so fun fact, aside from being a stay the only group iâve ever come close to stanning is blackpink, my fav being lisa. like fr. when lalisa came out, i spent all day watching the mv. then i got into skz at the same time blackpink went into hiatus and my âblinkâ era ended. i still like their music, both solo and as a group, so i think iâm unbiased enough
i wanted skz to win best kpop and best group, but ig im not as pissed as i could be
for best kpop i think lisa shouldnât have been nominated. i really like born again, have listened to it on spotify, the radio, taxis and tv. even my grandpa liked it. itâs a good song imo, but it has nothing korean, so it shouldâve been in the pop category.
lisaâs in a kpop group and clearly the vmas didnât want to make the distinction for her solo music. thatâs not okay, not for her and not for the other nominees
moving on. best group. from the groups nominated, blackpink is the only one that could win skz without it seeming rigged. but blackpink has released one song in three years and iâm not necessarily saying skz are better but they work harder. they just released their seventh #1 album and finished the highest attended kpop tour. and blackpink are successful and really popular, thatâs clear. theyâve got lots of fans, blinks are really good streaming and voting. but the most successful kpop group this year has been skz.
even if the difference by votes between the two groups probably wasnât much, i think blackpink won bc they attended the event. if skz had gone and blackpink hadnât, the result wouldâve been opposite.
Where have you been?
Do you know if youâre coming back?
We were too close to the stars
I never knew somebody like you
Fallinâ just as hard
Iâd rather lose somebody than use somebody
Maybe itâs a blessing in disguise
I see my reflection in your eyes
the first time chan felt it was the night before the survival show.
in a matter of hours, heâd have to show his group to the world, prove that the boys he himself had chosen and prepared were worth supporting. as confident as he was about everyoneâs skills and likeability, there was someone that worried him.
not because chan doubted him or doubted his abilities, no. it was because chan loved him.
not romantically, of course not. chan wasnât in a position in which he could get that close to people, he hadnât been in a long time, and as sad as that sounded, it was what kept him safe.
thanks to his self-made defence mechanism, his perfect technique of faking trust and attachment while his heart was isolated, chan barely remembered the last time heâd shook before an evaluation, afraid that yet another one of his friends would be ripped away from him.
but now the feeling was consuming him all over again.
tomorrow. tomorrow the first episode of the survival show was coming out, the nine boys that spent the last months building something together laid bare for the world to judge.
everyone would see them, criticise them or praise them. love them or hate them. and chan could deal with it â heâd been posting music with 3racha long enough to learn to ignore hurtful comments, to differentiate words that sought being helpful from those that only wanted to destroy â but maybe the other members couldnât.
and realistically, he knew that they had each other. they would help themselves overcome the struggles and finally become the long awaited group they strived to be.Â
they would be fine.Â
chan held onto that thought and repeated it like a mantra, the words engraved in his brain as a last attempt to shake off the nerves that had a firm grip on his body. but his mind wouldnât stop worrying about him.
felix, his aussie mate, one of the newest additions to the team and the only member that barely knew korean.
the thing is, felix was charming, everyone that met him could see that. a walking sunshine with a deep voice that didnât match his bubbly self but made him all the more attractive, thatâs what he was to anyone that didnât know him, and what heâd been to chan when they first met.
but now, that boy was everything to him â well, maybe not everything, but right now he was 1/8 of all chan cared about. and the most special 1/8, in the leaderâs opinion. in felix, chan found a reflection of his home, a way that the universe had found to bring his childhood back to him.Â
chan didnât know what would happen if he lost him.
maybe the viewers would be disappointed by his inability to clearly communicate in korean, or jyp himself. a k-pop idol that only spoke english sounded strange, undoable. but felix was felix, and chan was sure that heâd win the audience over just like heâd settled into the membersâ hearts effortlessly.
he was a kind and pure soul, always making others laugh and smile even if he couldnât do it with words. plus, he never gave up. every day after practice, the boy sat down with his textbooks, trying to learn the language he was now surrounded by.
and everyone helped him. the members knew enough english to talk to him, which was a huge help. even lee know, who had been with them for a fairly short time and didnât yet have that much of a knack for english, had become felixâs personal korean teacher.
so why did chan feel so nervous at the though of exposing him to the world? he felt like a little kid showing his parents a drawing, both excited and afraid to get their reactions. it was so contradicting. part of chan wanted to keep felix safe, away from any possible criticism, but the rest of him needed to show his aussie gem to the world.
ïœĄïœĄïœĄ
fate repeated itself in the worst way possible.
just when the group was getting over minhoâs elimination, jyp tore felix away from them.Â
chan remembered the shock in everyoneâs eyes, he kept replaying the image in his head. all the boys had been hurt and appalled, refusing to believe that this was happening all over again.
but felix- chan didn't think heâd ever forget the pain he saw in the youngerâs face. the boyâs expression had crumbled as soon as heâd comprehended the news, and all for what? because he couldnât yet speak korean well?
chan hadnât known what to do with himself when felix started crying. heâd failed him, in very way possible, and could only offer empty promises that heâd try to fulfill with everything he hadÂ
âalways find me, yeah? iâm not gonna leave you behindâ
he had meant the words, with all his heart, but ultimately he knew that it wasnât up to him. how could jyp do this to him after all heâd gone through? 8 years of being isolated from his childhood, from love, from his home, and jyp was now tearing him apart from the one person who gave that all back to him.
the leader didnât know how or when, but to him felix had become someone to brag about, to show off. every time chan looked at him, dancing and singing and interacting lovingly with the members, he felt a newfound sense of pride and happiness.
itâs not that he didn't feel the same about the other members, because he was proud of them, indescribably so. but it was different. with felix had come a protectiveness that the others hadnât raised in him, probably because they didnât need chan quite as much.
felix was aussie as well and chan was the only one who could truly understand him, both literally and figuratively, because theyâd left the same things behind. so chan had refused to let the younger be like him, vowed to never let the spark in his eyes fade.
felix had become chanâs home, and now that the world would had had its say in their future, he lost him.
that was the first night chan cried himself to sleep with the freckled boy in his mind, and little did he know it wouldnât be the last.
ïœĄïœĄïœĄ
âcongratulations. stray kids will debut as nineâ
the room broke into cheers, loud laughs echoing through every corner as the boys were finally granted their dream. no one knew who to hug first. but felix? he ran straight to chan.
the leader had the biggest smile on his face and felix knew that since his elimination until today, he probably hadnât stopped pulling strings to make everyone debut together.
felix didnât even get to say âthank youâ because everyone was screaming in the background, jisung sounding like a weird mix between a dinosaur and a sheep, so he just held tight onto chan and hoped the message was clear.
the last few days, he had been terrified. chan had basically adopted him for the last months and he didnât know what to do when he lost both the team and his aussie bro.Â
maybe heâd gotten too attached because, after all, the leader was the only one felix could truly be himself around, no language barrier to worry about.
or maybe he just felt special because chan had thoughtlessly pulled felix into his group, purely because he wanted to, and the younger hoped that it wasnât just because of their hometown or because chan felt like he had to protect him.
it was strange, but felix both loved and hated the thought of being so close to chan because of australia. in a way, both of them saw a piece of home in each other, and that sounded pretty nice, but felix really hoped chan saw past that.Â
he wanted to be someone the leader saw talent in and was proud of and someone that added enough to the team to become special â which he guessed he was, because chan wouldnât just work so hard to take someone back to the team heâd earned just because of some silly emotional attachment.
felix held back tears as chan hugged him back. he hadnât been this happy in a long time. a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders now that he was no longer on a tightrope towards his dream, afraid to fall into nothingness with every step he took.
âi promised i wouldnât leave you,â chan whispered, giving felix a last squeeze before pulling away. the younger never wanted to let go, but the rest of the team â his team â was waiting for them both to join the celebratiom.
from that day on, felix made a promise to himself. nothing would ever separate him from his team again. and as much as he told himself that it was because of everyone, he knew deep down that the one he never wanted to lose was the leader.
ïœĄïœĄïœĄ
âagain!â minho yelled, his tired voice cutting though the loud music in the practice room. stray kids were practising for a new full album, had been for a few weeks, and the air was tense. not in a way that foreshadowed a fight, they never took it that far anymore, but it was clear that no one wanted to spend a minute longer in there.
it didn't help that they had been stuck on the same song the whole day. 3racha had joined the practice late, their own producing session having dragged on more than expected, and they were struggling to keep up with the dance. everyone understood the feeling of having a bad day, so they kept quiet, but their exhaustion was getting increasingly obvious.Â
âitâs not even that hard,â seungmin complained playfully at some point, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. his voice meant to be teasing, of course, but to the three boys that couldnât seem to comprehend the new choreography it only served as a reminder of their failing attempts at learning it.
âshut up,â hyunjin whispered so only the singer heard, gently nudging him and earning a mumbled apology. it was clear in 3rachaâs eyes that they were totally done with today, no one wanted to discourage them even further.
the trio had been working nonstop, but they didnât want to use that as an excuse because to be fair, everyone had. minho, hyunjin and yongbok had come up with tons of choreography that they had to teach the rest, and no one saw them complaining.
but the others knew that they were dragging themselves to he ground. it was obvious in the way changbin had to bite his tongue to keep himself from snapping every time he messed up, and in the way jisungâs eyes had looked glossy when heâd stepped into the practise room like heâd cry at any moment. it was nothing new to see 3racha worn down, but that didnât make it any easier to watch.
one of them seemed to find the choreo particularly hard today, and it was chan. with how little sleep heâd gotten lately, it wasnât surprising that his head couldnât seem to wrap around the dance, messing simple details in every run-through. it was so frustrating to him, and sad to the others.
the leaderâs eyes kept fluttering shut in between breaks, and the dark circles under them didn't help to make him look like less of a zombie. each time he missed a step and was the reason that everyone was held back from going home, he felt ready to burst into tears.
it had been a long time since he last felt so useless, but he knew that now was not the time or place to drown in self pity. he had kept it together the whole day, through the tiring session with han and changbin that had admittedly gotten them nowhere and now through the never-ending dance practice, so he hoped no one would notice just how much he felt like a failure.
and while the others resigned themselves to feel bad for the entirety of 3racha, there was a pair of eyes that had been set on him the whole day.
chan didnât notice, too focused on doing his best â his best that today was clearly not good enough â and not falling asleep on his feet, but then minho called the end of practise, totally aware that their progress had been little to none but unable to push the members anymore, and while most of the members grabbed their bags and quickly exited the room, eager to finally go home, felix followed chan.
the leaderâs vision had started to blur at some point and he really didn't want to deal with passing out, so he grabbed his phone and went to sit on the couch, planning to act like he was making a call so that heâd have time alone, but someone plopping down next to him shook him out of his daze.
when he looked up, his eyes met felix, who was looking at him so warmly. the care and worry in the youngerâs gaze made him want to cry, and he had to turn his head away with a shaky sigh.
âwhat?â he asked, his voice embarrassingly unsteady as he tried to keep his emotions in check. he never seemed to manage to hide anything from felix, and he didnât know whether to love or hate that.
âdonât what me,â felix said in english, running his hand down chanâs back in a way that made the leaderâs heart skip a beat. it did that so often lately, but chan never wanted to think deeply about it, knowing that heâd find feelings he wasnât ready to confront.âwhatâs going on?â
honestly? everything. the producing session had been a mess and dance practice had been even worse. he felt dead on his feet, too, but that only affected him, so it was fine. the rest however mustâve been so annoyed by his lack of utility today.Â
âi- i keep m-messing up,â he replied, choking on a sob and hiding his face in his hands. heâd tried his best to hold it back but the tears were already spilling, leaving cold trails on his cheeks.
he felt felix wrap an arm around his shoulders, the youngerâs head resting coming to rest against his. âno you donâtâ
he said softly, and chan almost believed him. âyouâre just tired today, itâs okayâ
hesitantly, felix reached up to pull chanâs hands away from his face, smiling when the older let him, but his expression quickly fell as soon as he saw the leaderâs face. in a matter of seconds, chan had gone from looking tired to looking absolutely broken, and felix wanted to cry with him. in an idolâs life it was normal to have days in which no progress was made, but it was rare to see chan so worked up over it.
âwhy are you so upset?â he asked, gently brushing away the leaderâs tears. it was useless as they kept falling, but chan still leaned into the touch, his body shaking. the gesture felt weirdly intimate to felix, even though it wouldâve been normal if he did it with any other member, but he didnât question why. he already knew the answer anyway.
âi d-donât know-â chan sniffled, rubbing a hand over his cheek in an attempt to stop the tears. ân-nothing went w-well today and⊠a-and i held a-all of you backâ
he felt bad unloading all of this on felix but he also felt like he could trust him, almost like he wouldnât mind listening to him. and yeah, he didnât.Â
âbut you didnât,â the younger promised, rubbing chanâs back again. âbin and hannie were tired too, none of us mind you having bad dayâ
despite knowing that the words were probably true, chan shook his head. âi-itâs not just a b-bad day,â he said, his voice cracking. âiâve been messing up so muchâ i c-canât do anything right latelyâ
this shocked felix. lately? what did lately even mean? in his eyes, chan did nothing but be perfect every day, whether that be creating music or as a person. he could understand the older being upset over today but he felt that chan was blowing it out of proportion, like he so often did when it came to berating himself.
âwhat are you saying?â felix asked, maybe a bit too bluntly by the way the leader immediately looked away from his eyes. âno- look at me.â chan did. âthereâs nothing youâre doing wrongâ
the way i see you is wrong, chan thought suddenly, the words popping up in his mind like a jumpscare. what the fuck? they werenât even talking about feelingsâ and he didnât see felix any way, he was his best friend. right.
âyou canât say that after seeing me dance today,â chan said, chuckling a bit. really, it was almost funny how bad heâd managed to be in practice.
âbut i can say it after seeing you be perfect every dayâ felix replied quietly, staring straight into the leaderâs eyes before realising what heâd just said.Â
âno wait- i mean!â he stumbled over his words, flustered. âyouâve been working really hard and still looking out for usâ yeah, that. youâre doing everything youâre supposed to do.â
he mentally patted himself on the head, proud of his quick save, but when he looked back to chan, the leaderâs cheeks had a subtle flush to them.
must be from crying so much, he thought, feeling sad for the leader all over again. thatâs when he remembered that chan hadnât replied to him. he was just staring at felix, his expression a mix of surprised and grateful, though there was still doubt clouding his eyes.
then, he smiled, looking unusually shy as he averted his gaze. âthanksâ he mumbled quietly, hiding his face behind his hands once more. felix worried that heâd start crying again but instead he just whined, the way he did when stays left cheesy pick up lines during his lives.Â
âyou canât just say that,â chan complained, voice muffled behind his hands. âitâs notâ ughâ
felix laughed, the sound echoing in the empty room, and it did nothing to ease chanâs feelings. his heart was doing somersaults and all because what, felix had called him perfect? it didnât help that the younger still had his hand on his back from earlier, tracing shapes mindlessly.
or not so mindlessly.
eventually, the youngerâs laugh died down, but he had a permanent smile on his face. seeing chan like that wasnât usual, but for some reason he really liked it. âcuteâ felix thought.
âSTOP!â Â
oh fuck. he did not just say it out loud did he.
âstop what?â felix asked, playing dumb while trying to come up with an excuse. he couldnât, not with chan staring at him with flushed cheeks and eyes still glossy from his breakdown earlier.
ânothing.â chan pouted. he was sure heâd heard felix call him cute but maybe he just misunderstood him. his brain short circuited half of the time he was with the younger anyways so it wasnât a surprise. he kinda wanted felix to find him cute tho⊠what was wrong with him?
âanyways,â felix patted chanâs shoulder, interrupting the sudden silence that made him feel awkward, âyou got the point?â
âthat iâm perfect? yeahâ
âstopâ felix groaned. now it was his turn to blush. âbut yeah. i mean it, donât beat yourself up over silly mistakesâ
âgot it,â chan mumbled, still a bit upset, but being with felix had really done the job of cheering him up. without thinking, he pulled the younger into a hug, breath catching in his throat when the other returned it instantly.Â
if he had any tension left in his body, it melted away in felixâs arms that were holding him even tighter. turns out he didnât need alone time, just his personal sunshine.
his personal sunshine that wasnât really his.
chan pulled away, albeit reluctantly, when the dancer started to play with his hair. he knew that it wasnât on purpose, that it meant nothing because felix was felix and he took any chance to be affectionate with anyone, but he was dangerously close to letting himself believe that he was special to the boy.Â
the walk home was pretty quiet, surprisingly so. nothing was ever quiet when those two were together but chan was completely lost in his thoughts. his mind had become a whirlwind of contradicting emotions, spinning around felix.Â
he was only pulled back to reality when his hand accidentally brushed against the youngerâs, though by the fifth time it happened he wasnât sure of it being unintentional anymore. he didn't want to look up, not ready to face felix after having unraveled in front of him so easily earlier.
but the dancer seemed to have had enough, and when they both got to into the elevator of chanâs dorm he took matters into his own hands. carefully, he moved his hand to chanâs face, turning it towards him. he didn't need the older to speak because his expression said enough, but felix couldnât stand it.
the way the leader kept avoiding his eyes like they hadnât just shared a precious moment, like felix hadnât accidentally showed his whipped self without hesitation.
oh. maybe it was because of that. maybe chan had found it weird, gross even, that one of his teammates, the one that was supposed too be his best friend, was head over heels for him.Â
when chan didnât respond to his pleading look, felix let his hand fall, pretending that the way the older wordlessly walked out of the elevator and into the dorm didn't hurt him.
felix didn't think that what he had said was enough to give away his feelings for the leader, but it was the only explanation for his distant behaviour.
what he didnât know was that back in his room, the same thoughts haunted the leader. chan hadnât realised it until today, but he was truly on the edge of falling for felix in a way heâd never fallen for anyone before.
and it terrified him.
ïœĄïœĄïœĄ
the next day chan avoided felix with every fibre of his being. he knew it was wrong â specially after the younger had stayed behind yesterday, surely tired and out of patience but still doing his best to comfort the leader â but he needed to sort out his feelings.
he couldnât fall in love with one of his teammate, it would ruin everything he had worked so hard for. the sole fact that he even allowed himself to begin to feel like this disgusted him.
he just needed some time to work around his feelings, maybe distance himself from the younger even if just thinking about it hurt until he found a way to avoid everything that made his heart flutter.Â
then he just needed to make himself fall out of love.
but it was hard. each time he looked around the studio or the practice room or really anywhere, he caught felix staring at him. and not lovingly, not angry and not confused â he just looked heartbroken.
and the members noticed, too. how the aussie duo hadnât shared more than a few longing glances during the day, how their sunshine seemed to be in a trance, like someone had stolen his soul, and how the leader barely looked up from the ground.
they knew both of them had stayed in the practice room alone yesterday, and they were worried that maybe a fight had broken out. except no one believed that chan could ever fight with felix.
to the leader, the day went by in a blur, and it was his fault. this time it truly was him who had cause the heavy atmosphere, who had filed felixâs eyes with pain despite promising himself that he wouldnât ever lose him again.
now he felt further away from him than he ever had before.
when the night fell once again and everyone went to sleep, chan stayed awake in his room, deep into the late hours. he wouldâve never thought himself capable of racing this point, wouldâve never believed it if someone told him that love could cause this much pain.
and while it could, it definitely could, it wasnât love that was hurting anyone, it was him. him who always managed to mess up every special relationship, who was so scared of being hurt that he pulled away first and did the damage himself.
he could lie, of course, say that he was doing it for the sake of the group. that his feelings had no room in the world he and the members had built together and would only break their bond.Â
but deep down, he felt selfish. if he confessed, admitted to his silly crush that he only now saw had been developing from the very beginning, heâd lose felix, maybe even the group.
he was scared of the possibility of the younger looking at him with disgust in his eyes, but somehow seeing him in pain was even less bearable.
he only had three options. confessing, pulling away, or acting normal while his feelings ate him up inside.
the first one was impossible, it would spark every bad outcome chan feared, but the second one had hurt them both badly and i had only been his choice for a day. he couldnât keep doing it, felix didnât deserve it.
but he didnât know how to keep going on as normal either. the thought of falling harder for felix while the other only saw him as a brother made his chest feel tight and his eyes well with tears for the second night in a row.Â
felix would find someone someday, and chan wouldnât know how to deal with it â how to be the supportive friend the younger would need â if he still hoped he belonged to him.
for the first time ever, chan wished he hadnât opened up to felix. if he had only kept himself together the night before, he wouldnât have cried in felixâs arms, wouldnât have let himself feel the youngerâs warmth and wouldnât have realised that he loved him.
ignorance is bliss, but chan had never known it until now.
ăăă
âthereâs a live scheduled in an hour, be readyâÂ
chan had been staring at the message for the last five minutes. a live wasnât a problem, it was something that everyone enjoyed every once in a while, but this one would be very different.
âyou and felix will chat with stays about the upcoming albumâ
in a way, he found it as an opportunity to apologise to the younger, let him know that nothing was wrong between them. he could even just pull out the âi was embarrassed after my breakdownâ card and hope that it would work.Â
that had happened before, after all, but felix had never been quite so upset after it. the memory of the boy looking so drained the day before still haunted chan, and he needed to fix it, however he could.
he didnât give his outfit much thought, instead spending half an hour and the walk to the company rehearsing how he would approach and interact with the younger. he never had to fake anything in front of felix, the atmosphere between the two always honest and easy, but heâd carelessly ruined that.
when he opened the door to the room in which they would hold the live, he froze. felix was already there, one of their stylists doing his makeup. chan wasnât sure why, shouldnât they look natural in a morning live?
but when his eyes really focused on the dancer, he got his answer. even with what looked like a few layers of concealer, his face was visibly tired. his eyes also looked slightly puffy, like heâd been crying, and chan hated that he knew it was his fault.
âhi,â he said, standing awkwardly at the doorstep. the other two clearly hadnât noticed him until now because they startled out of whatever conversation theyâd been having. the stylist whispered something to felix, her eyes soft but encouraging as she gave the boy a gentle pat on the shoulder before she stood up. she walked out, barely sparing chan a glance. what was that about?
stepping into the room, chan greeted felix again, his heart twisting painfully at the poorly concealed sadness in felixâs expression. but the younger still tried to put on a smile.Â
âhyung, ready for the live?â he asked, his voice deeper than usual and slightly rough.
chan had to keep himself from frowning, but he nodded, opening instagram.
so pretty!
our lixie looks tired :(
chan write to me on instagram, i have something to tell you pls
the comments were nothing out of this world, except those that expressed stayâs concern for felix. it was okay, thatâs what they told the public, but okay was the worst word to describe felix right now.
throughout the live, their interactions seemed normal, casual, but both boys felt the tension behind every sentence that left their mouths. there was a particular comment that caught chanâs eye and wouldnât leave his mind.
chanlix are really like brothers! you can tell felix always looks up to his big bro
right. brothers. the word hurt chan more than he wanted to admit, specially because he knew that thatâs probably what he was to felix. if only he could reciprocate thatâŠ
for the next hour, chan paid half a mind to the live and really thought about the conversation he needed to have. âdo i just say sorry? i canât lie to him but the truth is even worse⊠just lie, chan, its not like you can mess things up much moreâ
and then the moment arrived. after a few cute goodbyes and a big hug, the live ended, and felix didn't waste a minute before scurrying to his feet, ready to bold out of the room.
but chan held onto his hand, and didn't the touch burn
âwaitâ he pleaded, his voice trembling. there goes any attempt at a logical and calm conversation. âlix i-â he paused, trying to keep his emotions in check. âiâm so sorryâ
he got that much out before he just started crying. not loud, not evident, just quiet tears rolling down his face, but he was so clearly scared. he was afraid that felix would just walk away on him, leaving him with the apology weighing down on his heart like he honestly deserved.
instead, felix sat down next to him again, looking at the ground while trying not to let the leaderâs tears affect him.Â
âdonât be,â he said, his voice painfully cold. but it was only emotionless because otherwise heâd break. âi know itâs my faultâÂ
his fault? how could felix think it was his fault?
chan looked at him through teary eyes, now holding tight onto his hand. ây-your fault? how is it y⊠i a-am the problem lixâ he said sadly, unable to stand the though of felix blaming himself for something he shouldâve controlled.
still, the dancer shook his head. he looked directly at chan for the first time that day, and his cheeks were drowned with tears too.Â
âyou didn't force me to love you, hyungâ
to love you. thatâs what felix had said wasnât it? chan couldnât believe his ears, convinced his mind was playing some stupid trick on him again. ân-noâ he sobbed, rubbing roughly at his eyes. the tears were making it hard to see. âd-donât lieâ
but when felix only pulled his hand away and turned his back to him, shoulders shaking with emotions that couldnât be faked, chan realised that both of them were trapped in the same nightmare.
the nightmare of loving someone you shouldnât, someone who could never love you back. except both of them had gotten it wrong.
they had thought theyâd spend forever together without ever really reaching each other. like the moon and the sun, the world had pushed them together, created them to balance each other out, but theyâd been to scared to see it.
âlixie,â chan said, grabbing felixâs arm and desperately trying to make the boy face him. he didnât budge.
âi love you tooâ
that did the trick. felix quickly turned around, staring into chanâs eyes like he was trying to take a look into his soul, find any trace of a lie. there wasnât. only the leaderâs true feelings laid bare for him to see.
the realisation made him cry harder. he couldnât believe that theyâd kept everything hidden for so long, trying to avoid breaking their bond when the only thing the lies were doing was weaken it.
âh-hyungâ he choked out, fingers grasping chanâs hoodie like heâd disappear if he let go. âi w-was so s-scared⊠i didnât know tha-â
he didnât have time to finish before chan pulled him into a kiss.
the olderâs lip met his with a hint of desperation, and the boy melted. his hands found their way to chanâs hair, getting tangled in the soft locks and trying to pull him impossibly closer. they felt like two souls that had been caged for the longest time, an invisible string pulling them together until the restraint snapped.
no words were shared. this time not because they were afraid, but because it wasnât needed. their actions said enough, their tears expressed feelings nothing else could. and the way they couldnât seem to get enough of each other now that there wasnât a barrier separating them was the universeâs way of letting them now theyâd chosen the right person.
the sun and the moon, they were meant to be.
@lixiesstorys happy stay day pookie! i hope you like this! you donât know how hard it was not to give you spoilers or ask for help writing
it felt weird to write friends to lovers and i donât think i did it right, i kinda wanna do a second version thatâs better. i didnât proofread at all so there must be sm mistakes
thanks to @starlostastronaut for making this event, it was fun! happy bday!
anyone else noticing how chan is owning his attitude and not caring about people's opinions anymore? honestly, slay king đ€ we love an unbothered man đ finally man is able to speak his truth!
Trigger warnings: family issues, insecurity, emeto, panic attacks
Hurt one: Hyunjin
Comforter: Chan
Words: 2650
This is a mix out of 2 requests and the 'Dreamers Dream Until They Don't' series. If you didn't read Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3 I would recommend it to you, because they're always connected with each other :). Now enjoy <3
Hyunjin was insecure about himself. But not because he felt ugly, like many other people did. No, Hyunjin was insecure, because he knew his beauty. He knew that other people loved his visuals. But that was all. He wasn't seen for a deep voice like Felix, for his fast rapping like Changbin and Han, for his insane vocals like Jeongin and Seungmin, for his dancing skills like Minho or for being a good leader like Chan. He just was the visual of the group and that made him really insecure.
And it had been that way since he was born (or at least since he was able to remember). His parents always talked about his looks and how beautiful he was, but never about his character. When he was younger, Hyunjin thought the only thing mattered were visuals. Soon he learned that that wasn't the case and with that, the fear of being nothing than a visual, came into his life. It was his daily companion.
When Hyunjin came to JYPE he finally felt like he wasn't just a handsome boy, but someone who had talents. That however did only last until the group debuted. Even if no one had the intention to make him the main-visual of the group, he automatically became it. And there he was again. Nothing but a visual that was there for photos, but not useful for anything else.
The members always tried to convince him otherwise, because had talents. He wasn't part of danceRACHA for just being a visual. He wasn't part of the whole group for just being a visual. But Hyunjin didn't see it. The fear was to deep, his thoughts were too loud.
Hyunjin also knew that the contact to his parents wasn't the best influence for him. They were too focused on having a beautiful son than actually finding time to care for him. It had always been that way, so Hyunjin was used to it.
But there was one person that always got Hyunjin back to the ground: Chan. Chan was always there when the dancer felt insecure about himself. He was always there when Hyunjin needed a shoulder to cry on. The leader was just always there. No matter what was going on in his own life, Chan was always there for all of the members. In those moments, it was 1000% clear, why he was the leader. It was always clear, but then even more.
And then, the problems had started. Suddenly, Chan's parents turned their back on him, Minho's parents left him and Changbin's parents were haters of their own son.
All those incidents brought Hyunjin's mind back to his own parents, his own childhood that hadn't been a real childhood. The fear of only being a visual had been sleeping in him and now woke up again, stronger than ever.
Resigned Hyunjin put down the brush he was holding and looked at the picture he painted. It showed a stormy ocean. The picture was... okay. Not really good, not really bad. "Hyunjin, you coming? We have the interview in two hours!" Chan yelled from downstairs. "Yeah, I'm coming, wait a second!" Hyunjin yelled back and quickly rinsed the brush.
When the dancer came downstairs, everyone was already in the cars, except Chan, who waited for Huynjin. "Ready?" he nodded and followed the leader in the car.
After they reached the building in wich the interview would take place, all members gathered around Chan to get the last advices. "Okay everyone, it's the same as always: be respectful to the tsaff, they work very hard. But if they hurt you in any way, tell me and we stop the interview. Always think before answering and think about the question, are you allowed to answer that? If anything isn't right, come to me. So the same as always. Any questions?" no one said anything, so they went back to their manager to tell him that they were ready to begin.
Hyunjin followed them slowly. You are acting ridiculous right now! he scolded himself. The dancer got faster until he reached the group again. Shouldn't he be happy to be a visual? But no, he wasn't happy.
Some staff greeted them friendly and led them to a room, where the 8 members sat down.
A few minutes later a woman and a man appeared and the interview started. They were asked some general questions that were mostly answered by Chan. Then they started to ask some more individual questions that every member answered for themselves.
"Now, Hyunjin, you are known for your amazing visuals. How do you feel about it? Is it stressy to always have to look perfect?" "Well actually since I'm not the official visual of the group, no, it's not-" "why aren't you?" "Because we are all beautiful in our own-" "but stays say that you are one of the most beautiful people existing" "well, I'm sure as soon as you are their bias they say-" "and you got casted for so many brands because of your vis-" "okay, that's enough." Chan's voice sounded sharp when it cut through the interviewer's words. He must've noticed that Hyunjin was getting more nervous by every question.
"Hyunjin is not only a visual. He one of the most talented dancers and singers, without him the group wouldn't be where it is now." the other 6 nodded along and Huynjin looked to the ground. Why the hell did Chan always had to protect the members like that? It would only bring the leader in trouble. "But your group wouldn't have come so far without his visuals either." Chan opened his mouth to protest but the dancer quickly rested one of his hands on the leader's shoulder. "It's okay Channie, please don't fight about something like that" Chan seemed like he wanted to argue but eventually closed his mouth and just nodded. Hyunjin smiled at the interviewers and swallowed his tears down. Don't cry here, Hyunjin! That would only end in a disaster
As soon as the interview had ended, Hyunjin stood up and pulled Chan with him. He wasn't exactly angry but if they wouldn't cut Chan's anger out of the video, he would only get more hate than he already did. But as soon as he was worried, the dancer wasn't able to seperate it from anger anymore.
"Why the hell did you start an argument with the interviewers, Chan??" "I didn't exactly start an argument, I just told them that you aren't just a visual." Chan stayed way calmer than Hyunjin, who looked like he was ready to cry. But when the leader stepped towards the younger member, his friend stepped back. "I don't need to be protected, I can handle it my own, okay? I'm a grown man hyung, stop trying to protect me from everything, because you heard them, I am the visual if I want it or not!" an with that he went back to the car.
The ride back home was quiet, the others didn't dare to talk with Hyunjin or Chan, worried that they had a fight and didn't want to talk to anyone. Only Jisung and Minho were chatting quietly with each other. Hyunjin looked around in the car. Felix was playing a game on his phone, Seungmin looked out of the window, Jeongin made sweater paws, Minsung were laughing about something on Minho's phone (probably cat videos), Changbin wrote messages on bubble and Chan had his laptop on his knees, writing some new lyrics down. He sat on the other end of the van, next to Felix wich made it impossible to apologize. Why did he get so fucking angry? Why was everything so difficult?
When they were home, the members walked in different directions. Felix and Minho went in the kitchen to make dinner, Changbin, Jisung and Chan went up in Chan's dorm to work on some songs and Jeongin and Seungmin sat down in the living room to play a board game. Unsure where he should go, Hyunjin just decided to go in his own dorm and continue his painting.
But no matter how much he tried to distract himself, his thoughts always went back to the interview. Yet, not only to the interview. His casting for JYPE, his trainee years, dances, pictures, edits made by STAYs. All of the memories had one connection: his visuals. Am I really only that? Nothing more than a visual?
Hyunjin's hands started to tremble and suddenly, just like in slow motion and without any control about his body, the dancer took his phone out of his pocket and dealed a number. The number he tried to forget for a long time.
Mom: Hello?
Hyunjin: Hey mom
M: Hyunjin?! Oh how lovely to hear from you! How are you?
H: Good, thanks for asking. I don't want to bother you, I just have a question
M: Sure, go ahead
H: What am I to you? Except you son I mean
M: You are the most beautiful and handsome boy in the world of course!
H: And what about my... character?
M: ...
H: Mom?
M: Well, you know, character isn't really important
H: You think so?
M: At least not if you are beautiful! You shine brighter than anyone else, so who cares about your- I mean the character?
H: Oh, okay... I have to uhm go back to the other members now because of... work
M: Do that
Hyunjin hang up the call. His phone fell down to the ground when his vision blurred with swallowed-down tears. He was a visual. He had never been anything else. A beautiful face on pictures not needed for anything else. The dancer had known that and still had believed that someone cared about his other talents, about him.
When the first sob escaped through his lips, Hyunjin didn't even try to hold it back. Soon, his sobbing became uncontrolable. Yeah, he had lost control about all the emotions he had swallowed down for years. In all the interviews and livestreams he had swallowed down the tears and the anger that came up when someone said how handsome he was. What a great visual he was.
Chan walked upstairs again. He had gone down to see if the kitchen was still useable or if it already started to catch fire. He didn't mean to listen when he passed Hyunjin's door but abruptly stopped. The leader didn't even needed to listen closely to hear the shaky sobs out of the dancer's dorm-door. The Aussie hesitated for a moment, maybe Hyunjin wanted to be alone. But who wanted to be alone while crying like that? So he slowly opened the door.
Hyunjin's head shot up when he heard how the door opened. He looked in the direction from where steps came towards him but he couldn't see anything. Tears and panic made it nearly impossible to recognize the person that kneeled down next to the chair he was sitting on, the warm hands that rubbed his back for comfort, the soothing words that were nothing more than mumbling in his ears.
"Sshh Jinnie, it's okay, it's okay. I'm here, everything is going to be okay" was the first thing he was able to understand after several minutes of crying in someone's shoulders. When he looked up, Chan softly smiled at him. "Hey, you understand me?" the dancer nodded. His mind felt like he just fainted. Everything was still blurry and he couldn't find a reason for his outburst. His heart was racing and his stomach churned, probably from his fast and uneven breathing but he decided to ignore it. Normally his stomach calmed down again after a few minutes.
Chan was still kneeling next to his chair looking at him with now worry filled eyes. "care to tell me why you were crying like that?"
Hyunjin took a deep breath before he started to tell the Aussie why he had had a panic attack. Every emotion and feeling he had swakllowed down came back up again. The leader's eyes grew wide and the worry was replaced with anger. "Hyunjin, that is not true! You aren't just a visual, you are just as talented as the other members and just as unique and that not only for your visuals"
"But I don't want to be unique for my visuals, no matter what else makes me unique, I don't want to be a visual in any way!" Hyunjin clapped a hand over his mouth, shocked about his yelling. Then, the color started to leave his face and the contents of his stomach slowly made its way up his throat. Shit! He forgot about his stomach. Of course, normally it would calm down after a while but since he became even more agitated, his stomach was out of control now.
His friend looked at him and slowly asked: "Hyunjin-ah, is everything okay?". Unable to speak, Hyunjin just shook his head as a no. "What's wrong? Wait, do you feel sick?" this time the dancer nodded, fear in his eyes. Chan reacted as soon as he got the non-verbal answer. He fetched the bucket that was placed under the table and gently put it in Hyunjin's lap. His friend looked up and shook his head wildly. "Jinnie hey, it's okay! If you need to let it out, let it out. You'll only hurt yourself with holding it in"
Hyunjin hesitated for a moment, unsure what to do. The leader alsways knew what to do but still.
After a few seconds of thinking, the dancer slowly moved his hands from his mouth. For some moments, nothing happened and Hyunjin already wanted to tell Chan that it was wrong alarm, but suddenly hunched forward with a gag. His friend jumped in action and wrapped one arm around his chest, so the dancer wouldn't fall off the chair he was sitting on. The leader started to rub slow circles on Hyunjin's back and tried to comfort him a bit.
Tears started to sting in Hyunjin's eyes again. Why? Just fucking why? His throat started to burn because of the stomach acid that came up and if Chan wouldn't have held him, he was sure that he would have lost balance because of the force with wich his body tried to get everything out.
After some minutes, finally Hyunjin's body gave him some rest. The dancer slumped back in his chair and closed his eyes. His throat and lips hurt and tears were falling down his cheekd. Chan slowly took the bucket out of the younger's lap and placed it on the ground. Then he wrapped his arms around Hyunjin, who froze by the sudden embrace. But then, he wrapped his own trembling arms around the Aussies middle and let out a shaky sob again. "Everything's a bit much right now, hm?" Hyunjin nodded and burried his head deeper in the leader's stomach.
They stayed like this until Hyunjin had calmed down again. "Better?" "Hmh" "Good. But I think we need some rules for you. First: don't write or call your parents, at least when you are alone. Second: you will let us defend you in interviews for example. Third: if you have a problem or feel insecure about anything come to me. Okay?" tha dancer nodded and they sat there in silence until he spoke up. His voice was quiet an raspy of vomiting but still audible and clear: "Hyung? I... I think I want to cut my hair off. Not liek normal short like you or Minho, but like off-off." Chan tilted his head and looked at Hyunjin. "Like... a Buzz-cut?" "Yeah! Maybe... maybe then they won't only see me as a visual..."
The Aussie stopped himself from sighing and smiled instead. "If you want to do that and you think it'll make you feel better, do that." Hyunjin was close to tears again, but this time tears of relief. Tears of finally feeling being seen for something else than visuals. "Thank you!"
END
After years I finally finished this đđ. I hope I won't need that long for the next one :,)
warnings: tears(reader and jeongin cry), swearing if you squint, reader's feelings go unnoticed by her parents. I think that's all?
wc / cc : 4.6k / 14.4k
skz summer masterlist
synopsis â---
for the past 17 years it was always summers with innie. he was your best friend and you guys did everything together, you were inseperable. unfortunately now it was time to say goodbye
It was only the second day of summer break when your parents told you and your sister that they had some amazing news. Their excitement was radiating and you couldn't help but be excited for whatever news they wanted to share.
    âWe're moving to the states!â
You remembered the moment clearly; your face had dropped but your parents hadn't even notice. They continued to share the details as your stomach churned like you had eaten something spoiled. You didn't want to move across the ocean, across the world. You didn't want to be far away from the only home you knew, from your best friend. You hadn't said a word as your parents and sister chatted about the new move, even at dinner you stayed quiet, unnoticed...
It was well into the night, the wee early morning. You are in your bed, head swarming with thoughts and fears.. You felt like crying. One of your hands holds tightly onto the cotten grey sheets as the other one pats the bed for your phone. Your face soon illuminated by the phone light, you quickly open up Jeongin's contact and sent him a simple message. You told him to meet you at the bridge later. And you said nothing more. You weren't in the mood to blow up his phone at 3 in the morning.
You lived in a town in the country side that was divided by a large creek between the two parts of the town. There was a main bridge and other smaller bridges to cross. One of the smaller bridges that was way quieter was where you and Jeongin met years ago. This bridge held special memories in both your hearts, it was also a frequent meeting spot between you two.
After breakfast you put your shoes on and slip outside. The walk to the bridge was not far. It was quiet today, and the summer air was not too humid. There were even birds sing a tune in the trees. When you arrived to the bridge, you found Jeongin already there.
    âInnie, hey,â you greet him, soft.
    âHey.â he says back. You take your sandals off snd sit down next to him, your shoulders' barely brushing against each other. âWhat was with the ominous meeting request at three AM ...and the frowny look on your face?â
You sigh and lean back on your hands. He looks at you, eyebrows furrowed.
    âI'm moving.â
    âOh.â was all he said for a moment. He looks to the creek that flowed beneath them, an unreadable expression on his face. The cool water rushing around both your feet. There were tiny water plants in the creeks ground that swayed in the current. He looks back at you. âIt won't be that bad... I could drive a couple hours to see youââ
    âYou won't be able to driveâ ..My parents decided to move to the states.â There was a slight bitterness to your tone. âJust like that. They want to leave everything we have ever known here behind and start new across the world like all the years and memories we have here don't matter. They didn't even give me or Yoonhee a choice, no opinionsâno nothing. They should of spoke to usâto me about it or something! It's not fair, Innie! I don't want to goâ! ...I-I don't want to leave you...â
You voice cracks. You barely register the tears that began to spill down your cheeks. Jeongin wordlessly puts his arm around your shoulders and gave you a light squeeze. You rest your head on his shoulder. Jeongin presses his lips, his heart sank at the news. No words were needed right now. Silently comforting each other is what you both needed the most right now. How were you meant to live without each other? Everyone knew that you two were a pair, wherever one of you were the other was there also. Two peas in a pod. But how can you be peas in a pod while being oceans apart?
Your friendship knew no bounds, so the both of you will figure it out. Because there was no way in hell you or him wanted to let the other go. It was you and Jeongin against the world, right? A little distance wouldn't you kill guys, well in this case it's a lot of distance but you get the gist.
40 days was all you two had to make this summer the most memorable ever. You both were gonna make every second of it count. Starting with comfort because you both needed a hug.
And true to the plan, you guys spent every hour you could together. Taking turns to sleep over at each other's houses when you were allowed. And when you weren't, the second you were free from responsibilities, you two met at the bridge. You guys did everything you could in your small town.
Picnics by the creekbed â
    âJeongin look! I'm the duck whisperer!â you chuckle as you threw pieces of bread for the duck to eat. The little creatures waddled closer to your picnic blanket, fighting each other like starved hyenas. It was rather amusing to watch.
    âYou're literally just bribing them with food.â
Arcade dates â
    âHaha, get owned!â Jeongin laughs as you both stare at the DDR score in front of you. âWhat's that you were saying about beating my ass?â
    âShut up. It was only pure luck you won this time. But I have to say, your DDR skills are getting way better.â
    âThat's only because you force me to play each and everytime we come to the arcade.â he chuckles. âNow I wanna see if I can win one of the molang plushies in the claw machine.â
    âUgh, we're gonna be here all day!â
Movie nightsâ
Laptop on his bed, drowned in blankets, and a bowl of popcorn and pretzels between you both. The dark room was slightly illuminated by the screen. You and Jeongin sat huddled close to each other since you two decided it was finally time you watched a horror movie and wellâ
   âSHIT.â You and Jeongin yell simultaneously and jump as Annabelle's ghost came out of nowhere. A few pieces of popcorn fall onto the bed.
You both laugh at your scaredy cat behavior.
Mall daysâ
âShould I get this top or this one?â Jeongin asks you, holding up a blue shirt and a black one.
Jeongin was the fashionista out of the two of you, you always asked him for fashion advice because well, he knew how to make anything look good. Even his weird shoe collection. But that's probably because he's Jeongin.
Baking cookiesâ
    âJeongin it said two cups! How did you manage to pour half the bag of sugar in it? I looked away for one minute.â You laugh astonished.
There was flour on the counter, your faces, aprons and some even on the floor. The kitchen was a disaster to say the least. As long as your mom didn't see this, you and Jeongin were fine.
    âIt was an accident!â
    âWe're gonna have to add more of everything else to balance out the sweet next. Extra cookies for us now I guess.â
Sleepover lullabiesâ
You loved Jeongin's singing voice, he has such a sweet tone when singing you could listen to him sing for hours. But he rarely sings for you. You and him were on his bed having one sleepover of many, just staring at his ceiling after laughing at stupid jokes you said earlier. It was late into the night, almost 4 in the morning.
ânunkkoch-i tteol-eojyeoyo. tto jogeumssig meol-eojyeoyo. bogo sipda, bogo sipda. bogo sipda, bogo sipda.â He suddenly sings the chorus of Spring day, softly into the silence of his room.
His voice was heavenly...
Memory lane on the roofâ
âRemember when everyone thought we were dating?â You begin to laugh at the memory.
You and Jeongin had climbed onto the porch roof, talking about random things just like old times. It was only 10 pm, you weren't quiteready to go to sleep yet and neither was he. So you two began talking about past memories because it was fun and embarrassing.
âUgh don't remind me. It was like two people of different genders being friends and only friends was unheard of to them.â Jeongin made a disgusted face.
âThat was literally why no one asked us to go to sophomore homecoming. We just both thought weren't attractive enough. Thinking back to it is so funny.â
You and Jeongin did so many things this summer, your bucket lists were literally empty.
The summer seemed to fly by so fast, you couldn't believe a whole month and some had already passed. It was all too short, you didn't want for it to end.
You didn't recognize your empty bedroom, everything besides your carry on, suitcase and bed were all that was left. Pictures and posters that were on the wall came down, most of your clothes are in a box somewhere in America right now, everything that made your bedroom feel like you was gone. It felt was scary. So you finally let the tears fall again after the summer was gone. The kind of tears that was grieving for something that would be taken unfairly.
It was early in the morning, having asian parents meant going to the airport hours before boarding. After a quick breakfast you throw away your trash.
âI'll be right back.â You tell your mom. She tells you that you 30 minutes before you needed to leave for the airport.
You ran out to the red bridge as fast as you could, you didn't even have to look to know where to go. You could always find your way there even blind folded.
You got there first this time. You take your sandals off and sit down to dip your feet in the water. Were there even creeks like this in New Jersey? You close your eyes and wished very hard that in this moment you would wake up from a terrible dream and that you actually were going to spend your senior year in the same school you had gone to for the last three years with your best friend by your side, that you dad didn't get an amazing job offer in a foreign place miles away from your familiar, that your whole family wasn't happy to leave and actually wanted to stay their butts in the small town they all had grown up in, and that you could walk through the roads you've known since you were a child.
But it was just useless wishes for this was her new reality. She wasn't going to see this red bridge for a long time and she won't see her friend's familiar smile up close and personal.
    âAlready crying when I'm not even here?â You jump in surprise and look up to see Jeongin looking at you with a sad smile.
    âI'm not crying.â You say as you wipe your eyes quickly.
    âYou still think you could lie to me? I've known you for nine years, remember?â
    âHow could I forget. Did you come here to cry with me?â You question, your bottom lip quivers. He sits down next to you, legs crossed.
    âYeah.â
Just the single word was able to make the tears come back to your eyes. Jeongin wasn't always a crier, he hardly ever cries unless it's something that really bothered him or something close to his heart. And well you could say you were something that is really close to his heart. The fact that a piece of his heart was leaving was and probably never returning for a while was enough to let the tears flow. You two cried with feelings of grief, losing the ability to just wake up and see each other in person anytime that you wanted.
    âW-we can't keep crying for our last moments together in person.â you sniffle. âWe gotta be happy because we are always gonna be friends no matter what. We're not gonna lose each other to stupid long distance.â
    âRight.â he says firmly.
    âOh yeah, I brought something for youâ You say wiping your eyes.
    âYou did? I did too.â He chuckles and you smile, the best friend sync was real. You didn't even notice that he had a bag next to him, when did he even bring that?
You take the matching bracelets you made before you had to pack your room. You wanted to wait till you were actually leaving before giving it to him.
    âHere you go.â You hand him the bracelet, it had both your initials and the beads were a mix of your favorite colours.
    âIt's pretty.â He admires the bracelet on his wrist. He was never taking it off. âAnd here's your present.â he hands you a light brown fox plushie, the tip of it's tail was white and it had rosy cheeks with a white ribbon wrapped it's neck. It was so cute!
    âAh, Innie! It's so cute! Where did you even get this?â You squeal as you hug the plushie to your chest.
    âI asked my cousin to make him for you. She even embroidered the ribbon.â
    âShut up, no wayâ oh my gosh she did!â Sure enough there was neat text stitched onto the ribbon. "For my best friend from your best friend, innie. Don't forget me." in black. How could you ever forget him? âI'm gonna treasure him foreverâ wait! He needs a name!â
You thought for a bit as he chuckles at your thinking expression.
    âOkay, got it. His name is Yeou-Inie. Named after his dad of course.â
    âSo I'm the father?â He asks amused.
    âDuh. I don't want to be a single parent.â
    âYou'll basically feel like a single parent since we'll be living in separate countries.â You gasp as him.
    âIf you don't want to be his father just say so, Jeongin. I can find someone else to be his dad.â You stick your tongue out at him. Jeongin rolls his eyes.
    âI'll be Yeou-Inie's father, geez.â He shakes his head.
    âGood.â You smile successfully. âShitâ my mom gave me a time to be back.â
You suddenly remember that time hadn't stop the second you two started speaking and reality was still a thing, still moving in the current of time.
    â..I'll walk you.â You and Jeongin get up and start walking back to your house.
There was silence during the walk back. The silence was filled with sadness but also content. You were greatful that you had a friend like him, you never would trade him for the world. You two bump into your sister at your driveway. The taxi was already here.
    âI was just about to come get you. Hi Jeongin.â Yoonhee says.
    âHi, Noona.â
    Your sister leaves you both alone to go help your mom. You turn to Jeongin.
    âI guess this is goodbye?â You could barely swallow due to the lump in your throat.
    âNo.â He says firmly with a shake of his head. âIt's see you later because we will see each other again later, someday.â
    âPromise?â You hold your pinky up and he interlocks his with yours,
    âPromise.â
You pull Jeongin into a hug, you don't let go of him for a little while. Just taking in his scent and how he feels, commiting it to your memory because you never wanted to forget how his warm hugs felt like. You weren't going to cry. At least not yet. You didn't want Jeongin's last memories with him of you crying your eyes out. You kept the tears in as you cling to his shirt. The birds were singing but it sounded like a sad song, like they knew the weight of the scene the unfolded before them.
Everything was going to change now. The last summer you would ever feel this type of happiness. I guess it's goodbye summer.
â áŻđđđ»đŒđœđđ¶đ: jisung and you share a quiet, chilly evening where hidden feelings surface through deep conversations and tender moments. As you both open up about fears and past struggles, your bond deepens, leading to a heartfelt proposal and the start of something new.
You werenât expecting to see him there again.
The library was quiet, like always. The same smell of paper and ink, the same creaking floor under your shoes. You had come to return a book, maybe flip through another one before heading home. But there he was.
Han Jisung.
Hood up, headphones around his neck, sitting at the back table near the windows â just like always.
But this time, he wasnât taking notes or scrolling through his laptop.
This time⊠he was holding your favorite book.
And flipping back to the same page.
Again.
And again.
You stopped in your tracks, hidden behind a shelf of fiction.
Your eyes narrowed slightly. Was heâ?
You peeked between two books.
Yes. He was still on that page.
You knew that page. You knew it.
You remembered it too well, because it was the exact paragraph you had once pointed at and told him:
âThis reminds me of you.â
âThe way this character notices everything but never says it out loud. How he pretends not to care but secretly memorizes peopleâs habits. Thatâs you.â
You never thought he actually took it seriously.
But here he was. Reading that same page for the fourth time.
You bit your lip.
What were you supposed to do with this?
Approach him?
Act like you didnât notice?
Let him sit there and stare at that line like it held all the answers?
You stepped out from behind the shelf, pretending to casually walk his way.
âHey,â you said softly.
He flinched.
âJesusâ! Donât sneak up on people like that.â
He quickly shoved the book slightly forward, like he wasnât just staring at one single paragraph for ten minutes.
You tilted your head. âThat book looks familiar.â
âItâs just a book,â he shrugged, not meeting your gaze.
âMm. Looks like someoneâs favorite.â
âMaybe I just like the story.â
You gave him a look. âYouâve been stuck on the same page for ten minutes, Jisung.â
He blinked. âYou were watching me?â
âFrom the shelf. Yeah.â
âYouâre stalking me in a library?â
You laughed. âYouâre reading yourself in a library.â
He froze. Then slowly, he exhaled.
âSo you remember that.â
You pulled out the chair next to him and sat down. âOf course I remember. I said it, didnât I?â
He hesitated, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.
âItâs dumb,â he said. âBut I wanted to see if I could⊠I donât know. Understand what you meant.â
âYou didnât before?â
âI didnât want to believe you saw that much of me.â
That silenced you.
The air between you changed, soft but dense. He looked down at the book again, but didnât turn the page. Just traced a line of text with his finger.
âI read it again because,â he paused, âI wanted to know if it still reminded you of me.â
You stared at him.
âStill does,â you said, barely above a whisper.
Jisung looked up.
And this time, he held your gaze.
âYouâre kind of intense for someone who claims not to flirt,â you added, half-smiling.
He leaned a little closer, like the table wasnât even there. âMaybe Iâm learning from you.â
Your pulse jumped. âWell, stop.â
âWhy?â
âBecause itâs working.â
He grinned.
But before either of you could say more, a voice whispered from behind:
âQuiet, please.â
You both turned and gave a silent apologetic nod to the librarian.
When you looked back at Jisung, he was already looking at you â soft, amused, warm.
You didnât look away.
And neither did he.
It felt like something shifted in that moment. Not loudly, not drastically â just enough to be noticed.
The library lights buzzed above. Someone turned a page. A chair creaked. But all of it was background noise.
You slowly packed your things. So did he. Wordless, but not silent.
âWanna walk a bit?â he asked once you reached the exit. His voice was casual, but his hands were in his pockets. Like he didnât want you to see they were shaking a little.
You nodded.
The campus was quiet at this hour. The late spring air was cool, fresh with the scent of night-blooming flowers. You walked side by side without talking, not out of awkwardness, but because it felt too delicate to touch yet.
You ended up on a small stone bench beneath a tree, lamps casting soft light through the leaves. He sat beside you, slightly angled your way.
âSoâŠâ he began, then laughed nervously. âThat book line. Really caught me off guard.â
You smiled. âIt reminded me of you. That wasnât a joke.â
He looked down at his hands. âI believe you. Thatâs what scared me.â
You turned to him. âWhy?â
A pause.
Jisung didnât answer right away. His jaw clenched, and for a second, you thought he might not at all. But then:
âIâm not used to being⊠seen,â he said, voice quiet. âLike â really seen. Not as the guy whoâs good with words. Or the guy who makes people laugh. Just⊠me.â
You let the silence stretch.
Then, softly: âYouâre scared of people knowing the real you?â
He nodded once. âEspecially if they think I have it all figured out. I donât.â
You leaned back on your hands, looking up at the sky through the tree branches.
âMe neither,â you said.
He chuckled, eyes flicking sideways toward you. âYeah?â
âYeah.â You glanced at him. âBut that doesnât mean youâre not worth knowing.â
Jisung looked at you like youâd said something absurd â then something in his expression cracked. Not in a sad way, but like he was finally letting his guard down.
âI guess it started in high school,â he said after a while. âI was always expected to be top of the class. I studied all the time. My parents â they meant well. But it was constant. No room to breathe. So I learned to cope by pretending I was fine. Making jokes. Performing.â
You stayed quiet, letting him talk.
âCollege was supposed to be better. But I still feel that pressure. Like if Iâm not perfect, Iâll lose everything I worked for. That scares the hell out of me.â
You shifted closer.
âThatâs not fair,â you murmured.
He blinked. âWhat isnât?â
âThat you have to carry all that alone.â
His breath caught, just barely.
Then, slowly, he looked at you.
âWhy do you care so much?â he asked, genuinely curious. âI mean â you hardly know me.â
You met his gaze.
âMaybe I do,â you whispered. âMore than you think.â
That silence again â but this time, it was filled with tension. Warm, aching tension.
His eyes searched yours. Your breath slowed. Something electric stretched between you, pulling tighter by the second.
He reached up, hesitated â then brushed a stray eyelash from your cheek.
âYouâre gonna be the death of me,â he muttered, barely audible.
Your smile was small, shy. âYou say that like itâs a bad thing.â
He laughed, nervous, soft.
And then he leaned in â slowly, carefully, giving you every chance to pull away.
You didnât.
When his lips touched yours, it wasnât urgent. It was gentle. Lingering. The kind of kiss that asks questions rather than answers them.
And when you pulled back, your foreheads still touching, he whispered:
ââŠYouâre not running?â
You shook your head.
âNot this time.â
You could still feel it â the kiss.
Not just on your lips, but behind your ribs, echoing in every breath you took. Like a memory your body refused to let go of.
You walked beside Jisung in silence, but it wasnât awkward. It was full â saturated with everything you both wanted to say but didnât need to. The air was cool, and your fingertips brushed his once, lightly. Neither of you pulled away.
Under the soft glow of a streetlamp, a wooden bench came into view. A few pink petals had fallen onto the seat, and the light breeze carried the scent of jasmine and something unspoken.
Jisung nodded toward it.
âWant to sit down for a bit?â
You nodded. He sat first, and you followed, brushing a flower from your side of the bench before settling in. The hush of the evening wrapped around you like a soft blanket.
Jisung leaned forward slightly, his forearms resting on his knees. He seemed lost in thought, staring at the tiny weeds growing between the cobblestones. You didn't want to break the silenceâbut your heart was thudding like it wanted to speak first.
So you did.
âThere are some memories,â you began quietly, âthat donât fade with time. They just sink deeper. Like stones in water â heavier the longer they stay.â
Jisung turned slightly, his eyes gentle, urging you to go on.
âThere was a night,â you whispered, âwhen I was thirteen. Something happened. No yelling, just⊠silence. Cold, sharp silence that fills your ears until it hurts. I hid under the kitchen table with my headphones on, but it didnât help. The silence still found me.â
You let out a breath that had lived in your lungs too long.
âAfter that night, I decided it was safer to keep people away. Because if I let them close... theyâd either break me, or leave.â
Your voice trembled, but you smiled â sad and honest.
âAnd earlier⊠when we kissed, I didnât stop it. I didnât pull away. But everything in me screamed that I should. Not because I didnât want it. Because I wanted it too much. And that scared me.â
Jisung didnât say anything. He just reached for your hand. His touch was steady, grounding.
âSharing that with me⊠took courage,â he said softly. âAnd as long as Iâm around, that burden doesnât have to be yours alone. I might not be able to carry it, but Iâll walk beside you.â
A breeze passed through, and you shivered slightly. You tried to hide it, but he noticed.
âAre you cold?â
You were about to deny it, but before you could, Jisung was already pulling off his hoodie.
âIâm fine, reallyââ
âShh,â he said gently, wrapping it around your shoulders.
The fabric was warm and smelled like him â soft detergent, old books, and something distinctly him. You couldnât help but smile.
âThanks,â you murmured.
âIt looks better on you anyway.â
You rolled your eyes, but the smile stayed.
Silence settled again, this time calm, like an exhale after holding in too much.
Then, carefully, Jisung turned toward you.
âCan I⊠do something?â
You looked at him. You already knew what he meant. You nodded.
He gently laid his head on your lap. The weight of him was light, but the trust it carried was heavy â in the most beautiful way.
Your fingers found his hair, curling into the soft strands like it was the most natural thing in the world. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply.
âYour hair is really soft,â you whispered.
âYour hands feel safe,â he whispered back, voice barely audible.
You thought your heart might combust.
After a moment, his voice came again â quieter, rougher.
âYou changed me, you know. I spent so much time being the happy, talkative guy everyone expected. But you let me be quiet. Let me be scared. Let me be me.â
Your throat tightened. âYou let me be brave. You made me want to try.â
He lifted his head slowly, his hand reaching up to cup your face. His fingers were warm on your cheek.
âCan I ask you something?â
You nodded.
He sat up fully now, turning toward you, eyes serious and vulnerable all at once.
âCould we⊠be more? More than the walks, the almosts. I know itâs fast, but I canât help thinking about you. A lot.â
You blinked, heartbeat speeding.
âI mean, only if you're ready,â he added quickly. âIf not, Iâll wait. Just⊠I needed to tell you.â
You looked down at your joined hands â his thumb softly brushing yours â and then back into his eyes.
âAsk me again.â
He blinked. âWhen?â
A smile tugged at your lips.
âWhen the petals start to fall.â
Right then, the wind stirred again, and a handful of petals floated down between you.
Jisung blinked, wide-eyed. âOkay, thatâs definitely the universe.â
You laughed, the sound breaking the air open.
âAsk now,â you said.
He took a deep breath.
âWill you be mine?â
You smiled. âI already am.â
And right there, beneath the blossoms and streetlight shadows, something began. Not a moment. A promise.
genre: fluff, hurt/comfort, best friends stargazing, crush
warnings: minor burn mentioned(reader burns their tongue), and crying? lemme know if there's anymore!
wc / cc : 3.0k / 16.1k
skz summer masterlist
synopsis â---
you had a terrible week, everything just went wrong. Of course that leads to a break down. But what happens when your best friend cheers you up and you start to see him in a new light?
The week was just terrible, it felt like everything went wrong and you could do nothing to prevent it.
Tuesday you missed your alarm and woke up almost an hour later. You had to rush to get ready for work, multitasking when able to. You quickly start your coffee machine before you went to take a shower.
Finally you were ready to leave. On your way to work you burnt your tongue from your coffee leaving an annoying feeling in your mouth for the rest of the day.
Wednesday, your morning was way better than yesterday. You woke up earlier than your alarm so you had extra time to yourself. But at the office, it was terrible. Your supervisor was pissed and was yelling at everyone for God knows why. Typically that wouldn't bother you as much if it wasn't for the fact that he gave you another report to do that he needed "urgently" by tomorrow on top of two more other reports that needed to be done by Friday. And when you thought the day couldn't get any worse, your car's check engine light came on. You had no idea what was wrong with it and you didn't want to risk it being major problem so you left it at a nearby repair shop and took a bus home.
Thursday, you woke up with bags under your eyes from the lack of sleep. You stayed up to finish this stupid report only to find out the next day your supervisor said he didn't need it urgently you could have given it to him on Friday but thanked you anyway. You turned to leave when Bump! You walk into an intern and they split their drink onto your white blouse. Just great. Paper towels only did so much. Thankfully one of your coworkers had an extra black shirt you could borrow. That's when you got a call from the mechanic. He told you that your engine had a computer problem. The price to fix it was costly and you were just a girl living with minimum wage.
Friday, it wasn't all too bad but cause the week was already terrible, a dark cloud followed you around. You stayed extra hours to complete all your work so you wouldn't have anything to do over the weekend. You were the last person to leave. You check the time and quickly gather your stuff. The last bus leaves in five minutes! You run as fast as you can but of course with your luck this week, you manage to see it leave and turn down the next street. You sit down on the bench and you let the tears fall for the first time this week. Everything just went horribly wrong and it made you stressed. You stand up and begin walking the hour long walk back to your apartment.
When you finally reached home, you didn't even bother changing. You couldn't even walk the short path to your bedroom, instead you flop onto the couch and went straight to sleep.
The next day you wake up with a sore neck and a headache. You stretch your limbs and then pick up your phone. You had 3 miss calls, one from the mechanic and two from your best friend, Minho. You send him a text that you'll call him back in a bit. You look at the time, it read 5 pm. Your stomach growls. You hadn't eaten anything in the pass twenty-four hours, that explained the headache. You take a Tylenol before taking a long warm shower. After the shower you finally call the mechanic back as you put some bread in the toaster. He had fixed your car and it was ready to pick it up. After hanging up you quickly butter your toast and grab your car keys, phone and wallet before tossing them into your crossbody bag. The bus stop wasn't far from your apartment, only like a 3 minute walk thankfully.
You reach the repair shop after 21 minutes. You were screaming and crying internally as you completed the pricey payment and thanked the machnic.
You drive back to apartment in silence. Back home you plopped onto your bed and cuddled into your covers. You finally dial Minho. Maybe his voice could lessen this looming dark cloud over you.
    âY/N! You haven't spoken to me in a whole week.â His voice masks with feign annoyance.
    âI know, I know. Sorry.â there was a pause.
    âSomething's wrong,â Minho asks but it sounded less like a question. Of course he could tell. He knew you better than anyone else.
    âKinda?â You sigh. âJust had a shitty week, that's all. I just want to punch something.â
    âYour supervisor again?â
    âWell, he's just part of the shitty week episode. Everything just went... Wrong.â You sigh again.
    âYou wanna talk about it?â He asks gently, a deep contrast to his usual tsundere self.
And so you did. You poured all your feelings into words your brain was capable of explaining with. You told him all the details and he listened with no rebuttal. There was no judgement from him when you explained how you really wanted to hit something or when you told him how you just cried when you missed the bus even though as childish as it made you sound. Tears pricked at your eyes as you relived the annoying inconveniences but it felt nice. Like stress relieving. It also brought you some comfort too, that he cared enough to just listen to you ramble and complain.
You wipe your tears and sniffle a bit.
    âEnough about me... How was your day, Min?â You ask, you kinda felt bad about leaking the darkness on to his day since he was probably having an okay weekend.
    âIt was alright, I didn't do much today. But cheer up, kitten. Listen, I gotta go Y/N. Love youuu.â
âUh, love you tooâ?â
and he hangs up, leaving you stund.
You sit blinking at your phone till it turned off. Did you make him uncomfortable? That was unlikely, since you two always confined in each other. You couldn't think why he left so abruptly. Maybe he had just remembered of something he had to do. And you left it at that.
You turn on some music and stare at your ceiling for awhile. You must have fallen asleep because next thing you knew you were being shaken awake.
    â..Minho? How did you get in here?â You rubbed your eyes.
    âSpare key, duh. Now get up, we're going on a little trip!â
    âWhat?â
You were being dragged to his car with no explanation or knowledge of where you were going. He played a playlist of your favorite songs, you were humming along quietly as you stared out the window. He wouldn't tell you were you were going, no matter how much you asked. Finally after awhile you arrived. It was a 45 minute trip to some camping site away from the city. It was already dark and you weren't an outdoorsy person so you had a slight look of horror.
    âWe're not gonna stay the night, you dummy.â Minho reads your mind. âWe're just gonna look at the stars. I come here whenever I'm stressed. And from the bags under your eyes, you seem like you need a destress.â
You were taken aback to stay the least. Someone's never done something like this for you before. You both step out of the car, Minho goes to take a blanket from the back seat.
    âCatch.â He barely says before throwing a tote bag at you. You hardly manage to catch it, sending a small glare at him. He only smiled. The bag was kinda heavy, you wonder what was in it.
He takes out a flashlight and turns it on. You follow him onto the trail into the darkness. You two had only walk five minutes before he turns off the trail and walks directly between the trees.
    âMinho.â You warn, subconsciously leaning closer to him.
    âRelax, I know where I'm going. I've been here countless times. Just trust me.â Of course you trusted him but it was dark ...and kinda scary.
You take his hand and stay close to him. You did not want to get mauled by a bear or whatever animals that were in this place. You were careful as you walk, taking caution of the roots and branches in the way. A soft breeze ruffles the tree leaves giving this place an even more eerie feel. It wasn't a long walk, thankfully cause you definitely didn't have the right shoes for it if it was. The walk took you both to a clearing in-between all the trees. You let go of his hand and look around as Minho proceeds to unfold the blanket he had tucked under his arm. The clearing wasn't that big, the grass was dewy and from what little you could see in the dark, there were tiny flowers in some places.
You turn back to Minho, finding him sitting down on the blanket. He pats the space next to him. You go and sit by him. The trees lowkey looked scarier from this height but Minho didn't look bothered.
    âAre there any animals in the woods?â Dumb question, so you correct yourself, âDangerous animals I mean.â
    âProbably,â he answers nonchalantly as he reaches for the tote bag.
    â..Probably?â You frown.
    âThey won't come hurt you if that's what you're worried about. Anyways you shouldn't be worrying right now, you should be destressing.â He pulls out a box of your favorite chocolate. âYou need some sugar.â
You take the box and thank him. He turns off the flashlight. It wasn't as dark as you thought it would be once your eyes adjusted, the moon bringing light onto the both of you and the clearing. You eat some chocolate and look at your best friend. He takes out your favorite chips and some peach tea. He places them right next to you before laying down with a sigh. His eyes fixates on the sky above but yours were on his face. This whole thing was uncharacteristic for him, yeah he was nice to you sometimes, getting you snacks or letting you lay on his shoulder. But today felt different, a whole little trip to comfort you out of the blue was not typical Minho behavior. But you also couldn't help but feel warm that he just planned this out because he cares about you. You look down and play with your fingers a bit, feeling a little weird but you didn't know why.
    âDo you not like those anymore?â You look up to see he is staring at you now.
    âNo, I do. They're are still my favorites.â You reassure him. âThank you again, Min.â
    âYeah yeah. Anyway, we're here to look at stars remember? Not my face.â
    âRight...â You blush, he notice you had spent more time looking at him and not once had you glanced up to the sky above you. You lay down and get comfy next to him, there was a bit of space in between you both of course.
You glance up and look at the stars that liter the sky. You weren't a person who loved the outdoors much, but you were glad that he dragged you out here. It was beautiful, amazing. In the city you've never seen the stars like this before due to light pollution.
    âWow. Why haven't you taken me here sooner?â You ask, eyes fixated on the twinkling stars.
    âI tried but you hate the outdoors, Y/N. You turned me down so many times.â Minho reminds you.
    âNot once did you mention the view here. then maybeââ Your hand accidentally brushs against his arm causing you to stop mid sentence. You pull our hand back to your side, your heart stuttered. â...m-maybe I would have gone.â
You suddenly became very aware of Minho right next to you.
    âYeah right.â He scoffs. âBut at least you're here now, idiot. Regret turning me down yet?â
    âYeah.. maybe.â You mumble. You couldn't count the stars if you tried, there were so many it was breath taking. Whatever was left of the dark cloud had finally left, you felt refreshed. It was slowly getting replaced by a new cloud, the rosier kind.
You turn your head only to find Minho looking directly at you. He didn't turn away nor said a thing. Your heart races as your eyes dart away from his. The air turned a tiny bit awkward and you were sure it was your fault. And whatever nervousness that you were feeling right now was on your part and not his. You felt him sit up, you didn't look at him. Too afraid of your stuttering heart. He comes into your view and shoves a piece of chocolate into your mouth in a forcible yet gentle way. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion as you finally look at him.
    âWhat was that for?â You whine, mouth full of chocolate but you didn't really care.
    âI felt like it.â He grins that stupid grin of his. You sit up too and hug your knees.
You didn't really need to ask why he did it, you already knew of his random antics. But really even though you didn't know, he just wanted to clear whatever awkward tension that was around. And it worked. You shook your head not really bothered by his randomness. Sometimes you found it endearing.
    âDo you feel better?â He asks gently all of a sudden. He mimicsyour position by pulling his knees to his chest. He then rests his cheek on his knees. His eyes were on you, trying to read you. Your heart felt loud in your chest.
A pause. âYeah. A lot better.â
    âGood.â He closes his eyes. âYou know, I was actually worried when you told me how you wanted to hit something because you're not typically a violent person. I knew then that you just had a terrible time this week.â
He speaks softly, a different kind of tone that he never spoken to you or anyone with. You stare at him, your lips slightly apart.
    âI was also scared you might hurt yourself if you really did try to hit something.â He continued. He opens his eyes, amusement glimmers again in them. âYou're really tiny y'know? Like if you were to hit something you'd receive lots of damage from a single strike.â
The softness could only last so long without teasing. You tried to fiend annoyance. You couldn't help but smile.
    âOh yeah? Is that what you think of me?â
    âYou are small.â He says as if that was a valid reason. âBut don't worry, I'll be here and do the hitting for you.â
Silence looms over them again, this time it was comfortable. A faint sound of crickets was heard in the distance. Shimmery stars above, and a faint breeze rustled the tree leaves. In this clearing, it felt like only the two of them in a peaceful world.
    âI love you, Y/N.â Minho has told you he loved you countless times before but tonight it made your heart stop. âReally. Even if I may call you names or be mean to you sometimes, I really love you.â
    âI-I love you.â You shiver a bit and pulled the hoodie over your knees. From the breeze or his love confession, you didn't know. Maybe you should have worn sweatpants instead of shorts.
    âAre you cold?â You nod. âIt's probably time to go back home now.â
You pout a little bit, you didn't want to leave just yet. You wanted this moment to last forever, just you, him and silent world that couldn't get in even if it tried. He stands up and holds his hand out for you.
    âCome on lazybones.â
You take his hand and he pulls you up. You two then start picking up the untouched chips, peach tea and chocolate putting them into the bag again. He folds the blanket.
    âI do hope you know how to get us out of here and didn't lose us in the middle of no where.â You had looked at the woods again, the flashlight wasn't on so it looked more horrifying than before since the moonlight didn't reach the ground due to the trees' thick branches and leaves.
    âNonsense. Of course I know how to get us out. I've been here many times before, how did you forget that already? Now hold my before you get lost.â Maybe that was just a ploy to hold your hand again, we'll never know. But what we do know is that you weren't hesitant to grab his hand.
Your eyes were round as you stare into the darkness but you felt safe holding his hand. He turns on the flashlight just like before and you two start walking back to the carpark. And just like he said he brings you both out of the woods. When you both were finally out of those creepy woods your heart quickens again as you realize you were holding hands. You and Minho held hands before, heck you held hands an hour ago so why was it different now? Letting go of his hand, you go to sit in the passenger seat. He throws the things in the backseat before getting in the car.
He drove with one hand down the dark road to get back to the city part of Seoul. You look at Minho as his eyes were on the road in front, occasionally street lights pass by the windows in blurs. He looks really attractive driving like that, you could help but think. The shift was subtle, most wouldn't have realized it but you did. It was today when you realized you likeâno you love Minho more than a friend. The thought honestly scares you a bit but you welcome it gently as it sunk in, you had a crush on your best friend.
a/n: I wanted to write summer themes for Stray Kids lol. So all of these are summer themed. We got fluff, angst, comfort/hurt and crack down here. One story for each of the kids<3 ignore the vast differences in the word counts đ„Č
would you like to check out the NMIXX or ATEEZ summer masterlist?
main skz masterlist
1/8 published
Sunset, Sundress and Sandals | b.c
synopsis â chan asks you to go watch the sunset at the beach with him but with the condition that you must wear a sundress. very odd condition but you agree đ€đ
synopsis â all you wanted was to make some patbingsu but somehow ice flew everywhere around your kitchen so now you're left with puddles and a pouty han jisung đ€đ€đ
Summer Puddles | l.f
synopsis â when you can't say no to your boyfriend's puppy eyes, you end up getting drenched in the rain. you don't really mind though if it means you get to spend time with him and see his pretty smile đ€đ
The Bike Lesson | k.sm
synopsis â learning to ride a bike was on your bucket list, he knows that. and what better time to learn than during your last summer as highschoolers? đ€đ€đ
Heyaa !! i'm in the middle of my exam period and i had to take a break to change my mind. So here is a one shot i really wanted to write, hope you like it !!
Jisung is an anthropomorphic alien assigned to Earth for a sociocultural study on human emotion and behavior. Heâs intelligent, observant, and logical - but completely unfamiliar with human nuance, especially things like affection, care, and love. He meets Minho, a quiet and seemingly blunt human who lives alone with his cats and avoids eye contact. Minho is autistic and immediately senses that Jisung is ânot like others,â but doesnât mind â in fact, he relates. Minho decides to help Jisung blend in, offering him a place to stay. Over time, their connection deepens in ways Jisung doesnât understand⊠until he does.
Jisung arrived on Earth at 3:42 a.m., cloaked in fog and silence, with nothing but a data recorder and an incomplete understanding of what âhumanâ meant. His appearance had been calibrated to match local expectations - two eyes, ten fingers, a slightly upturned nose - but something about him was still off. He walked barefoot down the edge of a sleepy town, mimicking the stillness of the trees, until he saw a boy sitting alone near the water, hoodie pulled over his ears, throwing rocks in the still water as if the sea belonged only to him. That was the first time Jisung felt it: the quiet tug of something unknown, and the way his chest tightened when the boy looked up.
Jisung didnât even think to hide. He was mesmerized by this strange creature he was seeing for the very first time. The eyes of the boy on the shore sparkled in the night as he noticed Jisung. The boy seemed to flinch but he didnât move any more. Was it fear? Or something else? Jisung couldnât tell; the behavior was unfamiliar, unrecorded. After all, he had been sent here to study them. He swallowed and stepped forward, his new legs trembling beneath him.
The boy didnât speak. He simply watched Jisung approach, head tilted slightly, like he was trying to solve a puzzle without all the pieces. Jisung stopped a few feet away, unsure what the expected distance was in this kind of encounter. Silence stretched between them, heavy but not hostile. Then, finally, the boy said, âYouâre not from here, are you?â His voice was quiet, not accusing - just stating a fact, as if it didnât bother him at all. The young alien slightly flinched. He didnât know how to answer, not even how to act. For a bit he stayed silent. The boy eyed him - not judging - just trying to understand. âAre you lost? Why are you naked?â He asked, now deeply curious as he blinked a few times. âDid something happen to you?â
Jisung was overwhelmed by the sudden burst of inquiry. But still he didnât answer. And thus because his brain was boiling with an amount of questions that was multiplied by one hundred - at least. âWhat is ânakedâ?â He mumbled, simply asking. The boy didnât look startled, only more intrigued. Jisung figured it was logical to ask directly. If he was meant to understand humans, why not begin with the one who hadnât run away?
The boyâs lips twitched, almost smiling. âIt means you donât have clothes on.â He reached down, pulled off his oversized hoodie, and held it out without moving closer. âHere. Youâre gonna freeze like that.â Jisung stared at the fabric, unsure if it was a gift, a test, or a form of weaponry. The boy didnât rush him. âItâs okay. You donât have to take it if you donât want to.â His voice was soft, like the sea behind them - steady, rhythmic, patient. Jisung hesitated for a bit. Eventually, stumbling slightly on his feet, he reached towards the boy and grabbed the hoodie. He turned it over and over, trying to figure out how to put it on. A laugh broke his deep reflection. Hands grabbed back the hoodie and suddenly, a soft warmth enveloped him. âCome on, put your arms in the sleeves.â The boy simply said, as if it was the easiest thing in the universe. Jisung studied it closely. The long holes seemed made for his limbs, so he slid them in one by one. When the boy let go, Jisung felt a flicker of triumph. He looked up, proud of his success - but the moment their eyes met, the boy quickly looked away, expression flickering into something unreadable. Embarrassment? Discomfort? Jisung tilted his head. Had he done something wrong?
âSorry,â the boy muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. âIâm not good at eye contact.â
Jisung blinked. âWhat is⊠eye contact?â
The boy chuckled under his breath and sat back down on the rocks, patting the space beside him. âYou really arenât from here, huh?â His tone wasnât mocking - just thoughtful. âItâs when you look someone in the eyes. Some people like it. Some donât. I donât.â He looked out at the sea again, his voice barely louder than the waves. âBut I think Iâll get used to yours.â
Jisung nodded softly, understanding the idea of eye contact. âSo youâll be upset if I look you in the eyes?â He asked, trying to grasp the idea fully, taking mental notes.Â
âMakes me uncomfortable.â The boy answered. âAvoid it.â He quickly added, fidgeting the hem of his tank top. A silence settled between them. It wasnât quite awkward, just cautious, like neither of them wanted to make the wrong move. âWhat is your name, stranger?â The human finally asked, breaking the silence.
The alien looked up at him, taken aback. Was that a common question among humans? âJisung.â He simply said. He looked up at the boy, who stared as if he was waiting for something. But Jisung couldnât tell what, so he stayed silent.Â
âMinho. My name is Minho.â The human added. Jisungâs eyes widened, finally understanding what he was waiting for. He took another mental note : Humans expect questions to be asked back to them.
They sat in silence for a while, the waves lapping quietly at the shore. Jisung found the rhythm calming, like the boyâs voice. âMinho,â he repeated softly, tasting the name in his mouth. It felt round and warm. Minho didnât reply, but he didnât move away either. Jisung turned his head slightly. âWhy were you alone by the sea?â he asked, testing his new understanding - ask questions back. Minho shrugged, pulling his knees to his chest.
âToo loud in my head,â he said. âBut here, itâs quiet.â
Jisung didnât really know what to say. But he was confused. And since his note about questions had proven useful, he decided to keep going. âWhat do you mean by âtoo loud in your headâ?âÂ
Minho sighed loudly. A silence. Jisung felt like he had severely messed up. But it turned out the boy was just looking for a way to phrase his thoughts. Mental note : Humans, sometimes, need time to figure out what to say. âI think too much,â Minho said at last. âAnd when I do, itâs like a bunch of people are talking at the same time in my mind.â He paused, watching the waves crash softly in the dark. âSometimes it gets too loud. So I come here. Looking at the sea makes them stop talking.â
Jisung followed Minhoâs gaze, studying the waves as if they held a secret frequency that could quiet thoughts. He didnât fully understand, but something in Minhoâs voice tugged at his chest again - that same unfamiliar pull heâd felt earlier. Was this emotion? Empathy? Curiosity? He pressed a hand against his chest, unsure if it was malfunction or discovery. âI donât think much,â he said after a moment. âI just observe. But... right now, I feel something I canât record.â
Minho glanced sideways at Jisung, brows furrowing slightly. âCanât record?â he echoed. âWhat do you mean?â
Jisung looked down at his hands, curling his fingers as if they might reveal something. âI was sent with a recorder,â he explained softly. âIt stores sounds, images, language, behavior⊠things I can label. But this,â he paused, pressing his palm to the center of his chest again, âdoesnât fit anywhere. It doesnât have a name. I donât know how to save it.â
Minho didnât respond right away. The boyâs words were strange - but not in a bad way. Just⊠unfamiliar. Like poetry he hadnât read before. He pulled on the hem of his tank top a bit more, as if it could give him the courage and the strength to speak up again. âI donât think it needs to be recorded,â he said eventually, his voice quiet, careful. âMaybe itâs just something you feel. And thatâs enough.â
They sat like that for a while longer, saying nothing - but not needing to. The sea began to shimmer as the sky shifted from black to deep blue, and then to soft pink. The first light of morning touched the water like a secret being revealed only to them.
Minho stretched his legs, then stood slowly, brushing sand off his pants. He looked down at Jisung, who hadnât moved. âYou donât have a place to go, right?â he asked. Jisung shook his head. Minho hesitated only a moment. âThen⊠come with me,â he said, offering a hand. âYou can stay at my place. For now. Until you figure things out.â
Jisung stared at the hand like it was a new species, uncertain. But there was no fear this time - only that strange warmth again. Slowly, he reached out and took it.
Minhoâs apartment was small - one bedroom, a sagging couch, and a kitchen that looked like it hadnât seen much use. But it smelled like cinnamon and laundry detergent, which Jisung immediately decided must be the scent of safety. He stood in the doorway barefoot, eyes darting to every object: the light switch, the drying rack, the cat calendar on the fridge. Everything was data. Everything was strange. But Minho just kicked off his shoes and said, âIâll find you some clothes. You canât stay half-naked like this.â Jisung nodded as he kept looking around. He slowly and carefully sat on the edge of the couch, guessing it was the purpose of the furniture. Minho returned a minute later, holding another hoodie, boxers, and a pair of sweatpants. Jisung stood up immediately, suddenly unsure if heâd overstepped. As he handed him the clothes, Minho chuckled : âYou can sit, no worries. Make yourself at home.â
Jisung looked at the clothes, then back at the couch, then at Minho. Make yourself at home. The phrase sounded simple but felt impossibly complex. Was he supposed to mimic Minhoâs actions? Was there a ritual? Slowly, awkwardly, he lowered himself back onto the couch, setting the clothes in his lap like sacred objects. âWhat does âhomeâ mean?â he asked, eyes fixed on the hoodie.
âHome⊠what does it mean?â Minho echoed, whispering to himself. The question was harder than it seemed. What was âhomeâ? How to give a universal answer that would ring a bell to Jisung? âItâs a place⊠No, wait. It also can be someone.â He started, mumbling the beginning of a definition. Jisung seemed to be hanging at his lips, as if this answer was the point of life. âSo a place, or someone that makes you feel good - at ease. Basically that is where - or with who - you want to be when everything is loud and tiring.â He finished, unsure he managed to answer perfectly.
Jisung nodded, his fingers tightening around the clothes on his lap. âSo⊠the shore is your home? Do humans all have a different home?â He asked, still confused.
Minho tilted his head, caught off guard by the question. âYeah,â he said after a pause. âI guess we do. Some people find it in houses, some in people. For me⊠the sea feels quiet. Like it understands.â He looked over at Jisung. âBut itâs not a real home. Not like one with walls. Thatâs harder to find.â His voice trailed off at the end, like he was admitting something without meaning to.
The young alien frowned, even more confused. âBut hereâŠâ He gestured vaguely to the whole apartment, pointing at the walls and Minhoâs stuff. âIsnât this your home?â
Minho looked around, as if seeing his apartment through Jisungâs eyes for the first time. The peeling corners of posters, the single mug in the sink, the unopened mail by the door. âI live here,â he said slowly. âBut⊠I donât always feel here. Itâs like my bodyâs in the space, but my brainâs somewhere else.â He shrugged. âSo itâs a house. Not a home. At least not yet.â
Jisung nodded. Mental note : A home can be someone or somewhere - it is hard to find, not everyone has the same. He slowly looked up at Minho. His eyes a bit more understanding. âAnd⊠What could make house turn into home?â He asked, his grammar awkward, betraying his lack of comprehension of the concept.Â
Minho let out a breath, slow and uneven. âI donât really know,â he admitted. âI guess⊠comfort? Safety. Not having to pretend.â He sat down beside Jisung, arms resting on his knees. âI think maybe⊠it becomes a home when someone else sees it - sees you - and stays anyway.â He blinked, suddenly feeling too exposed. âSorry. That probably sounds dumb.â
Jisung shook his head. âNot dumb,â he said simply. âJust⊠human.â There was a quiet pause, then he spoke up again. âSo⊠finding home is like a journey, to find something we need to feel safe?â
Minho didnât answer right away. His eyes had drifted to a crack in the ceiling paint, like he was trying to read the answer there. âI think⊠because most of us are scared of being seen. Really seen.â Jisung looked down at the hoodie in his lap again, fingers brushing over the fabric. A journey, he thought. He means an invisible kind. Another note for the recorder that didnât work.
Minho gave a small huff, almost a laugh. âYeah. A long one. Some people spend their whole lives looking.â
Jisung tilted his head. âBut if itâs so important⊠why is it so hard to find?â
Minho stood and stretched, rubbing the back of his neck. âAlright,â he said. âWe should probably talk. If youâre going to stay here⊠there need to be rules. Boundaries.â
Jisung blinked. âBoundaries?â
âYeah. Like⊠lines. Not physical ones, really, but⊠things you donât cross. Or stuff you ask before doing.â
Jisung looked genuinely distressed. âBut how do I know where the line is if I canât see it?â
Minho sighed, though not unkindly. âFair point.â He walked to the kitchen counter, grabbed a pen and a sticky note pad, and scribbled something. Then he peeled the note off and stuck it on the wall. âBoundary one: donât go into my room without knocking.â He looked over. Jisung nodded slowly and murmured the phrase like it was a sacred law. Minho wrote another. âBoundary two: donât touch my things unless you ask.â Another nod. âBoundary three: no staring when Iâm overwhelmed. Just⊠give me space, okay?â
Jisung tilted his head. âOverwhelmed is when your thoughts are too loud again?â
Minho hesitated. âKind of. But it can also be lights, sounds, smells, people talking too muchâŠâ He trailed off and looked at Jisung, expecting more questions.
Instead, Jisung reached into the hoodieâs pocket and pulled out a small silver disk no bigger than a coin. âThis records smells,â he said helpfully. âDo you want me to use it to avoid the bad ones?â
Minho blinked. âI - no, I think weâll just open a window.â Before they could continue the sticky-note commandments, a sudden thump came from down the hall. Jisung jumped to his feet instantly, alarmed.
âWhat was that? Is the structure collapsing?â
Minho chuckled. âNo. Thatâs just my cats.â
âCats?â He barely had time to ask before three furry blurs bounded into the room - one sleek and ginger, another orange, and one tabby and curious. They scattered across the floor like small chaos units. Jisung yelped, leaping behind the couch. âTheyâre alive!â
âYes, they are,â Minho said dryly. âAnd they live here too. Youâll have to make peace with them.â
The tabby one, Dori, immediately leapt onto the couch and sniffed Jisungâs leg. He stiffened like a statue. âItâs scanning me,â he whispered.
âHeâs sniffing you,â Minho corrected. âThatâs his way of saying hi. Doriâs friendly.â
Doongie, meanwhile, was trying to wedge himself into Jisungâs lap. âHelp,â Jisung said, stiff with panic. âItâs absorbing me.â
Minho snorted, turning his face away so Jisung wouldnât see him laugh. âHeâs sitting on you. Thatâs affection.â
âAffection is⊠heavy.â Soonie, aloof as ever, perched on the windowsill and judged them all silently. Eventually, Jisung relaxed enough to awkwardly pat Doongie. The cat purred so loudly Jisung jumped again, then stared in awe. âThatâs not a warning noise?â
âNo. That means youâve passed the test.â Minho smiled faintly. âDoongie accepts you. Thatâs more than I can say for most humans.â
Jisung looked down at the cat curled into his lap, amazed. âI have been accepted⊠by the creature.â
Minho leaned against the wall, arms crossed. âIâll write that on a sticky note, too. Boundary four: Doongie owns the couch now.â
Over the next few weeks, the wall by the kitchen slowly transformed into a patchwork of colorful sticky notes - some neat and precise in Minhoâs careful handwriting, others crooked or smudged from Jisungâs enthusiastic attempts to contribute. Boundaries turned into reminders, then into inside jokes. âDonât microwave metal,â one read. Another: âDoongie gets jealous if you pet Soonie first.â Minho bought clothes for Jisung - soft things, all oversized - and cleared a drawer for him without saying much. Jisung slept on the couch each night, often tangled in blankets with Doongie curled against his side like a living heater. The apartment still smelled like cinnamon and detergent, but now it also carried something else - something new and quiet and growing, like the soft rhythm of waves in the distance. Something that felt, almost, like the beginning of home.
Jisung took to observing Minho with a quiet, reverent focus, like a student trying to decode the most complex language in the galaxy. He began documenting patterns in a notebook Minho had given him, one with little stars on the cover. Entry 37: Minho flinches when touched without warning. Possible cause: defense instinct? Sensory overload? Ask later. He noted how Minho lined his books up by height, genre, and comfort level - soft reads on the left, sharp ones on the right. Entry 41: Objects need to be âjust right.â May be linked to stability. He noticed how Minhoâs fingers danced when the world was too much - tapping, twisting, flapping like tiny waves keeping him anchored. Entry 45: Repetitive movements = âstimming.â Seems to self-soothe. Donât interrupt.
Minho caught on quickly. âYou donât have to write everything down,â he said one evening, his voice more amused than annoyed. âYou can just ask.â
âBut if I ask too much, I might bother you,â Jisung replied, blinking. âYou need more quiet than most humans.â
Minho tilted his head thoughtfully. âThatâs true. But I also like knowing you want to understand.â He patted the couch beside him. âCome here. Iâll teach you how to be.â
Jisung hesitated. âBe what?â
âJust... be. Not how people think you should. Not pretending.â Minho leaned back. âThatâs what I used to do - masking, they call it. Makes you tired. Makes you feel fake.â He looked sideways. âSo I wonât teach you to blend in. Iâll just teach you how to exist. Around me. With me. That okay?â Jisung nodded slowly. He didnât quite know what that meant yet - how to âjust be.â But for the first time, it felt like he might learn not from data, but from something deeper. From Minho.
It was a quiet afternoon, the kind Minho liked best - rain pressing softly against the window, Soonie curled into a loaf on the windowsill, Jisung flipping through his notebook with focused eyes. Minho was sprawled on the couch, hoodie sleeves tugged over his hands, rhythmically tapping his thumbs together.
Jisung finally looked up, tentative but determined. âCan I ask now?â
Minho gave a small nod without hesitation. âYeah. Ask anything.â
That was all Jisung needed. âWhy do you tap your thumbs like that when it rains?â
Minho glanced down at his hands, thoughtful. âItâs stimming. Short for self-stimulation. Helps me stay calm when thereâs too much noise or feeling. Rainâs good noise, but it still piles up.â
Jisung scribbled that down. âAnd when I sat too close yesterday and you flinched⊠was that because I startled you or because I touched your arm?â
Minho was quiet for a beat. âBoth,â he said finally. âSometimes my body doesnât like touch, even if I do in my brain. Itâs a little confusing, I know.â He offered a small shrug. âItâs not about you. Itâs just how Iâm wired.â
Jisung tilted his head. âWired differently. Like⊠a different kind of processor?â
âYeah,â Minho said with a little laugh. âExactly like that. My brainâs got different settings. Thatâs called autism.â
Jisungâs pen paused. âAutism,â he repeated softly. âIs that why you sometimes talk slower? Or donât look me in the eyes?â
âYup,â Minho said, unbothered. âAnd why I like routines. Why I line up the forks. Why I get exhausted around people. Itâs not something wrong - just⊠different. Iâve had it my whole life.â
Jisung was quiet for a long moment. Then he nodded, and the corner of his mouth tugged upward slightly. âI like your processor. Itâs gentle.â
Minho huffed a breath of laughter, cheeks coloring faintly. âThanks, bug.â
âBug?â
âItâs a nickname,â Minho said, amused. âBecause you collect data like one of those little info-gathering drones.â
Jisung beamed, clutching his notebook like it was a treasure. âBug,â he repeated proudly. âMinhoâs bug.â
Minho groaned and threw a pillow at him. âDonât make it weird.â But he was smiling.
Over the following months, Jisungâs understanding of human behavior deepened - not just in theory, but in texture. Emotions stopped being data points and started becoming sensations: the warm pull in his chest when Minho laughed without holding back, the soft ache when Minho retreated to his room on bad days, the hum of peace when they sat shoulder to shoulder, saying nothing. They built routines together. Jisung folded laundry with Minho while he stimmed by rhythmically tapping socks together. They drank tea on rainy days, curled beneath blankets, while Soonie dozed in Jisungâs lap. They didnât call it anything. They didnât need to.
Jisung didnât know what romance was supposed to feel like. He just knew that Minhoâs presence soothed something restless in him. That he liked waking to the sound of Minho singing softly to the cats in the kitchen. That he learned to read the shifting tones of Minhoâs silences and adjust his own behavior accordingly - not because he was told to, but because he wanted Minho to feel safe.
One night, after a long day spent organizing Minhoâs bookshelves into a new color-coded system, they sat on the floor, backs against the couch, watching the ceiling fan turn lazily. Jisung whispered, âYouâre my favorite observation.â
Minho blinked, half-laughing, half-touched. âThatâs a weird way of saying you like me.â
âI do,â Jisung replied, not fully grasping the difference. âI like you. I feel... at ease with you. Like... when you said home is where you donât have to pretend.â Minhoâs chest tightened at that. He didnât say anything for a while, just let the words settle in the room like candlelight. Jisung placed a hand over his own chest, softly pressing into the warmth he felt there. âMinho... you are home.â
And though he didnât understand the full meaning yet, Minho turned to him, eyes wide, and gave him the gentlest smile heâd ever worn. Not correcting him. Not defining it. Just quietly holding the space open for whatever was growing between them.
It had been a year.
Three hundred and sixty-five days since Jisung had appeared near that beach, soaked in moonlight, asking questions like his life depended on it. In a way, it had. His mission - to observe, document, and return with the data - was complete. More than complete. His recorder was full: notes on human speech patterns, behaviors, emotional expressions, social rituals. Heâd done his job. His vessel had re-established contact. His departure was scheduled.
But Jisung hadnât moved. Instead, he sat cross-legged on the couch in the apartment that smelled like cinnamon and detergent and warmth. His hoodie, once Minhoâs, had become his favorite possession. Soonie lay curled up in his lap, Doongie nearby, Dori on the windowsill. The wall was cluttered with sticky notes - definitions, reminders, quiet moments Minho had translated into writing so Jisung could refer back to them when feelings became too big. But none of those notes had prepared him for this one.
He turned his head toward the kitchen. Minho stood by the sink, pouring tea into two mismatched mugs. Jisung stared, his voice low and tight in his chest. âI have to leave.â
Minho paused, not turning. The sound of the kettle clicking off echoed into the silence. âI know.â
Jisung blinked, confused. âYou... know?â
Minho turned around, holding the mugs. His face was calm, maybe even sad, but not surprised. âYou think I didnât figure it out?â he said gently, handing Jisung his tea. âJisung, you asked me what ânakedâ meant. You flinched at light switches. You called emotions âunrecordable anomalies.ââ His voice was soft, almost affectionate. âI knew. I just didnât care.â
Jisungâs hands trembled around the mug. âI was meant to stay one year. Collect, learn, return.â
âAnd now itâs been a year.â Minho sat beside him. âAre you going back?â
âI should.â A pause. âBut⊠when I think of leaving you, I-â Jisungâs hand went to his chest again, the place where things always hurt. âWhy do I feel pain when I think of leaving you?â
Minho set his mug down. He looked at Jisung, really looked, with eyes so full and clear it made Jisung feel like he might dissolve. âItâs love.â The word hung between them. A single sound. A seismic shift.
Jisung frowned. âLove,â he repeated. âI donât understand.â
Minho nodded slowly. âYeah,â he murmured. âItâs hard to explain. Itâs not logical. Itâs not efficient.â He licked his lips. âItâs when someone becomes a part of your world without trying. When just being near them makes everything feel⊠real. Safe. Important. And leaving them-â he stopped, then tried again. âLeaving them feels like tearing out a piece of yourself.â Jisung stared at him, still lost in the maze of this human word. Minho shifted closer. âSometimes,â he said gently, âwhen humans donât know how to explain love, they show it instead.â
And then, with quiet permission, he leaned in and kissed him. Jisungâs eyes widened. It was nothing like he had expected. It wasnât just a physical gesture - it was heat and stillness, noise and quiet, confusion and clarity. It was data that made no sense but felt more truthful than anything heâd ever recorded.
When Minho pulled back, his voice was even softer. âThatâs a kiss. Humans kiss to show love. Not always. But⊠sometimes. When words arenât enough.â
Jisung touched his lips - caressing them with the tip of his fingers - stunned. âSo kissing is... for love?â
Minho smiled, patient. âSometimes. Itâs not the only way. But itâs one of the ways we say, âYou matter to me. I see you. I want you close.ââ
âI want to stay close,â Jisung said, his voice almost breaking. âBut I wasnât made for staying.â
Minho nodded slowly, eyes glimmering. âMaybe not. But... maybe love changes that.â And for the first time, Jisung didnât write the moment down. He just lived in it. Held there, in the fragile, beautiful now - with a boy who smelled like tea and sea air, and a pain in his chest that, finally, had a name.
Jisung stood alone at the edge of the sea, waves tugging gently at his bare feet. The stars blinked above him - familiar, distant, calling him home. Or what had once been home.
In his hand was the recorder. The same device heâd arrived with a year ago. It had collected thousands of hours: of language, customs, human behavior. But lately, it had captured something else - quiet laughter, the rustle of sticky notes, the purring of cats, the sound of tea being poured, of two people breathing in the same rhythm. He pressed the final command sequence. The message began uploading, carried by invisible waves toward the sky. His report was complete. Every field filled, every question answered - except the last one, which heâd written himself. What makes humans stay?
He hadnât known when he first typed it. But now he did. He turned his back on the sea.
Back to the apartment that still smelled like cinnamon and laundry detergent. The sticky notes still covered the wall. Doongie was curled in his usual spot on the couch, as if he hadnât noticed Jisung was gone.
Minho was in the kitchen, unpacking groceries. He looked up the moment Jisung stepped inside, something flickering in his expression - worry, hope, love. âYouâre back,â Minho said, quietly. âDid you...?â
Jisung nodded. âI sent it.â He hesitated, then added, âI told them everything. About you. About emotions. About your routines. About stimming. I explained how you line up your books when you feel off. And why you donât like being touched without warning. I explained the silence, the flinching, the honesty. I told them about love.â He looked down, suddenly shy. âI stayed for you. Not for Earth. Just you.â Minho didnât speak, but his eyes softened, shoulders relaxing with something that looked like relief. âI found a way to stay,â Jisung said. âTheyâll think Iâm still collecting. Iâll keep sending data, just less often. They wonât come for me.â He took a careful step closer. âAnd... I want to learn. Not just observe. Not just document. I want to feel what this is.â
Minho crossed the room slowly. âWhat this is?â
Jisung nodded, placing a hand against his chest again, where the strange warmth always grew around Minho. âThat thing you called love. I donât think I understand it all. But I want to. I want to try.â
Minho smiled, eyes glassy. âYou donât have to understand it all. I donât either.â
Jisung took a breath, searching for the right words in his learned vocabulary. âThen⊠I think I love you too. I just donât know how to say it yet.â
Dreamers Dream Until They Don't (version 1) - Part 3
Trigger warnings: family issues, body dismorphia (?), low self esteem, hate comments, insulting about weight, littlespace (mentioned), bulimia (?), self punishment, body shaming
Hurt one: Changbin
Little: Chan
Comforter: Chan, Minho
Words: 4290
Part 1 and part 2 :). This series is related to the parts before just like my other series in my masterlist. So I recommend to read them :D. And I may do a escond version of this fic after I finished this series because I have another idea XD.
Feeling lonely wasn't a feeling that Changbin didn't know. He knew all negative feelings way too well. As a child he was a bit chubby at first and then skinny. In school he got bullied for not looking like the others, not being as tall as the other boys.
When he came to JYPE it got even more intense. Not that changbin was forced to do diets or that he was bullied by anyone, no. But the pressure to look perfect was there even if no one talked about it. At the end of debut he was so skinny that he felt insecure about that. So he started to gain muscles.
However, no matter what he did, the hate comments toxic 'STAYs' sent him never stopped. At first it was more like 'eat something', 'sceleton', 'you don't even look Korean!' and then turned in 'fat pig', 'your weight isn't healthy anymore!' and 'bro acts like he has muscles but is actually just fat, lol'. He didn't want to say those comments affected him, but of course they did.
And to his bad, his family didn't give him the support he had needed. He was sure that they didn't mean what they said or at least that they didn't mean to hurt him with it, but they were more like the haters.
That was the reason why he had the contact with them as little as possible. Because Changbin had a family. It was made out of 7 sweet and chaotic people. They always helped him to come back in reality when he stood in front of his mirror and didn't see his beauty. They were there when he started to overwork is body in the attempt to lose 'fat'. No matter what was, they were always there for him. And the rapper was always there for them too.
He noticed how strong their bonding had become, when Chan's and Minho's parents started to turn their backs to his hyungs. Changbin wasn't sure if the group would have stayed together, while facing those problems a few years ago. But now they did.
Changbin smiled and looked at his laptop. He sat in the living room and worked on some songs. It was their day off, so most of the members weren't home except him and Chan. Okay, except him. Chan was in the studios of course.
The rapper looked through the lyrics to correct writing mistakes. After not finding any, he started to scroll through some social media platforms, but what he read there, made his blood feel like it froze in his veins. Maybe he was on the wrong page but toxic STAY went crazy right now. 'Did you see Changbin? He gained weight again', 'Chan's behavior is really weird nowadays' 'They both are so stupid! Look at how they work so much and never suceed, lol'. Changbin closed his laptop forcefully. Just in that moment, a message from his dad arrived. Yes, he staill had contact with his parents, most times to celebrations or sometimes just for saying hi. Changbin felt like ther regretted what they said once.
DAD:
Dad: Hey Changbin! How are you?
Binnie: Hey dad, I'm fine, how about you and mom?
Dad: We're fine too. How is work? Seemed hard the last months
Binnie: Oh, that is good! Work is tough right now, that's true. But how do you know that?
Dad: I know we had some problems, but you're still our son and we want to know what you're doing.
Binnie: Thanks dad! Oh wait, a friend calls me, I think it's urgent. I'll write you back later!
The call wasn't a lie Changbin told to escape the texting. He would've loved to text a bit longer with his dad, since the conversations had gotten friendlier again. But seeing 2 missed calls from Chan on his phone never was a good sign. He quickly dealed the leaders number, hoping nothing bad had happened.
Changbin: Chan? Everything okay?
Bang Chan: B-Binie?
CB: Channie, are you small?
BC: Y-yes. Can chu come? Studwio ish scawy
CB: Of course sweets, hang on, I'll be right there! Shall I stay on phone?
BC: Pwease
CB: Okay pumpkin, I'll stay on phone, don't worry, I'll be there as soon as possible
While he talked to Chan, the rapper had taken his coat and went out of the door.
After 5 minutes, he reached the JYPE building. Panting slightly, he first wanted to take the elevator, but remembered what happened last time, so he chose the stairs instead.
Reaching the door of the studio, he opened it with a shaking hand. When he stepped in the small room, his heart broke. Chan sat in the exact position he sat in the first time Han and Changbin found him. His knees were pulled close to his chest and he sat on the couch in the corner of the studio. The little looked up at Changbin and choked out a sob. "B-Binnie!" he cried out and Changbin hurried to him. "Sshh Channie, I'm here, I'm here. It's okay. What happened?"
Chan's teary eyes met Changbin's worry filled eyes. "Big-Channie w-wead hate commentws and then he felt smol but nuh stop wowking and... and... laptop suddenwy didn't wowk no mowe and..." "Hey sweets, it's okay yeah? I'll look what's wrong with the laptop and then we'll go home" the Aussie nodded and Changbin stood up to take the laptop with him.
After struggling to convince Chan to walk on his own, they made their way back to the dorm. The little held on to Changbin's hand like his life depended on it and the rapper wished that he was able to carry his friend, because it would have been way easier. But Changbin already carried a backpack and a bag with a laptop and he was afraid that, if he would pick Channie up, he would let one thing fall and in the worst case it would be Chan or the bag with the laptop.
They needed nearly half an hour back to their home and Changbin was happy when they arrived. "Come on pumpkin, lets get you in bed" "But whut 'bout laptop, Binnie?" the rapper sighed. "I'll have a look on it. Don't worry it'll be fine." Chan nodded and followed Changbin through the door.
In the inside Changbin put the bags on the floor and helped Chan out of his jacket and shoes, before he carried the little upstairs.
When the Aussie fell asleep, the rapper sat down in the living room again, but this time with the (physically) older one's.
Unlocking the laptop wasn't a problem, but when he was on the front-page, Changbin's heart stopped for a moment. The system was completely cleared, not one of their new songs was saved. Panic rose in him while he looked at empty pages. Shit. Shit shit shit shit!
Of course the work wasn't gone forever, but it would take forever to get it back. With a shaking hand he opened his phone and dealed the manager's number.
Manager: Hello?
Changbin: Hello, here is Changbin. We may have a... little problem...
M: What happened?
C: Well... Chan's laptop accidetally cleared it's system with all our new songs... They aren't gone completely, but we'll need ages to get them back.
M: Why isn't Chan calling me himself?
C: He... uhh... has a... mental breakdown because of that! Yeah, a mental breakdown...
M: Then I hope you'll get them back fast. If not, you all will have problems!
With that, the manager hung up. Changbin sat there in silence for some time. They wouldn't get problems, they had problems. The rapper wasn't panicking anymore, now he was scared. And not only about what would happen. No, he was scared that Chan would get even bigger problems, since it was his computer that deleted their work. Of course it wasn't Chan's fault, but industry was cruel. As soon as their leader was back in his adult-headspace he had to talk to him.
Knowing that the Aussie was still sleeping, Changbin opened the chat with his dad again.
DAD:
Binnie: I correct myself. Nothing works right now.
Dad: Oh, that doesn't sound good. May I ask what happened?
Binnie: Sorry, not allowed to tell.
Dad: That is fine too. Hope you all still do okay!
Binnie: Yeah, everyone is okay :). Now I have to go to Chan. There is something I have to talk about with him.
Dad: Sure, no problem. Just text me whenever you like.
Changbin put his ophone down and sighed again. Now he had to explain that with the laptop to Chan. Gently. Because of what he thought, Chan should be awake again.
When he entered the room the Aussie shared with Minho, he was proved right. Chan sat cross-legged on his bed, staring at the wall of the room.
"Uhm Chan? Can I talk with you?" the leader snapped back in reality and smiled a tired smile. "Sure." "Sooo, about you laptop... I was able to unlock it but... the system is cleared. Completely cleared. And I talked to the manager. He said if we don't get our work back fast, we are in trouble." Chan looked at him in shock before he spoke up. "With we you mean me right?" Changbin had to look down to the ground. Yeah, Chan was right. But they would be able to face it together. Right?
"I know it's hard for you, but you have to get under control when and especially where you slip in littlespace. What shall we do if you slip on stage?" the leader looked at him again, unable to say anything. "I don't want to be angry at you hyung, but we have to get that under control or we all get in trouble!" Changbin didn't mean to get loud, he didn't mean to snap at Chan. But he was scared. His leader already got hated, what would happen if STAY would find out about littlespace?
Sadly he didn't say the last part. "That? You mean my 'condition'? Am I embarrassing for you?" tears welled up in Chan's eyes and Changbin instantly regretted every word that he said today. "No Chan, of course not!" but he realized that it was too late. He had cut right through Chan's heart. "I-I want to be alone right now." "Channie-" "Please Changbin, leave me alone. I have to fix my laptop and then I have to fix my condition!" Changbin opened his mouth to say something but one glance in the Aussie's eyes mad him nod and leave.
Just when the rapper wanted to go in his room, he walked right in Minho. "Changbin? Why the hell were you and Chan-hyung yelling at each other?" Oh great. Just great. Now he had to explain what happened. "There was a little accident?" Changbin just told the dancer about the laptop and what he said to Chan. Again he didn't speak about why he said that.
Of course, Lee Know's eyes widened. "YOU SAID WHAT?! WHY THE HELL WOULD YOU TELL CHAN SOMETHING LIKE THAT?!?!" Changbin made himself smaller as soon as Minho started to yell. He didn't often get that angry. The rapper choked back a sob, stammered a "sorry" and speed-walked to the room he shared with Jeongin. When he was in the room, he slammed the door shut behind him and just let the tears fall down his cheeks. The haters were right. He was mean, fat and ugly! If he wouldn't loose weight and somehow apolegized, he could just leave Stray Kids.
But before he could start with that, he did something he always did when he was angry at himself: reading the hate-comments STAYs wrote about him. Most of them were 'attention seeker' 'pig' and 'fat'. His thoughts slowly drifted from the argument with Chan in another direction. To be honest, Changbin didn't really what he was supposed to do. Yes, he used the hate to hurt himself but he wanted STAY to be happy with him. After thinking a bit longer he breathed out and did something he hadn't done for maybe one year or more.
Dad: Hello?
Changbin: Dad?
D: Changbin, wow that is a suprise, when was the last time you called me??
CB: Long ago I would say
D: Wait were you crying?
And with that sentence, the words just poured out of Changbin's mouth. He was still fully aware of what he was telling his dad, so nothing that wasn't supposed to be out to anyone would get out. After he ended, it was silent for a moment.
D: Well that sounds not very good, especially the part with the hate comments. But, just as a question, have you considered working out more? They should be kind as your fans but maybe theyâre kind of right⊠isnât it your job to keep a likeable body image? just give it some thought, maybe you'll feel better after it!
CB: Yeah, maybe you're right. Thanks dad!
D: You're welcome, son. Love you!
After his dad hung up, Changbin took a deep breath. Yeah, the idea his dad had should work. He wanted STAY to not feel embarrassed to stan Stray Kids just because of him!
So the next day he started with his new, not-so-healthy plan. He worked out even more cut out some meals and snacks and tried to ignore the members (especially Chan and Minho) as good as it was possible. The only time he really saw them was to practice lessons and recording. Felix asked him why the rapper wasn't with them anymore, but didn't get a real answer. His hyungs made it way easier to him, because both ignored him, just like he did.
But one week after their fight, Chan seemed to think now was a good time to talk to the younger member. "Changbin can I... talk to you?" Changbin however looked up startled and lost his balance. He had been doing a plank and the sudden movement of his head made him dizzy. "What's up hyung?" the leader flinched at the cold tone in Changbin's voice and Changbin himself felt guilty right after. He didn't want to hurt Chan more than he already did., but that apparently didn't work. "I uh... wanted to talk about our argument we had one week ago." "Oh. Maybe we can do it later? I'm working out as you can see." the leader didn't look too comfortable at him.
Changbin was a bit confused. He had never seen the Aussie that shy. But suddenly life came back into Chan. "Oh god damnit Changbin! You worked out the last week non-stop! That isn't healthy! You're drowning yourself in work and I don't know how little sleep you get!" the rapper was offended by Chan's sudden outburst and as always when he was offended or stunned, he started to snap. He didn't know why, but he couldn't control it. "Well whatever hyung, just let me live! You work yourself to death, so why am I not allowed to work more?! If you excuse me, I have to continue my session and you should maybe work on you laptop's issues."
His friend stood there for a moment until he turned around wordless and went back. Changbin instantly regretted how he reacted, but he couldn't just say it like that.
He waited a bit until he went back in his room. The rapper looked at the clock. 11pm. So he could take a quick shower before gioing to bed.
When Changbin stood in the bathroom he looked at himself in themirror. Ugly, definitely. And fat. But when did he gain so much weight? He had worked out so hard, but it didn't seem to work. Swallowing down tears, he just turned on the water.
After the shower he sat down on his bed. Jeongin wasn't there, so Changbin asumed that he went to cuddle with one of the other members.
Sighing the rapper took out his phone again. He wouldn't be able to sleep now anyways. While he scrolled through the hate comments again, he looked at some random profiles of the haters.
Suddenly, Changbin stopped scrolling. One picture of one of the profiles looked somehow familiar. He clicked at the picture to get a clearer view on it. At first he didn't knew what made the picture so familiar, until he recognized the house in the backround. It was the house his parents lived in! But why the hell did a random man stand in front of his parents house? Wait... no that was impossible!
Changbin slowly scrolled down to the posts. They all showed the same places, most of them near or even in his home. And that was the point, where the realization hit Changbin so hard, that he felt like he didn't get enough air in his lungs. This profile definitely belonged to his dad.
The young boy sat on his bed in shock. His father wrote hate comments about him? But why? Was he really that ugly? Changbin slowly started to tremble. He had to confront his dad with that! Maybe it was just...
Sighing the rapper took out his phone again. He wouldn't be able to sleep now anyways. While he scrolled through the hate comments again, he looked at some random profiles of the haters.
Suddenly, Changbin stopped scrolling. One picture of one of the profiles looked somehow familiar. He clicked at the picture to get a clearer view on it. At first he didn't knew what made the picture so familiar, until he recognized the house in the backround. It was the house his parents lived in! But why the hell did a random man stand in front of his parents house? Wait... no that was impossible!
Changbin slowly scrolled down to the posts. They all showed the same places, most of them near or even in his home. And that was the point, where the realization hit Changbin so hard, that he felt like he didn't get enough air in his lungs. This profile definitely belonged to his dad.
The young boy sat on his bed in shock. His own father wrote hate comments about him? But why? Was he reall that ugly?
Changbin slowly started to shiver. Mybe it was just... a coincidence?
With trembling hands he opened the chat between his dad and him.
DAD:
Binnie: Dad, I have to show you something.
Binnie: *sends screenshot of the account and the hate comments*
Binnie: That is your account, right?
Dad: Yes, but it's not what it looks like.
Binnie: Oh, and what is it then??
Dad: I just tried to help you!
While texting, a tear escaped his eye, then another one, until Changbin had started to cry waterfalls. But, wasn't his dad right with the comments? The rapper got disturbed in his spiraling thoughts, when the door opened slowly.
"Changbin-hyung, you're still awake?" the voice definitely belonged to Jeongin. Changbin scold himself for crying right now, well knowing that the maknae could come in every moment. "Y-yeah I.N-ah, don't worry." the older one forced a smile, even if his friend wasn't able to see it in the darkness. "But, why do you sound like you cried?" Jeongin questioned.
"I.. uhhh... had a nightmare..." "Oh. You wanna talk about it?" Changbin just shook his head: "Nah, it's okay Innie, don't worry. You should sleep now, it's late." I.N nodded and smiled at his hyung, before he climed in his bed.
Changbin however wasn't able to sleep. He tossed himself around in his bed, until he fell into an unrelaxed slumper.
When he woke up in the morning, the rapper felt completely drained. He rubbed his face and stood up. The others must be in studio, the city orstill asleep, since it was one of the rare days off.
He went downstairs and slowly sat down on a chair in the kitchen. No member was in sight, what wasn't really a problem to him.
Changbin pulled out his phone and he opened it again, but froze. He didn't close the account yesterday and the clear view on the profile brought back everything he had managed to ignore until now. The rapper's bottom lip started to quiver and he closed the account as fast as possible. He didn't want to cry right before practice.
After closing his eyes for a moment, while wondering if he should eat something. But the decision was made by someone else. "Good morning Changbin-hyung!" Seungmin's voice echoed through the complete hous and Changbin flinched at the volume. "Jesus, Seungmin do you have to give me an heart attack??" "Sorry" the vocalist, clearly unbothered about the fact that he scared Changbin nearly to death.
"I'll make food now. How you look you just came out of bed, so I'll make you something to." without asking if the rapper wanted something, the young boy started to make a fruit salad.
Changbin thought about just 'waiting' with eating until Seungmin went out of the kitchen, but the vocalsit had other plans again. "Here, hyung :D" his friend smiled as he put down a bowl of the salad in front of Changbin and one in front of himself. The rapper knew that he wouldn't be able to say that he'd eat later now, unless he wanted to to hurt Seungmin's feeling.
Even tho his mind protested, he forced to eat at least a few bites. But right after Seungmin went out of the house for meeting Hyunjin at the mall, Changbin jumped up. No, this was NOT fine. He ate something and way too much.
Taking a shaky breath and he went in upstairs and slowly opened the bathroom door. Changbin looked in th mirror. Why was he like this? Fat and ugly? The other members were so beatuiful, why couln't he be like that?
When the rapper looked through the small room, his gaze stopped at the toilet. Should he? Maybe it was the only way to get rid of the fat... but Chan would be mad as fuck. Then Changbin rembered his dad's words in the comments and chats: "How ugly can someone be? Changbin: yes" "Have you considered to work out more?" "I'm just trying to help you!" "He is so fat, why is he even allowed to be in such a cool group?" "You really have to be embarressed when you say you stan Changbin!"
Why was it so hard to be beautiful? He just wanted to be someone people could be proud of! His gaze was fixed on the toilet again. If you want to achieve something, you have to make sacrifices, right? Changbin thought while he slowly kneeled down in front of the toilet.
Then everything happened too fast. Changbin only felt how his own fingers rammed into his throat. The rapper gagged but nothing came up. He was shocked by his own action, but he wasn't able to stop. He brought his index and middle finger back in his throat, to trigger another gag. But again nothing happend. Why was that so fucking hard?
Meanwhile Chan and Minho talked in their room. Chan was still hurt by Changbin's actions and refused to slip ever again. Minho tried to tell him that Changbin was just shocked about their manager#s reaction, but the older was too stubborn to listen.
"Come on Chan, he didn't mean it like that. I know it hurts but it won't get better if you refuse to talk to him!" "I already tried to talk to him, but he didn't want to talk with me!" the dancer sighed. He wasn't sure how often he had that conversation already. Just when he wanted to reply, both heard some not-to-identify noices from the bathroom. Chan's leader instinct snapped in action. Was one of the members sick or hurt? "I'm right back, Minho, I'll just look what's wrong over there." and with that the Aussie left the room. But Minho didn't wait. He stood up and followed Chan.
Changbin was still hunched over the toilet, with his finger's in his throat, when Chan came in the room. "Changbin! What happend? Are you sick?" the leader rushed over to his friend and kneeled down beside him, his eyes wide of worry. The rapper pulled his fingers out of his throat and realized what he had gotten into. Chan found him. Shit!
"I...I..." the young boy didn't know what to say. Tying to Chan was nearly impossible, but saying "Oh, I tried to trigger myself until I throw up" didn't seem to be a good option either.
Minho stood in the doorframe, quietly watching the scene. "Let me guess: you tried to trigger yurself until you throw up?" Changbin looked at Minho, shoked that the dancer seemed to read his mind. "How... how did you know?" "I had a friend who had bulimia. He, well... didn't make it" Chan looked at Changbin. Then he pulled the younger member into a tight hug.
That was all Changbin needed to break down. "I'm s-sorry Channie-hyung! I-I didn't mean to... hurt you an-d to do... this, p-please forgive m..me!" "Sshh Binnie, it's okay, I'm not angry at you, I promise. I never was" Chan tried to comfort his friend while Minho looked at them thoughtfully. "Binnie-ah, what made you do that if I may ask?"
"M-my dad..." Chann gasped and Minho looked at him with wide eyes. To tired to explain, Changbin just took out his phone and held it in Minho's direction. The dancer kneeled down too and carefully took the phone out of Changbin's hand. After scrolling through the comments, he lookd back to his friend. "Changbinnie, that is NOT okay! We'll report this instantly!" "What do we have to report?" Chan asked, but Minho ignored him, afraid that their leader would slip, what happened quite often when he recieved bad news.
Changbin however nodded and tried to explain the situation to Chan as gentle as possible. The Aussie made big eyes and looked even more worried, after he pulled his dongsaeng even tighter to his chest. "Never ever listen to those hate comments Binnie. You are beautiful and not fat! Some people are just jealous and try to make others sad! If you feel like you need professional help, we'll help you to find a therapist, but please never do that again, yeah?" the pleading look Chan gave him, made Changbin's heart feel heavy.
How could he ever think his members didn't like him? Tears started to sting in his eyes again and he nodded. Minho who sat on Changbin's other side looked at him again. "How long did that already go?" "O-only to...today" the dancer nodded and quietly joined that hug.
Changbin closed his eyes. He lost his dad again, but he found himself and most important: friends who supported him and loved him, no matter how he looked.
END
How long can you need for writing? Felix: YES!! I'm sorry that it took SO long for me to write it and without @eternal-stay and @startforstay I wouldn't be done with it now! Next part will folllow (hopefully sooner qwq)! And I had to make the ending a bit shorter because I was scared that tumblr would say 'nahh, too many words!' :,). And maybe it turend out a bit too chaotic and is too much, sorry if yes. Now you have to live with it XD!
Heyaaa !! I know i already posted yesterday but i wanted to write a one-shot in this vibe : just grunge/emo core that i love so much. So here it is, it is not long but i hope you will enjoy it anyway !!
In a garage soaked with rain and reverb, two boys wrestle with the noise between them. Pride clashes with vulnerability. Silence says more than words. And somewhere between distortion and lyrics, something breaks open - loud, raw, and too honest to ignore.
This isnât a love story. Itâs a song they only know how to play together.
ONE SHOT
The rain hammered against the cracked windowpane, a relentless beat that matched the static humming from the battered amplifier. Minho sat on the edge of the worn-out stage, fingers twitching around the neck of his guitar like they were itching to scream, but the sound never came. Across the dim room, Jisungâs shadow flickered, scribbling lyrics into a notebook stained with smudged ink and regret. Neither of them said a word - the silence between them louder than any chord, heavy with all the things they couldnât admit.
The rain hammered against the garage windows, each drop slicing through the fragile thread holding Jisungâs sanity together. Nothing was going the way he wanted it to go. The bass wasnât right, his drummer was sick, Minho was breathing too fucking loud and his pen was running out of ink. He sighed loudly before muttering, âGod damn.â They all knew this tone. Jisung was pissed. He threw his notebook on the floor and walked back to the mic.
âLetâs go again. This time try to fucking focus.â He spat. Minho rolled his eyes, the bassist nodded obediently. They started playing. Jisung sang. Pouring all of his feelings into his lyrics as usual. But after just a few minutes, he screamed and completely stopped singing. âGod, is no one listening to me?â He shouted again. âI told you guys to focus. I wasnât fucking kidding.âÂ
Minhoâs fingers clenched tighter around his guitar, his knuckles white beneath chipped black nail polish. The air in the room thickened - sticky with tension and unspoken blame. Jisungâs glare burned through the dim light, every word a jagged shard thrown carelessly. Minho wanted to say something - anything - but the words lodged in his throat, heavy and useless. The music stopped, leaving only the buzz of the amp and the relentless rain pounding outside, like a heartbeat they both couldnât escape. Slowly, Minho stepped forward, his voice low and raw. âMaybe youâre not the only one whoâs lost in the noise.â Jisungâs eyes flickered - anger softening to something like pain. The distance between them didnât shrink, but for a moment, the silence wasnât so suffocating.
Jisung felt his blood boiling in his veins. âSorry to be pissed that the song that I produced and that I wrote is being destroyed because no one here actually wants to work.â He spat again, every word dripping with venom aimed squarely at Minho.
âDo I have to remind you what it means to be a group, Ji?â Minho asked in a sharp tone as he slung his guitar behind him. He frowned as his singer stayed silent. âYouâre not alone in this. You donât get to be a dictator here.â He grabbed Jisungâs shirt tightly. It was a worn-out black t-shirt, displaying a drawing of an anarchy logo with written âFUCK CAPITALISMâ in capital letters. âI thought you genuinely believed in this shit.â
Jisungâs chest heaved, his breath catching between ragged words. âBelieved? Maybe I still do. But belief doesnât make a difference when it feels like you donât even try.â His voice cracked, vulnerability bleeding through the cracks of his anger. For a moment, Minho saw past the frustration, past the rebellious facade, and caught the raw ache beneath - the fear that this band, this fragile connection, might shatter completely. The room seemed to shrink around them, their shadows merging in the dim light as the rainâs steady drumming outside marked the slow, painful tick of time slipping away. Jisung pulled away, stepping back with a bitter laugh. âMaybe weâre just noise, Minho. Static that never quite finds the right frequency.â The words hung heavy between them, daring Minho to respond, to admit he felt the same.
Minhoâs eyes itched, but he blamed the expired eyeliner. âMaybe youâre just noise. Or maybe your lyrics just canât transcend anyone.â He answered. He didnât believe a single word of those two sentences. But he needed to cut through Jisungâs ego somehow.
As the young singerâs eyes widened, Minho knew he had hit the right spot. And deep enough, he felt like an asshole for it. But he couldnât bring himself to speak up about it and apologize just yet. because he was still pissed at Jisung - and maybe because Jisung needed to be knocked down a peg for once.
âIâm an artist. A real one.â He barked back, pushing Minho away in a sharp motion. âYour bullshit âno feelings for artâ attitude? Not my fucking problem. And if you donât wanna be a part of whatever this still isâŠâ Jisung moved his arms in a vague gesture around the garage. âYou might as well just leave. There is no room for losers beside me.â
The words hit like a slap, but Minho didnât flinch. Instead, he stared, the weight of the silence pressing down harder than any argument. âLosers?â he echoed, voice low and bitter. âYou think youâre some kind of savior? Because all I see is someone scared shitless to lose control.â The rain outside had softened to a dull drizzle, but inside the room, the storm was far from over. Minhoâs fingers curled into fists, trembling not from anger, but from something more fragile - fear. Fear that no matter how loud they screamed, no matter how sharp their words, the music between them might finally snap. And with it, everything theyâd built - fractured and frayed like the edges of a torn album cover - would be gone forever.
Jisung let out a sharp laugh. But it wasnât humorous, it was sarcastic - almost cruel. âYou wouldnât be here if I hadn't had any control, dumbass.â He let go of his mic and pushed Minhoâs shoulder. âI need my time before I break one of you guysâ neck.â He added as he stormed out of the garage. He wanted to walk farther, but the rain was still pouring, so he stayed under the small porch. Jisung took out a cigarette and let it rest between his dry lips. He shoved his hand in the pocket of his low-rise jeans. In his pocket, he found a small lighter and, out of habit, grabbed it and raised it to meet the cigarette. He lit it up. But before shoving back down the lighter, he took a look at it. It wasnât his. It was pink, with a cartoonish cat drawn on it. Jisung let out a low sigh, exhaling the smoke from his lungs. He coughed softly while muttering, âyou fucking piss me off, Lee Minho.â
Jisung stared out into the rain, the smoke curling around him like a fragile shield against the world. The pink lighter felt heavy in his hand, a quiet reminder of something - or someone - he wasnât ready to face. He hated how much he depended on Minho, how their fights left scars deeper than any music ever could. The rain blurred the edge of the porch, turning the world outside into a smudged watercolor of gray and black, just like the inside of his mind. Somewhere, beneath the anger and the stubborn pride, there was a crack - a place where hope still flickered. But for now, it was buried beneath smoke, rain, and all the noise they couldnât drown out. And Jisungâs ego was known to be extremely strong. So even after waiting forty-five minutes, he didnât come back inside. Eventually, Minho left. The bassist followed not long after, both of them fading into the downpour without a word. It was only after two additional cigarettes that Jisung came back inside the garage. He sat down in silence and started scribbling on his notebook again. He grabbed the mic, taking it off the stand. As he sat on the floor, the sound of the rain outside started to lower. His heartbeat calmed down. He quickly started writing. Eventually mumbling melodies and meaningless words in the mic. Minhoâs words kept spinning in his mind. Again and again. âYour lyrics just canât transcend anyone.â Jisung let out a loud exhale. What if Minho was right after all? He pulled out of his pocket the pink lighter once again. His eyes got itchy. Minhoâs lighter.Â
He turned the lighter over in his hand, thumb tracing the edge of the stupid cat sticker until it started to peel. Maybe it was childish. Maybe Minho had left it behind on purpose. Or maybe it had just fallen out of his pocket, meaningless and forgotten, Jisung didnât even remember picking it up in the first place. But he couldnât stop staring at it like it held answers he couldnât write into a verse. He leaned his head back against the cold garage wall and closed his eyes, the mic still loose in his grip. The sound system hummed quietly, an electric pulse in the background of his unraveling thoughts. In his mind, he saw flashes - Minho laughing with a cigarette between his teeth, Minho nodding silently at his lyrics, Minho storming out without looking back. They werenât just bandmates, not really. Never had been. There was too much mess in between, too many moments that felt like something more. And now it all teetered on the edge of falling apart, like an overplayed tape about to snap. âFuck,â Jisung muttered, voice cracking against the mic like breaking glass. He flipped to a clean page in the notebook and, for the first time in hours, let himself write something honest.
For a while he wrote. Again and again. He couldnât stop - not even for air. It felt like if he paused, even for a second, something vital inside him would collapse. So he kept writing. He didnât look at the time, or even got up to eat or smoke. Eventually, when it got dark outside, he raised his hand to hit the light switch. But after hours - that felt like seconds - he put down the notebook, and closed it. Jisung sighed loudly before rubbing his eyes. That was when the door opened. The door creaked open, and without a word, Minho stepped into the garage and plugged in his guitar, like nothing had happened - like everything had.The tension was thick in the air. Jisung's lips parted but he didnât say anything. He sat there and watched.
After a bit of moving around, Minho eventually looked up at Jisung. He didnât speak up, but the singer understood. In an uncontrolled rush, he got up and handed Minho his notebook.
âI wrote a few. Score at the end.â He muttered shyly. When it was just them, in this dark garage, it felt like time could stop.
Minho nodded, thumbing through the pages in one smooth motion, stopping when he found the score. âI donât care about the lyrics anyway.â Jisungâs eyes dropped to the floor, disappointment flickering across his face before he could hide it. âNot yet.â Minho added under his breath, so soft it may as well have been a ghost of a thought. But somehow, it stayed with Jisung anyway.
They didnât speak for a while after that. Jisung moved to the mic, instinct guiding him more than thought. He sat cross-legged on the floor again, waiting. Minho adjusted his guitar strap, fingers brushing the strings like he was trying to remember how to breathe through them. Then, like it was muscle memory, he began to play - a soft riff, something new, something raw. Jisung recognized the chords. They were his. The ones heâd written an hour ago, in the dark, bleeding honesty into the page. Minho had read them. He had understood them. Jisungâs throat closed up with emotion, but he forced himself to sing. Not loud. Not perfectly. But it was real. A trembling voice over the broken-sounding chords, fragile like a scraped knee. As the melody grew, so did something else - something sacred and sickening and sweet. It wasnât just music anymore. It was everything they hadnât said, threaded between the notes. Jisungâs voice cracked, but Minho didnât stop. He played through it like it was meant to break. Like all broken things still deserved to be heard.
Minhoâs fingers slowed on the strings, not stopping entirely, but shifting into a looser, softer rhythm - like a heartbeat stumbling into vulnerability. Jisungâs voice wavered before catching again, steadying just enough to carry the next verse. The one Minho remembered.
He had read it earlier - half by accident, half by choice. Flipping through Jisungâs scrawl of verses and messy chords, his eyes had landed on a page darker than the rest. Not in tone, but in weight. As if the words had been carved into the page instead of written. Now, Jisung was singing them out loud, voice rough, cracked at the edges, but real:
âYou look at me like Iâm smoke you canât breathe in
But I keep burning for you, still
Even when your silence cuts louder
Than the amp when it screams.â
Minhoâs fingers faltered for half a second. Just barely. Just enough for Jisung to notice. But the singer kept going.
âI hate that I love when you walk away
'Cause at least I get to watch you
And pretend youâll turn around.â
The sound that filled the garage wasnât clean - it wasnât rehearsed or polished or meant for anyone else. It was jagged, vulnerable, too raw to be a performance. It wasnât about the band. It wasnât about fame. It wasnât even about the music anymore. It was about Minho. And he knew it.
He didnât look up at first. Didnât move. Just let the chords die out slowly, like the last breath of something fragile. When he finally did raise his head, Jisung was already watching him - wide-eyed, frozen in place, like heâd just realized what heâd done. Like the words had fallen out without permission. Neither of them spoke. The silence pressed down like a hand to the chest.
Minhoâs voice came low, dry. âYou wrote that about me.â It wasnât a question.
Jisungâs jaw tensed. He looked away for a moment, then back. âI didnât name anyone.â
âYou didnât have to.â Minhoâs guitar slipped from his lap with a soft thud onto the rug, and he stood up slowly. He walked over, each step deliberate but careful, like approaching something wild that might bolt at any moment. âI read those lyrics minutes ago,â he said. âAnd I kept hoping youâd sing anything else. Something easier. Something that didnât feel like... this.â
Jisung stayed silent, fists clenched at his sides, like he was bracing for impact. Minho stopped in front of him, close but not touching. âWhyâd you write it?â
Jisungâs voice was almost a whisper. âBecause it was the only way I could say it.â A beat passed. Then another. Outside, the rain had stopped completely. The world was holding its breath again.
Minho let out a slow exhale. âOkay.â His voice cracked slightly. âThen listen to me now, because I donât do lyrics the way you do.â He swallowed hard, eyes flickering between Jisungâs and the floor. âBut I never once looked at you like you were smoke I couldnât breathe. If anythingâŠâ He gave a bitter smile, soft and self-deprecating. âYouâre the only thing that keeps me from choking most days.â
Jisung blinked like heâd been slapped. His mouth parted, but no sound came out. Just the hum of the mic still live in his hand, buzzing between them like a secret too big for either of them to hold alone. Suddenly - almost in a rush - he stood up and threw a score at Minho. âPlay this.â
Minho didnât speak. He just unfolded the page Jisung had thrown at him, the corner still bent from impact. The chords were scrawled with aggression, the ink smeared like theyâd been written through shaking hands. This wasnât a song meant to soothe - it was meant to scream. To bleed. To break something open. He picked up his guitar again, plugged in, and turned the gain way up. The sound that tore through the speakers wasnât gentle - it was distortion and grit, each chord like a wound splitting wider. He didnât need to ask Jisung if he was ready.
Jisung stepped into the mic like it was the only thing keeping him alive. Then the song hit. The drums thundered in his head - imaginary, but real in the way his heartbeat followed their pace. Minhoâs guitar shredded through the quiet like teeth through skin. Jisungâs voice came rough, raw, almost hoarse, but full of heat. It wasnât clean. It wasnât pretty. It was honest.
âYou called me divine in the dark
Then cursed me in daylight like sinâs second spark
I fell from your heaven just to crawl through your hell
And I still wore the crown as I shattered myself.â
Minho didnât flinch - he just played harder. Every note biting into the air, sharp enough to draw blood. Jisung pushed forward, the mic shaking in his grip, eyes wide like he was exorcising something.
âYou said I was holy with ash on my tongue
But I baptized my pain in the songs left unsung
I begged for salvation with your hands on my throat
I was your altar. You were my rope.â
The garage wasnât a practice room anymore. It was a battleground. Their confessional. Their funeral. Their rebirth. Jisungâs voice cracked once - but this time, he didnât care. He let it tear through his throat like it belonged.
âYou played God with your silence
Let me pray to your back as you walked away
And Iâm still kneeling in the noise
Screaming grace through the decay.â
Minho stepped in closer, his guitar surging beneath the verse like a wave crashing just before it pulls you under. Jisung didnât back away. He went harder.
âSo go ahead, write me down in your gospel of ghosts
Call me a heretic for loving you the most
But donât forget - every angelâs just a sinner with wings
And I burned mine off just to hear you sing.â
The song built - rising, spiraling, until it was too big to contain. And then -Â The final line tore out of Jisungâs chest like it had been waiting years to be spoken.
âI wouldâve let you break me if it meant youâd stay.â
Silence snapped into place like a trap. The amp buzzed with leftover rage. Jisung was panting, sweat on his forehead, fingers clenched around the mic stand like it was the only thing keeping him from falling. Minho stared at him. Jaw tight. Eyes burning. He didnât ask what the lyrics meant. He didnât need to. Because they were already the answer.
The silence after the last note was deafening - too thick, too loud, too alive. Jisung stood frozen, chest heaving, his breath fogging up the raw air between them. The walls of the garage felt smaller now, as if theyâd shrunk around the weight of what had just been said - not with words, but with sound. No one moved. No one needed to.
Minhoâs guitar still hung from his shoulder, the final chord echoing in the strings, bleeding out slowly like a fading wound. His fingers hovered over the frets. Then, he looked up. Straight at Jisung. Eyes unreadable. Jaw still set. And then he said, voice low, rough, not demanding but certain: âSing it again.â
Jisung didnât ask which part. He didnât have to. Minho shifted his grip, adjusted the volume dial, and this time - this time, he didnât play like he was figuring it out. He played like he knew. Like the chords were etched into his skin. Like the song belonged to him too.
Jisung stepped forward. No hesitation now. Just instinct. He brought the mic to his lips again - and sang. Not exactly the same. More. Stronger, steadier, but still bleeding. His voice cracked in all the right places, not because it was broken, but because it was true. Minhoâs guitar rose to meet him, every note a mirror, a hand reached out, a silent scream turned into harmony.
They werenât speaking. They didnât have to. Because this - this - was the language only they understood. The beat of old wounds. The pull of near-loss. The unspoken things stitched into verses and distortion. And as Jisung reached the final line again, breath shaky, voice low and blistered -Â
âI wouldâve let you break me if it meant youâd stay.â
Minhoâs playing didnât stop this time. He just kept going. Kept looping the outro, building it into something bigger, something triumphant, like he was refusing to let the song end on pain alone. And Jisung, without realizing, was singing it again. And again. And again. Each time a little different. A little less afraid. They werenât fixing anything. Not yet. But they were still playing. And maybe that was enough.
The final chord faded out slowly, swallowed by the garageâs empty corners like the last breath of something too sacred to name. Jisung didnât move right away. He just stood there, mic in hand, chest rising and falling like heâd run a marathon barefoot over glass. Minhoâs fingers hovered for a moment over the strings, not strumming, just⊠resting. Quiet. Still. And then he let his hand fall. The guitar went silent. The amp buzzed faintly, the kind of low static that filled in the gaps between words neither of them could say.
Jisung turned slowly to face him. Eyes rimmed red, but not from crying - just from everything. The air between them felt like it could crack open if either one of them breathed too loud. Then he spoke. Just five words. Soft. Steady. âYou felt it too, right?â No desperation. No pleading. Just the kind of question that came after the storm - when the world was ruined but standing, and you needed to know someone else had seen the lightning too.
Minho didnât speak. His jaw clenched. His fingers twitched once near the neck of the guitar, like they wanted to answer for him. And then - barely, almost imperceptibly - he nodded.
Jisung closed his eyes. Just for a second. Like he needed that moment of confirmation to ground himself. Like it was enough. Like he could finally breathe. Minho unplugged his guitar without a word, and Jisung set the mic back in its stand with a kind of reverence. They didnât look at each other as they packed up.
But when they left the garage - attached to the back of Jisungâs parentsâ house, its chipped door still half-open behind them - they walked in sync. And somewhere between the threshold and the stairs up to his room, Jisungâs hand brushed against Minhoâs. Neither of them pulled away. Their fingers intertwined like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Like it had been waiting to happen, buried beneath the static and shouting and tension that had always been more about fear than hate.
They went up quietly, passing through the familiar hallway. Jisungâs room was chaos - CDs stacked like miniature skyscrapers, old amps buzzing faintly in the corners, and posters hanging at wild angles, curling at the edges. The walls were covered in signatures, lyrics, and torn-out zines, like the inside of his head had spilled everywhere. Neither of them cared. They collapsed onto the bed without a word, sprawling side by side. The mattress squeaked beneath them, barely big enough for two, but somehow still too much space.
Jisung reached toward the nightstand, grabbing the old metal ashtray, a couple of crumpled packs of cigarettes, and a pink lighter already warm from his pocket. He offered one to Minho without speaking. Minho took it silently, lighting his with practiced ease. They smoked together in silence. The glow of the tips pulsed faintly in the dim room, twin embers flickering in rhythm with the low hum of whatever song Jisung had playing in the background. The window was cracked open just enough to let the smoke curl out into the cool night air, taking some of the tension with it.
After a while, Jisung leaned over and shoved one of his old mix CDs into the stereo. The label read âLOUD LOVEâ in messy black sharpie, half faded from overuse. The room filled with crashing drums, screaming vocals, and gritty guitar riffs. Not sappy love songs. Real ones. Angry ones. The kind that howled and bled and swore with every chorus. Songs that didnât apologize for how hard they loved. Music that didnât ask to be understood - it just existed. They didnât say anything for a long time. Just laid there, heads barely touching, hearts slowly syncing to the pounding beat of some long-forgotten emo anthem vibrating the floorboards beneath them. Jisungâs fingers absentmindedly tapped the rhythm against his chest, and Minho stared up at a poster of My Chemical Romance hanging crookedly above the bed. The silence between them wasnât awkward. It was full. Complete.
Then, somewhere between tracks - right after a bridge that sounded like heartbreak and before the next scream - Minhoâs voice cut in. Quiet. But sure. âI have a title.â
Jisung blinked, slowly turning his head. Minho didnât look at him, just kept his eyes on the ceiling. âHold My Hand.â he said.
Jisung sat up slightly, brows raised. His lips parted in a mix of surprise and something softer, and then - âA title track,â he whispered.
Minho looked over at him, finally meeting his gaze. And Jisung smiled. Not big. Not dramatic. Just the kind of smile that meant everything when youâd been on the edge of falling apart all night. They laid back again, letting the next song drown the silence.
And maybe tomorrow thereâd be questions. Maybe tomorrow thereâd be fear.
But right now, there was only the music, the curl of smoke between them, and two hands still quietly holding each other beneath the blanket of noise.
Summary: You're thinking of ending things when your boyfriend calls you while he's on tour.
Genre: Angst with a happy ending
Word Count: 2.5k
Trigger warning: Suicide, depression, anxiety, mentions of pills and death
Suicide, depression, and anxiety resources
A/N: Ugh, I love this man. Requestee, I've done it yet again. Felix makes my heart soft, so I tried to capture that feeling perfectly here. I hope you enjoy it <3
_ _ _
Everything was almost perfect in Felixâs eyes. Everything really was bigger in America. He still couldnât get over the large size of his fountain drink. He ordered it for dinner and that was a few hours ago. The liquid inside watered down from the melted ice, but he didnât care, heâd drink it until it was gone.Â
The rest of the guys scattered into their own hotel rooms. After a busy day of rehearsal and tonightâs concert, everything went to plan. The concert unraveled like usual. The jokes between songs, the dances hit every choreographed beat; he soaked up every moment like a sponge.Â
The fans shined like diamonds in the crowds. From the front barricade and higher in the balcony, he never forgot the moments. Even if he couldnât see faces clearly, he could still see the colors. The splashes of pink from one body. A fox-eared headband to represent someoneâs love for Jeongin.Â
Posters scribbled with handwritten messages of love and admiration. They still circled his head and filled his heart with affection. The love of his fans felt like sunlight on a dark day. Every time he saw reminders, every little worry washed away.Â
In the hotel room, the sun disappeared a few hours ago, tucked in and nested on the other side of the world. The moon perked up tonight, stretching light across multiple states. Between the open curtains, it peeked inside the opening to check upon him.Â
Sprawled out on the side of his bed, his skin smelled of ripe tangerine. Usually, he didnât buy hair products in America, but ever since he stumbled across one this afternoon he couldnât resist trying it out. He bought shampoo and conditioner without a second thought. He threw in the leave-in conditioner and body wash, just because he could.Â
In the rays of moonlight, dewy skin glowed. The sweat from the concert, he scrubbed it off. It disappeared and circled down the metal drain. Tomorrow, heâd repeat the process and do it all over again.Â
The matching bed across the way lay empty. Minho came up missing quite a while ago. He showered, slipped into pajamas, and disappeared. He said heâd be back, but never mentioned what time, or where he was going.Â
Felix didnât mind. He didnât know if heâd be up by the time heâd come back. Not that it mattered, Minho had another room key. Heâd be able to get inside if he needed to.Â
The only thing he missed? Your touch. The way your fingers dug into his sore muscles. You practically lulled him to sleep by your touch and your touch alone. Thumbs pressed into tender muscles and you massaged them in such a way, he couldnât get enough.Â
He couldnât get enough of you at all. Leaving for tour, it had always been hard. Taking a break out of the usual routine. Saying good-bye to his permanent resident. It hurt a lot. A lot more than heâd ever admit out loud.Â
Ever since the two of you started to date two years ago, it hurt so much worse. He missed you. The way he woke up with your legs tangled together. Most mornings, he found your fingers tangled in his shirt. You were afraid to lose him in the night. He couldnât get enough of you.Â
Every time he went somewhere for something, deep down, he felt like he betrayed you in multiple ways. You understood it, of course. His career would always be more important than dating. You wouldnât have it any other way. Nothing brought more light into his life than being a star.Â
You missed him between your own usual routine. Every time he left for his schedule, it left behind a big open wound. No matter how much time passed, it wouldnât heal until he came back. The shape of his soul connected and tangled around yours.Â
Thinking about the way you smiled, his heart ached. Heâd never get used to being away from you. You had your own career and you couldnât leave it there for months at a time. He wished you could be with each other all the time. When you couldnât, heâd pick up his phone and dial your number.Â
Hearing your voice gave him the strength to go another day.Â
~ ~ ~Â
You decided you were different a long time ago. You didnât know why you were born this way, you just were. Something was missing in your brain. Emptiness seeped into your heart during the lowest times of your life. Your brain ballooned with the worst thoughts.Â
Your brain highlighted every flaw. It sucked out your energy. Depression clung to you since you were young. It came and went in waves, but this time felt different. Every time you reentered that same mindset, it almost felt like coming home.Â
Things rarely changed in your brain. Maybe you werenât meant to survive on your own. Perhaps, you just couldnât handle living here. Living is exhausting. Whatâs the point?Â
It burns. It aches. Life rips out your heart, tears it to shreds, and shoves it back in your chest. Thereâs always something and why is it so hard? Itâs not hard for everyone else, they do what they need to do. Life goes on. Why is it so different for you?Â
Every minor obstacle feels like a mountain. The more you battle and fight your way uphill, the more it feels like you will never reach the top, no matter what you do. When will it end? When does it stop?Â
Lately, life unraveled. Minor work related tasks, you werenât sure if you could do it anymore. Each one vacuumed your energy into empty particles of nothingness. The past few days, youâd been nodding off at work. Miraculously, nobody caught you, but if they would have, youâd certainly be written up, or fired.Â
You missed Felix like crazy. Curled in your shared bed, you openly mourned him. Youâd tuck his pillow to your chest and squeeze. Hoping and waiting for the day youâd see him again, you couldnât wait, but you had days, weeks, and a couple more months.Â
Each day that trudged along, you werenât sure if you could keep going. You didnât know how youâd manage this anymore. Life became an endless cycle of defeat after defeat. Where did your upbeat glow go?Â
It always did this, your brain. Just when you thought you were making progress, you fell again. Free falling from a cliff, there were no footholds to grasp, no vines, no jutting out edges; just you slipping over an empty ocean. The riptide swallowed you whole.Â
Deep down, you knew your life would end one way, or another. You waited, hoping something would occur, so you didnât have to do it yourself. A failing organ. A drunk driver swerving out of control. A murderer released from prison that snapped once more.Â
You hated yourself a little more because you werenât strong enough. It came so naturally to everyone, why not you? What higher being created you to live like this? What kind of life comes from this; when your brain is so focused on the worst, you forget to find the good?
Days tick by and time turns to dust. The end is always there, but you try to ignore it. Death knocks. Eagerly. Constantly. Rhythmically. Knuckles rapped and you try to ignore it, but like a siren, it calls.Â
Some people dub it selfish, but is it really? Is it selfish to give up when your brain shrieks at you; when your brain paints your flaws on full display and crucifies yourself in front of those you love most? Hurt ripples through your soul every day.Â
Living with depression is a slow suffocation. You try so hard to light the fire of life, but the spark never catches. The flames forget to light. There is no steel wool. The matches are wet from tears of desperation and misery.Â
It takes over everything and destroys whatever is in its path. Frustration leads to screaming matches and tears. People donât know how to befriend a boulder; a flipped turtle stuck on its back, no matter how hard you try, your stubby legs never find land.Â
Itâs a slow spreading poison and when reasoning dissolves, what more can you do? Is it selfish to want the thoughts to stop? To want a single nightâs rest without tears and worry?Â
When you pictured the freckled face you loved so much, you pictured something so much more; a glowing yellow ball of the brightest light. Felix is stubborn, but you didnât doubt heâd find someone better. More caring and lovable, someone who wasnât nearly as broken as you. You didnât know what else to call it.Â
Your shell of life broke years ago. It wasnât until this year that it finally clicked. There would be no happy ending. There would be no hope. No love. No healing. No future.Â
The wick in your candle burned out. Wax seeped out and destroyed your surroundings. The room filled with smoke. It suffocated everything in its reach. You destroyed everything you touched. Life was no different.Â
And without Felix, it all grew so much worse. You stopped reaching out to your friends a while ago. They tried to check on you, but life went on. Itâs not as simple when youâre older. People get busy. Jobs canât be put on pause. We live in a quick-fire society.Â
Felix called and texted. He wasnât around as much as you wanted him to be. You couldnât blame him. He had his life, too. It wasnât his job to fix you, but you wanted it to be.Â
Maybe thatâs the worst part about letting go. Who cares for those you leave behind? Who sweeps away the self-doubt and negative manifestations in your loved ones? How do you make peace with never seeing their faces again? The pet you spoiled too much, the friends you laughed with for hours, and the family members you vowed to take care of. How do you let go of this life and trust the next is better?Â
Doubts circled your head and funneled in your heart. You laid on the bathroom floor with tears slowly rolling down your cheeks. You shut out the light and closed the door. In the fit of darkness, you cycled through everything.Â
Once itâs done, itâs done.Â
In your grasp, a plastic bottle of pills. The lid remained sealed tight over the bottle. If Felix came home before anyone else found your body, would he forgive you? For the half-opened eyelids and fingers clenched into fists of pain? Would he pray for your weary soul, or would he scream so loud upon finding you, searing the sight of your corpse into his brain, heâd never speak again?Â
Suicide always feels like the right answer. Youâre asking someone with no motivation to continue dragging themselves through the mud. Itâs wet and cold. Your body is numb and yet, it still shivers. Warmth would be a savior, but it never feels like itâs coming.Â
Your eyes squeezed shut and you breathed. Inhale and exhale. In for four and out for four. Inhale. Hold. Exhale.Â
Your lungs expanded and your heart beat, but this didnât feel like living. Hell, it didnât even feel like surviving. It felt like torture more than anything; a soul trapped and bound in a cage.Â
Your eyes fluttered open at the sound of vibrations beneath you. Pressed between the cold tiles and your back, your phone vibrated. It must have slipped from your back pocket. You sniffled, reached back, and answered it without looking. âHello?âÂ
âHi, baby! I miss you!â On the opposite end of the phone, Felix grinned. âAm I bothering you? Iâm sorry, I couldnât help it. I have some free time and Iâve been missing you like crazy.â
With the phone pressed against your ear, your bottom lip quivered. Your eyes squeezed shut, trying to stop the sting of gathering tears. You could picture him so clearly in your head. The glittering eyes and excited smile. If he were here, heâd reach out and touch you, gripping you and never wanting to let go.Â
âHi, Lix.âÂ
âAre you okay, baby? Your voice sounds funny.âÂ
âYeah, you caught me.â A weak laugh escaped your lips. âIâm having a rough moment and really missing you.âÂ
âAw, Iâm sorry. I miss you, too. I miss you so much, baby. You know Iâd hold you if I could. Iâm sending you so much love. Can you feel it? Across the states and through the countries. Is it working? Can you feel it now?âÂ
âYeah, I-I can feel it.â You sniffled again, clutching the phone tighter. âI really miss you,â you whispered.Â
âHave I ever told you how much I love you? I donât know how Iâd live without you. Baby, my heart is so entangled in you! I know touring is hard for you. Iâd bring you along if I could, babe.âÂ
âItâs not your fault, Lix. Duty calls when it calls and our lives pull us in two different directions.âÂ
âI know, but IâŠâ He trailed off, pushing himself upright on his bed. âIâm so grateful youâre with me. Sometimes I worry youâll leave and find someone closer to you. I worry theyâll be yours forever and it wonât be me.âÂ
A needle stabbed your heart. Tears silently streamed down your cheeks and soaked the bottom collar of your shirt. âI wouldnât leave you,â you whispered again. âI canât. My heart is stitched to yours.âÂ
âToday, I had the best pastry ever. It was warm and gooey. Straight out of the oven and topped with powdered sugar. When I come back home, Iâm going to try and make it for you. It probably wonât be perfect, but I want to try and share the sweetness of it with you.âÂ
The more he spoke, the more tears leaked from your eyes. You were hurting so badly and Felix didnât know just how much. Despite being on the other end of the world, he talked to you like he always did; full of so much happiness and laughter.Â
âFelix?âÂ
âHmm?âÂ
âI love you.âÂ
âAh! You canât see me, but youâre making me blush! I love you! I love you! I love you!â A loud obnoxious kissing sound came from the speaker. âPretend I was kissing your lips.âÂ
âYouâre such a goof.âÂ
âYour goof and Iâll happily take that compliment. Anyway, back to my undying love for you-âÂ
You didnât realize it until after the phone call, but you were smiling. The pill bottle left your hand at some point. You shifted and curled away from it, clutching onto the phone as if it were a lifeline. Felixâs voice kept you company for nearly an hour. He didnât know how close you were to ending it forever.Â
When you stood up, you put the pills back into the medicine cabinet. Maybe one day, youâd admit to Felix just how close you were to giving up. Maybe. For now, a flame of hope reappeared.Â
It might not last forever, but Felix was counting on you, just as you were counting on him.Â
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