shifted your position to get more comfortable and clung to his arm to press yourself closer. There was still a little ways to go before you reached your apartment. “I told him offhandedly that I wanna pick up a new hobby… something about crocheting or something, and apparently that guy is like… amazing at everything, so he's gonna help me out.”
“Ah.” The sound was quiet. “I'm glad you guys got along.”
You smiled to yourself. “Me too. He's really cool.”
“Not cooler than me though, right?”
You blindly reached over to pat his chest in warm reassurance. “Don't worry, big guy. I guess you're still the coolest guy I know.”
He clicked his tongue at you with a weak chiding, “Yah. You only guess? Don't tell Mingi that.”
“Oh, I wouldn't dream of it.”
The Uber eventually pulled up along the curb outside your apartment complex. You lifted your head up from Yunho's shoulder and woke yourself up with a good stretch of your limbs.
He helped you out of the car, handing you your purse when you finally got your bearings. “Are you sure I can't walk you up? You look like your knees are about to buckle,” he chuckled.
You shook your head. The cool evening air was helping your brain to sober up. “No, no. Don't worry about it—I’m not as drunk as that one year.”
“Dear heart, how could I forget,” he teased. “Mingi still has the recording of when you begged to be bridal carried.”
Your face warmed at his mention of that memory and you wrinkled your nose at him. “I was gonna say ‘I love you’ along with goodnight, but I suppose not.”
Yunho froze. “What?”
Maybe you really weren't sobering up, because you didn't catch his strange reaction. “Nevermind,” you said flippantly. “Love you, Yun. Good night. Get home safe!”
He seemed to unfreeze, his lungs filling with breath again. A soft smile melted onto his pretty lips as he looked on toward you with a warm fondness. “Love you, too. Good night, Yn.”
He remained where he was outside the car door as he watched you dig your keys out from your purse and open the complex door. When you had one foot inside, you stopped, and turned back to him with a big grin on your face. “Hey!”
“Hey?” He laughed.
“I'm proud of you.”
For the thousandth time tonight, you made him lose his breath, his hold on reality. He swallowed—he wanted to kiss you. “I love you. Get some rest, stargirl.”
You waved to him in reply and he waved back. Then you disappeared through the door and left him there, his heart full and beating fast, the longing in his chest weighing heavier than before.
When you and Yunho were thirteen, you spent the longest period of time away from each other for the rest of your lives. It measured to about one summer break long when Yunho flew to South Korea to spend the entire vacation there and you could do nothing but chat with him via good, old fashioned e-mail.
Now that the two of you were older, even a couple days dragged on like an eternity. And because of your clashing and stacked schedules, a couple days almost always bled into a week.
A week since the release of Youth marked the inevitable release of its deluxe edition and the ever mysterious fourteenth track.
“Yn, wait, can you just help me finish this set of primers?”
You were this close to escaping the lab before one of your colleagues caught you. Taking a deep breath, you resolved to turn back and help them out. One less thing to worry about later, right? You could still listen to the track once you got home.
Except you couldn't, at least not right away. You saw the email on the bus ride home:
Hello TAs! One of your peers has unfortunately been involved in a motorbike accident early this evening. We have been informed that they will recover to full health, but because they are hospitalized, we will need to redistribute responsibilities regarding grades and as to who will cover their TA sections…
You skimmed down the email's contents, knowing you wouldn't be the one filling in as an actual TA. Because you were a first year graduate student in your first quarter, you opted to start off with grading work for now. But even if you didn't have to deal with a whole section of undergraduates, you could feel the blood drain from your face.
“You've gotta be shitting me,” you said, then slapped your hand over your mouth once you realized you'd said that aloud. You mouthed a sheepish “sorry” to a parent and her child nearby, then ducked your head to look at the contents once more.
There was no way they wanted—no, needed—all of those graded by tonight.
This was cruel and unusual punishment, but you knew you were going to do it anyway.
By the time you finished grading, shoveled dinner into your mouth, and took a therapeutically scalding hot shower, it was sometime past two in the morning. Thank fuck it was Saturday.
It was less than twelve hours later that you settled into the passenger seat of Yunho's Lexus sedan with a pair of shades covering your dehydrated, puffy eyes from the world and whatever paparazzi was stalking his car. Yunho glanced over at you with barely concealed amusement. “Well, good morning, princess.”
“You can't see it but I'm glaring at you,” you grunted as you strapped yourself in with the seatbelt. “I can't believe you wake up before noon now.”
“Unfortunately,” he chuckled, peeling his car away from the curb. After an unsatisfactory six hours of sleep, Yunho had woken you up with the obnoxiously loud sound of your phone ringing. You managed to negotiate for him to pick you up in two hours rather than half an hour—and now here you were. You never truly considered yourself a breakfast person and you would have happily slept all the way to lunch, but even through the exhaustion, you wanted to see him as much as he wanted to see you.
He would be gone by the end of the week, after all.
You leaned your head back against the headrest. “I used to have to lure you out of bed with the smell of bacon. Remember when you ate that entire plate of raw-ass bacon and pancake batter that Mingi made?”
Yunho let out a loud laugh that made you smile. He glanced over at you. “Bro,” he sighed, shaking his head, “you know I'll eat anything. Oh my gosh, I will never forget the horrified look on your face when you came out of the bathroom and found out what happened.”
“You looked like a kicked puppy when I told you that you shouldn't have eaten raw bacon,” you snorted. You'd felt so awful that Yunho was such a good eater who didn't complain; he didn't have any negative side effects afterward, thankfully, but you swore to never let Mingi in the kitchen or to let Mingi feed Yunho ever again, so long as you lived.
There was a café a few minutes’ drive from your apartment complex that the two of you liked to go to. It was a little hole in the wall, located on the second floor above a pet shelter, and the entrance could only be accessed through the stairs in the next-door alleyway.
Yunho adjusted the beanie over his bangs and you shifted your sunglasses up to the top of your head as you entered the establishment. There were a few people seated in the area to the right, but something you liked about this place was its hidden gem quality. (And the drinks and food they served, of course.)
“Hi, welcome in!” the barista behind the counter called before ducking behind the espresso machine. “Give me two seconds, and I'll be right with you.”
“No worries, take your time,” Yunho chirped back as he scoured the menu, eyes squinting and tongue darting out to wet his lips.
You had a general idea of what you wanted already, and you let Yunho know what it was before slipping off into the restroom.
By the time you emerged from the back hallway where the washrooms were, Yunho had finished ordering and was standing by one of the open two-seater tables by the far window with the soft autumn sunlight painting over his features. For a second, you stood at the opening of the hallway, just admiring him. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep making you envision the sunlight dancing around him as he sat down in one of the seats.
Heat rushed up your neck as your eyes met across the café. Gazes locked, you stood frozen, but a smile bloomed on your best friend's face like the coming of spring. It was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen.
And then he made a face, cocking his head to the side like a puppy with a question. 'Why are you just standing there?’ he seemed to ask.
You shook yourself out of whatever strange daze you'd slipped into, then walked over to join him.
“You okay?” he asked as you took the seat across from him, a teasing lilt to his voice, yet there was still concern in the curve of his mouth.
You waved said concern away. “Yeah. I think I'm still waking up or something.”
“Ah,” he nodded in understanding. He frowned. “What time did you go to sleep last night?”
“Like… some time past two.” On cue, you let out a large yawn, lifting your sleeve up to cover your mouth. “It's okay. I'll just sleep early tonight or something. One of the other TAs got into an accident, so we just had to do some make-up work and I just happened to get home late as it was.”
You could already see the guilt manifest on his face for waking you up, and you were swift to add, “I'll be fine with food and coffee, so 's alright. What about you? How'd you sleep last night?”
“I slept decently,” he replied, leaning forward to rest his cheek against his fist. “I didn't end up dropping the deluxe album, so it was a little more restful than—”
Your brain took a second to catch up. The… the deluxe album… oh. Your eyes went from half-mast to wide open. “You—you didn't release the deluxe? Sorry, I was so busy yesterday that I didn't check my socials.”
“Don't worry about it,” he said with a sheepish smile. “But yeah, I told my manager that I still wasn't ready to release it to the public just yet. I don't know when I'll postpone it to, but it probably won't come out until while I'm on tour.”
Ah. There was that disappointment settling in the pit of your stomach again. This wasn't about you, but why did it seem like he was avoiding your eventual listening to this song? He was almost always sending you audio files without prompting, so what made this one different?
Nonetheless, it wasn't your song. You would respect Yunho's privacy if he wanted to keep this one to himself and his friends.
You unconsciously rubbed your arm. “Oh okay. Yeah, I mean—take your time, Yun. I'm glad you don't feel pressured to release it when you aren't ready.”
His expression softened to something tender that made your chest feel fuzzy. “You'll listen to it soon, I promise.”
The barista called out Yunho's order number, and your friend stood up to go retrieve it. You sighed as you fiddled with the sleeve of your shirt and peered over your shoulder as a pair of newcomers asked him for his autograph and a picture. You watched the pleasant smile spread on Yunho's face as he conversed with them as easy as breathing air, alongside the faint blush over his cheekbones.
You didn't know what had gotten into you this morning.
“No, no. You have to loop it through this piece here—yeah, there you go.”
You were so concentrated on following Hongjoong's directions that you didn't even register the sound of Yunho's front door opening and closing. Hongjoong clicked his tongue and scooted closer so he could direct your hands and the crochet hook himself.
“Uhm… hey?”
Both yours and Hongjoong's heads whipped up at the sound of Yunho's confusion. He stood at the entrance to the living room area where, scattered all around you and Hongjoong, were clothes, toiletries, and other essentials laid out for Yunho to throw into his bags.
Tonight marked the evening before Yunho and the team were to set off on the Youth World Tour. Tomorrow, they would fly out sometime in the afternoon, which meant that you would have time to send them off before heading to work and class. However, because you hadn't seen Yunho since this past Saturday when he dragged your ass out of bed for breakfast, you invited yourself over to his apartment to oversee his packing. Hongjoong just so happened to be swinging by Yunho's apartment and you asked if he was up for an impromptu crocheting lesson.
Hongjoong arrived some time while Yunho ran out to the Chinese place down the block to grab dinner, and the two of you had been hunched over the ball of yarn and hook ever since.
“Oh, you're back!” you exclaimed. In your distracted state, Hongjoong took the opportunity to take the crochet piece from you and subtly fix the mistakes you made.
Yunho's brows creased, eyes darting from you to Hongjoong as he slowly placed the takeout bags on the semi-cleared coffee table. “Yeah… Joong, when did you get here?”
You leaned forward to help clear off the rest of the coffee table and to also assist in unpacking all of the takeout containers. Yunho shucked the baseball cap he was wearing off to the side, carding a hand through his dark locks.
“Like… seven minutes ago,” he replied cheekily. His mouth curled into something mischievous as he locked eyes with Yunho. “I can leave, though, if you wanted to be alone—”
“Hyung—”
“I'm messing with you,” he snickered as he handed you the yarn and hook. “I only came by to drop off the emergency backup files hard drive and to give Yn-ie a sneak peek of her crocheting lessons to come.”
(Yunho's eyes narrowed a millimeter. Yn-ie?)
You set the unfinished crochet square down on the couch to walk Hongjoong to the door. “Are we still on for tomorrow, by the way?”
“What's tomorrow?” Yunho twisted around where he was seated on the floor to watch you and Hongjoong make your way to the front door.
“You,” said Hongjoong with raised eyebrows at your best friend, “are going on a plane with everyone else. Because I'm not leaving until the day after tomorrow, Yn and I are bonding over lunch after we see you all off.”
You and Hongjoong finished up finalizing plans in the doorway, followed by amiable farewells. Yunho called out a “good night” to his friend as Hongjoong slipped out the door, and left you and him to the apartment by yourselves.
You claimed the spot on the floor next to him and accepted the pair of wooden chopsticks he extended to you. “I'm sorry if I wasn't supposed to invite him in. I probably should've asked,” you said sheepishly as you snapped the chopsticks apart.
“Oh, no, he's been over quite a few times, so it's all good,” he replied swiftly. “I just didn't expect you two to be so close.” He added a laugh at the end that sounded more nervous to him than it was supposed to.
“We've been texting back and forth, but I guess so. Nothing like the two of you,” you jested, lifting your eyebrows up and bumping your elbow against his.
Yunho grinned. “What's that supposed to mean?”
“You guys spend all that time together in the studio—WHA—NO! Keep those hands to yourself!” You shrieked, rolling out of the way to dodge his hands that threatened to tickle you into submission. Yunho had thrown his head back in a carefree laugh, a beautiful expression in itself, that had you reciprocating.
When you were sure he wasn't going to attack you (affectionately), you scooted back over to your original spot next to him. He smiled to himself at the sidelong glance you casted him, and he went and grabbed one carton of rice for himself and the other for you.
“Thank you for dinner, by the way,” you told him as you opened up your carton, his somehow already opened and spilling over with food.
You once again caught him with his mouth full, and Yunho swallowed the bite of food he had before replying. “Yeah, man. Of course.”
“I swear that I will definitely get the next meal we have—”
“Yn.” He bumped the back of his hand against your arm to draw your attention to him. “You literally were the one to make sure I made it out of college alive, like, I can never thank you enough for how much you did for me then and continue to do for me now.”
You swallowed, suddenly blown back by the way he looked at you right now. “I did it because I care about you, Yun. It's not something I expect to be repaid for.”
“I know,” he said with a nod, lips pulled into a tender smile that made your stomach do flips. This was the look no one else got to see from him. Sure, he could fill stadiums of people who would see his big, bright grin that shone brighter than the sun, but… but this one, this smile, was yours. “That goes the same toward this meal, okay?”
Yunho notched his finger under your chin and tilted your head up slightly to meet his eyes. “Don't worry about it.”
You set your carton of rice and chopsticks on the table, he copied your movements, and you wrapped each other in your mutual embraces. The startling realization that you wouldn't see him for longer than a week from tomorrow onward rushed toward you like the coming of a tide to shore. Before you knew it, the water was up to your knees, and you—what were you going to do without him here?
“I miss you already,” you whispered.
You felt him squeeze you tighter, nose pressed against the side of your neck. “I won't be gone too long.” A promise.
“Thank god Seonghwa and Wooyoung can cook.” At the sound of his snort from above your head, you squawked out in your defense, “Who else is gonna make you bacon and pancakes in the morning when you’re dead tired?”
“Hey! I can fry bacon, I’ll have you know!”
You pulled away from him so he could see the look of pure disbelief on your face. “Okay, rockstar. I believe you.”
He scrunched his nose up at you. “That’s not very convincing.”
“I’m glad we’re on the same page.”
Yunho scoffed, reaching over to flick your nose. You let out a sound of indignation and rubbed your nose, a scowl on your face at Yunho’s very pleased expression. And even if you were currently conspiring on how to get back at him, you couldn’t help but resolve something right that second—you would do everything in your power to see his show in two weeks’ time—to see Yunho in two weeks’ time.
The thing about cheap plane tickets was that the cheaper you bought them, the less “amenities” that it came with. The one you’d purchased specifically for two weeks in the future did not allow you a refund. This meant that if something were to arise, you would be a good several hundred dollars poorer, and your plans to surprise Yunho at his show would fall completely through the floor.
Good thing you weren’t about to let that happen, right? …Right?
“You’re sick.” Those were your roommate Trinity’s first words to you as you stumbled out of your bedroom and found her perched on one of the stools at the kitchen counter. She fixed you with an unimpressed look as she stirred around her morning coffee.
“I’m not” —your own response was cut off by one very untimely cough into your elbow. You wrinkled your nose at the metallic taste at the back of your throat. Great— “sick.”
“And I’m Oprah,” she deadpanned.
“You could be.” Did you really sound as much like a dying walrus as you thought you did? Holy shit.
She stood up from her stool, setting her coffee cup on the counter, then walked over to you to direct you back into your room. “I’m not permitting you exit from this apartment until you're better. Back to bed with you.”
“But—”
“No buts! If you wanna still be able to fly by the end of this week, then you have to get better, Yn.”
You really, unfortunately, could not argue with that. Nearly a week and a half had passed since Yunho started touring. Opening night had been a massive success, as you’d seen the broadcast and read the reviews on social media. In the concert photos and videos slowly being released online, there was no doubt in your mind that Yunho belonged onstage. He was radiant as a diamond in each depiction of him, and he sounded better and better each night.
Suffice to say, you were beyond proud and happy for him.
In order to make your surprise successful, you informed Yunho’s team of your plans so they could help you get into the concert once you arrived. Your part consisted mainly of finishing all of your work ahead of schedule so you weren’t swamped when you got back. It was nearing the end of the term, meaning there was lots to grade and study, but when you had a goal, you were determined.
The only downside was that, between the long days and nights of work, your body couldn’t fight against the swift rush of early winter air that swept through the city in the past week. Your working hours stretched out longer and longer until your body just… gave up. Or at least, it was giving up.
After calling in sick to your workplace, you crashed back into bed for what you hoped to be a restful nap. Maybe when you woke up, this would all just turn out to be a 24-hour fever.
(It was not a 24-hour fever.)
You didn't even know what time it was when you woke up groggy and your head pounding like there was an active construction site taking place in your skull. Your bedroom was dark, and the world outside your window was also dark. The sound of your phone ringing drilled into your cranium, and you groaned as you felt around your mess of blankets and sheets for wherever that damned thing was—
“Hello?” you croaked into the receiver when you finally grabbed ahold of your phone.
There was a pause on the other end, and you were about to ask who it was when they responded. “Oh my god. You're sick.”
Your heart leapt into your throat at the sound of your best friend's voice and you shoved your face into the pillow. “I'm not sick.”
“Yn, sweetheart, you literally have the sexy sick voice.”
“You think I'm sexy?” you asked in a drowsy, unwell daze. “But anyways, I'm not” —you lifted your face into your elbow in time to practically hack out your lungs. You groaned. “Okay, maybe I am sick.”
Could things get any worse?
You could hear the frown in his voice. “You sound like my worst nightmare.”
“Am I sexy or your worst nightmare? You need to pick an adjective.” You whimpered as you struggled to pull yourself up into a sitting position.
“At least I know it did nothing to that attitude of yours,” he laughed. He sobered for a moment when he heard you groan as the blood rushed to your head. “Hey, do you have meds with you? I can order some and have them there in half an hour.”
You waved him off, even though he wouldn't be able to see. “No, it's okay. I should have taken an ibuprofen before I crashed. I'm sure we've got extra Nyquil around here somewhere…”
You attempted to stand up, a swear falling from your mouth as the vertigo hit you and sent you tumbling back down onto the edge of the bed.
“Yn, I'm sending you medicine—and dinner. That one bistro near your apartment is still open, right? I'll let Trinity know that deliveries are on the—Yn?”
You lifted your head and broke out of your return to unconsciousness. “Hm? Sorry… I did not hear anything you just said.” You rubbed your hand down your face and scooped your phone up to make your way out of your room. You somehow made it to the door, and you leaned against the doorjamb as you pushed out into the dark hallway. “You don't have to send anything, Yun. Trinity's studying for her law school finals, so I don't wanna bother her. Plus…”
You opened up the medicine cabinet in the bathroom and bit back a sigh of disappointment. No cold medicine. There was pain medication, at least, so that should hopefully help you fall asleep again.
At your lack of words, Yunho asked, “No medicine?”
“No, I have some medicine,” you countered. “Just—not the right ones.” Before you could swallow any pills, you hacked out another lung into your elbow; you swore your coughs were sounding worse and worse.
“You know what? I'm flying home—”
You slammed the pill bottle on the bathroom counter. “Don't—what? Yunho, do not fly home. It's literally just a little” —you coughed— “cold. You have another show in two days. If you show up on my doorstep, I'm not opening the door.”
From the silence on his end, you knew he wasn't in total agreement with you. Maybe the bottle slamming was a little much, but his statement had surprised you. It didn't make sense for him to drop everything for you when you were experiencing something so trivial as a cold.
Not unkindly, you said to him, “I appreciate the concern, but you have bigger things to worry about and care about.”
“You will always be the most important thing I care about.”
His admission was so sincere that your heart gave a violent palpitation in your chest. You struggled to swallow, and it wasn't just because your throat was sore. “And I feel the same way about you,” you murmured, “but I can take care of myself, okay? I'll be back to normal in no time.”
You heard a sigh from his end. “I know; you're right. I just… wish I was there with you right now.”
You could understand that—it was how you felt. But some things couldn't be helped, and Yunho needed to be where he was and you needed to be where you were. You could hold down the fort while he was gone taking over the world by storm.
You closed the bathroom door to give an extra barrier between your voice and where Trinity was studying in her room. After knocking back a couple painkillers, you seated yourself on the floor with your back against the bathtub and your knees pulled up to your chest. “You know what's kind of ironic?” You coughed into your elbow and wrestled down another one bubbling up in your throat. You shouldn't have been speaking so much, but you could deal with the repercussions later. “I think I freaked out when you said you were going to fly home, not just because that's insane, but also because I was going to surprise you by flying out to your show in a couple days.”
He sucked in a breath. “You were gonna come surprise me?”
“Yeah,” you muttered, swiping at your nose and tucking your chin to your knees. Then you had to go and screw it all up, and you couldn't even get your money back. You pretty much accepted that you weren't going to be better by the time the day rolled around, especially not for travel. “I'm sorry I couldn't come see you.”
“No, don't be sorry,” he cooed. “I'm—I’m really sorry you're sick and I'm sad you couldn't make it, but… but think of it this way, hm? As soon as you get better, I'll fly you out to whatever city I'm in and we can hang out and you can come to the concert. All you have to do is get better for me.”
You didn't know if your schedule would allow after this setback, but you were going to remain optimistic. With a small glimmer of hope peering through your chest, you replied, “Okay.”
“Okay,” he said, and you could hear the fond smile in his voice.
“By the way,” you began, and had to clear your throat from how congested it was getting. Maybe some hot tea would do you good. You clambered to your feet to get out of this bathroom and do just that. “Was there a reason you called originally or was it just to say hi?”
A beat of hesitation passed between your question and his answer. “Ah…” There was a wince in his voice, “I, uhm, called because I wanted to know if you'd seen something online, but obviously you haven't 'cause you were asleep, but…”
Seen something online? Your movements paused. Had someone posted something about Yunho? “What is it, Yun?” Who's ass did you need to beat?
“Seonghwa hyung found out that someone leaked the hidden track online a few hours ago.”
You leaned your cheek against your palm, eyebrows knitting together. “Shit, dude. I'm so sorry,” you said with a frown. That meant some rando on the internet had hacked into someone's files and leaked the song.
A sharp exhale from Yunho's end. “Yeah, I dunno. We're working on getting it taken down right now, but in the event it can't be done soon enough, I think I'm just gonna release the deluxe version in a couple hours.”
It seemed by his response that it wasn't the hacking that was his primary concern. Leaked, unreleased songs happened to every major artist in the industry, and it had most definitely happened to Yunho before this. But this time… this time felt different. You knew how hesitant he was to release this, and having the track get released to the public on terms that weren't his? Well, that just wasn't fair.
“You don't,” you said softly, reaching for a mug in the top cabinet to plop your tea bag into, “have to release it officially right now. You can still wait until you're comfortable.”
You heard sounds of shuffling on his end, followed by the sound of a door opening. You thought you heard Yeosang's voice as he murmured something to Yunho. The exchange was swift, but it reminded you that your time with your best friend here was limited.
“Do you need to go?” you asked, trying to cover up your hope that he didn't have to with nonchalance.
He hummed. “It's okay, I have a few minutes left. They want me to 'okay’ a couple things out on set, but that can wait. Uhm… as for what you said about releasing it—I,” he sighed, “I think this was the push I needed to finally drop it, y'know? I think either way I was going to be scared for—for people to hear it—for you to hear it. But uhm… yeah. That's all I wanted to say. I think it'll probably be released whenever you wake up.”
You poured the hot water of your tea bag, setting the kettle down gently. Letting the steam rise up to help clear your congestion, you could finally think a little clearer now. “I'm sorry this didn't happen on your terms.”
“I appreciate that. I hope you like the song—I… I really hope you like the song.”
A smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “I'm going to like the song, rockstar. You have nothing to worry about, I promise.”
He let out a small laugh and the sound of his happiness, however big or small, made your chest feel heavy. “I’ve missed you so much,” he rasped out. “So much.”
You pressed your forehead to your fist, willing the prickling feeling of tears at bay. “I wish I was there—I’ve wished I was there with you the moment you left. But I'm so, so proud of you. I know I've said this before, but you belong on that stage, Yunho. I'll be there… I'm always there in spirit.”
“You can't say that and expect me not to fly my ass home right now.”
You sputtered out a laugh, which was probably a bad idea, because it led to an utter disaster of a coughing fit. When you finally managed to get a reign on things, you picked up your mug of tea and took a couple ginger sips. It was still piping hot, but whatever scalding temperature it was at somehow soothed your throat and your head.
You set the cup down. “Again, I'll be there in no time, I promise.”
“You swear on your life?”
You sighed, but you pressed your lips into a smile. “I swear on my life.”
Yunho's departure from this call was imminent, and so you made further promises to get plenty of rest and to take care of yourself. You only did so when he promised to do the same for himself. Just after you both hung up, you received a text message from him: Stay up for five more minutes!! The delivery's almost there.
You huffed out a rough-sounding laugh, and bit your tongue around a smile. Of course he had still ordered you stuff. You shook your head to settle on one of the kitchen stools to nurse your tea and wait for the delivery to get here.
When the driver was safely out of bounds of your door, you poked your head out into the hallway to grab the paper bags seated on your doorstep. You had only expected medicine and maybe dinner, but not only were there cold medicines, orange juice, and hot soup from the bistro down the street, but there was a bouquet of flowers there, too.
Butterflies fluttered in your stomach as you pulled everything into the safety of your apartment. Damn Jeong Yunho and his gestures. It didn't mean anything—they were just Get Well Soon flowers, but why did you kind of wish they were more than that?
The Youth album's fourteenth track entitled your space hit the charts at number two. By the time you woke up, still sick as hell, the track had been officially released for about eight hours. You rolled over in bed to guzzle down half a bottle of water and cold medicine, then grabbed your phone.
It seemed that social media blew up while you were asleep. The deluxe drop was trending under a couple different tags, and based on initial skims, you were happy to report that most had everything good to say about it.
Though, some of the commentary made you pause. He has to be seeing someone, said one user. Look at these lyrics. These could only be produced by a man in love.
You had to swipe out of the app at that point. Instead, you went over to yours, Yunho's, and Mingi's group chat together where Mingi and Yunho had waged a meme war while you were asleep after Mingi wished you a “Get Better Soon” message. You sent back your own meme in response and opened your music streaming app to find track fourteen.
The boys would probably all be asleep by now, so they wouldn't respond any time soon.
You found your space exactly where you thought it would be, at the very bottom of the deluxe album. You sat yourself up against your headboard, plugged your earbuds in, then hit play.
If only you knew how much it would rock your world.
Hongjoong was never wrong about his hunches. It had been about a week and a half since you came down with an awful cold and couldn't make it to your intended surprise show, and slightly less than that since the deluxe album dropped. Even before the tour started, life was a whirlwind, but now that the tour was only ramping up further from this point, it had been nothing short of a total rush.
Different cities every week, at least two nights a city—all of it took a toll on both the staff and artist involved. Hongjoong's hunch, however, regarded the artist in particular as he watched said artist keep his smile up to say goodnight to the remainder of the stadium workers who lingered for cleanup. Yesterday was their last show date in this city, and today, Yunho and his team had come by to help load everything up for transport to their next destination. Tomorrow, they would fly out and be in the next city to begin preparing for the next round.
But as Yunho began making his way toward the exit where Hongjoong was waiting for him, it was impossible to miss the immediate exhaustion that flooded his features. He carded a hand through his hair as he checked his phone, then pocketed it in the back pocket of his pants.
“Hey,” Yunho nodded to Hongjoong as he met him at the exit and they both walked out into the chilly evening together. There was already a car waiting at the curb to take them back to their hotel—there was still so much that needed to be done before they left for the airport tomorrow.
“Hey,” he said back. “Everything okay?”
Yunho glanced over at him. “Huh? Oh, yeah. I'm fine; just tired. I think it's a good thing I started packing before we came here earlier,” he mused. For him to pack early? A miracle.
Hongjoong bobbed his head in understanding. “Yeah, I get that, but that's not really—you know you can be honest with me, right? I know this has all been… a lot.” And Hongjoong would understand; he had been in the public eye for so long now, and all of that could be so incredibly draining. From catering to fans and journalists and sponsors, it could be difficult finding himself amongst all that mess.
Plus, Yunho had the added bit of being away from home for a very long time. From what Hongjoong understood, Yunho only used to tour relatively close to home, and when it was farther, it was during his school breaks. He also knew that you were an integral part of Yunho's sanity, and that even before he reached this level of fame, you were his rock, his anchor, his ground control.
Being away from you for so long was beginning to show. When Hongjoong brought it up offhandedly to Mingi, Mingi was swift to agree.
“I” —Yunho began as he slipped into the passenger seat and Hongjoong into the back of the car. He murmured a soft greeting to the driver before strapping himself in with a seatbelt. “It definitely has been hard,” he admitted with a sigh. “I don't know, Joong. You know that rush you get while onstage, but it just comes crashing down a couple hours later? Like the adrenaline leaves you all at once and all you crave for is home?”
Hongjoong pursed his lips, watching Yunho lean the side of his head against the window as he watched the world pass by. “Yeah, I do,” he said quietly. “The moments between all the rush and excitement, you're no longer distracted from how much it all is.”
A nod. “Yeah.”
“You miss her?” It was less of a question and more so a statement. Hongjoong's hunches were never incorrect. It was both a blessing and a curse.
Yunho's quiet was answer enough.
Hongjoong played around with the back of his phone case. He knew you had listened to the song—he’d asked Yunho and you'd texted Hongjoong, too. Yunho reported that you gushed about the song and affirmed him in all his choices and lyricism as always, but he was certain that you didn't get it. But when you had run to Hongjoong questioning your own feelings and if Yunho had been scared to tell you if he was in love with someone, Hongjoong could confidently say that you did get it, just not one hundred percent.
There was still miscommunication in the message, but he knew that was only something that the two of you could sort out.
“Have you guys talked since last week?”
“Yeah, we have. She's been…” He pushed a breath out of his mouth, “She's been working her ass off trying to make up for the amount of time she was sick. I don't even know how she isn't getting sick again. I mean—all the shit she has to weather through—I wish I could help.”
And he couldn't, not like how he wanted to, not from so far away. Maybe that was what was eating him up inside the most, besides the fact he believed his feelings to be unrequited.
The car pulled up to the back entrance of the hotel Yunho and his team were staying at for the time being. The two of them thanked the driver on their way out, and they were swiftly greeted by employees coming out of the back for their breaks.
When they reached the warmth of their hotel floor's hallway, Yunho said to Hongjoong, “I miss her so much.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his Youth World Tour hoodie, eyes lined in silver. “I worry about her so much, too. I'm sure she worries just as much about me and I know that she's more than capable of taking care of herself—’cause god, she was the one who kept me afloat all these years, and I—”
I love her.
He slapped his key card against the reader and shoved into his hotel room with Hongjoong trailing after with a sympathetic frown on his face.
“It just feels wrong sometimes when I can't be with her. Is that crazy?”
Hongjoong settled a warm hand on Yunho's shoulder as the latter sat down on the edge of his bed. “It's not crazy,” he said. He'd felt like that about a person, once upon a time. After everything Hongjoong had gone through with his last relationship, one might think he didn't believe in love, but he was still clawing for it. He wanted something that he could see manifesting between you and Yunho. He wanted to help you reach that.
He sighed and sat down next to him. “It's completely valid to feel this way, y'know? She's been a huge part of your life and your passions, and for you to see all this without her seems incomplete.”
Yunho nodded. “Yeah.”
“You can go home whenever you want, you realize that?” Hongjoong asked. “We have time built into each week to give you rest days, man. We can make that work.” It might be a little tiring for so much travel, but one trip back wouldn't hurt, especially when it could help his mental state more than simply powering through.
“I know,” he replied. “I don't… I just feel like I want her to see that I can do this, that she didn't put her trust and energy into someone who would fall so fast—”
“Do you seriously believe she would think about you that way?”
Yunho's expression shuddered, and he let out a shaky breath as he shook his head.
Hongjoong arched his brow. “Exactly. She would never fault you for needing a break. Being human is not a sign of weakness, Yunho. She's your best friend—I think she has more forgiveness and compassion for you than that.”
Yunho swallowed. Of course what Hongjoong said was right. You wouldn't look at him any different if he needed a break; it was just a thing about being kinder to himself. But sometimes it was hard to put that into perspective, and perhaps he just needed someone to do that for him.
With no good choice made without a decent night of sleep, Hongjoong bid Yunho goodnight.
As soon as Hongjoong slipped out of his friend's room, he sighed and mentally calculated what time it would be where you were. You should have been awake.
And awake, you definitely were.
You would be lying if you said you hadn't been listening to the song your space on repeat for the past week and a half. Even as you sat in one of the campus dining halls doing work and eating your crappy sandwich for lunch, your headphones were spilling with your best friend's gorgeous croons.
You questioned everything at the same time. You'd figured out two days after you first heard it that you were in love with your best friend.
The lyrics had resonated with you, and you had come to the startling conclusion that you felt the song's meaning toward Yunho.
All you could do since was freak the fuck out and tell Yunho that the song was incredible. You didn't know who the song was for or about, but you knew it was important to him because of how scared he was to release it. Had he been scared to tell you he was in love with someone? Why?
Sometimes you found yourself tearing apart the lyrics like a rabid trash panda.
I couldn't ever leave you behind
They couldn't ever take me away
Baby, if I could pick a heaven on Earth
It would be anywhere in your space.
You broke away from your work and sandwich to the sound of a text notification. Suddenly remembering how loud your vibration ringer was, you silenced it, then opened up Hongjoong's message: I know you're probably moping and eating a shitty sandwich—what. You glanced down at said shitty sandwich that sat in its equally sad plastic container. How did he know…? —and he's not doing well either. He's miserable, dude.
Everything slowed for you, and it was no longer about your so-called epiphany. You felt your entire body and mood drop at the news. You'd seen the social media posts commenting on Yunho's stage presence and brightness never fading, but there were always the one or two who noted something along the lines of him seeming too tired or that perhaps he didn't have enough stamina for this.
The latter comments made your blood pressure spike, but there was, unfortunately, some truth to it. You just didn't think it was this bad.
You pressed the backs of your knuckles against your eyes. You hadn't been doing the best, clearly, and you knew that it was largely because you missed him. Being away from someone you considered home for so long meant that you were bound to get homesick.
You didn't know what to do. There was so much work to be done, and you had just caught up. On top of that, you were short a few hundred dollars from the last time you tried to fly out.
Another message buzzed in from Hongjoong: I think you guys really need to talk.
The organ in your chest rattled around in its cage; it longed to be with its partner. You were starting to understand that now.
The song playing in your ear was slowly petering out, and all you could hear was his voice.
And I've kinda been wanting to ask if we can
Skip the 'why’ and get to the 'our’
Because baby, I love your space
But I love ours more.
Yunho had not flown home that week. Some emergencies had sprung up as soon as they landed in their new city, and all bets were off to be able to go home. All that he could do was buckle down and get comfortable. Even so, he knew how to make the best out of a situation.
As he stood at the very center of the main stage, he held a hand up to shield his eyes from the bright spotlights shining down on him now.
“Is that better?” Hongjoong's voice echoed throughout the near-empty stadium.
From one of the balconies, Jongho cupped his hands up around his mouth to scream at the top of his lungs, “LOOKS GOOD, HYUNG!”
“Jongho,” Yunho chuckled into his microphone, “did someone not get you a headset, bro?”
A beat passed, and then, “NO.”
Mildly amused laughter cropped up around the stadium in reaction to the youngest's troubles. It was little moments like these where Yunho could forget for one second just how tiring all of this amounted to become. His smile was genuine, and his tongue darted out to trace his teeth—
“Jeong Yunho, put your damn tongue away.”
Yunho's eyes went as wide as saucers, his expression morphing into something like childlike surprise as he immediately retracted his tongue into his mouth. But in the split second it took his brain to process the words that had been said, he also recognized the voice who'd said them. From the big screen, any one of the staff members or you could see the way his face stretched into the widest grin possible, his eyes lighting up like spotlights.
He lifted the mic in his hand up to his lips as he tilted his eyes up to the sound and lighting box far up in the stands. From where he was onstage, he could just make out the shape of you in the box next to Hongjoong—the sneaky bastard. “Ln Yn, get your ass down here right now,” he said, hardly able to contain the excitement in his voice.
You didn't need to be told twice.
You raced down the stadium steps from the box, your legs carrying you as fast as humanly possible without falling. Yunho leapt off the stage and left his microphone behind to meet you in the middle.
Somewhere between the pit and mezzanine, you flew into his arms and he caught you, spinning you around. The glee on both of your faces was enough to make everyone stop and appreciate the tangible love before them. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and you pursed your lips to subdue them. You squeezed him as tight as you possibly could; his arms held you firmly around your waist, head tucked into the joint between your neck and shoulder.
“You're here,” he croaked with tears in his voice now. You heard him sniffle, and only held him tighter. He felt the added strength and let out a sob. “I missed you so much.”
Oh, for fuck's sake—you started bawling like a baby. “I” —you sucked in a breath— “I heard—so I booked a flight—”
This only caused his body to tremble harder. “Oh god… Yn… I…”
You sniffled and brushed your hand over the back of his head in an attempt to get both of you to calm down. “Hey, don't worry about it, okay? It doesn't matter; you know I'd drop everything for you.” When his only response was to press his wet eyes against the heat of your neck, you blinked away your tears. “Plus, I missed you, too, rockstar.”
Yunho let out a watery laugh, gently setting you down onto solid ground. You both looked like a hot mess and a half: snot dripping out of your noses, eyes red and drowned in salty tears. The adrenaline rush from the surprise had trickled out of your system, but your heartbeat continued to rattle around in your chest with reckless abandon. His messy, damp hair; the wobbly shine in his dark brown irises; the way he smiled at you with that something on his face… he was everything to you.
“Glad to know the feeling's mutual,” he said, nudging you with his elbow, then pawing at his eyes to wipe the tears away.
“Good to see you, Yn!” San piped up from the stage with his microphone. He had picked up Yunho's microphone from where he'd abandoned it to come meet you.
You laughed, lifting a hand up in a wave. “Hey, San! Hi everyone!”
Chimes of greetings from all the other boys and staff members cropped up from all around the arena.
Yunho brushed a hand through his hair and wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “Did all you fuckers know about this?”
Mingi was perched on the ledge of the stage. His grin seemed to be the widest after watching your reunion. He tugged the microphone attached to his earpiece closer to his mouth. “Don't tell us you're not grateful now.”
“Nah, I'm just surprised Wooyoung was able to keep his mouth shut.”
Wooyoung didn't need a microphone to let you all know of his offense. You could hear his squawk of disapproval all the way from where you stood—crazy how acoustics worked.
Yunho heard your laugh from beside him, and he glanced over at you to catch the fond look on your face. He hadn't stopped smiling for the past five minutes, and it didn't matter how much his cheeks hurt. You were here, and it was all that mattered.
“This place is…” you marveled as the two of you began walking down the stairs together toward the stage. The backs of your hands brushed against one another, breaths away from touching, from lacing, from being together. “Huge. It's so much more…” You felt your lip wobble again. “I don't even know why I'm getting emotional. It's all you dreamed of as a kid, wasn't it?”
The tears pricked at the edges of his eyes again, and the two of you looked back at each other with equally wet eyes and bright smiles. “Yeah,” he nodded, swiping at his eyes.
“You deserve it.”
“All thanks to you,” he said with a sniffle, hugging you to him again. You were solid and real beneath his fingertips—he was so happy you were here. This was where you belonged; none of this felt right without you.
When you finally reached the bottom of the pit, Yunho had to run back up to the stage, and you went through the aisles until you found your perfect seat. It wasn't long before Mingi bounded up the steps to come join you. He brought you in for a long awaited hug of his own.
“What's good, Yn?” he asked with a soft chuckle as he pulled away and settled in the seat to your left.
Just ahead, Yunho appeared onstage with his microphone in hand, and the two of you lifted your hands in sync to wave to your best friend.
You adjusted your bag in your lap, and clasped a hand on Mingi's shoulder. “This is surreal. Does it feel surreal?”
Mingi's lips pulled into a smile as nostalgia made his vision cloudy. “It does, every single time. I'm glad you're finally here—we’re all very happy that you're here now.”
You bumped your head against his shoulder and let it rest there for a moment, and his hand came up to gently pat your head to tell you he understood. You didn't need to say anything.
For the next hour and a half, you and Mingi got to watch Yunho and everyone else run through the last of the day's lighting checks. Periodically, someone else from Yunho's personal team would come and sit with the two of you, then leave quickly when they had something else on their to-do list.
At last, when the session wrapped up and everyone was sent to go home for an early night, you rushed down to meet with Yunho again.
He waited for you to be at his side before leading you down toward backstage. “There's a couple things I need to grab in my dressing room before we can head back to the hotel.” A thought suddenly interrupted his thoughts and his eyes widened. “Do you have accommodations? Please tell me you do.”
“Don't worry—I promise I'm not sleeping on the streets,” you teased. You'd figured all of that out pretty last minute with Hongjoong and Mingi's help.
Yunho nodded, a smile coming to his face. “Okay, good. I was gonna offer my room and I could sleep on the pullout couch.”
The thought of sleeping in the same room as him made your skin warm, and if you hadn't realized your feelings for him before, you would be confused as to why you were so flustered at the thought now. It wouldn't be the first time you had a sleepover. But this would be… different. Oh lord.
The backstage hallways were scarce and dimly lit in order to save energy, but it was enough to guide you and Yunho's way to the star dressing room. You swallowed as you reached the door—the facade plastered with a pretty, gold star with his name on it—and followed him inside.
“Hey, Yun?” you asked him as you lingered by the door and he rushed around to grab his things. The room was decently spacious, and definitely larger than all the other ones from his past tours.
“Mhm?”
“Could we… talk about something?”
He glanced back over his shoulder as he threw things into his bag. “Yeah, ‘course.”
You toed at the polished ground, fingers twisting and wringing in front of you. “It’s about the song. The, uhm, the your space one.”
His movements paused. He looked up and connected gazes with you through the vanity mirror in front of him. Yunho cleared his throat and ducked his head to zip up his bag. “What—what about it?” he asked, shouldering his bag and meeting you back at the door.
He seemed unable to look you in the eyes directly now as he closed the door behind the both of you as you stepped out into the empty hallway.
“I just,” you stammered. Blood rushed up to your face and you could hear your heartbeat thundering in your ears. “I needed to know—I didn’t need to know—it’s your life and your song, and you have every right to have feelings for someone without me knowing. And I think I’m asking this for selfish reasons, but… are you seeing someone?”
The question caught him off guard, his eyes blowing wide open. “Wh—no. No, I am not seeing anyone. Why do you ask?”
“The song—I know I shouldn’t be indulging in what people on the internet say, much less in the opinions of those who don’t even know you, but I couldn’t help but agree with them when they say the lyrics, the—the feeling of the song—you’re in love, and I” —your breath caught in your throat as you choked on the words lodged there: And I am in love with you.
Yunho pushed an exhale out of his mouth and stepped toward you. So much shone in his eyes right then, and it didn’t matter how much light there was in this damn hallway, his eyes would always glitter like twin diamonds. “I am in love with someone. Yn, I’m in love with you,” he said. “I thought that the song would make it obvious, which is why I was so scared for you to hear it, but I realize now that this was just something I should have said outright.”
Your heart fluttered in your chest and it wasn’t from the nerves anymore. God, your knees felt like buckling from the force of the tenderness in his eyes alone. “You’re—you’re in love with me?”
“I am,” he nodded. He slowly reached for your hands and clasped them within his own. “I’ve been in love with you since that day you ran out of Science Olympiad practice to come to my audition; I’ve been in love with you from the moment you yelled at me for not being ambidextrous and I had beef jerky in my mouth—”
“I did not yell at you!”
He broke out into a cheeky, yet fond grin, his hand coming up to cup the side of your face with his hand. “I’ve been in love with you for so long that I can’t imagine what life was like before I was in love with you—and yes, you did yell, but you can yell at me as much as you like, and I would still be head-over-heels for you.”
Your lip curled in on itself at all of his words, at everything he was revealing to you now. You wished you had known—oh, god, you wish you had known. You didn’t know if things would have been different, but for some reason, you had a feeling that all paths might have led here nonetheless.
You squeezed his hand between your own now. “You’re everything to me, Yunho,” you rasped out, unable to put strength behind your voice for fear of all of the emotion about to spill out. “And I’m so stupid for taking so long to figure it all out, but I’m in love with you, too, and I’d be damned if I let another day pass without you knowing that.”
Something washed over him in that moment, and he laughed, leaning over to cup the back of your neck and rest his forehead against your own. It was ridiculous, the fact that both of you were giggling and smiling at such a precipice of emotion, but it felt right.
You could feel the warmth of his breath against your lips as he murmured, “Fuck, I wanna kiss you so bad.”
“Then come kiss me, rockstar,” you said, looping your arms around his neck. You drew him down to your mouth and felt his body mold against your own. Every crevice and curve slotted so perfectly with one another, and the heavy longing in your chest slowly eased.
“You guys have been incredible for me tonight” —Yunho beamed as he walked toward the front, center stage and looped the electric guitar strap over his head to the sound of the roaring crowd— “so I've got a little surprise for you.”
One of the staff members had set out a mic stand and bottle water for him, and he approached both items to fit the microphone into place. Tonight was the Friday night concert being held in this city, and the energy was dialed to one thousand in all the best ways.
He held onto the microphone with one hand. “This song is dedicated to—written for—my best friend in the world, the love of my life, my stargirl. I'm sure you know it—you crazies debuted it at number two on the charts—this is your space.”
His smile tugged up wider at the reaction he received. If anyone in the crowd didn't know the song, they were about to fall in love.
Yunho laughed, shaking his head, as he began checking to make sure his guitar was tuned with practiced, nimble fingers. “Oh, by the way” —he pointed up at the accessory he wore, the crocheted headband holding his hair up and out of his face, with a row of stars across its band— “she made this for me. Isn't it cute?”
The stadium echoed in choruses of “aw” and cheers.
He could only duck his head with a smile, eyes twinkling with fondness and tenderness at the thought of you. You were in the crowd, but you could be up here with him in spirit. “Yeah, that was me, too.”
After you and Yunho left the stadium yesterday, hands intertwined and a new page in your relationship turned, you’d gone back to his hotel to share a restful evening in one another’s presences. You revealed later that night that you spent the four or five days you were bedridden practicing your crocheting skills until you were able to make him a headband. A row of three stars studded the length of it—stars for your rockstar.
Yunho struck his fingers down the strings of his guitar with a gentle rocking motion from his opposite hand to let the sound reverberate around the stadium. The crowd cried in love as his soulful, beautiful voice filled their ears with love of his own. And as his fans filed out of the stadium for the night and headed home, Yunho could finally return to his home. Because you were here now… no matter how far, no matter the distance, the two of you would always find a way to be in the other's space.
a/n: pls remember to reblog, comment, and send asks if you enjoyed!
summary. grief was a weird thing. it pulled tears from some, rage from others - but from heeseung, it took everything. his voice. his light. his grip on what was real. he’s haunted by childhood memories, whispered promises about the future, and a ring that never made it down the aisle. he spirals into the belief that she’ll come back… unaware that some losses aren’t meant to be survived. pairing. fiancée!heeseung x reader. mentions. angst, death, grief, slight drive to insanity, details of trauma and hospitals, insomnia, some fluff if you blink.
heeseung used to think that if he could rewind his life far enough, every important moment in his twenty-five years of living would lead to her.
he was eight when it had all started.
the afternoon sun had been way too bright for a september afternoon. it gleamed off the windows, harsh enough to make you squint as it warmed the air and shone down on the school streets. heeseung sat alone outside of his elementary school gates as he waited for his older brother to pick him up. he had his knees pulled up, chin resting on them as his backpack leaned lazily against the wall beside him.
he was humming again - it was a song he heard his older brother blasting in his room last night - although he didn’t really remember the lyrics, only the tune, the beat, the rhythm of it. he always hummed when he felt small, or alone, or when his chest ached and he didn’t know what else to do. it relaxed him in a way he didn’t know why.
just as he continued staring off at a stray leaf by the pavement, a voice cut through his internal silence.
“you sound like a sad hamster.”
his humming stopped mid-note. his head snapped up to the voice.
a girl stood in front of him. she had her hands in the pockets of her puffy jacket and a pink backpack slouching against her back. her dark hair was tied into two braids at either side of her face, loose strands sticking out and a faint streak of pink on her cheek caught the light - chalk dust, maybe, or crayon from art class. heeseung’s cheeks instantly reddened at the newfound attention he wasn’t used to.
“i’m not sad.” he mumbled softly, and he wondered if the girl even heard him from where she stood, even though there was no one else on the street besides them.
instead, she let out a tiny laugh.
“you are. like this!” she said and puffed her cheeks out dramatically, frowning exaggeratedly.
heeseung blinked up at her. he didn’t know how to answer. the girl huffed and plopped down beside him without asking, swinging her legs like it was the most natural thing in the world. she sat close to him, practically shoulder to shoulder, as if she had no awareness of personal space. heeseung didn’t say anything but his eyes turned to look at her anyway.
“you’re in my class. you sit by the window and stare outside like you’re waiting for aliens.”
“i am not.”
“you are!” she insisted, grinning, “i watch people. you’re… easy to watch. you don’t do much.”
again, he didn’t know how to respond to that. no one had ever watched him like that before, he was used to being so invisible. he was used to staying by himself, not speaking unless spoken to, especially at home - which is why he just assumed it was like that at school too. even now, he stayed silent, stayed fiddling with a loose thread on his black school pants and frowning to himself silently.
“i’m y/n.” the girl introduced when she saw how quiet he got once again. her face leaned forward to catch his eyes and she grinned from ear to ear when she saw his dark eyes meet hers. she held out her hand with a confident tilt of her chin, like this was a very serious, very official introduction.
he stared at it for a second, then shook it carefully, his much colder hand wrapping around her warmer one, “i’m heeseung.”
her smile widened, “lee heeseung. see? i know things.”
“how did you know?”
“you answer roll call like you’ve never heard your name before.” she said matter-of-factly. his ears instantly tinged pink before he could stop the embarrassment from flooding him.
she didn’t really notice as she leaned even closer, eyes squinting, “you do look like a hamster, though.”
he stiffened, “what?”
“not a bad one!” y/n said quickly, waving her hands about, “a cute one. like, a fluffy one that stores snacks in its cheeks!”
“i don’t look like a hamster.” he muttered.
y/n gasped and placed a hand over her heart, “you totally do! especially when you’re concentrating.”
she mimicked his furrowed brow, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes like she was a tiny, energetic yet dramatic critic. heeseung wondered how she was able to imitate expressions so well, and why she loved doing it so much. he wondered if that was just her way of expressing herself, or expressing that she noticed things. he didn’t know.
he should’ve been annoyed. she was disrupting his alone time, she was calling him sad and accusing him of being a hamster.
instead, a warm feeling spread through his chest.
she didn’t treat him like he was invisible. she didn’t treat him like he was fragile either, the way some teachers or his parents did. she just… approached him without thinking he was weird for being alone or having no friends.
she just talked to him.
and from that day on, she never really stopped.
every morning, y/n started sitting beside him. if someone else tried to sit next to him, she appeared out of nowhere and said, “sorry, that seat is taken.”
she started borrowing his colouring pencils without asking. she doodled tiny stars and planets in the margins of his notebook because she was interested in space and astronomy, as she’d told him. once, she drew a tiny hamster with messy hair and wrote lee hee-hamster underneath. he pretended to be annoyed, pretended to rip the page out and throw it to the side.
he stuffed the wrinkled paper into his backpack later on when she wasn’t looking.
in music class, when the teacher asked for volunteers to sing a solo, the room would go silent. heeseung felt his throat tighten. he loved singing - he sang at home, on walks, in the shower, at night in bed - but infront of people? that was an opening door he wasn’t ready to open. his hand itched to raise but he forced it down, shrunk himself further in his seat.
beside him, y/n chewed at her bottom lip in thought. her eyes subtly drifted to the boy beside her and her eyes lit up, as if this was the perfect opportunity.
her hand shot up instantly as she announced, “i’m volunteering him!” she pointed to heeseung.
his head whipped toward her, “what are you doing?!”
she leaned close, whispering with a smile, “you sing to yourself at recess. i hear you all the time.”
“you weren’t supposed to-”
“i hear everything.” she puffed her chest out proudly and heeseung deflated. his heart was pounding so hard he thought it might leap out from behind his ribs in that moment.
y/n ignored his tiny frown and the crease between his brows. she grabbed his sleeve gently, “just pretend it’s me! pretend i’m your only audience.”
with another look of hesitation, heeseung stepped up anyway. his eyes stayed locked on her the entire time, his one audience, as he started singing the song they’d been practicing. his voice was small at first but when he saw the encouragement, the pride shining in her eyes, he grew more confident. his tone adjusted, his hand tightened on the mic.
and she smiled like he was already a superstar. she clapped louder than anyone else in the room when he finished.
later on at lunch, the two of them sat on the swings together. their feet mindlessly swung in perfect sync and that’s when y/n nudged him with her shoulder. she had a tiny, proud smile on her lips.
“see? i told you you could do it. my star!”
heeseung looked down at his shoes, smiling shyly.
“you’re not allowed to stop singing.” she added on seriously and the boy looked at her, “ever. even when you’re old and wrinkly.”
“why would i be wrinkly?”
“because everyone gets wrinkly when they’re old, hamster.”
“i’m not a hamster.”
y/n laughed so loudly it echoed in their tiny section of the playground, scattering some of the birds in the trees nearby.
they both talked about the future in the dreamy ways only children could: with the stars in their eyes and dramatic aspirations heavy in their innocent hearts.
one afternoon, sunlight streamed through the tall windows of their art class, catching the dust motes in the air like tiny floating stars. most of the class was busy painting crooked houses with tiny crooked chimneys, their brushes wobbling and hands smudged with reds and yellows. heeseung sat beside y/n as he carefully filled in the roof of his own little house, trying to stay within the lines.
he was so concentrated, he didn’t even realise y/n reaching over until her elbow warmly brushed his and her voice rang out in his personal little bubble.
“when i get married, i want white roses.” she said softly, eyes completely serious.
he blinked at her, tilting his head, “why?”
“they’re pretty. they look simple and they’re not too loud.” y/n replied, gesturing with her paintbrush as if the movement could make her statement more true, “and they smell soft.”
“how can something smell… soft?” heeseung frowned as he tried to picture it, but the idea made absolutely no sense to him.
“some flowers smell loud! like fireworks!” her eyes widened as she stretched her hands out to signify how loud something could be, “but white roses smell soft and quiet. they look gentle like they’re whispering.”
he didn’t understand exactly what she meant, but he nodded anyway because he trusted her explanations - even the ones that didn’t make sense. that’s when he looked down to her painting for a second and noticed the tiny white flowers she’d drawn on the outside of her house - they were messy, mixed with tiny stems of green and brown, but they were undoubtedly white roses.
maybe they’re her favourite flower, he thought.
he smiled to himself, hidden and soft. she nudged his shoulder to grab his attention again, “what about you? what kind of wedding do you want?”
he shrugged, a little embarrassed, cheeks warming, “i… i don’t know.”
she tapped her chin with a finger and pretended to think deeply. heeseung watched her as he waited for her answer, waited for her to magically create a scene in his head, to suggest her thoughts without him asking.
“you’d look good in a black suit!” she said finally, tilting her head thoughtfully, “but not a boring one… one with shiny shoes! and a tiny flower in your pocket! did you know my appa also wore a black suit with a flower in his wedding? eomma showed me their wedding photos! they looked so young.. now they’re old and eomma doesn’t have long hair anymore… i hope i can keep my long hair after my wedding!”
“i don’t care about weddings…” heeseung muttered, feeling his ears burn and his heart twist in guilt at ruining her happy rant with his sour statement.
y/n didn’t mind. instead, she beamed happily and nudged her elbow against his in encouragement, “that’s okay! you will one day… when someone makes you nervous.”
“who would make me nervous?”
she shrugged in the most dramatic way possible, leaning her chin on her hand with the kind of cheeky grin every eight year old possessed, “maybe me.”
then she giggled - a small, airy sound that jumped out of her like bubbles, all contagious and bright - and heeseung felt it twist his stomach and swell his chest all at once. he looked at her as she continued her painting and for a moment, the paintbrush in his hand felt heavy; the colours on the page blurring and his lashes fluttering in quiet shock.
because suddenly, all he could think about were white roses.
he thought about them for the rest of the day, imagining how soft they must smell and how small, bright moments like this could somehow feel bigger than anything else in the world.
•••
by middle school, they were already known as a pair.
if someone saw y/n in the crowded hallway, heeseung wouldn’t be far behind. she moved through the hallways like she owned the place, bouncing from locker to locker with that same fearless energy she possessed when they were younger. she’d stopped braiding her hair into two pigtails and now opted for a ponytail, her long hair cascading down her back in dark waves as tiny hairs stuck out at the front.
heeseung would follow behind quietly, shoulders slightly slouched, hands in his pockets, humming under his breath - the faintest tune that he thought went unnoticed - as he watched her laugh and communicate with everyone like she was sunlight.
she noticed, of course. she noticed everything about him ever since they first met.
“you do it when you’re tired too.” she said one day, sidling up to him as he leaned against the locker beside hers, his backpack dangling loosely from one shoulder.
“do what?” heeseung glanced at her briefly. his tone was calm, casual, soft like it always was when he felt a little exposed under her gaze.
“hum.” she tilted her head, “it gets lower when you’re sad.”
he froze, “how… how can you tell?”
y/n shrugged because she really didn’t know how to answer his question. she didn’t know how she could tell either but she’d been with him for so long, she just naturally could differentiate between his normal humming and when something sounded off.
she brushed a loose strand of hair from her face and smirked like it was no big deal, “i just know. you’re loud even when you think you’re quiet.”
he wanted to argue but the words caught in his chest. he should’ve known, long ago, that her eyes had never left him. that her mind had a tiny file full of him, probably labelled as ‘hamster’ in which she stored all of his tiny habits, his mannerisms, his thoughts that she could read from just his expressions alone. even when he wanted to stay invisible, she’d always seen him.
later that week, heeseung finally told her something he’d been keeping a secret, something he was almost too scared to even think about.
“i-i want to audition to become a trainee.” his voice was small, hesitant, unsure of how she’d react.
he doesn’t know why he expected her to laugh or to tilt her head and call him silly for even dreaming about something like that.
instead, she went unusually quiet. her normal energy dimmed into a thoughtful stillness that made anxiety crawl up his neck. he fiddled with his fingers as he waited for her answer, his heart beating louder than usual in his chest as if her following words might kill him on the spot if they weren’t what he was hoping. it was as if his own body knew he cared about her thoughts, her feelings, craved her support.
after a long pause, she said simply, firmly: “you have to.”
“what?” he blinked and his mouth stuttered random non-words until he finally said properly, “what if i’m not good enough?”
her brows furrowed slightly, eyes narrowing as if trying to hold the right words in her hands, “that’s not how it works.”
“how does it work then?”
“you try.” she reached forward to place a supporting hand on his arm, “and if you fail, you try again. you just… keep trying.”
he chewed on that, uncertainty and insecurity still tugging at the edges of his stomach, “w-what if i embarrass myself?”
she leaned closer and poked his forehead gently with one finger, completely mischievous and affectionate at the same time, “then i’ll still be your fan. i was your fan first, remember?”
he stared at her even as she added on happily, “you’ll debut. i know you will, and when you do, don’t forget that i knew you before you were cool.”
he couldn’t help the small, incredulous smile that tugged at his lips at her words. her confidence and the way she said things like it was absolute fact, made even the impossible seem possible. like the world might actually bend itself just to fit her belief in him. like just her support alone could make him invincible enough to conquer anything.
and for the first time in a long time, he felt like he could breathe.
because she noticed. always. and she believed. always.
•••
high school had changed heeseung.
he grew taller. his shoulders broadened, stretching the collars of his uniforms and t-shirts. his voice had deepened into something richer, steadier, resonant in a way that made people turn their heads. his hands had grown longer, gentle enough to glide over piano keys and strum guitar strings melodically.
people started noticing him more.
girls whispered when he walked past. they lingered too long when they spoke to him randomly, tossing their hair back or laughing a little too bright. some of the boys in his class were a little wary of his unusual popularity - the way he seemed like such a quiet, soft-spoken boy yet had heads turning to eye him everywhere he went - they were unsure how to deal with him, but most of the time they just stared.
y/n noticed everything.
one afternoon, as they stood by the lockers inbetween classes with chatter buzzing around them and teens shouting and knocking shoulders, she noticed the way a small group of girls in their year eyed him. she saw the way heeseung offered them a polite smile before looking away, watched them giggle and gush over how perfect his hair was or how dreamy his smile was.
it was humorous. she nudged him softly, teasingly, with her elbow as a grin spread across her lips, “look at you, heartbreaker.”
“i’m not breaking anyones heart.” he replied sternly, almost smirking.
“not yet.” she teased, pushing past him to grab her books from her locker, “but you will.”
heeseung only rolled his eyes, though the corners of his lips twitched. deep down, all the new attention made him feel awkward and a little exposed. y/n, on the other hand, hadn’t changed at all. she was still bright, still animated, still talking with her hands as if the air itself might understand her. she still tugged on his sleeve when she wanted him to follow her somewhere, never mind if he was late to class or tired from a long morning.
high school also brought longer days. heeseung’s mornings started with the rush to catch the bus, still halfway to tying his tie or putting his blazer on, and sometimes a hurried breakfast he barely tasted. then came the evenings at the training centre, where he practiced for hours - singing, dancing, learning choreography, learning professionalism and repeating movements until his muscles ached, his voice cracked and his hands were raw from piano keys and dumbbells.
he never complained about this sudden change in his lifestyle.
yet y/n still saw it all: his stiff shoulders, how he looked like he hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday.
whenever he stayed late at the training centre, she would wait for him on the concrete steps outside, leaning against the railing with a small plastic bag of convenience store snacks.
“you forgot to eat again.” she would scold as her eyes scanned his tired face.
“i was busy.” he would murmur, tugging at the straps of his backpack.
“busy becoming famous doesn’t mean you stop being human.” she says, shoving a sandwich in his hands before he could protest. she would stand there with that stern look in her eyes she got when she wasn’t joking for once, waiting until he finally took a bit like it was the most important thing in the world. sometimes she didn’t even speak at all - just watched, thoughtful, tilting her head as she studied him.
“what?” he asked one time as they walked to his house together. he noticed her staring at him out the corner of his eye as he scarfed down a rice cake, cheeks suddenly reddening under her intense gaze.
“you don’t look like a hamster anymore.” y/n stated softly, almost to herself.
he blinked, “what do i look like then?”
“i don’t know.” she shrugged, smiling tenderly, “you’re still cute, though.”
he nearly choked on the rice cake and y/n laughed at him - the sound bubbled up like it always did, warm and happy and infectious - and it brought a tiny smile to his own lips.
winter nights were the best. they were cold but quiet as the streets dusted with white and the streetlights cast long, soft shadows over the cloud-like piles of snow. heeseung and y/n would still walk to each other’s houses together, their shoulders brushing and breath misting in little wisps of air. the world reduced to the crunch of snow beneath their shoes and the faint sound of distant traffic when it was just them.
“promise me something.” she said one night as they walked through a park near her house. her tone had gone serious beneath her usual spark - quiet like she was thinking and feeling a million things at once.
“what?”
“even if you fly really high one day, don’t disappear.” she said finally, a hint of something fragile and emotional in her voice.
heeseung frowned to himself. confusion tightened in his chest because he didn’t know why she thought that way, why she thought that he would ever want to separate them. he didn’t realise just how stern the industry he was going into was. he didn’t realise that there could be moments where she won’t always be there for him, or where she won’t physically be able to support him.
“why would i disappear?”
“because some stars get far away.” she said simply.
he looked at her. really looked at her. the streetlight caught the dots of snowflakes in her dark hair, in her lashes and in the fluffy blue scarf she had wrapped around her neck. he could see the dust of pink on her nose from the cold, the way her eyes shone like they had little lanterns in them, the way her pretty lips smiled up at him emotionally.
for the first time in a long time, he felt the weight of everything - the rehearsals, the long hours, the exhaustion - fall away.
“i’ll always look back.” he replied quietly, low but certain.
“why?”
he swallowed. the answer was simple, even if his chest felt impossibly full: because you’re my home. because you were there before anyone else. because every version of me started with you.
instead, he just said, “because you’ll always be my first fan. my first supporter.”
she smiled, satisfied.
and neither of them knew yet that all those tiny, seemingly insignificant moments would settle into his memory like seeds. they would grow there quietly, stubbornly, until years later he would hold onto them so tightly that the line between love and longing, joy and ache, would blur impossibly.
even then, amid the awkward hallways, the long nights of practice and the endless juggling of school work and training and dreams of his future, one thing remained unshakeable.
before she was his girlfriend, before she was his fiancée, she was the girl who chose him. not because he asked, not because it was convenient, not because she felt pity that he had no friends or that he kept to himself. but because, somehow, she decided he wasn’t allowed to be alone.
and he had never, not for a single second, tried to escape that choice.
•••
the start of the after.
heeseung didn’t remember when the world stopped making sense.
was it the moment his phone rang, sharp and intrusive, against the coffee table? was it the way the voice on the other end kept repeating her name, too carefully, too gently, stretching each syllable like he might break? maybe it had begun earlier on - in those invisible seconds between screeching tires and blinding headlights on a random road downtown?
or was it when she stepped out of their front door and the universe decided she wouldn’t step back in?
heeseung became quiet after that - not the kind of quiet that came with bowed heads and folded hands or with fragile sobs. if he wasn’t already quiet, he was now vacant. it was as if something essential had been scooped out of him and replaced with air.
with nothingness.
he moved through their apartment like a ghost haunting his own life. the same apartment they had signed for with shaking hands and ridiculous excitement three years ago, when she’d just gotten her first real job after graduation and he was just settling further into his idol life. the same apartment where they’d argued for forty minutes about whether beige or white curtains looked better, where they burned garlic so badly the smoke alarm screamed and they ended up eating takeaway on the kitchen floor, laughing until they teared up.
the same apartment where she used to fall asleep on the couch, curled under her favourite blanket, waiting for him to come home from practice - insisting she wasn’t tired, insisting she’d stay up even as her eyes betrayed her and he had to carry her to their bedroom.
that apartment that felt like their own little bubble of love and security and happiness… now felt like a museum.
preserved. frozen mid-life.
he didn’t throw anything away.
her shoes still sat by the door, slightly angled inwards the way she always kicked them off. there was a faint scuff on the heel of her favourite pair of sneakers - he remembered teasing her about it. she only rolled her eyes and said she’d buy a new pair next month.
next month never came.
her hair tie was still looped around the bathroom faucet, stretched from overuse. a few strands of her hair were caught in the bristles of her brush. her skincare bottles stood in perfect, deliberate order on her side of the sink, the labels facing forward like soldiers standing at attention - he recognised some of the bottles from when she’d beg to do his skincare. he hadn’t touched them. dust started to collect at the edges but he refused to wipe it away.
in the wardrobe, her clothes hung exactly as she’d left them. when he opened it, the faint scent of her perfume drifted out - something floral, soft and warm, his favourite scent in the entire world. her scent. it hit him like a physical blow everytime. sometimes he would press his face into her sweaters and inhale until his lungs burned and his eyes stung with tears, as if he could breathe her back into existence.
he stopped turning on the lights most nights.
darkness felt more honest. darkness made him feel like he didn’t have to face the empty space, or look at the reminders of her.
he would sit on the living room floor with his back against the couch, staring at the outline of furniture in the dim glow of the city outside. the refrigerator hummed. the sink pipes clicked. the traffic outside beeped lowly.
and in the quiet, he listened.
sometimes he could hear her.
he swore he heard footsteps in the hallway once - they were soft, tiny pads of her feet as she sauntered towards the living room. his head snapped in the direction of the hallway and his frantic eyes searched for her in the darkness, his heart practically in his throat. he heard the subtle creak in the loose floorboard just outside their bedroom. he heard a gentle click of the door closing. sometimes a faint rustle from the kitchen, like someone opening a cabinet.
his heart would lurch so violently it hurt. sometimes it would physically pain him so bad he had to clutch his fingers over his shirt, curl his body inward and take deep breaths as if that could ease the pain. it never did. because this pain wasn’t something on the surface - it was something ugly and hostile that had settled in the deep depths of his heart, right where she used to be.
he would be sitting on that cold floor with his head thrown back against the edge. his eyes would be hooded, heavy with unwanted sleep and his lips parted as he breathed shallow breaths, huffing through the ache. he couldn’t register anything as the dreadful silence pinned in on his ears, except that one voice that would call out to him.
“heeseung.” it’s merely a whisper. barely a murmur. but it’s there - her playful voice, a little scolding in it and his head would turn toward the sound so fast his vision blurred, “why are you still awake?”
“i’m here.” he’d whisper back, voice cracking, “i’m right here.”
he’d look around the living room but there was no reply. he’d wait for her laugh, wait for her scolding, but the apartment never answered back. instead, silence would stretch, merciless and heavy.
but he was certain she was there. he was certain she hadn’t fully left. because if she wasn’t-
if she truly wasn’t-
he didn’t even want to say the word because then that meant she was gone in a way that could never be undone. his mind refused to survive that truth.
heeseung was thinner now, painfully so. his collarbones jutted out sharply beneath his skin, his cheeks had hollowed, shadows pooling under his eyes next to his dried tears like bruises that never faded. the red lining his waterline had become permanent, as if sleep had abandoned him entirely - because it had.
when he did drift off, it lasted barely minutes. maybe an hour. then he would jolt awake, disoriented, heart racing, reaching for her side of the bed or reaching for her pillow. her side was always cold and he never washed the sheets no matter what. it was disgusting but he didn’t care - he couldn’t lose the scent from her pillow any more than he’d already lost.
he barely ate. food tasted like ash. he lost his appetite long ago, lost the motivation to do anything nevermind do something as mundane as eat. whenever he was able to put something together, he’d stare at it until the edges blurred, until that one bite he had started to feel like bile in his throat and a luxury he didn’t deserve to have. he’d push it away, untouched and unwanted. sometimes he forgot what day it was. sometimes he’d sit in the same position for hours, unmoving, until the sun rose and set without him noticing.
the world outside the apartment felt obscene.
cars still drove by. neighbours still laughed in the hallway. the café downstairs still opened at eight sharp. people still went to work, still fell in love, still met up with friends, still complained about trivial things.
how dare the world continue? how dare it breathe when she couldn’t? how dare he still be able to wake up and live another day when she was stripped of that?
people said grief softened overtime. that it would dull and become manageable. that it would settle slowly and you learned to live with it.
for heeseung, it didn’t soften.
it sharpened. it was a blade he carried in his chest, twisting deeper each night he lived without her. every time he had to take a deep breath, every time he had to move from one room to another, everytime he looked down at his finger and saw his engagement ring, he had to press a palm against his sternum as if something was leaking out. like he physically couldn’t hold it together.
and everytime he closed his eyes, he was back in that moment.
•••
3 and a half months ago.
heeseung had come home angry.
not at her. at everything else.
practice had been relentless lately as he and his group prepared for their upcoming comeback - everything just seemed to strip him down to bone. his voice cracked twice during a high note he tried to record. the choreography somehow refused to sit right in his body lately. the management had been giving him tight, clipped, dissatisfied expressions everytime he messed something up. every correction felt like a small failure carved into his skin and he doesn’t know why - why nothing was going right, why his mind was so distracted lately, why he had this weird sinking feeling in his stomach everytime he was away from the apartment.
he chose to ignore it and focus on his work. by the time he reached home, the pressure had wrapped so tightly around his ribs that even breathing felt optional.
when he opened the door, she was there.
warm lamplight caught in her hair, cascading the living room in a pretty, cozy shade of white. she had a hand curled over her stomach whilst the other held a book across her lap. the second she heard that familiar beep of their lock, her head snapped up and her entire face softened.
“you’re home!” she said happily, like it was the best part of her day.
heeseung dropped his bag harder than he meant to. the thud echoed, wrong and cold and he kicked his shoes off.
“yeah.”
her smile didn’t waver when she heard his harsh tone. she marked her page carefully and set the book aside as she stood up and walked over to him slowly, gently, like she could see the storm clouding behind his eyes. he noticed then that she was dressed in one of his hoodies and sweatpants sets, the one he absolutely adored her in but right now, he couldn’t find it within him to care.
“did you eat dinner?” y/n asked him, voice already laced with worry when she stopped in front of him.
he took off his jacket and hung it up, “i’m not hungry.”
“you didn’t eat lunch either.” it wasn’t an accusation. just a fact. softly delivered.
“i said i’m not hungry.”
the sharpness in his tone startled even him.
her happy smile wavered just a bit - just for a second like a crack in porcelain. but she didn’t retreat. she knew how hard he’d been working lately and she knew he was just stressed, tired, that he was overwhelmed and didn’t really mean to take it out on her. she understood, which is why she didn’t react. instead, her fingers tenderly reached for his wrist as she warmly brushed her thumb over his pulse - the way she always did when she wanted to ground him but not overwhelm him from affection.
“eat, please. just a little.” she coaxed, eyes staring up into his as she pleaded, “i made soup. it’s still warm.”
that’s when he registered the smell - something savoury, delicious. garlic and herbs. something she’d spent time on for them both to enjoy together, something she’d purposely kept warm for him when she realised he wasn’t coming home on time. on a normal day, he would’ve melted on the spot, would’ve hugged her and pressed a kiss to her lips while begging for two bowls and extra rice.
but today wasn’t a normal day. nothing was normal. and nothing ever would be.
“i don’t want soup.” he snapped instantly and ripped his wrist out of her grasp. the exhaustion curling around him started to turn into irritation, “can you just- not tonight?”
the sentence fractured in the middle, but the damage was already done. his words didn’t need to echo loudly. they landed between them like porcelain slipping from a table’s edge - a suspended second before impact - and then shattered in the quiet space of their living room.
y/n stilled. she wasn’t angry, or offended or dramatically annoyed. she just went quiet. her hand dropped to her side, just a soft retreat like something wounded curling inward and for a second, she looked smaller. she looked hurt at the rejected touch, almost disappointed that he came home in such a mood but she covered it anyway.
“i’m just trying to help, baby.” she replied softly, completely opposing his harsh tone.
heeseung exhaled sharply at the loving nickname. he dragged a hand through his hair until the strands stuck up evenly. his scalp hurt from how tightly he’d been clenching his jaw all day, from how much he’d ran his fingers through the strands, from the loud echoes of their choreographer shouting at them again and again.
“i know.” he muttered as his eyes finally dropped to her much lighter, much expectant ones, “i’m just tired.”
tired didn’t even begin to cover it.
she studied him then. not with hurt - though it was already there, faint around the edges - but with something deeper. something thoughtful. there was a glow in her eyes that night. it was subtle, almost trembling beneath the surface like she was holding a secret so fragile she was afraid even her own heartbeat might crack it.
on the coffee table, tucked somewhere inside her book, was a folded sheet of paper. a printed appointment confirmation with the clinic’s logo at the top, a date circled lightly in red pen. she had stared at it for atleast five minutes that evening, rehearsing again and again how she’d tell him.
maybe after dinner. maybe once he’d eaten. maybe when he was smiling again.
she had imagined the way his face would change with disbelief, with tears. the way he would laugh and cry at the same time and his cheeks would puff out like the cute hamster he was. she imagined him kneeling infront of her, pressing his ear to her stomach even though it was far too early for anything to hear.
she had imagined him saying, “we’re going to be three.”
he hadn’t noticed any of it.
hadn’t seen the way her fingers lingered over her abdomen that afternoon before he left for work. hadn’t seen the way her smile trembled with anticipation. hadn’t seen the future quietly blooming inside their living room. instead, he’d shrugged her touch off and went to go cool off on the couch.
y/n stayed standing where she was by the door, still facing where he’d just been stood. her heart rate spiked in her chest but she took a deep breath, shut her eyes for a second and calmed herself down.
it’s okay, she thought to herself, he’s tired. i can tell him tomorrow.
instead, she plastered a loving smile on her lips and turned around to face him, “i’ll be back.” her voice felt steadier than her heart felt. heeseung sighed and lazily looked up to see her grabbing her coat from the hook by the door.
“where are you going?” he frowned slightly.
“you like that bakery downtown.” she slipped her arms through the sleeves. the fabric rustled softly in the tense silence of the air between them, “they restock your favourite pastries at night. i thought… maybe sugar therapy?”
her smile was small. careful. hopeful. like she was offering him something fragile and praying he wouldn’t drop it. his heart should’ve warmed, he should’ve smiled and thanked her as he told her it’s too dark for her to be driving alone. he might’ve even went with her if he was in the mood.
he almost told her to forget it. the words hovered on his tongue.
he almost stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her waist, almost buried his face in her shoulder the way he did when he was tired and overwhelmed. he almost said i’m sorry for snapping. almost said i love you. almost said stay, we’ll sit and eat together instead. he almost chose softness.
but pride and exhaustion glued him to that couch. there was a stubborn part of him that didn’t want to admit he needed comfort, didn’t want to be seen unraveling.
“fine. whatever.” he muttered in reply and the words felt so dismissive and uncomfortable on his tongue as they aimed at her.
y/n didn’t flinch. she stepped closer to him before reaching for the door, her fingers brushing lightly against his sleeve as she passed. it wasn’t accidental. it lingered - warm and real and loving. she didn’t lean down to kiss him like she did everytime she left the house and that sparked something in him, but he ignored it.
he could’ve caught her hand.
could’ve turned his wrist and intertwined their fingers.
could’ve stopped everything with one movement.
“i won’t be long, baby.” she promised softly with one last mumble of his favourite nickname.
he nodded without looking at her. he didn’t kiss her goodbye. he didn’t press his forehead to hers like he usually did. he didn’t say i love you.
the door opened with a soft click, then closed just as gently. the apartment instantly shifted in the new silence that followed - like it had exhaled. he stayed in the corner of the couch, staring at the door after she left and something tugged at him. a flicker of unease. an urge to call her name and tell her to wait.
to tell her didn’t need fucking pastries.
that he just needed her.
but he didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t chase the feeling. he let the moment pass.
and that was the last time he saw her standing.
his phone rang 47 minutes later.
he knew because he glanced at the screen with mild annoyance. 10:47pm. y/n’s name flashed across the screen and he took a deep breath, wanting to calm down before answering. the second he picked up his phone, something dreadful curled in his chest.
“hello?”
“is this lee heeseung?” a male’s voice called out to him. it was very faint, as if he was standing under the shower of heavy rain and distant voices.
heeseung furrowed his brows and hesitantly replied, “yes.”
there was a pause. he could hear the crackle of rain and the whirring of wind and chatter. his brows furrowed deeper as he listened, waited, confusion trickling into his bones.
“there’s been an accident.”
that sentence itself split his world clean in half.
“i-im sorry- what?”
“the owner of this phone was involved in a collision about ten minutes ago. a truck ran a red light. it’s raining heavily. she’s been taken to-”
the rest of it came in pieces. words that refused to assemble into reality.
rain. intersection. truck. critical. hospital. critical. head injury. car crash. critical.
“no.” he said immediately, “no- that’s not- she just left. she went to- she’s fine- she just…”
“sir, are you her partner?”
“yes.”
“please come right away.”
the call ended. or maybe the guy on the other end hung up. he didn’t remember.
his body moved before his mind could even register he was moving. he grabbed his keys with shaking hands, nearly dropping them twice. the apartment door slammed against the frame behind him - louder than it ever had before. he didn’t even know if he locked it, he didn’t care. the hallway to the elevator felt longer than usual, the elevator too slow as he jabbed the button repeatedly like violence could make it arrive faster.
his heart was beating so hard it hurt - literally. physically. a brutal, painful pounding against his ribs right next to the guilt that was slowly starting to bloom.
this isn’t real.
this isn’t happening.
she said she wouldn’t be long.
the drive to the hospital was a blur of red lights and slick roads. rain hammered against the windshield, wipers struggling to keep up. every intersection made his stomach lurch. every truck that passed him felt like a threat and he wondered how she’d managed to drive in this weather, why he even let her drive in this weather. alone. maybe sad. maybe disappointed at his sour mood.
he didn’t remember parking or shutting off the engine. he didn’t remember running inside and shouting at the poor receptionist, demanding to know where she was. he didn’t remember them forcing him to sit outside the surgical department on those plastic chairs as all kinds of nurses and patients walked past, some giving him glared and some sad eyes.
he felt like his skin didn’t fit. like he was vibrating inside his own body. his cold hands wouldn’t stop shaking as he pressed them against his thighs to steady himself and he realised they were damp with sweat. the crude smell of antiseptic and metal and something faintly sterile didn’t help the situation either - the sound of machines beeping and rubber shoes squeaking against floor made his stomach turn.
everyone looked urgent.
no one looked panicked.
why wasn’t anyone panicking?
“she’s in surgery.” one of the assisting doctors had told him when he intercepted him in the corridor and asked who he was here for. heeseung stared hesitantly as the doctor continued with a fixed tone, like he’d practiced this, like this was regular protocol for him, “she’s been in a car accident. the impact was severe.”
severe.
the word burrowed into his skull.
“how severe?”
“well, she’s had significant internal bleeding and head trauma. it appears to have been a high speed collision. right now, our priority is stabilising her.”
he had muttered some other medical terms heeseung didn’t know the meaning of and quite frankly, didn’t care to listen to. once he was gone, his knees weakened. he stepped back against the wall and let his body fall limp, sliding to the cold tile, palms scraping lightly against the floor.
she’s in there… she’s behind those doors and he doesn’t know how she is. what she’s feeling. what she’s thinking about. what she’s dreaming about. what she felt in that moment. did she think about him? did she think about how much a fucking dick her fiancée is for leaving her out in the dark like that?
none of this would’ve happened if he wasn’t in such a bitter fucking mood. none of this would’ve happened if he just separated work and home. none of this would’ve happened if he just kissed her the way he usually did, hugged her and allowed just her presence, her touch to calm him down. she left because she wanted to cheer him up. she left with the sole thought of bringing a smile to his lips. she left with him on her mind.
she left for him.
and now he didn’t know if she would ever return.
the guilt curled around his heart so crudely he wanted to sob.
heeseung’s head fell into his palms.
that’s when he decided to call jungwon with shaky hands and a cracked voice.
“hyung?” jungwon’s voice was thick with confusion, “it’s late. are you okay? what’s up?”
“y/n…” he breathed out, sticking his phone to his ear like jungwon could magically bring her back through the screen, “hos- she’s in the hospital.”
silence. jungwon’s brows furrowed as he sat up in bed instantly when he heard heeseung’s sharp gasps like he was struggling to breathe, like he was holding back the tears. he jumped out of bed and reached for his jacket whilst mumbling, “i’m coming. stay where you are.”
within the next twenty minutes, three pairs of footsteps were rushing toward him and he looked up from where he had his eyes shut against his hands. sunghoon and jay had come with jungwon but he didn’t spare any of them a glance as jungwon dropped to his knees infront of his older brother, gripping his shoulders like he was trying to hold him together.
heeseung’s tears returned almost on instinct.
“she’ll be okay.” jungwon said. he didn’t ask what happened, didn’t pester him for details because he knew he wouldn’t be able to speak about it.
he just held him while his hands shook, while he nodded too fast and mumbled, “she has to be.”
because the alternative didn’t exist.
time stopped behaving normally.
seconds stretched until they hurt. the clock on the wall ticked so loudly he thought he might lose his mind. everytime the surgical doors swung open, every time a doctor rushed out or a nurse walked past with a file, his heart skipped violently - only to crash when it wasn’t for them.
he prayed. he hadn’t prayed in years, but now he was.
take my voice.
take my career.
take years off my life.
please just let her be okay. let her live.
finally, the doors opened.
the sound was soft - just the mechanical sigh of hinges - but it sliced through him like a blade. a doctor stepped out, mask lowered, indentations pressed deep into his cheeks from hours of wear. his eyes looked more hooded, heavier from when he last saw him and before he even spoke, heeseung knew.
he knew because of the eye contact they instantly made, because of the deep inhale he took before walking over. he sprang out of his seat, startling his three friends in the process as they also joined him, offering a small nod in greeting to the doctor.
there was a look in his eyes - one that all doctors carry when they’ve done everything they can and it still wasn’t enough.
“she’s conscious.” he spoke gently, “you can see her. but please one at a time, she’s still in a state of shock and post-surgery. seeing so many familiar faces can be overwhelming and might trigger her.”
conscious.
the word rises into his lungs like oxygen after drowning.
alive.
she’s alive.
heeseung has never let out a sigh as big as he did then, as if he’d been holding his breath since the second he got that phone call. sunghoon placed his hands on his knees as he exhaled in relief, jay nodded in gratitude to himself and jungwon faintly smiled, patting heeseung on the back in encouragement.
“she’s asking for you.” the doctor said to heeseung, who was instantly nodding and walking into the department without a second glance at anyone or anything else - she was the only thing on his mind.
the hallway stretched endlessly before him as he walked. each step felt like his legs were detached from his body, like he was watching himself move from somewhere above. he reached the door and pushed it open without another thought.
the small room was too bright. too quiet. his teary eyes instantly moved to the bed in the middle where she lay, looking small and defeated. the sheets swallowed her frame completely. her skin was pale - not her usual bubbly warmth but a fragile, waxy white beneath harsh lights. bruises and red scratches bloomed dark and angry along her temple and collarbone, dried blood near her hairline and small bandages and stitches lining her cheek.
an oxygen mask covered half of her face, fogging faintly with each shallow breath she struggled to take. his eyes drifted from the mask down to the wires clipped up to her chest and wrists. machines surrounded her, humming and beeping rhythmically as if technology alone was forcing her body to continue.
for a second, he didn’t move. he couldn’t.
she looked breakable, like glass, and he wondered if he even had the right to see her after everything.
still, heeseung approached her slowly, afraid that even the sound of his footsteps might hurt her. y/n’s eyes fluttered open at the noise - heavy, struggling, dimmed - and then she saw him.
and she smiled.
it was faint. weak. barely there. but it was hers, nonetheless. the same soft curve that used to greet him at the door, that kissed against his cheek in the night and made him feel better when he was down.
“i’m okay.” she whispered out to him. her words were distorted by the mask, her breath thin and uneven but he could make it out.
heeseung dropped to his knees and grabbed her hand like he was afraid someone might take her again, “i’m here.” he choked out, “i’m here. i’m right here.”
he felt her fingers curl just the tiniest bit against his, weak but alive.
“hee…” she breathed.
he leaned closer, pressing his forehead gently against her bruised knuckles. he kissed each finger with such tenderness, such care like he was apologising in every way that he could. he kissed just above her ring, covered in specks of dried blood, like it was sacred.
“i’m sorry.” he whispered, “i’m so sorry, i shouldn’t have- i should’ve-”
the monitor beside her bed made a strange sound, some sort of stutter but he didn’t notice it. he was too focused on her face, on taking in every feature he fell in love with, on memorising every beautiful detail of her from the curve of her lashes to the tiny dimple on her chin.
“i was-” y/n tried again.
the line on the monitor jerked sharply. heeseung furrowed his brows when he saw her lips part as if she wanted to say more but the words lodged her throat. he saw her breath fog up the mask one last time.
and then the machine flatlined.
a single, endless tone that followed as he watched the light leave her eyes.
his entire world snapped in half.
“no-” he breathed.
a nurse who had been stood right outside rushed in when she heard the machine, two doctors following behind her, and another two running in with some sort of medical equipment. hands were grabbing his shoulders, wrapping around his chest and pulling him out of the way but heeseung could only stare at her limp hand in his with his lips parted and his breath stuttering as it left him in shallow breaths.
“step back!”
“charge to-”
“wait- no- she was just talki- she was talking!” heeseung cried out loud as one of the nurses pulled him back and her hand dropped out of his grip.
“clear.”
he watched her body jolt violently under the defibrillator.
he screamed her name.
“again.”
“charge it to-”
“go higher.”
another jolt. he screamed her name again as he got pulled away even further.
her head lolled slightly to the side. the line on the machine did not change, just kept buzzing a straight line like it had no more energy to keep her alive.
“clear.”
“time of death-”
the scream that tore out of him then was raw, almost animalistic, rippling through his body until it burned and took his voice with it. he lunged forward again but this time, rougher arms held him back, locking around his shoulders.
“hyung- please-”
heeseung couldn’t hear anything. not jungwon’s voice. not sunghoon’s silent cries. not jay’s mumbled sniffles into his hands. not the incessant beeping of that godforesaken machine. nothing. his entire world had numbed the second she took her last breath.
“please!” he sobbed, “she’s right there- she’s right there-”
the room blurred around him. voices overlapped. medical terms he couldn’t process were thrown around. equipment was being packed away. all he could see was her hand as he was dragged out of the room - it now sat still against the sheets. her fingers had slipped from his like they no longer had any meaning, like they no longer had any right to be placed within his - like the ring he’d placed on her finger meant nothing now.
seconds ago they had been warm. alive.
now they were cooling. already distant.
gone.
heeseung didn’t remember being forced into the hallway, or his knees buckling and his body slamming into the tile, or jungwon catching him as he staggered forward with teary vision and a body that felt like it didn’t even belong to him anymore.
“she was just here.” heeseung cried- sobbed into jungwon’s jacket, fists clutching desperately at the fabric and his voice cracking with fresh shock and disbelief, “she- she smiled- she was just with me-”
his body shook violently. his lungs couldn’t pull enough air. each breath was jagged, painful, insufficient and his friends didn’t even know what to do as they stood beside him, crying their own eyes out at the sight of their older sister in that bed.
a nurse approached the group slowly, hesitantly. she had tiny tears in her eyes too as if she couldn’t hold them back at the scene infront of her. she held a thin file against her chest like it weighed a thousand pounds - her eyes scanned the three boys beside heeseung before landing on him.
they all looked up when she stopped in front of them, heeseung being the last to look up after a gentle, supportive pat from jay on his shoulder. his eyes were already swelling from tears, red lining his waterline, his cheeks hollowed and mind completely unfocused.
“lee heeseung? there’s something you should know.” she said gently.
he sniffled, nodding for her to continue. she took a deep breath.
“she was pregnant.”
the hallway fell silent. everything - the buzzing lights, the distant footsteps, the screams in his mind, the pain in his heart - everything muffled. all of it vanished as his mind droned into what the nurse had just said.
pregnant.
just that one word stole his breath.
“what?”
“very early.” she continued softly, “only three weeks. we discovered it during some examinations.”
pregnant.
his lips parted in shock. his eyes fluttered and his thoughts instantly went back to her hand absentmindedly resting over her stomach that morning. he remembered the quick flash of happiness glowing in her eyes, the way she smiled to herself like she was excited to share it with him.
pregnant.
he felt something in his chest physically collapse - like a structure caving in.
two heartbeats.
there had been two.
and both had flatlined in the same room.
the nurse extended the file toward him and he stared at it blankly like it wasn’t real. it didn’t look real. it looked like paper but felt like a coffin and he didn’t reach for it, he physically couldn’t - he could barely breathe.
because inside that folder was proof that he had almost been a father. proof that she had been carrying their future. proof that the last words he gave her were irritation.
fine. whatever.
not i love you.
not drive safe.
the hallway began to tilt.
at first, he thought it was his imagination. maybe he was also dying, maybe he was also slowly losing himself so he let it happen. he let his mind swirl and his breathing stutter and his arms drop to his sides. the harsh lights above blurred into blank, white streaks. the floor felt unsteady beneath his knees. the sound of his own heartbeat roared loudly in his ears, drowning everything else out.
“heeseung.” jay’s voice sounded like he was stood a mile away.
“heeseung hyung.” more panicked voices followed but he didn’t know what to do.
he tried to inhale but the air wouldn’t come.
his vision tunnelled, narrowing into a thin, shrinking circle.
the file slipped from the nurse’s hands and the papers scattered around him. he reached out blindly for something, anything, but his fingers grasped nothing but air. she was the only thing on his mind when his vision darkened. her smile was the only thing he could see when his body crumpled forward. her scent was the only thing he could smell when his eyes slid shut. her hand in his was the only thing he could feel as he fell to the floor and his head hit the tile.
•••
“you look like a groom already.” y/n teased as her eyes ran over the suit he’d just tried on and shyly stepped out to show her. she had gasped dramatically, clapping her hands together like she couldn’t contain her happiness. heeseung giggled under his breath as she joyfully stepped over to him and started straightening the lapels of the blazer.
she looked so excited, like her dream was finally coming true.
“my groom.”
she smoothed her hands down his chest, gaze full of adoration and love as she stared up into his doe eyes, “all mine.”
the same fabric now pressed stiffly against his shoulders as he stood at her funeral instead.
the irony was cruel. the suit meant for vows and lifelong promises and her walking toward him - alive, glowing, smiling - was now witnessing her forever absence. he adjusted the cufflinks with trembling fingers. he brushed the pads of his thumb over her initials engraved into the metal, remembering how she’d once said she wanted to see him cry on their wedding day because “men who love deeply cry beautifully.”
what would she say now, seeing him unable to cry at all?
when he stepped into the funeral hall, the scent struck him immediately.
white roses. hundreds of them.
they lined the aisle in perfect symmetry, soft petals layered like clouds against polished floors. they framed her portrait at the front - a candid picture he had taken of her when they went on vacation together. she was laughing in that familiar, bright way she laughed, with her head tilted slightly and eyes crinkling mid-laugh like nothing could hurt her in that moment. her coffin was covered in white blooms so delicately arranged it looked less like a casket and more like a bridal bed.
“some flowers smell loud! like fireworks!” he remembered her vivid, eight-year old voice echo in his mind, “but white roses smell soft and quiet. they look gentle like they’re whispering.”
now they were everywhere.
a sea of white.
a bed of gentle whispers.
a wedding she never got.
he finally knew what she meant now. they did smell soft - exactly as she’d described - but they felt a little suffocating too, wrapping around his lungs and tightening with every breath. it clung to him, settled into his suit, into his hair. he would carry that scent home and it would no longer mean beginnings.
it would mean this.
guests filled the seats in hushed waves of black attire. condolences drifted toward him like distant echoes.
“she was such a light.”
“i’m so sorry for your loss.”
“she loved you so much.”
“if you need anything-”
he bowed automatically.
thank you. thank you. thank you. thank-
he didn’t hear most of what he was replying. the words bounced off something solid inside him, never quite reaching his mind.
his members stood close by, all dressed in black suits, faces pale and eyes red-rimmed. all six of them looked smaller somehow - not in stature, but in spirit. y/n had been more than just his girlfriend to them. she had been the one who cooked too much food and scolded them for skipping meals, she was the one who stayed up to watch their livestreams, who invited them all over for dinner from time to time, who brought cake to the practice room and had little nicknames for each of them.
she was their older sister as much as heeseung was their older brother. she was their family in every way that mattered.
because she was heeseung’s family before he had become their family.
jungwon’s composure shattered first. he tried to hold it in with a tight jaw and squared shoulders but all he could think about was heeseung in that hospital room - all that haunted him was his screams, the way he’d fainted, the way jungwon had sobbed as they tried to wake him back up. sunghoon turned his face away from her portrait, wiping at his eyes angrily as if frustrated by his own tears.
jay stood stiff and silent. his hands shook no matter how much he tried to clasp them together or press his fingers to his sides. jake’s lips quivered even as he wiped at his eyes with a crumpled up piece of tissue. sunoo, ever the empath and probably the closest one to y/n out of all of them, was openly crying. his sleeve was wrinkled with dried patches of tears and he couldn’t stop the tears from falling even more as he turned around to wipe them away. ni-ki tried comforting him with a hand to his back but even he looked lost and disturbed.
they weren’t just mourning her. they were mourning the future dinners, the teasing nicknames, the steady presence she brought all of them.
they were mourning their eldest hyung, who they knew would never be the same after this.
at the centre of it all, he stood still.
too still.
he stared at the flowers and thought, absurdly, that she would complain about the excess.
“this is too dramatic.” she would whisper, nudging his arm, “are you trying to make it look like a royal wedding?”
for a fraction of a second, the ghost of a smile reached his lips.
it shattered before it could even exist - because she wasn’t beside him. she wasn’t squeezing his fingers or whispering that she loved him or kissing his cheek excessively.
she wasn’t here. not truly anyway.
when it was time for heeseung to step forward, the aisle felt impossibly long. white petals brushed against his “shiny shoes” with every step. the suit - his wedding suit - felt heavier with each movement, like it understood the betrayal of the moment. this wasn’t where he was supposed to wear it. he was supposed to be standing at the end of the aisle waiting for her to walk toward him, not the other way around.
he wasn’t supposed to be the one walking to her coffin.
it looked too small. too simple. too final.
he stopped in front of it and the world narrowed to the polished wood reflecting the soft lights above. this box held her laughter, her sleepy morning voice, the way she curled into him at night, the way she pressed her cold feet against his legs just to hear him yelp, the way she would say his name. it held their childhood together - her endless support when he wanted to become an idol, her cheers when he sang, her patience when he had to be on a reality tv show for months, her pride when he debuted.
but alongside all of that, there was something else in there too.
their baby. merely a few weeks old, never having heard their fathers voice or their mothers beautiful laugh. heeseung had a whole life ahead of him that he never even got to enjoy. he will never be able to experience touching her belly and speaking to the baby, never experience their tiny kicks, never experience his members fighting over who was the better uncle, never experience their first steps or first words or first cry.
his hand lifted slowly, shaking heavily, and he pressed his palm against the surface.
it was cold. there was no warmth. no rise and fall of breathing. no heartbeat answering to his touch.
he leaned closer, voice barely existing between just the two of them.
“you were all mine.” he whispered, the words crackling halfway in his throat, “and i was yours.”
his shoulders trembled but he still didn’t cry.
“we were supposed to grow old. you promised.” the memory of her laughing, telling him she would out-live him just to annoy him, pierced through his chest like something unforgiving, “we were supposed to grow old and wrinkly together so i could keep singing for you.”
“you’re not allowed to stop singing.” she added on seriously and the boy looked at her, “ever. even when you’re old and wrinkly.”
“why would i be wrinkly?”
“because everyone gets wrinkly when they’re old, hamster.”
his forehead almost touched the coffin.
“come home.”
come home so i can scold you for driving alone. come home so i can hold you and tell you i’m not angry anymore. come home so we can eat together and i can tell you how much i love your food. come home so i can marry you in this suit like we planned. come home so i dont have to exist without you.
silence answered.
beside him, one of y/n’s family members sobbed loudly. someone broke down completely, someone went to hold them. sunoo cried in the corner and jake muttered tiny words to soothe him. the sound of grief rippled through the entire hall in waves - raw and uncontrollable.
but heeseung remained still because if he allowed himself to break, he wasn’t sure he could ever stop.
he stood there in his wedding suit and shiny shoes as the world buried away the only person who had ever truly felt like home, the first person who had ever supported him and believed in him and stayed by his side.
she was his first everything.
his first friend, his first crush, his first girlfriend, his first time, his first supporter, his first fan.
and when the last of the white petals she and their baby were buried beneath disappeared under the soil, something inside his chest was lowered with her.
heeseung didn’t cry.
but the part of him that knew how to live without her was buried that day too.
•••
heeseung took a 3 month hiatus after that.
the announcement was phrased carefully by his team’s management - they’d said it was for personal time, rest, health. the words were polished and gentle enough for the public, enough for the fans to understand and send their sympathy and approval his way.
but behind closed doors, it hadn’t been that simple. jungwon had argued in a low, steady voice that barely hid his own fear. he’d been seated with a few members of the management team at a long, conference table, speaking out, not only as the groups leader but also as a friend, as a sibling.
both to heeseung and y/n.
“heeseung hyung shouldn’t be alone.” his voice was firm. his hands were clasped tightly in front of him, knuckles pale, “especially right now. everything is still so fresh. this is unfair to him and all the members. we’re worried for him.”
he kept his tone respectful, he always did, but there was something underneath it. a tremor. not of anger but of fear. the higher-ups had mentioned giving heeseung space, allowing him privacy to grieve, how public scedhules can be adjusted and statements released.
“sometimes isolation helps with healing.” one of them had said.
“being alone can help with reflection and acceptance.” another suggested.
jungwon’s jaw tightened, “that’s not what he needs. he shouldn’t go through this by himself.”
all eyes turned to heeseung, who had been sitting there beside jungwon the entire time - a shell of himself. he hadn’t spoken once, not even a small greeting when they walked in. he sat with his hands folded in his lap, posture straight and his droopy, empty gaze fixed on a slab of wood on the other end of the room as if it required his intense concentration. his expression was composed - the kind of stillness that wasn’t strength but suppression.
he was there physically, but mentally and emotionally, he was somewhere else.
it was like the conversation wasn’t about him at all.
when someone asked him directly what he would prefer, he blinked slowly, as if surfacing from whichever memory he was living in.
“i’m going home.”
his voice was quiet but clear.
not the dorm.
home. their apartment. the one he hadn’t been to since he’d ran out that night to rush to the hospital. the one he never wanted to abandon because leaving would mean accepting she wasn’t coming back. it would mean folding her clothes, washing the sheets and letting her fade from the walls. it would mean admitting home wasn’t his home anymore.
he’d already made up his mind.
he wasn’t choosing solitude but he was choosing to live where she still felt close enough to touch.
•••
the first click of the front door echoed too loudly in the empty hallway. heeseung’s hand stayed on the handle long after the door had already opened, his knuckles turning white, breath shallow and for a second - just for a split second - it felt like second nature for him to expect her voice to travel from the inside.
“you’re home?”
silence answered him.
the apartment was still the way they both left it that night. the lamp was still on, cascading the room in white light that felt almost irritating now that she wasn’t under it to soften the glare. the curtains were still drawn from the last morning they’d woken up together. the air felt stale, untouched, faintly floral.
her mother had come by to drop off some bouquets of white roses from the funeral. she hadn’t been there for too long - afraid that if she even touched anything that belonged to her late daughter, she would start sobbing. heeseung now looked at the multiple vases of flowers that sat by the kitchen counter. their scent had soaked into everything: into the fabric of the sofa, the rugs, the walls.
it clung to the air like something that refused to leave.
like her.
heeseung didn’t change anything in the apartment. the blanket she was sitting with on the couch was still there, but now folded. her slippers still sat by the door as if waiting for her to return home and slip back into. her book that she was reading still sat on the coffee table, still marked from that night - never to be read again. her hand cream sat on her nightstand, the cap slightly crooked like she’d been in a hurry to tighten it.
he touched it once.
then pulled his hands back like it burned.
on the second night, he moved to her side of the bed.
she had always slept closer to the wall, claiming it made her feel safe. heeseung teased her for it endlessly, wrapping an arm around her waist and whispering against her lips, “you’re safe because i’m here.”
now he slid into her spot and faced the wall she used to face. he pressed his face into her pillow and inhaled until his lungs burned. the scent was fading - he could tell - but it was still there. still soft. still his.
“you’re all mine.” he had whispered into her hair one time when she was half-asleep, “god, i’m so lucky to call you all mine.”
grief had a way of replaying what you miss the most. it would loop until it feels almost real, almost palpable, almost close enough for you to touch.
the first time heeseung heard her voice he was laying on the sheets of their bed, staring up at the ceiling. his fists were tightly clutching the duvet instinctively, as if anchoring him to this world - that’s when he heard it.
like he was teetering between the edge of this world and the afterlife .
“heeseung.”
it was so soft and so close, he could practically feel the brush of breath against the shell of his ear. his heart slammed so hard he thought it might crack his ribs. he shot upright, eyes wide, scanning the empty room.
“i’m here.” he answered immediately, the first thing he’d said in a while out loud. his voice didn’t even shake, as if he was certain it was her. as if he didn’t want to greet her again with shaky breaths and a dull tone.
silence followed but something in his chest loosened instead of tightening… because if he could hear her, she had to be somewhere near, right?
one night, as he sat with her favourite blanket thrown over his lap and her faint perfume lingering from the corners, he heard it: a careful, familiar humming, like she had never left. it was her favourite song and it was drifting out of their bedroom.
hope, as always, clung to his chest and he followed the sound instinctively. it drew him into the room, toward her bedside drawer that sat slightly ajar. he hesitated before pulling it open further and his breath instantly caught in his throat.
beneath the old, piled up receipts and a small notebook, lay a pregnancy test with two faint pink lines visibly drawn across the middle. heeseung felt his entire world tilt off its axis. he opened the wardrobe with trembling fingers, afraid of what else he might find, and just as he expected: there was a tiny onesie folded just behind a pile of vitamins and medications.
he pulled it out slowly. the fabric was thick yet plush against his cold, numb fingertips and he opened it up, the size of it delicate enough to fit in his palm.
there was an embroidered hamster in the middle with another tiny hamster just beside it. heeseung’s eyes softened and tears blurred his vison when he ran his fingers over the threaded piece of art and the little bold letters that sat just under: surprise, daddy!
his knees buckled. she’d been planning it. planning a future.
three weeks - only three weeks had passed, but in that short time, their child had existed. the laughter they had been hearing in the quiet apartment felt closer now, more haunting, more ghostly. he clutched the onesie to his chest and rocked slightly as if his child was there with him, in his arms, alive and healthy. tears, scalding and aching against his cheeks, finally broke free.
“come home.” he whispered to no one in particular, his voice more than already raw and broken. the apartment, once again, remained silent but heeseung heard her again. in his mind. in his heart. she was calling out to him, gentle, encouraging, telling him to let go.
somewhere, between memory and madness, grief and denial, heeseung finally shattered completely.
everything became easier after that moment.
he started talking to her.
at first, they were just whispers in the night, small murmurs as he lay in the darkness of their bedroom. he muttered something about how the night didn’t feel as lonely anymore, or how he liked sleeping on her side of the bed, or reminisced on something silly she said to him one time.
then, he started talking in normal conversation. in a way, it gave him motivation to do things around the house because he felt like she was watching him, or that she was with him, communicating with him. it allowed him to eat, to shower, to do his skin care because he’d talk to her through it all - just the way he used to when she was still here.
he’d stand in the kitchen, chopping vegetables as he tried to make a meal for himself. mid-way through his work, he’d randomly stop and look up at nothing in particular, “you’d say i’m doing this wrong, wouldn’t you?”
he paused, tilted his head slightly like he was listening for a response. then he’d nod, satisfied, a tiny smile on his chapped lips, “yeah, okay. i’ll fix it.”
he began setting her a plate at dinner, at her usual seat right beside his own. he always hated when she sat opposite to him on dates or events - he claimed she was too far and he couldn’t touch her. he loved having her beside him where he could easily talk to her, hold her, protect her.
he’d set two bowls of rice, two glasses of water, chopsticks and utensils placed neatly beside each plate.
he started buying her favourite snacks again - the strawberry milk she liked, the overly sweet cookies she always defended even though they made him grimace. he reached for them automatically at the store, like muscle memory was stronger than reality. he would smile in anticipation as if excited to see her reaction and excited to share them with her.
“you don’t have to stay mad.” he would murmur while leaning against the counter after doing the dishes, “i know i snapped that night. i was tired. i swear, i didn’t mean it.”
in his mind, she wasn’t dead.
she left because she had to - this was the alternative his grief had made him believe.
if she left because she was upset, she could forgive him. if she left because she needed space, he could wait. if she left because he failed her-
his thoughts cut off there all the time, sharp and immediate. his mind never let him finish that sentence.
what if she’s fine and it’s his mind that’s wrong? what if she’s happy and alive somewhere and it’s just his mind that’s making up all these fake implications about her?
she’s not dead.
sometimes in the quietest hours of the night, heeseung felt the mattress dip beside him because that was what his mind convinced him to feel. it was never a violent or obvious shift - just a subtle change in weight. a warmth brushed against his arm once, light as a feather, and he held his breath, afraid to open his eyes. it wasn’t there when he did but the sensation lingered in his chest.
“i knew you’d come back.” the words were barely audible yet they felt like a tether, a small proof that she still might be near.
he would hum an old tune, a random song she liked, because he knew how much she liked his humming. he didn’t want her to think he was hurting or in pain so he always made sure he sounded normal… she knew his humming very well.
after nights like those, he slept a little better. he slept as if the world outside his fantasy could wait a few more hours as he imagined her presence beside him.
during the day, he carried a quiet change.
he smiled faintly, a fragile curve that didn’t reach his eyes. he answered unheard questions with gentle nods, paused mid-sentence as though someone invisible had interrupted him to ask him something. the members all noticed this - especially when they did group facetime calls. they noticed the way he smiled off into the distance, muttered small phrases to the air beside him as if he was talking to someone.
and when he wasn’t doing any of that, then he was distracted, staring off into nothing as he thought about everything. the members noticed this too. his silence.
one day, using the spare key, they had let themselves in.
the apartment was dim despite the early hour, curtains half-drawn, air thick and unmoving. it felt almost ghostly. shadows clung to corners and the faint, lingering scent of her perfume hung in the air like a fragile memory. all six of them piled in with furrowed brows and heavy hearts, yet when they saw heeseung in the kitchen, their heavy hearts felt like they could completely sink any moment.
he looked smaller. thinner. cheekbones sharper, collarbones more defined beneath the t-shirt hanging off his frame. dark circles hollowed out his eyes and his hair fell in unkempt strands against his forehead. yet, somehow, he was smiling… a soft, distant smile that barely curved around the stubble on his chin and the hollowness of his eyes.
beside all that, he still wore his ring. the matching one he had with her. they all saw it.
on the table were two plates already placed perfectly. one plate had food half-eaten, which they guessed was his, meanwhile the other plate was pristine and untouched.
jungwon’s chest tightened painfully.
“hyung.” he called out carefully.
heeseung looked up, as if mildly surprised to see them there. he looked completely out of it, like he’d lost his mind being here by himself for the past month. he gave them all a welcoming smile, as if it wasn’t their first time visiting since everything that happened.
“oh! you’re all early!”
“early?” jay couldn’t hide the tremor in his voice as his eyes travelled from the dining table to heeseung’s worn out frame.
“for dinner!” heeseung replied simply, eyes shifting toward the empty chair beside him, “she just stepped out.”
the apartment went completely still.
jake swallowed hard, sunghoon’s gaze locked onto the second pair of dishes as if it might shatter or vanish if he blinked, ni-ki furrowed his brows and sunoo felt the tears already brimming his lashes as he took in the scene before him.
at the man before him.
because that was not his heeseung hyung, and he knew it.
jungwon took a careful step forward, each movement hesitant, as though approaching someone already balanced on the edge of a cliff. when he spoke, his voice was soft and understanding, as if wanting heeseung to see reason, to see past his delusions, to see his reality.
“she’s not here, hyung.”
heeseung’s smile didn’t falter, “she will be.”
the certainty in his tone was unnerving - calm, steady and unshaken. this wasn’t denial or grief. it was something else entirely, something cruel and wicked that had curled itself into his mind and messed with his healing process. it unnerved the members more than tears or rage or shouting ever could.
“hyung…” sunghoon started, raw and unsteady, “she-”
“she just needed space.” heeseung interrupted and snapped his head from jungwon to sunghoon, his words sounding gentle yet strewn on simmering anger, “you know how she gets when i overwork myself. she was worried. i told her i’d rest.”
his eyes flickered toward the hallway where their bedroom sat, expectant and waiting.
the members exchanged terrified, helpless glances, as if silently acknowledging that what they were witnessing was no longer grief - it was something that was breaking him from the inside out. something that was handling him in slow, deliberate increments. something inside him that had shifted beyond repair.
heeseung reached for the extra glass of water and adjusted it so that it aligned perfectly with the plate infront of the empty chair, “she doesn’t like it when things are messy.”
jungwon’s vision blurred.
the man standing before them all - the same hyung who once filled their practice room with laughter and stupid jokes, who once sang like the world itself resided in his chest - looked like a shadow stretched thin over bones.
he suddenly felt an overwhelming amount of regret. regret for not arguing more in that meeting, regret for not pressuring him to stay with the rest of the members. he knows it would’ve sounded rude or selfish at the time but at least they could’ve avoided this - whatever this was. at least they could’ve helped him grieve, at least he wouldn’t have been couped up alone in the silence of his loss.
at least it wouldn’t have driven him to madness.
“she’ll come home. she only stepped out for a bit.” heeseung smiled fondly, “she won’t be long.”
he wasn’t speaking directly to them anymore.
he was speaking to himself. convincing himself.
and in the way he said it - all patient, loving, utterly certain - it was clear. he wasn’t waiting anymore. he was living in a world where she had never truly left and somewhere between the untouched sheets and the phantom voice in the darkness of his mind, heeseung had long since stepped past grief.
he had crossed the line.
past sorrow. past mourning. past bargaining and acceptance and all the stages people had made up. he’d moved past the fragile remnants of the person he had once been.
heeseung wasn’t grieving anymore. he was existing in a world built entirely around her absence - a world that had room for absolutely no one else.
synopsis ; the city never treated you nicely after you developed new powers because of your fathers experiment. yunho was the only one you thought you could trust until well... until he wasn't. now left with nothing left to lose you give back what had been given to you.
pairing(s) ; yunho x f!reader
☆ ── wc. ; 1.6k
☆ ── genre ; angst w/ some comfort, hero!yunho x villain!reader
☆ ── tw. ; cussing. violence, fighting, mentions of arson, knife goes stabby, depictions of suicide, betrayal, mentions of mistreatment and bullying, reader has kinda lost her mind, lmk if I missed anything!!
⏤͟͟͞͞ JOIN THE TAGLIST ── MASTERLIST NAVI ── MAIN NAVI
‘This is finally it…’
You smiled with a peaceful smile as you stared down at the ruins of the city before you. The very city that had taken everything from you and tramped all over your broken and battered body. The one that you had called home for many, many years, only for them to turn their backs on you at the slightest show of falsehood.
It was also the city where you had believed that you had met the love of your life, but just like everyone else, he wasn’t who you had believed him to be. No. He was the very person who turned you in to the enemies.
He was the reason you had become who you are now.
Now, as you watched the destruction that you had caused, you finally felt a sense of relief that you weren’t the only one suffering anymore, and those who had wronged you finally got what they deserved. You almost felt sorry for them… almost.
“Y/n, why are you doing this?” You heard his voice moments before you felt his presence behind you, and your hands balled into fists around your mask. Turning slowly, you took in Yunho’s beaten form, blood dripping from his busted lip and eyebrow.
“Why?” You scoffed, anger boiling in your veins once more, the longer you looked at the man that you once loved. “Maybe you should be asking yourself that question, Yunho, you were the one who turned me in afterall.”
“That wasn’t my fa—”
“Wasn’t your fault?” You cut, not even wanting to listen to him finish that sentence, “wasn’t it you who helped the cops collect enough evidence on me? Wasn’t it you who just watched as they dragged me out of the house? WASN’T IT YOU THAT SAID IT WAS FOR MY OWN GOOD?” Tears started to spill from your eyes as you stared at Yunho, hands trembling at your sides.
“Y/n—”
“Do you know what they did to me in there, Yunho?” Your voice dropped an octave as you glared at the dark-haired male, “I was poked and prodded like a damn lab rat! They treated me as if I were some otherworldly being and not a fucking human being.” All of the rage and hurt that you’ve felt for the past year was starting to bubble over. “Is that for my own good, Yunho?”
“They said they could help you, that they could make everything better.” Yunho’s voice quivered in disbelief as he took a step towards you, “That’s why I let them take you, if I had known they were going to treat you like that, I wouldn’t have—”
“What’s done is done, Yunho, and now?” You let out a huff, wiping the tears with a smile before raising your arm to point at the burning city around you: “Everyone is getting what they deserve.”
Yunho’s eyes went wide in shock, not believing that you, the same girl he had loved since high school, who would always share her lunch with him whenever he forgot his, that same girl who, despite all the hardships she went through, always wore a smile, the same girl that he had promised to marry to her mother on her deathbed. That wasn’t the girl who stood before him, no, you had become someone completely different.
But no matter how different you had become, Yunho knew that he needed to put a stop to all of this. So he took a hesitant step towards you, not missing the warning that gleamed in your eyes when you noticed.
“There are innocent people down there, y/n,”
“Innocent? Don’t make me laugh, no one in this godforsaken city is innocent anymore.” You laughed coolly, eyes narrowed into slits, “it was these people who have always looked down on me for being different, these are the people who never gave me the light of day even though I tried my damnedest to please them, so how can you stand there and tell me they’re innocent?!” You shouted, tears starting to blur your vision once more, a throbbing pain pulsing through your chest, “but you wanna know something funny?”
Yunho watched cautiously as your body stilled, eyes relaxing as an empty expression settled onto your face, but he could clearly see the hurt in your eyes, “I miss the old me. I miss who I was before I had to endure all of that bullshit—none of which I believe I deserved an ounce of by the way.”
Yunho felt a stabbing pain in his chest, right where his heart is, as your hand reached up to grab your shirt that lay over your chest. He never thought he would see you in this kind of state, so broken and defeated. It was starting to set in on him that maybe he really was the reason you were doing all of this.
“You never deserved all of the harsh things those people did to you. I have always told you that y/n.” Yunho spoke softly, taking another step towards you.
The laugh that left your lips was nothing short of bitter, “and I was a fool to believe that you actually cared.” Yunho felt like he had just been hit with a ton of bricks, “the one person that I thought would stick by me through everything was the very person who betrayed me.”
“But I didn’t—”
“Oh, but you did, I told you countless times what they would do to me if they ever took me, yet you let them do it so easily.” A manic laugh started to erupt from your lips as you walked closer to him, “and now I have nothing left to lose, so what can you do to me now, Yunho?”
Your head tilted in an eerie way as you took step after step towards him, but he never moved or stopped you. Seeing you as you were now, he realized what he had done was wrong, and if he could go back, he would have kept his word and kept you safe, as you said before.
‘What’s done is done.’
And just as the cool metal of your blade sank into his abdomen, he could only grab you and hold you in his arms, praying that if he ever got a second chance in life, he would be able to make up for all the wrongs he had done to you.
“Consider this as payback,” You hissed before ripping the blade from his body, watching as he dropped down to his knees, hands covering the rapidly bleeding wound, “let that be a reminder of your betrayal. Goodbye Yunho.”
Before Yunho could even utter a word from his blood-soaked lips, you moved to the edge of the building. He watched with horror-filled eyes as you placed a foot over the edge.
“NO!” With a sudden rush of adrenaline, he bolted to the edge just as you let yourself fall, but he luckily made it in time to grab your wrist. “Hold on, I’ll pull you up.” He grunted as he tried to pull you up despite the pain that shot throughout his abdomen.
“Let go, Yunho.” Your voice was flat, void of any emotion as you looked up at him. However, Yunho just shook his head; tears that had been sitting idly on his waterline broke through and spilled down his blood-stained and bruised face.
“No, I won’t. I’m gonna pull you up, and we can talk about this, please.” He pleaded as he continued to try to pull you up, but the blood that soaked his palm made it difficult. “I can’t lose you y/n, please.”
A sad smile lifted at the corner of your lips as you looked up at him, giving him a small flicker of hope, “You already have Yunho,” and just like that, the flicker was harshly burnt out when you used your other hand to pry him off, the slick surface of your skin making it easier.
“NOOO!” He cried out as he helplessly watched your body plummet to the ground, tears rolling down his face.
Then it felt as if the whole world stopped, the ringing in his ears almost becoming too much. He squeezed his eyes shut, not thinking he could bear the pain of watching you hit the ground.
“Yunho…”
It was faint, but he was sure that he had heard your voice calling for him, but as he turned to look, you were nowhere to be found. Surely he was just going crazy, right?
“Yunho!”
There it was again… and again… and again…
Squeezing his eyes shut once more, he covered his ears with his hands, hoping to drown out that haunting sound of your voice.
“Yunho!” He then felt his body jolt, causing his eyes to fly open; however, instead of lying on the top of a building, he was sitting on his couch. “Finally, I’ve been calling for you for the past five minutes. Did you not sleep well last night?”
Yunho felt his heart sink to the furthest pit of his stomach as he looked over, finding you standing not even five feet away from him. Completely fine.
Before he could even rationalize what he was doing, he pulled you down into a hug, ignoring the small squeak of protest that left your lips, followed by the laugh that he loved. Holding you close, he looked over at the calendar that hung on the wall, seeing that it was months before you had been taken.
Had he been taken back in time? Or was that all some sick and twisted nightmare?
Whichever it was, he vowed to never let it come to fruition.
Content Warnings: Mentions of death, Mentions of car accident, Implications of obsessive/yandere Yeosang, Implications of mental illness, Mentions of mental illness, Mentions of SA, A guy grabs reader's butt (non consensually), Some light suggestive content at the end, Drinking, Mentions of alcohol, Also bullying and yelling, Reader goes through it
Today was so rough.
First, it was your day off. Which sounds great, and it was supposed to be. You started off by going to a cafe to get some coffee. It was cloudy, a beautiful day in your eyes. Maybe it would even rain.
It started going wrong when you turned around and smashed into someone - spilling hot coffee all over both of you. Your victim was a businessman, and he laid into you until you were in tears while the entire cafe watched. Once he stormed out, a group of girls had started laughing at you, calling you stupid and a whole host of other things.
Coffee forgotten, you left the cafe.
Okay. A bad start, but you wouldn't let some jerks ruin your entire day.
About ten minutes after settling into your couch with your favorite book, your boss called. Your coworker was sick again, and you had to cover.
At least it was extra money.
Already exhausted from your bad morning and lack of coffee, you dutifully rushed to work.
A mistake.
The tiny restaurant was packed. And as soon as you walked in, your boss had other things to do. You didn't have a break as you tried to appease everyone, and the wait times from one person working made everyone cranky.
More than a few customers yelled at you, some made unnecessary comments on your appearance or brain function, and one stupid guy decided he had a right to grab your ass.
By the time you were halfway through your shift, you were already planning on spending your break crying.
Except you couldn't even have that! As soon as you mentioned it to your boss - he had no one to cover your break. You couldn't leave customers to wait, you just had to grin and bear it.
So you did. All grueling six hours of seemingly non stop abuse, until you got to flip the open sign and clean the dining area.
As soon as the last table was wiped down, you were out the door, not letting your boss make you handle his problems, too.
You practically collapsed at the back of the store - exhausted, starving, and sobbing as you let the weight of the day crush you.
A single day, and all this fuss.
“Sweetheart?”
You instantly perked up at the familiar voice, and even though you were a crying mess, you grinned upon seeing his familiar face. So soft, and kind, bathed in the lights of the building, just gorgeous and perfect.
“Yeosang,” You wiped some of your tears, already feeling better before he sat next to you on the curb.
“That's me. Why are you sitting on the curb crying, hun?” He asked, reaching out to brush your disheveled hair behind your ear.
“Bad day.” You groaned, dropping your head onto your arms that wrapped around your knees. Yeosang was always there for you, right when you needed him. Which had you squinting as you looked back at him through tears. “What are you doing here? I didn't text.”
“I came to pick you up from work. I always do, remember?” He asked. You frowned.
“I didn't work today. I just got called in…” You pouted. Yeosang smiled at you slightly, looking embarrassed.
“Ah, it must be a habit, then. You'll have to text me when you have a day off from now on. We can hang out that way, too.” He suggested. You couldn't help but smile, you always trusted him and he never gave you a reason not to.
Some would call him eccentric, maybe even obsessive.
Your chat log was a long wall of messages from you, he never responded - he didn't like to text. Instead, when you were having a hard time, he just dropped everything and showed up. Like you were his entire life. Maybe it was concerning, but… It was a devotion you honestly needed. You needed to feel cared for and important, and Yeosang gave you exactly that.
“Did you eat anything?” He asked. You sighed, shaking your head. There was just no time to. He stood up, delicately dusting off his pants in a way that came off as childish and cute before he offered you his hand. You let him pull you up. “Let's go somewhere, and you can tell me about your day, okay?”
The two of you walked under the streetlights, making it to a small diner right as it started raining. You ran towards it, the both of you laughing, though Yeosang was slower. You wheezed softly as you entered, trying to calm your laughter and appear sane and rational as you faced the diner hostess. Which was impossible - you were laughing, having obviously been crying, your hair an absolute mess and there were remnants of food on your clothes.
“Table for one?” She asked, and you sheepishly smiled at the weird look she was giving you. Oh, you must have looked like a psychopath.
“Two, actually.” You told her, and she nodded as she led you to a table.
“Drinks?” She asked.
“Oh, uhm…” You eyed the menu quickly. You grinned as you thought it would be hilarious to mess with Yeosang. “One couple’s milkshake.”
“Sure.” She walked off, right as Yeosang made it into the diner. Despite being the only one there, you still waved him over. He grinned as he slid into the booth across from you, completely dry despite the rain that had even gotten you damp.
“Did you order for us?” He asked, and you nodded, trying to hide your smirk. That was another thing about him - he had some aversion to people. He didn't like to talk to people, he never interacted with them or even looked at anyone when the two of you were together. You always ordered for him when you got food. “Good. Now, tell me about your day.”
You told Yeosang everything - from the cafe to your boss to the stupid customer that assaulted you. He was frowning, and he looked mad about the last part.
“Give me a description, I'll make sure that guy never touches you again.” Yeosang said darkly, but you just shook your head.
“It's okay, Sangie, really. It was one stupid guy. I'll live.” You tried to give him a reassuring smile, but he pouted at you.
“But it shouldn't have even been one. I'll make sure he and all his friends know that you're off limits.” He stubbornly crossed his arms, and you giggled.
Before the conversation could continue, the hostess set a large milkshake in front of the two of you, two straws sticking out of it. You thanked her, stifling a laugh when you looked back at Yeosang. He was staring at you blankly, clearly unamused by your little joke.
“Aren't you hungry, Yeosang?” You asked, grinning wickedly as you took a sip from the straw aimed at you.
“Hilarious.” He spoke flatly, but he sat forward to take a sip, anyway. You just grinned, wiggling your eyebrows at him as you both drank the milkshake.
The conversation was much better after that. You talked about whatever, it didn't matter, the two of you being together was all that you cared about.
After a good hour of sitting there, Yeosang excused himself to the restroom.
He was the best thing to happen to you.
You remembered when you first met him, a familiar pang of hurt crashing through your chest at the memory.
You had just gotten the worst news of your life. Your best friend since childhood was dead, a car accident that took his life. He was all you had - your everything, and he was ripped away from you.
You were walking home from work late at night in the pouring rain, focused on keeping warm in your thin jacket that did nothing to keep you dry. Then, a phone call, and something told you to answer. So you did.
His parents. Calling to tell you the news.
Your entire world stopped. All you could do was stutter out some half assed apology and thank you before you ended the call and checked the news with shaking hands. It had to be a lie - but it wasn't.
He was gone.
You screamed in the middle of the empty street, sobbing uncontrollably.
You were alone, truly alone, and the world was too heavy, threatening to crush you at any moment. You wished it would.
But then, a soothing voice, arms pulling you into a hug and it felt so much like him. For a second, nothing was real. It was your best friend, still alive, holding you tightly and shielding you from everything.
Once you calmed down, you felt embarrassed when you realized it wasn't your friend, but in fact, a complete stranger that had hugged you while you sobbed on a street corner.
He had just smiled at you, telling you it was okay. Everything would be okay.
He ended up sitting on the curb with you while you told him what happened, and then broke down again. He didn't leave, he didn't call you a freak. He asked you to tell him your happy memories of your friend. And you did, and it helped.
After a few hours in the rain, he told you to get home before you froze, but not before he gave you his number.
“I’ll be there whenever you need me.”
It took you two weeks to text him. You had a rough morning - a new job where your boss wasn't kind or patient at all, making you feel stupid as you tried to learn. The stranger kept his promise - he was there.
Now, looking at the hallway he had disappeared down, you felt so lucky to have him.
“Are you ready to pay?” You looked up at the hostess, smiling as you nodded.
“Yes, I'm ready.” You fished around for your card.
“I'm sorry about your date, Hun.” You looked up, blinking in confusion at the hostess as you processed what she said. What did Yeosang do? Besides, he wasn't even your date.
“Oh, he's not my date, he's my friend.” You told her, and she looked sympathetic as you handed over your card.
“Some friend.” She muttered as she walked away.
You frowned. Was the two of you talking and laughing for an hour not a good friendship? Maybe she thought he ditched you when he went to the bathroom. That had to be it. But, even if he was taking a while, he definitely wouldn't ditch you.
You looked at the milkshake as you took another drink - there was still a lot left. You weren't one to waste food, but you couldn't drink that much by yourself. Yeosang had been drinking it too, there really shouldn't have been that much left between the two of you. He was probably just not drinking that much.
It was shortly after the hostess returned with your card that Yeosang finally returned to the table.
The two of you left, bidding the hostess goodnight, and Yeosang walked you all the way home in the pouring rain.
You stood outside of your door, filled with nothing but joy and satisfaction as you looked at him.
“Thank you, Sangie. You're the best.” You told him.
“Of course. I'll always be here for you.” He reminded you.
You grinned, then leaned in to kiss his cheek before you were rushing into your apartment. It was just a friendly kiss - it didn't mean anything. You had no idea why you were blushing like a kid over it.
You didn't see Yeosang again for almost a week, your texts unanswered as always.
At the end of the week, your good days had run out again. This time it was the dreaded text from your mother, reminding you of the holidays and needing to come home.
Come home to be judged and picked apart by your entire extended family for a night.
No thanks.
But that was never an answer for her, you would have to go. Like you did every year.
You were consumed by anxiety as you flopped onto your couch. Without much thought, you texted Yeosang. Not even five minutes later there was a knock on your door, and you opened it to find the man in question.
“How did you get here so fast?” You asked as you let him inside.
“I was shopping nearby.” He told you, and you raised an eyebrow at his lack of purchases, but you said nothing. You trusted him. Maybe he threw down what he was going to buy just to get here quicker. He made himself at home on your couch, and you sat next to him. “Tell me what happened.”
You had told him your family situation before, so at the mere mention of your mother and the holidays, he knew. The two of you were now brainstorming revenge or a way out.
“What if I show up and then just leave after a few minutes?” You questioned. You were currently laying on the couch, your head in Yeosang’s lap and your feet propped up on the armrest.
“She’ll probably try to stop you.” Yeosang replied.
“Well, I'll just fake being sick.” That would probably fool her - she wouldn't want someone sick at her holiday party.
“What if she tampers with your car the second you get there? Or locks you in and doesn't let you leave? What if she doesn't care that you're sick?” You paused at Yeosang’s rambling, feeling more hopeless by the second. You personally didn't think your mother was that crazy. You sighed.
“Can I just not exist to her anymore?” You muttered. Yeosang chuckled, running a hand through your hair. You relaxed into the touch, it felt so nice to have him massaging your scalp and playing with your hair.
“Well, you'd have to change your name, move, get a new phone. A lot of trouble to avoid a holiday dinner, don't you think?” He asked. You looked up at him, pouting.
“You're the one saying she'll kidnap me!” You protested, but he just chuckled at you again.
“I didn't say it wasn't worth the trouble.” He corrected. You skeptically raised an eyebrow. He was so conflicting with himself today. “Have you eaten today?”
“I forgot…” You muttered. In your defense, your mother texted you at nine in the morning, and you spent the rest of the day panicking before you called for Yeosang. “Wanna order something?”
“What if we went out?” He asked instead.
“I don't know, Sangie… I'm tired. I don't really wanna go out.” You threw an arm over your eyes, not wanting to see him disappointed. You knew you would do anything for him, especially if he gave you that look.
“Come on, it'll be fun. We'll only stay for a bit, yeah?” You sighed, still not looking at him. But your plan to resist wasn't working, and you bit your lip before giving in and nodding.
That was how you ended up in a pretty nice outfit, leaning against the bar in a loud club. You were holding your favorite drink, the drink you'd ordered for Yeosang sitting on the bar next to where his back was pressed to the bar. He watched the crowd while you quietly sipped your drink.
You just weren't feeling it, but maybe you wanted to be there for him for once. He did so much for you, you would do this one thing for him.
On your third drink, you weren't totally drunk, but definitely buzzed. The music was getting too loud, now.
You turned your head to the source of obnoxious giggling. A group of three girls and two guys staring at you, laughing.
You raised an eyebrow. The hell were they laughing at?
“Sangie,” You turned to him, the group laughing harder. “What's up with them?”
He looked over at them, then shrugged.
“Do I have something on my face?” You asked. He leaned in to inspect your face, and your heart rate picked up. Even more so when he placed his hand on your cheek and wiped the corner of my mouth. You blamed the alcohol.
“Not anymore.” He told you, but he didn't move his hand from your cheek. That's what they had been laughing at for sure.
You pulled away from the touch, clearing your throat. You didn't want to have these reactions to your best friend. He was a friend. And a damn good one, sure… But still just a friend.
“I'm going to the bathroom.” He told you, and you nodded. It was odd, especially since his drink was still full. You moved it next to yours, intent on keeping your friend safe while he was away. You wouldn't question him, you trusted him.
The group started laughing again, and you turned to them with a glare.
“Who comes to a club alone?” One of them whispered.
You weren't alone. You were with Yeosang - had they not seen him? No. They had to have seen him. They were just looking for any reason to bully you, now.
You threw the rest of your drink back and ordered another one, downing it before Yeosang came back.
“Ready to go, hun?” He asked, wrapping an arm around your waist. You nodded, the alcohol making your brain a bit fuzzy.
Instead of guiding you to the doors, his body moved closer to yours. His chest pressed to your back, his hands on your hips, his lips right next to your ear - it was driving you crazy.
He must have been feeling the same way, with how his hands firmly held you in place while his lips brushed over your neck, down to your shoulder.
“Yeosang…” You mumbled, but it came out breathy, almost a moan of his name.
“What, my pretty?” He whispered, and you well and truly lost it. You tried to gather the last remnants of your sanity as you turned around to face him. It took everything in your power not to jump him right there.
“What are you doing?” You asked instead. He leaned in until your foreheads pressed together, giving you an intense, yet soft look.
“Taking care of you.” He replied. He leaned in more, your lips touching and you immediately melted into the kiss. You had been wanting this for so long now, you couldn't remember a time when you hadn't. Yeosang initiating it just made it better. It wasn't some stupid fantasy - he wanted you as much as you wanted him.
You let him control the kiss, taking care of you like he said. It was everything you ever fantasized about.
When you broke apart, both of you breathing heavily, he smiled softly at you, squeezing your hips.
“Let's go home.” He told you, and you just nodded, your mind still hazy from the kiss and the feelings and the alcohol.
He held your hand tightly as he led you to the door of the club, out into the streets. It was cold, but he held you close to him. It didn't really help, but the thought was appreciated.
You were happily walking in a content silence when you glanced up at him.
“What did I do to deserve you?” You asked. He looked down at you, smiling.
“You don't have to deserve me. I'll be here regardless.” He told you, and you couldn't help but smile back. Everything was so serene, so perfect.
“I love you, Yeosang.” The words were out before you could stop them, and you didn't regret them at all. Especially not when he hummed a response.
“I love you, too.”
Yes. Your world was perfect.
The blaring of police sirens took you away from that perfect world, and you spun around less than gracefully to see a cop car pulling up beside you, the streets flashing with red and blue. The door opened, and a cop got out. He was tall, intimidating, but his face was kind underneath the sharp edges.
“Had a bit to drink?” He asked, and you dumbly nodded, wondering why cops would stop you in the middle of the street. “It's dangerous to be out walking alone.”
You frowned.
“I'm not alone.” You said, turning to look at Yeosang - only to find him gone. You stopped, looking around the street. You were so confused. Where had he gone? How did he even have time to go anywhere? Why would he leave you? “Hey, Yeosang?”
Your voice echoed around the streets, but there was no response.
“Yeosang, this isn't funny!” You shouted. The cop looked around, too, then sighed. He leaned back into the car.
“Kim, we've got a special case. Call for psych, let ‘em know we're coming.” You froze at his words, glaring at him.
“Hello?” His head popped back over the roof of the car. “I may be drunk, but I'm not psycho! Just - help me find my friend. He's around here somewhere, playing a prank or something - Yeosang!”
You turned your back on the cops, walking a bit further down the street, confusion turning to frustration to worry. Where did Yeosang go?
“Hey,” A hand grabbed your arm. You turned, frowning at the officer. Park, his name badge read. “Come on. Get in the car, okay?”
“No! I need to find my friend.” You pulled your arm away, stumbling back. As you lost your balance, he reached out again to catch you. He was giving you a firm look, laced with concern.
“When did you last see your friend?” He asked.
“Just a minute ago! He was with me right before you stopped me!” You protested. He paused, and then sighed. He took a step back, but still kept a hand on your back to keep you from running.
“Look, we've been following you for ten minutes. There was no one with you.” He told you. It was all so absurd, you laughed.
“Okay, you're crazy. That's impossible, my friend has been with me this whole time.” The look he gave you was sympathetic.
“Get in the car. Let us help you.” He told you, his tone gentle.
“Help me find him, right?” You asked. You were just worried now, wanting Yeosang to be okay. You couldn't lose another friend.
The officer grimly nodded. You got into the back of the cop car. There was a second officer in the passenger seat - a short man with bleached blond hair.
They drove around the area a few times, and you frowned as none of the passersby were Yeosang.
You pulled out your phone, texting him. No response. You called… Straight to voicemail.
"The number you are trying to reach is no longer in service."
You laughed at the automated message. No doubt a prank from Yeosang to scare you if you ever tried to call him. A prank that took three years to pay off. There was no way the number was actually deactivated - you texted him all the time.
“Do you have a message history with this person?” Officer Park asked.
You almost nodded, then stopped as you looked at the wall of messages that were only from you. There must have been a time when he actually sent you a message.
You started scrolling up. And up and up and up… You didn't realize how far you had scrolled until you finally saw a message from the other party.
Three years ago.
Still up for pizza tonight?
Your response sent an icy shock through your body.
Course, wouldn't miss it for the world, pooks.
You only ever called one person that.
Your best friend, who had been killed in an accident the next day. It was your last message to him.
You quickly tapped on the contact that read Sangie, bringing up the actual number. Your best friend’s number.
You sat up bolt straight, staring at your phone in horror.
How the hell had you been texting Yeosang through your dead best friend’s number - a number that was supposedly deactivated?
Then, it hit you.
The group at the bar. They said you were there alone.
The lady at the diner. Talking to you like your date hadn't showed up.
The unfinished milkshake.
Always showing up immediately when you needed him.
The shopping he obviously hadn't been doing.
The texts he never responded to.
You couldn't help the startled sob that fell out of your lips.
Yeosang, your friend of three years, the man you had just confessed your love to.
He wasn't real.
Strangers to Friends to Lovers to Imaginary Friend is so real
Tagging @halavibe and @wooyoungisbaby bc u guys seemed interested
