em★

THE FIRST TIME YOU MET SEO CHANGBIN, you were pretty sure you had made a bad impression.

or so you thought, at least.

the jyp entertainment building loomed over the busy seoul street like any corporate giant, yet the cafe on its ground floor, your current workplace, was a world away from the polished, high-pressure energy of the floors above. it was your sanctuary, your little pocket of warmth in the city, you had worked part-time for the past year, ever since your cv required a little more padding and your bank account required a little more cushion. what started as a necessity had become a comfort, where the scent of freshly ground coffee beans had become synonymous with a life that existed outside of your own spiraling thoughts.

you loved it here. the way the afternoon sun slanted through the large windows, casting golden light across the wooden floors. the way regular customers, especially idols, smiled and greeted you when they saw you behind the counter. the way the chaos of the entertainment world swirled just upstairs while you remained in your quiet, cozy bubble. it was cozy, it was inviting.

you were wiping down the counter, humming along to a mellow piano piece, when the little bell above the door chimed. you looked up, a practiced smile already forming on your lips, ready to greet the customer.

“welcome–”

and then, your brain just… short-circuited.

not in a panicked, static-noised kind of way. more like the way the world goes silent right before a first snowfall. everything else in the coffee shop, the hiss of the espresso machine, the dull roar of small talk, all of them just… faded.

he was average height, sure, yet the way he stood made him feel like the only solid thing in a tilting room. his shoulders were broad, not in an intimidating way, but in a way that they seemed to carry the weight of the world in the most attractive way possible. the simple black hoodie looked impossibly soft, his jeans worn perfectly, and a black mask that covered the lower half of his face.

but it was his eyes that got you. god, his eyes.

they were sharp, almost too sharp for a place this ordinary, scanning the menu board like he was solving a puzzle. there was a warmth behind the intensity, though, a quiet fire that made you wonder what it would be like to be the sole focus of that gaze. and then, as if he felt the weight of your staring, his eyes dropped from the menu.

and they landed on you.

thump.

your heart didn’t just skip a beat; it stopped entirely, forgot its rhythm, and then started again in a completely new tempo meant only for him. you almost forgot how to breathe, almost forgot your own name.

you had seen those eyes a thousand times on your phone screen. in music videos. in variety shows. in the photos your best friend, kim seungmin, occasionally sent you from their dorm, captioned with things like ‘this idiot fell asleep on the couch again’ or ‘this greedy motherfucker ate the entire chicken and left me with nothing.’

seo changbin was literally standing three meters away from you, and you were already a sweating mess.

“hi,” he greeted, his voice slightly muffled by the mask yet still undeniably warm, a rich baritone that seemed to resonate somewhere deep within your chest, “can i get an iced americano, please? and a tuna salad sandwich.”

“of course,” you managed, mentally proud that your voice only wobbled slightly. you tapped his order into the tablet with his fingers that definitely weren’t trembling. “that’ll be 10,300 won.”

the card reader beeped. he tapped it once, twice, then slipped it back into his wallet with hands that looked like they had been drawn by someone who understood art–okay, y/n, keep your shit together.

you told him you would call his order number and he nodded. just a dip of his chin. just a small thing. it shouldn’t have made your stomach drop.

then he moved.

you watched him thread through the cafe, watched him choose the table by the window like it had been waiting for him his whole life, watched him comfortably settle into the chair. the light loved him immediately–of course it did, everything would, now.

you watched for exactly three seconds. long enough to memorize the way his shoulders relaxed against the chair. long enough to burn the image behind your eyelids. long enough to admire.

then you forced yourself to look away.

number one-four-three. your hands found his cup, and you began to make his order as if the axis of your world hadn’t just permanently tilted towards a window seat.

concentrate, you told yourself firmly. it’s just coffee. you’ve made thousands of coffees. this one is no different. he’s just a customer.

except, it was different, and you knew it, and your stupid hands knew it too.

you made his iced americano with painstaking care, measuring the espresso shot twice, making sure the water ratio was exact. you placed the sandwich on a small plate with the kind of reverence usually reserved for offering sacrifices to ancient gods. you took a deep breath, steading yourself before calling out his number.

“order number one-four-three?”

he looked up from his phone, and even through the mask, you could see the slight crinkle around his eyes that suggested a smile. he rose from his seat and walked towards the counter, and with every step, your heart pounded harder against your ribs.

just hand him the order. that’s it. hand him the order and walk away.

you set the tray on the counter, “one iced americano and one tuna salad sandwich, enjoy!’

he reached for it, his fingers brushing against the edge of the tray, and you quickly pulled your hands back as if burned.

“thank you,” the words unfurled slowly, warm honey dripping into the space between you, and you wanted to bottle them, keep them, play them back on every cold morning for the rest of your life. his voice didn’t just reach your ears, it settled into your bone, made a home there, started building furniture.

you nodded and smiled. you felt it split your face open–too wide, too bright, the kind of helpless expression that belongs to people who have just realized they’re in a huge, huge trouble.

then you turned away because staying would have been impossible.

the espresso machine waited for you, cold and patient, and you ran a cold over its surface like you could smooth away the shakiness in your hands–news flash, you couldn’t. you didn’t. your pulse was a metronome counting time to a song only your heart could hear.

out of the corner of your eye, you watched him. you watched him carry his tray back to the window table, watched him settle in, watched him pull down his mask to take that first sip.

and then you watched him pause.

his eyebrows drew together slightly. he looked at the cup. took another sip. look at the cup again.

your stomach dropped.

no. shit. nonono.

you glanced at the order screen on your tablet. one-four-three: iced americano, tuna salad sandwich. you swore you had made it correctly. you had been so careful. you–

he was looking at you now. not angrily, not even with frustration. just… confused, slightly puzzled.

you walked over before you could stop yourself, your feet moving on autopilot. you could feel a hard lump stuck between the depths of your throat, “is everything okay?”

his eyes remained fixated on you, and even confused, even puzzled, his eyes were so incredibly kind.

“sorry,” he began, his voice without the mask was even deeper, even warmer, even more unfairly attractive, “i think there might be a mistake. this tastes like… vanilla syrup?”

you stared at him. stared at the cup. stared back at him.

and then your gaze snagged on something over your shoulder; a flash of wood, a drink sitting lonely on the counter behind you. the vanilla latte, made for the woman at the table across, who was now craning her neck, scanning the cafe, looking around like she had been forgotten.

…shit.

“oh my god,” you breathed, your face instantly flooding with heat, “i am so sorry. i mixed up the orders—i gave you the wrong drink. i don’t know how–i was so sure… i’m so sorry, i’ll make you a new one right away.”

you reached for the cup, already mentally kicking yourself, preparing for the sigh, the eye roll, the cold dismissal that someone like him… someone important, someone famous, someone who had places to be and people to see, would surely give to someone like you, someone who couldn;t even get a simple coffee order.

however, instead, he laughed.

it was soft, barely more than an exhale, yet it was genuine. his eyes crinkled at the corners in that way you had only ever seen in videos, and it was even more beautiful in person.

“it’s okay,” he breathed, “honestly, it’s a nice surprise. i was expecting bitter, and yet i got something sweet instead.”

he took another sip, and his eyes–those eyes, sparkled with amusement. “not bad. but i was really looking forward to that bitter kick.”

you stared at him, momentarily speechless. he wasn’t annoyed. he wasn’t rude. he was just… kind. patient. human.

“i’ll get you a new one,” you repeated, your voice steadier now, touched by his unexpected grace, “right away, i promise!”

“thank you… y/n.”

he said your name.

he said your name.

his eyes had dropped to your chest; to the small rectangle pinned to your apron, the one you had worn a thousand times without thinking, the one that now felt like the most important in the entire universe. he had read it. he had looked at it. he had formed the letter in his mind and then let them fall from his lips like they belonged there.

y/n. the same name you had been called your entire life.

and yet, hearing it from him was like hearing it for the first time. as if no one had ever said correctly before. as if every other person who had spoken your name had been practicing for this moment, and he was the first one to get it right.

something fluttered in your chest.

scratch that. something ignited. something small, warm, and terrifying, like the first spark of a fire you wouldn’t be able to control. it fluttered, yes, but it also burned. it settled into the space between your ribs and started growing roots.

you looked at him.

he was still watching you. still patient. still kind. still impossibly, devastatingly there, with your name still hanging in the air between you like a gift you hadn’t earned.

“r–right away!”

you rushed back to the counter, and made a perfect iced americano, ensuring that it wouldn’t contain any syrup or other condiments. you then grabbed a chocolate chip cookie from the display case, before bringing everything back to him, setting it down with trembling hands.

“again, i’m so sorry for the mix-up,” an apologetic smile hovered your lips, “the cookie is on me, a peace offering.”

his gaze remained on the cookie, before diverted back to you. for a moment, he just stared, and you could feel your cheeks burn under his gaze. then slowly, he smiled–a real smile, full, and warm.

“my, you really didn’t have to,” a soft chuckle escaped his lips, the cookie now within his grasp, “we make mistakes all the time. thank you, i love chocolate chip cookies.”

you let out a shaky laugh, “i’m glad. i mean–i’m glad you like them. i mean–”

you idiot. stop talking. you’re so embarrassing.

“i mean… i’m just glad you’re not.. mad.”

his smiles widened, his eyes crinkling into those beautiful crescents. “that will be unnecessary. thanks for fixing my drink.”

you nodded, managed to say something that might have been ‘enjoy your coffee,” and practically fled back to the counter. from there, you had him under your scrutiny as he ate his sandwich, sipped his coffee, and scrolled through his phone. he also ate the cookie, taking large bites and looking genuinely pleased with it.

when he finally got up to leave, he paused at the counter on his way out, “have a good day, y/n,” giving a small wave.

“you too. please come again–”

and then he was gone, the little bell chiming softly behind him, leaving you in a daze with a heart that refused to stop racing.

that was the moment. the exact moment your heart began to stutter for seo changbin.

YOU DIDN’T TELL SEUNGMIN ABOUT IT. it felt too silly, too insignificant. it was just a three-minute interaction, for fuck sakes. yet you couldn’t stop thinking about it. the kindness in his eyes. the soft laugh. the way he had looked at you like you were an actual person, not just an average part-time worker who had messed up.

a week later, seungmin invited you over for game night at his apartment. it was a regular occurrence; you had been friends with him since high school, and his groupmates had become familiar faces over the years. through him, you had grown close with jeongin, which you often played mario kart with (who definitely cheated during the games), and you had deep conversations with the two of them at two in the morning about life in general. you were comfortable there, a part of the furniture in their chaotic, lovely world.

you arrived on a friday evening, two large tteokbokki takeouts in each hand. seungmin opened the door, his round glasses on, looking like the epitome of a cute, studious nerd.

except, he was the complete opposite–that menace, you hate him. (affectionately, of course.)

“hey! what took you so long?” he demanded, already reaching for the bags, “i’ve been waiting forever. jeongin’s been complaining about the controller for twenty minutes straight. my ears are bleeding.”

you rolled your eyes, pushing past him into the apartment, “you’re living in seoul, idiot–traffic exists. also,what happened to ‘hi, hello?” nice to see you, seungmin. i’m fine, thanks for asking.”

“yeah, yeah, whatever. now give me my tteokbokki.”

you held the bags above your head, grinning at his glare. “say please.”

“please,” he said flatly, without an ounce of sincerity.

“woooow. so heartfelt. i’m moved.”

“y/n.”

“seungmin.”

he lunged for the bags, and you dodged, cackling as you ran into the living room where jeongin was sprawled on the couch, controller in hand, looking betrayed by the game on screen.

“noona,” jeongin perked immediately, his face splitting into a wide grin, “you actually brought food! i take back every bad thing i have ever said about you.”

“you what?” a scoff followed your inquiry as you dropped onto the couch next to him, the bags clutched to your chest.

“in my defense, only when you beat me at mario kart. which is never, by the way, because i’m simply amazing.”

“you cheat,” you and seungmin sang in unison.

jeongin gasped, clutching his chest in mock offense, “this is slander! defamation! i’m hurt!”

“you’re annoying,” seungmin corrected, finally wrestling the tteokbokki from your grip and settling on your other side, “now shut up and eat so we can play.”

the night progressed as it always did, with jeongin somehow winning at every round of mario kart, seungmin complaining about unfairness, and you comfortably existing in the middle of the chaos, laughing until your stomach hurt.

it was around ten when you heard the front door open and close.

jeongin perked up, “is that–”

“hey! how can you guys order tteokbokki without me!”

the voice came roaring from the hallway–loud, indignant, and absolutely unmistakable. it was deeper than you had heard back in the cafe, rougher around the edges, laced with playful outrage.

you froze, your hand hovering over the controller.

changbin burst into the living room like a man on mission, his eyes scanning for the source of the spicy and savory scent that had clearly been tormenting him sinc he walked through the door. he was in a loose gray t-shirt and sweatpants, his hair slightly damp, as if he had just got back from the gym. his expression was one of exaggerated betrayal.

“i can smell it from the elevator! you guys are so inconsiderate, i’ve been starving all evening and you–”

he stopped dead on the tracks.

his eyes had found you.

you watched the realization dawn on his face–the shift from playful indignation to startled recognition. his mouth, which had been agape mid-complaint, slowly closed. his ears, you noticed with a strange sense of detachment, were turning slightly pink.

for a suspended second, no one moved. the mario kart soundtrack played cheerfully in the background, completely oblivious to the tension crackling through the room.

jeongin, bless his chaotic heart, was the first to break the silence, “hyung, you’re so loud! also, there’s still some left. noona brought two large portions.”

“...noona,” changbin repeated, his voice now significantly softer than the roar that had preceded it, he was still looking at you, and you watched as he seemed to piece everything together; you, on the couch, holding a controller, seemingly a close friend to his younger members, very much not behind a coffee counter.

you raised your hand in a small, awkward wave. “hi…i… also brought the tteokbokki. sorry. for existing–i mean, with the food. that you can smell.”

kill me now, literally.

however, instead of looking annoyed or embarrassed, changbin’s face broke into that same genuine smile from the cafe–the one that crinkled his eyes and made your heart do dangerous things.

“miss best barista strikes again,” he observed, warmth curling through his voice like steam off fresh coffee. no trace of annoyance, “first coffee, now tteokbokki. you’re going to spoil me.”

“you two know each other–”

you shot a glare at seungmin. a playful smirk hovered his lips by that exchange, his eyes dancing with mischief behind those round glasses. he knew exactly what he was doing.

“we’ve met,” changbin said easily, finally tearing his gaze away from you to look at seungmin, “at the cafe downstairs. how about you? you’ve never formally introduced me to your friend.”

the accusation in his voice was mild, yet there was something underneath it–curiosity, maybe, interest. seungmin, the traitor, just shrugged.

“didn’t think you’d be interested,” he uttered casually, and you wanted to strangle him.

changbin’s eyebrows rose, “why wouldn’t i be interested in meeting my favorite dongsaeng’s oldest friends?”

favorite dongsaeng. the term of endearment made something warm flutter in your chest, even though it wasn’t directed at you.

seungmin gestured vaguely between you and changbin, “well, now you’ve met. y/n, this is changbin hyung, you know him. changbin hyung, this is y/n, a close friend from high school.”

you managed a small wave. again. “hi. officially.”

changbin’s smile widened, his teeth peeking through his plump lips, “hi, officially.”

jeongin, who had been watching this exchange with the attention span of a caffeinated squirrel, finally interrupted, “so, are we gonna play mario kart or? the tteokbokki’s getting cold and my winning streak is getting lonely.”

seungmin threw a pillow at him, “you don’t have a winning streak. you cheat.”

“i don’t cheat! i’m just talented!”

changbin laughed, and the sound wrapped around your heart and squeezed gently, as if it was testing whether you were real. he moved towards the couch, settling onto the floor across from you with the kind of casual grace that made everything look effortless, “i haven’t played in awhile, you have to go easy on me.”

“i don’t go easy on anyone,” jeongin declared, “victory shall be mine–”

“this brat–”

you couldn’t help but laugh, and when you looked up, changbin was watching you again with that soft expression. this time, he didn’t look away when you caught him. he just smiled; a smaller yet more intimate smile, and something warm bloomed within your chest. something that felt like the first real thing you had felt in years.

the night progressed in the familiar chaos of races and trash talk. you learned that changbin was surprisingly quiet bad at video games, or just mario kart, despite his confident claims, that he had a habit of biting his lip when concentrating, and that his laugh was even more fun and beautiful up close.

you also learned that he was kind. when seungmin got frustrated with a difficult course, changbin was the one who calmed him down. when jeongin made a self-deprecating joke, changbin was quick to reassure him. and when you accidentally knocked over your drirnk, he was the first one to grab paper towels.

and without you knowing, seungmin was already documenting the entire scene. that asshole.

“don’t worry about it,” he said, kneeling beside you to wipe up the mess, “accidents happen.”

he was so close you could smell him. you could feel your cheeks burning, could feel the heat crawling up your neck, staining your ears, betraying every calm thought you had ever had.

“...thanks,” you managed, the smile on your lips trembling.

he looked up at you, and for a moment, the world seemed to pause. his eyes were dark and warm, and you could see yourself reflected in them.

“anytime,” he exhaled softly.

seungmin’s voice shattered the moment, “is it just me or is it getting hotter here? get a room, you two!”

you jerked back, face burning.

changbin shot him a dirty look, despite his ears turning pink, “dude, shut up!”

both seungmin and jeongin looked at each other, mirroring each other’s grin.

by the time midnight rolled around, jeongin was yawning, and seungmin was checking his phone with a grimace.

“i should go,” a soft yawn accompanied your words, starting to gather your things, “thanks for having me. this was really fun.”

seungmin stood up, “i’ll walk you–”

“i’ll do it,” changbin offered immediately, “it’s late, i need air anyway.”

seungmin looked at him, then at you, that knowing smirk playing on his lips, “suuure, hyung.”

you grabbed your bag, avoiding seungmin’s gaze. as you headed for the door, you heard jeongin’s loud whisper: “noona’s down bad, isn’t she?”

the door closed behind you before you could hear changbin’s response, and you were figuratively, metaphorically, dying inside.

you wanted to melt into the floor of the hallway and never resurface.

the walk to the lobby was short, barely five minutes, yet if felt charged with a new, electric energy.

“it was really nice talking to you tonight, y/n,” changbin was first to break the silence as you reached the shelter. the night air was cool, and he stood with his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, looking down at you.

“you too,” you replied, and you meant it with every fiber of your being, “i had a lot of fun.”

his signature smile returned, “maybe we can do it again sometime? not a game night, necessarily. just… talk more in general. about music, or movies, or anything.”

your heart soared. this man will be the end of me.

“i’d like that,” you whispered, your voice full of a hope you were terrified to feel.

“great… that’s great! i’ll reach out to you, of course,” a sigh of relief slipped past his lips, “i’ll see you then, y/n.”

your taxi rumbled into view, its headlights cutting through the darkness. you climbed in, turning back to wave. he was still standing there, under the streetlight, a figure who had somehow, in the span of a single evening, managed to capture a piece of your heart you hadn’t even known was available.

as the taxi pulled away, you pressed a hand to your chest, feeling the wild, erratic beat beneath your palm.

oh, you were so screwed.

THE MONTHS THAT FOLLOWED WERE A MONTAGE OF STOLENT MOMENTS AND GROWING FEELINGS. it started with messages. he would send you little snippets of songs he was working on, asking for your honest opinion, and you would send back voice memos of your thoughts; voice cracking slightly, too shy to call.

and then the messages changed.

they became life updates. mundane thing such as what he ate for lunch, a funny thing seungmin said, a picture of the sky from his studio window. however, tucked between the ordinary were photographs of him: messy hair after gym sessions, sleepy eyes over morning coffee, that same smile he had always given you every time you meet.

and of course, you couldn’t help but to admire him even more. an idol was literally sending you messages for free, and that also happened to be the man you had grown feelings for.

he would reply with long advice when you were struggling, or compliments that landed soft and warm within your chest. and you would find yourself smiling at your phone like an idiot; on the subway, on your breaks, in bed at three in the morning.

and then came the casual meet-ups–the coffee ‘dates’, although neither of you would necessarily call that a date. you would meet at a small cafe in hongdae, and you would talk for three hours without realizing it. about music, movies, your families, your dreams. he would tell you about his producing process, and you would tell him about your studies, and somehow, impossibly, the conversation had never once felt awkward.

after that, it became a pattern. coffee dates turned into walks by han river. walks turned into late-night calls that stretched into the early morning. late-night calls turned into him showing up at your cafe during your shifts, just to say hi and make you laugh.

and with every shared moment, every lingering glance, every comfortable silence, you fell deeper and deeper in love with him.

it was quite a kind of falling. the kind that happens without a drama, without any announcement, without any of the fanfare you had always imagined love would bring. just the slow, steady gravity of wanting someone. just the soft, relentless pull of his existence against yours.

you fell like the rain into the ocean, like dusk into night, like you had never been anywhere else, never wanted anything else, never knew what it meant to be whole until he walked into your coffee shop and looked at you like you were worth looking at.

and yet.

you knew, a hundred percent certain, that he would never feel the same way.

you were just… ordinary.

just a barista who made him the wrong coffee. just a stranger who happened to be there. just someone who laughed too loud, smiled too wide, and loved too easily. just ordinary.

and that fact hurt a lot.

yet the feelings remained growing until they were a physical presence in your chest, a constant, aching thrum of affection and longing. you couldn’t keep it to yourself anymore. you had to tell someone.

so, on a rainy thursday afternoon, you found yourself sprawled on seungmin’s couch, staring at the ceiling while he sat on the other couch, typing on his laptop.

“...i think i’m in love with him, seungmin,” you mumbled into the silence.

the words fell out of you like something heavy you had been carrying too long. like a confession you had whispered to yourself so many times it had worn grooves in your brain, and now it was finally loose in the world, vulnerable, real, and terrifying.

having feelings for someone had always been terrifying.

you waited for the shock, the questions. for the careful unpacking of a secret you had protected with everything you had.

seungmin didn’t even look up from his screen, “with seo changbin? yeah, i know.”

the world stopped.

you sat up so fast the room tilted. your heart slammed against your ribs like it was trying to escape, like it knew it had been caught, having nowhere left to hide.

“how do you know?” the words came out too high, too fast, too desperate, “am i that obvious?”

seungmin finally turned, pushing his glasses up his nose with a sigh that carried the weight of someone who had been watching this ongoing disaster unfold for weeks and was frankly exhausted by it.

“y/n,” his voice was patient. too patient. the kind of patient that meant he was about to say something devastatingly obvious, “you’ve been going on these ‘dates’ with him. you talk about him all the damn time. you always have this dreamy, faraway look in your eyes whenever he’s around. you get so flustered easily. it’s not exactly a state secret.”

you deflated.

all the air left your body in one long, defeated exhale, and you flopped back onto the pillows like a puppet with cur strings. the ceiling stared down at you, blank and indifferent, and you stared back at it, wishing it would swallow you whole.

you could never fight with kim seungmin on this. he saw too much. remembered too much. cared too much to let you pretend.

“well, fuck,” the word came out flat, resigned, “i’m screwed, huh?”

“not exactly,” seungmin was quiet for a moment, before continuing, “so, what are you going to do about it?”

the question landed in your chest like a stone.

you laughed; a hollow, humorless sound, “what am i going to do about it? nothing. absolutely nothing.”

the silence that followed was different, heavier, you could feel his gaze on you, could feel him turning something over behind those glasses, could feel the exact moment he decided this conversion wasn’t over,

you heard the soft click of his laptop closing, the creak of his chair as he turned to fully to face you.

and you knew, with the kind of dread that sits in your stomach like lead, he wasn’t going to let you off that easily.

a frown grazed over his features, “why not? he clearly likes you. he mostly spends all his free times with you. not to mention how he always light up whenever you walk into the room–”

“no.”

the word came out sharper than you intended, sharp enough to cut through the gentle concern in seungmin’s voice. you felt it leave your mouth like a dagger, felt the way it landed in the space between you, felt the way it made him stop mid-thought,

“he doesn't,” your voice was brittle now, cracking at the edges. you couldn’t hear this. “he's just being friendly. he’s a kind person, seungmin. he’s like that with everyone.”

he’s like that with everyone.

the words hung in the air between you, fragile and false, and you hated how they sounded out loud. hated how they tasted like excuses. hated how even as you said them, a small, traitorous part of you was remembering the way he looked at you, the way he smiled at you, the way he treated you right.

but that didn’t mean anything, didn’t it?

it couldn’t mean anything.

“no, he’s not,” seungmin insisted, his voice firm. “he’s polite to everyone. but with you? it’s a whole different world. he’s softer, more open. i’ve known him for years… i can tell.”

you shook your head. the familiar wave of self-consciousness washed over you, cold and heavy, dragging you under. it whispered in your ear, that agitating voice, the one that knew you better than anyone: you’re not special. why would he even have feelings for you? have you seen yourself? stop humiliating yourself further.

you sat up slowly, pulling your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around them like they were the only thing keeping you together. like if you held tight enough, you could protect the small, fragile thing inside you from hoping. from believing. from getting hurt.

“seungmin, look at me,” you muttered, your voice laced with an old, familiar pain, “really, look at me.”

he did, his expression patient yet puzzled.

“i’m not…” the words stuck in your throat, stumbled over years of careful swallowing, of biting back, of learning to smile through the quiet devastation of never feeling like enough.

you struggled to find them; the ones that had been whispered by cruel voices in your head as long as you could remember. the ones that had been reinforced by a thousand tiny cuts from a world obsessed with a narrow definition of beauty. magazine covers, movie screens, the way people’s eyes slid past you in rooms full of people who looked like they were born for the covers.

“i’m not the kind of woman someone like him falls for. he’s seo changbin. he’s talented, successful, and painfully gorgeous. he could have anyone. any of those perfect, thin, out-of-this-world beautiful women. why would he ever look twice at someone like me?”

seungmin’s frown deepened, “what do you mean, ‘someone like you’?”

“you know what i mean,” your voice trembled–just slightly, just enough to betray the years of careful composure you had built around this particular wound. you gestured vaguely at your body. at the curves you had spent years learning to hide. at the softness that had been pointed out to you as a flaw. your hand moved through the air, encompassing everything you had been taught to hate about yourself.

“i’m not… i’m not physically attractive. not in the way that matters. i’m not thin. i’m not pretty. i’m just… me. and me isn’t enough for a man like him. he wouldn’t, couldn’t, ever love a woman with this body.”

the words hung in the air between you; they were ugly, raw, and bleeding, like wounds you had picked open in front of someone who actually cared.

you couldn’t look at him. couldn’t bear to see the confirmation in his eyes, the quiet agreement that you had finally said out loud what everyone must have been thinking all along.

yet as the silence stretched too long, you risked a glance.

seungmin’s expression had shifted. the gentle confusion was gone, replaced by a dawning, horrified understanding that made your stomach drop. he got up from his seat and sat next to you. the mattress dipped under his weight, pulling you slightly towards him, and you hated how even that small act made you want to cry.

“y/n…” he called, his voice gentle, the way he used to talk you down from panic attacks back in high school, “that’s the most ridiculous thing i’ve ever heard you say.”

“it’s not ridiculous, it’s true–”

“it’s not,” he insisted, “do you think changbin hyung is that shallow? that he only sees the surface? the guy who spends hours talking to you, hangs out with you during his free times, visits your every shift, buys you gifts, that guy–you think he only cares about what you look like?”

“he cares about me as a friend,” you mumbled into your knees, “that’s different.”

“it’s not different!” the words burst out seungmin with a force that made you flinch. you knew it wasn’t anger, never anger, but it was definitely something close to desperation. like he was watching you drown and couldn’t understand why you wouldn’t take the rope he kept throwing.

“ attraction isn’t just about one thing. it’s about everything! it’s about how you laugh, how you listen, the way your eyes light up when you talk about something you love. it’s about who you truly are. not what you look like. not the number on a scale. not whether you fit into some impossible standards that wasn’t even healthy in the first place,” his voice softened, just slightly, just enough to crack something even open in your chest.

his eyes were boring into yours, “and changbin hyung is head-over-heals for who you are. i’m telling you, he likes you back. he’s crazy about you.”

you wanted to believe him. desperately. but the voice of insecurity was too loud. it kept taunting you for far too long.

“you’re a good friend, seungmin,” you whispered, learning your head on his shoulder, “but you’re wrong. he could never like me. not like that. and i would rather have him as a friend than not have him in my life at all. so i’m just going to… i’m going to be okay with that.i have to be.”

a long, frustrated sigh escaped seungmin. he wanted to argue, you could tell. however, he also knew you well enough to know that when you had built a wall like this, pushing against it would only make it stronger.

“okay,” he exhaled softly, wrapping an arm around you for comfort, “okay, fine. but for the record. i think you’re beautiful. and i think you’re wrong about him. one day, you’ll see.”

you closed your eyes, letting your best friend’s warmth comfort you.

yet, the cold knot of insecurity remained, coiling tightly within your chest.

THE UNIVERSE, YOU DECIDED, HAD A SICK SENSE OF HUMOR. not even a week after your conversation with seungmin, it decided to test your fragile resolve in the cruelest way possible.

you were at the company building on a tuesday afternoon, having just dropped a jacket that changbin had lent you during one of your walks by the han river. it had been cold that night, and he had wrapped it around your shoulders without a second thought, insisting he was fine even as you watched him shiver.

you remembered laughing. it had bubbled up out of you, helpless and warm, watching that gorgeous man freeze for your sake.

“you’re a terrible liar, changbin,’ you teased, and he just smiled; shrugging like it was nothing. as if you were worth freezing for.

you remembered the way laughter had faded into something softer when he looked at you. the way the city lights had reflected in his eyes. they way you had wanted, so badly, to reach out and pull him close, share the warmth of his own jacket.

you hadn’t, of course. you just walked a little closer, let your shoulders brush, pretended that was enough.

the jacket was safely delivered to the security guard now, with a small note tucked into the pocket: ‘thanks for keeping me warm. – y/n’

simple. innocent. friendly.

you were heading towards the exit, your head down, scrolling through your phone to check bus times–just another ordinary tuesday, just another mundane task, just another moment in a life that had been carefully, painfully returned to normal.

the elevator doors slid open.

and there was changbin.

the world stopped. your thumb froze over the screen. your heart forgot its rhythm and stumbled into something chaotic and desperate.

he was walking out with a woman.

she was beautiful–of course, she was. tall and slender, with the kind of effortless elegance that made you feel like a shadow just by standing near her. her hair caught the light like it was paid to. her smile resembled helen of troy’s, the kind of smile that could make a thousand men forget themselves and burn cities to the ground.

and all you could do was stand there, ordinary and invisible, watching her exist in the same space as him like she had every right to.

like she was born for it.

she was probably a producer. or a friend. or a girlfriend.

it didn’t matter which. the evidence was right there in front of you. your worst fear made flesh.

she was laughing at something he had just said, her head tilted back slightly, her hand resting lightly on his arm as if it belonged there.

changbin was smiling. not his polite, professional smile, yet a real one–warm and genuine, his head tilted towards her, listening intently to whatever she was saying. his free hand was gesturing as he spoke, animated in that way he got when he was comfortable with someone.

they looked perfect together.

your heart didn’t just drop. it didn’t skip a beat. it shattered into a million tiny pieces, each one a sharp, cold shard of confirmation that lodged itself deep in your chest.

see? the shards whispered, smug and cruel. seungmin was wrong. this is who he eventually chooses. she’s someone you’ll never be.

you could feel them settling between your ribs. could feel the weight of them pressing against your lungs, making it hard to breathe. could feel the sharp edges cutting into everything soft you had left.

this is what you were afraid of.

this is why you never told him.

this is why you never left yourself hope.

because hope was dangerous. hope was a knife you handed to the universe and prayed it wouldn’t use. and now, you were bleeding out in the middle of the lobby, watching the person you loved walk away with someone who was in all aspects, especially physically wise, better than you, and all you could do was walk away.

you fled the building.

you didn’t run, that would have drawn attention. yet you walked faster than you had ever walked in your life, bursting through the glass doors and into the chilly afternoon air. you made it half a block before you had to stop, pressing yourself against the side of a building, your hand over your heart as if you could physically hold the pieces together.

you didn’t cry. you were too numb for tears. you just felt a hollow, aching emptiness where the warmth of your feelings for changbin used to be.

of course, you thought, the voices in your head now sounding almost reasonable. of course he has someone. did you really think someone like him would be single? did you really think he was spending time with you because he wanted more than friendship. he’s seo changbin, for fuck sakes.

you thought about all those walks you did with him. all those late-night conversations about your lives. all those times he had looked at you like you were the only person in the room. all those messages, the shared playlists, the way he remembered your coffee order even when you weren’t at work. the jacket. the way he had wrapped it around your shoulders so carefully, so tenderly.

just friendly. that’s all it ever was. you just read into it because you wanted it to be more. because you’re desperately, lonely, and pathetic.

the walk home was a blur. you don’t remember the bus ride, don’t remember getting into your apartment, don’t remember collapsing onto your bed. you just remember staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours, the image of the them burned into the back of your eyelids.

that was the beginning of the end.

you began to set barriers, just as you had told seungmin you would. it was the only way to protect yourself, the only way to survive this. you couldn’t keep going the way you had been, couldn’t keep letting yourself fall deeper and deeper when there was no safety net at the bottom.

you started with small things.

and speaking of the devil, changbin texted you that night.

binnie : hey, thanks for dropping off the jacket

binnie : you didn’t have to wash it you know

binnie : it smells like your detergent now and i’m not complaining lmao

binnie : also i saw your note, you’re so cute ~

binnie : you know you can always keep it, right?

you waited an hour to reply. then two. then you sent a simple: glad u got it back! talk soon!

no emojis. no playful banter. no opening for conversation.

binnie : you free this weekend? there’s this cafe in hongdae i wanted to check out. thought you might like it!

binnie : heard the food’s great

ah, i have a crazy week ahead. maybe another time!

binnie : oh okay

binnie : no problem, just let me know when you’re free!

okay! 👍

the thumbs up emoji felt like a betrayal of everything you failed. but it was safer than a heart, safer than the smiley faces you used to send, safer than the ‘i’d love to’ that was screaming inside your chest.

he tried again a few days later.

binnie : i found this indie band today, they remind me of that playlist you made me

binnie : can i send you their stuff

sure

he sent three songs. you immediately added them to your playlist, listening to them on repeat for hours. it was the only way to hold onto a piece of him without reaching for all of him, the only way to love him quietly, safely, from a distance where he couldn’t see you aching.

and when morning came, you replied with three words that buried everything.

nice! added them!

nothing more.

after two days, he started showing up at the cafe again.

the first time, your heart lurched with that familiar, painful mixture of joy and despair. he walked in, ordered his usual iced americano, and flashed you his smile when he saw you behind the counter.

“y/n, hey.”

you served him with a tight, professional smile, “hi, changbin. the usual?”

something flickered within his eyes–confusion, maybe, at the formality. at the distance you had carefully crafted between your words. at the wall you had built brick by brick since the last time you saw him.

yet, he nodded, “yeah, thanks.”

you made his drink in silence, your hands trembling as you worked–measuring, pressing, pouring, each of your movements felt mechanical. the espresso machine hissed. the milk steamed. your heart cracked a little more with every second that passed without either of you speaking.

when you handed it to him, you didn’t linger. you didn’t ask how he was, didn’t mention how your day has been, didn’t do any of the things you used to do. you just simply, handed him the cup.

your eyes didn’t meet his. your fingers didn’t brush against his. your usual bright smile was nowhere to be found. you were terrifyingly indifferent, and it shook his poor heart.

“have a good day,” you mumbled, already turning to the next customer.

“y/n–” he started, yet you were already gone, busying yourself with the espresso machine, your entire physique hidden from him.

when you finally risked a glance, he was standing there for a moment longer, holding his coffee, staring at you with an expression that you unfortunately couldn’t read. then he turned and left.

the second time, you hid in the back room until one of your coworkers took his order.

the third time, he didn’t come at all.

his messages became more frequent, more confused.

binnie : hey, is everything okay?

binnie : you seem differently lately

all good! just busy.

for a moment, just a moment, the little bubble appeared. read. the words stared back at you, utterly devoid of the panic rising in your throat.

and for a second, you thought you were already losing your mind. he had to know that you were lying, and jokes on you, you weren’t fully mentally prepared.

then, a message appeared.

binnie : are we still on for our walk this weekend? the weather’s supposed to be nice

a trembling exhale escaped your lips, carrying the weight of everything you couldn’t say as you read his message. your thumb trembled, not from cold, not from nerves, but from the sheer effort of holding yourself together when all you wanted was to fall apart.

your thumb moved before your brain could stop it.

typing…

sorry i can’t

family stuff

there. it was a lie. you had nothing planned for the weekend. it was a lie wrapped in something almost believable. almost innocent. almost enough to explain why you were pushing him away without actually explaining anything at all.

binnie : oh okay

binnie : just let me know if you need to talk about anything

binnie : i’m always here

damn you, seo changbin

thanks

one word. after months of paragraphs, of shared thoughts, inside jokes, and late-night rambles, you could only manage by giving him one word.

the typing indicator appeared immediately. disappeared. appeared again. you watched it as if you could see him pacing outside of your door, afraid to knock on.

then his message came through.

binnie : y/n… did i do something?

the ellipsis hung there like a held breath. like he was scared to ask yet more scared not to.

binnie : if i upset you somehow, i’m really sorry

binnie : just tell me and i’ll make up for it

you stared at that message for a long time, your thumb hovering over the keyboard. you wanted to tell him everything. you wanted to scream that he hadn’t done anything wrong, that it was a ‘you’ problem, that you were just scared and didn’t know how to be around him without falling apart.

but you didn’t. fear wouldn’t let you.

what are u talking about lmao

u didn’t do anything wrong. dw about it

binnie : if you say so

binnie : but i do worry. about you. you know that right?

i know. thanks.

another brick in the wall, final.

TWO WEEKS PASSED LIKE THIS. fourteen days. three hundred and thirty-six hours. thousands of minutes stretched thin with short replies, avoided encounters, and a growing, aching silence that filled every space you used to share.

two weeks of you dying a little more inside every day–slowly, quietly, the way flowers die when you forget to water them. two weeks of him growing more and more confused, more hurt, more desperate with every unanswered question. every casual deflection,l every door you closed in his face.

you told yourself it was for the best.

you told yourself a lot of things.

and then you saw him. you were crossing the street, head down, invested in your phone, when something made you look up.

he was there. across the street, standing outside with jeongin, both of them laughing about something. his head was thrown back slightly, his smile wide and real, his whole body loose with the kind of happiness that used to make your chest ache in the best way.

for a moment, you forgot to breathe.

he looked happy. he looked like he was moving on. he looked like your absence didn’t affect him at all, as if you were just a footnote in a story he had already finished reading.

good, you told yourself, the word sharp and cold in your chest. that’s good. he has his life. he doesn’t need you.

you believed it. almost.

and then he looked up.

across the crowd, across the distance, across the cars, the people, and the weeks of silence, his eyes finally found yours. like they knew where to look. like they had been searching for you without permission. like some part of him had been waiting for this moment even when he didn’t know it.

god, the look on his face.

his smile faltered first. flickered. died. then his eyes went soft, achingly familiar, with something that looked like… longing. like confusion. like hurt. like he was seeing a ghost he had been trying to forget and realizing he had never stopped hoping she was real.

it almost broke you.

right there, in the middle of the street, with people pushing past on you both sides and the light about to change–the look alone almost broke you.

you couldn’t do it. couldn’t watching him cross the street. couldn’t hear his voice. couldn’t let him close enough to shatter what was left of you.

so you turned. you walked away.

behind you, you didn’t hear his footsteps. didn’t know if he had started towards you. didn’t let yourself look behind to find out.

you just walked.

and somewhere behind you, changbin stood frozen, watching you disappear into the crowd, wondering what he had done to lose you and why you wouldn’t talk to him.

the breaking point came on a thursday evening.

you were walking from work, your head down against a chilly autumn wind, your work bag heavy with the weight of your uniform and the extra pastries your manager had insisted on taking home. the days had blurred into a gray mess and self-recrimination, and you were so exhausted. so incredibly, bone-deep exhausted.

the cafe had been busy that evening; a constant stream of customers ordering seasonal drinks and desserts, their happy chatter grating against your frayed nerves. you had smiled, nodded, and made drinks on autopilot, your mind somewhere else entirely. somewhere with dark eyes, a warm laugh, and a hand that used to find yours.

you had checked your phone approximately forty-seven times during your shift. each time, hoping for a message from him. each time, telling yourself you didn’t deserve one.

he stopped texting three days ago.

and the silence was torturing you mentally.

you did this. you had pushed him away, built your walls, retreated behind a mask of politeness and distance. and now he was gone, just like you had known he would be. just like you had prepared for.

this is better, you told yourself for the thousandth time. this is what you wanted. to protect yourself. to protect the friendship.

however, it didn’t feel better. it felt like someone had dug into your chest and hollowed you out, leaving nothing but echoes and ache.

the street was quiet this time of night, most of the officer workers already home, the usual bustle reduced to the occasional taxi and the distant hum of traffic, a soft lullaby for a city that never quiet slept.

you welcomed the solitude.

it meant you didn’t have to pretend. didn’t have to smile when someone asked if you were okay. didn’t have to perform the exhausting charade of being fine when every step you took felt like walking through water.

the night air was cool against your skin. the streetlights cast long shadows on the pavement. your footsteps echoed in the silence, steady, rhythmic, the only sound besides your own breathing.

you were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t hear the car until it was right beside you.

the familiar purr of the engine made your heart stop.

you recognized that sound.

you would know it anywhere—in a crowded parking lot, in the middle of a song, in your sleep. it was the sound of late-night convenience store runs, of drives to scenic overlooks where you'd sit for hours just talking, of that one time he had driven you home at 3 am because you had fallen asleep on his couch during a movie marathon and he hadn't had the heart to wake you.

it was the sound of him.

you didn’t look up.

you couldn’t. if you looked up, if you saw him, if you let yourself acknowledge that he was here–right here, within arm's reach, you would break. you would shatter into a thousand pieces right here on the sidewalk, and you would never be able to put yourself back together.

so you kept walking.

your pace quickened. your eyes stayed fixed on the sidewalk ahead, on the cracks in the pavement, on anything that wasn’t the dark car gliding alongside you.

the car matched your speed.

of course it did.

the window rolled down. the sound was soft, just a mechanical hum, yet it might as well have been a gunshot in the silence. it echoed in your chest, in your ears, in the space you had been trying so hard to keep empty.

you felt him there. felt his presence like a gravitational pull, like the tide being drawn towards the moon, like every atom in your body screaming at you to turn around.

you didn’t look, and you heard the car kept moving.

the window stayed down.

and you kept walking, heart pounding, breath caught, waiting for the sound of his voice to finally destroy you.

“y/n.”

his voice. that warm baritone that used to make your heart soar, now making it clench with a painful mixture of longing and dread. you could hear the exhaustion of it, the confusion, the hurt.

you kept walking, the upcoming words came out smaller than you intended–fragile, thin, barely held together, “i’m fine. it’s a short walk–”

“y/n,” his voice was firmer now, yet still gentle. always gentle with you. even now, even after weeks of distance, he was still gentle, “it’s late at night. please, get in.”

you shook your head–a small movement, quick and dismissive. you couldn’t trust your voice, couldn’t trust that if you opened your mouth, something other than words would come out. a sob, maybe. a confession. a broken, desperate ‘i have feelings for you and it sickens me’ that you would never be able to take back.

the car stopped.

you heard it. the soft deceleration, the click of the gear shift, the sudden absence of movement beside you. then, his door opened.

heavy footsteps chased behind you, steady, determined. closing the distance you had been trying so hard to maintain.

and then his hand found your arm, his fingers wrapped around your elbow; not gripping, not trapping, just there. just enough to stop you. just enough to turn you around.

you didn’t resist.

his touch, his warm… it undid you so easily. it unraveled weeks of careful construction in a single second. it remind you of everything you had been trying to forget.

you turned reluctantly, and there he was.

changbin. standing in the middle of the quiet street, the streetlight casting shadows across his attractive face, his gorgeous eyes searching yours, looking for answers to his unanswered questions.

he looked tired as well. there were shadows under his eyes, deep purple crescents that spoke of sleepless nights and restless thoughts. a tension in his jaw that hadn’t been there before, a tightness around his mouth that made him look wearier, like someone carrying a weight they didn't know how to put down. he looked like he hadn’t been sleeping either, and that hurt more than anything.

you had convinced yourself that you were the only one suffering. that your absence alone was a final gift, a mercy, a kindness that allowed him to move on without the burden of your feelings, you had told–reminded yourself he was fine, happy, moving forward into a future that didn’t have to include you.

however, standing here now, looking at the exhaustion etched into every line of his face realized how wrong you had been.

“please,” he begged once again, softer this time. “just… talk to me. five minutes. that’s all i’m asking.”

you looked at him, really looked at him, and your heart fissured, cracks spreading like spiderwebs. the walls you had been so carefully building crumbled in an instant, leaving you raw and exposed, and so, so tired of running.

you nodded.

he led you back to the car, his hand was still on your arm–gentle, guiding, like he was afraid you might disappear again if he let go. he opened the passenger door for you, a small gesture something he had done a hundred times before, and you slid into the warm interior.

the scent hit you immediately. laundry detergent. something faintly woody. that familiar, impossible combination that was so uniquely him. it wrapped around you like a memory, like a hug you hadn’t known you needed, like everything you had been trying to forget suddenly flooding back all at once.

it made your heart ache further.

that deep, hollow longing you had been suppressing for weeks; it rose up like a tide, threatening to drown you right there in the passenger seat of his car. you gripped your hands together in your lap, knuckles white, and tried to breathe through it.

he pulled over to the side of the road, into a small parking lot near a closed convenience store. the engine idled softly, the heater hummed, and the world outside the windows felt very far away.

then, he turned to face you.

his dark eyes were intense–searching, desperate, hungry for answers you had been starving him of for weeks. they moved across your face as if he was trying to read a brook written in a language he didn't understand.

“what’s going on?” he began. his tone was cautious, as if he was approaching something wounded, “did i do something wrong?”

the question was a knife to your heart. it slide between your ribs with surgical precision, finding the softest parts of you, the places where all your fears lived, he thought it was his fault. he had been carrying this for weeks, thinking he was the reason for the ordeal.

and you had let him.

“...no,” your voice barely above a whisper. you looked down at your hands, at the white-knuckled grip you had on yourself, “you didn’t do anything wrong.”

the silence stretched between you, heavy with everything you weren’t saying out loud. you could feel his gaze on you, his confusion, his desperate need to understand. you could feel him waiting, always so patient for you to give him something, anything, to hold onto.

however, the truth was too big. too messy. too terrifying.

“then why?” the hurt in his voice was raw, undisguised, stripped of all the careful composure he had been holding onto. it was the kind of hurt that couldn’t be hidden, couldn’t be smoothed over.

“why are you avoiding me? why do you barely talk to me anymore?” each question landed like a blow, as if he was listing wounds he didn’t know how to treat. “whenever i see you at the cafe, you can’t get away from me fast enough. you used to–”

a pause, his jaw tightening; that muscle jumping beneath his skin, the one you watched flex a hundred times when he was concentrating, when he was frustrated, whe he was trying not to feel too much.

however, he was feeling it now. all of it.

“i thought we were close. i thought–”

he ran a hand through his hair, a gesture so familiar it made your chest cave in. frustration. confusion. the kind of helplessness that came from wanting to fix something and now knowing how.

“did i misread everything?” his voice came quieter now, more fragile. as if he was bracing for the answer, “were we not… were not friends the way i thought we were?”

friends.

the word hit you like a slap–a reminder. like everything you had been afraid of, crystallized into seven letters.

he thought this was about friendship. he thought you were pushing him away because you didn’t care enough, didn’t value him enough, didn’t want him in your life the way he wanted you.

he had no idea.

he had no idea that you cared too much. that you wanted him too much. that every moment near him felt like standing too close to a fire; beautiful, warm, and absolutely capable of melting you.

“no!” the denial tore out of you before you could stop it–sharp, desperate, and raw in its own way. you finally glanced up at him, finally let yourself see him, finally stopped hiding behind your own walls.

and the look on his face–god.

it was hope, desperation, and fear all tangled together, mirroring your current emotional chaos; the same storm you had been drowning in for weeks, now reflected back at you in his eyes.

“you didn’t… you didn’t misread anything. you’re my… you’re one of the best friends i’ve ever had, changbin–”

“but?”

you took a shaky breath. this was it. the moment you had been dreading. you had to say something, and the words were stuck in your throat like shards of glass.

“but i can’t do this anymore,” you whispered, “i can’t keep pretending.”

changin’s brows furrowed, “pretending what?”

you looked down at your hands, twisting together in your lap like they could anchor you to something solid. the tears were already coming, hot and traitorous, spilling down your cheeks before you could stop them.

"pretending that i don't—" your voice cracked. "pretending that you're just my friend. pretending that every time you text me, my heart doesn't race. pretending that when you smile at me, i don't forget how to breathe. pretending that i haven't been falling in love with you since the moment we first hung out.”

you looked down at your hands, twisting together in your lap like they could anchor you to something solid. the tears were already coming, hot and traitorous, spilling down your cheeks before you could stop them,

you couldn’t look at him. you couldn’t bear to see the pity, the awkwardness, the careful let-down that was surely coming. so you just kept talking, the confession spilling out of you like water through a broken dam.

“i know i shouldn’t feel this way. i know i’m not–” you, yet again, gestured vaguely at yourself–at your body, at everything you had seen as insufficient, “i’m not what someone like you want. i know that. i’ve always known that. but i couldn’t help it. i tried so hard to just be your friend, to just be happy with what we had, but every time i was with you, i wanted more. i wanted things i have no right to want.”

a sob escaped you, and you turned your attention towards the window, trying to hold it in.

“and then i saw you with that woman at the company. she was so pretty, so perfect, and i realized–” a sad laugh broke through your lips, “i realized that that was it. that was my wake-up call. you have a life, changbin. a real life with real people who belong in your world. you are loved. and i’m just.. just some girl who works at a cafe. i don’t belong there.”

you finally looked up at him once more, your eyes swimming with tears, your heart laid bare and bleeding between you.

“so i tried to give you space. to make it hurt less when you eventually–” you swallowed hard, “when you eventually found someone who was actually good enough for you. i thought if i did it first, if i created the distance, maybe it wouldn’t destroy me when you left.”

another tear fell.

“but it didn’t work. nothing worked–regardless, i still love you. i still think about you constantly.”

silence.

heavy, terrifying silence.

you waited for him to speak, to let you down gently, to explain that he was sorry but he only saw you as a friend. you waited for the kindness you knew he possessed to deliver the rejection in the softest way possible.

yet, he didn’t speak.

he just stared at you, his eyes wide, his expression frozen somewhere between shock and something you couldn’t name. something softer. something that looked almost like wonder.

“i’m sorry,” you breathed, the words falling like stones–heavy, clumsy, irreversible, “i’m so sorry. i shouldn’t have–i know this makes things weird. i know you probably don’t–”

you couldn’t finish.

you reached for the door handle, desperate to scurry away, “i’ll just–i’ll go. we can pretend this never happened. i’ll understand if you don’t want to–”

his hand caught your wrist, warm fingers circling the place where your pulse was trying to beat its way out of your body.

“y/n. stop.”

his voice was rough, strained, nothing like the gentle tone you had expected, you turned to look at him.

his chest was rising and falling too fast. his jaw was working around words he hadn’t said yet. his eyes were burning with something that looked almost like… relief.

“that woman,” he murmured slowly, carefully, “the one you saw me with at the company.”

you nodded miserably, mentally preparing yourself for the impact.

he let out a shaky breath, as if he was trying to suppress his… laugh?

“that was my cousin.”

cousin.

“she’s a stylist,” another breath, steadier this time, “she’s married.”

one second. two. your brain turning the words over, examining them from every angle, trying to find the catch, the lie, the evidence you were missing.

then the blood drained from your body.

“she’s–”

“my cousin,” he nodded, and something flickered in his eyes–something that looked almost like a smile, almost like disbelief, almost like he couldn’t believe this was the reason, “my cousin, y/n–who, by the way, has been asking about you for weeks because i may have mentioned you plenty of times.”

you stared at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air, “but–”

“i was telling her about this girl i’ve been spending time with. this amazing, beautiful, incredible girl who makes me laugh, listens to my music, and definitely the best cook. this girl who i’ve been falling in love with for months.”

all of the sudden, the world tilted. the car felt too small, the air too thin, your body too fragile to contain everything that was suddenly blooming inside you. your heart literally stopped.

“i wanted to introduce you, i wanted you to meet her, to meet my family, to–” he stopped. swallowed, before starting again, “but you were gone before i could get to you. and then everything changed.”

his thumb traced a slow arc against your wrist–the same wrist he was still holding, still grounding, still keeping you here when every instinct was screaming at you to run or cry… or even both.

“you started pulling away, and i didn’t know why. i kept thinking–” his voice cracked, just slightly, “i kept thinking i had done something. said something. pushed too hard or moved too fast. i really thought i had lost you.”

“...changbin–”

“no, let me finish,” he inhaled another shaky breath, his thumb still tracing those gentle circles on your wrist–an anchor, the only thing keeping you from splintering apart completely, “i replayed every conversation in my head, every moment we spent together. every laugh, every look, every stupid joke you made that i still think about when i can’t sleep.”

a broken laugh, soft and self-deprecating.

"i kept asking myself where i went wrong. what i could have done differently. because losing you—" his voice fractured, the words splintering on the way out. "losing you felt like losing something i never even got to have. something i wanted so badly it hurt. something i didn't even know i was allowed to want until it was gone.”

you shook your head, fresh tears spilling over, carving warm paths down your cheeks.

“you didn’t do anything wrong,” your voice came out fragile, trembling on the edge of breaking. it was the most honest thing you had said in weeks, stripped bare of all the restraints you had put on yourself, “nothing. it was never you.”

“then talk to me,” his eyes searched for yours, desperate, “please, whatever it is, just tell me. i need answers.”

you looked at him. at the shadows under his eyes, the tension in his jaw, the way his hand was still wrapped around yours like he was afraid you would disappear if he let go.

the truth sat on your tongue, heavy and bitter.

“because you deserve better.”

your answer fell into the silence like heavy stones into deep water, irreversible, sending ripples through everything.

his brows furrowed, “what?”

“you deserve better,” you repeated, voice cracking, “you deserve someone beautiful. someone thin. someone who looks like she belongs next to someone like you.”

you gestured at yourself, your body, at everything you had been taught to hate, “not this. not me.”

“y/n–”

“i’m not pretty, changbin,” the tears came faster now, “i’m not any of the things that you should want. and i thought–”

a sob caught in your throat, “i thought if i let myself love you, it would only hurt more when you finally figured it out. when you finally saw me the way everyone else does.”

“everyone else?”

“everyone else. you don’t understand,” you pulled your hand away, now wrapping your arms around yourself like you could hold the pieces together, “i’ve spent my whole life being looked at and looked through. being told i’m too much in some ways and not enough in others. i’ve made peace with it, or i thought i had.”

you wiped your tears with the back of your hand, sucking in another deep breath, “but then… you came along. and you looked at me. really looked at me. like i mattered. like i was worth seeing–and i didn’t know how to handle that, didn’t know how to be someone worthy of that look.”

silence.

he didn’t speak for a long moment. didn’t. just sat there, his eyes never leaving yours.

then, slowly, he reached out.

his hand found yours again, gently prying it away from where you were clutching your own arm. he held it in both of his, warm and steady.

“can i tell you something?” he asked gently.

you nodded.

“when i first met you,” he began, shifting closer to you–close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him, could smell that familiar scent that had haunted your dreams for weeks, “i thought you were cute. adorable, even. the way you smile like you couldn’t help it. like happiness just spilled out of you whether you wanted it or not.”

a tiny, sad smile tugged at his lips, “and so incredibly sincere. you wore your heart on your sleeve in a way i had never seen before. no pretense. just… you.”

he paused, his gaze mapping your features as if he was trying to memorize every detail.

“and i remember thinking, ‘i hope she keeps looking at me. i hope she keeps smiling like that. i hope i get to be the reason for it someday.’”

his hand came up, cupping your cheek with a gentleness that made your breath catch.

“i fell for you ever since game night. when you laughed at one of jeongin’s stupid jokes and your whole face lit up. when you talked about movies like it was something you felt in your bones. when you paid attention to the subtlest changes about me. i fell for you because of who you are.”

a tear slipped down your cheek, and he caught it with his hand.

“not who you think you should be. not who the world tried to tell you to be. not some edited, polished version of yourself. you, the real you.”

he leaned closer, his forehead almost touching yours. you could feel his breath warm against your lips.

“and you,” he continued, “you are the most beautiful person i’ve ever met. not just on the outside–although god knows i could spend an entire day just looking at you–but inside is where it counts. your heart. your kindness. the way you care about people, about me.”

his words settled in your chest like warmth, like light… it was something you had wanted to hear.

a sob escaped you–yet it was different, it bubbled up from somewhere deep and joyful, somewhere that had been locked away for so long you had forgotten it existed. it was a sob of relief. of disbelief. of hope.

"you're so silly." the words came out wet and wobbly, tangled up with laughter and tears and everything in between. a smile broke through despite everything—despite the crying, despite the weeks of pain, despite the walls you'd built so carefully. it split your face open, too wide and too bright, the way it always did when you couldn't help yourself. "how can you say things like that?”

he smiled back—that small, intimate smile, the one he saved just for you.

"because they're true." he shrugged, simple and honest and utterly devastating. "and because someone needs to say them. someone needs to tell you, every single day, until you finally believe it.”

his thumb traced your cheekbone, feather-light, “and i volunteer. full-time. no days off.”

a laugh bubbled out of you—wet and surprised and absolutely genuine. it felt strange in your throat, after weeks of nothing but silence and sorrow. it felt like coming home.

“god, i love you,” you breathed, the confession coming easier than ever, “i love you so much.”

a soft giggle bubbled up from his chest, warm and infectious, “say it again.”

“i love you.

“again.”

“i love you, seo changbin,” his name on your tongue felt like a prayer, something sacred, “i love the way you make me laugh. even when i’m sad, even when i’m scared, even when i’m trying so hard to push you away–you still find a way to make me smile.”

a watery laugh escaped you, genuine.

“i love the way you listen. really listen when i talk. like what i’m saying matters–like i matter. you don’t just hear my words, you understood everything underneath them. the things i’m too scared to say, the feelings i can’t put into words. you hear me.”

his breath caught. you felt it in the way his chest stilled, in the way his hand tightened ever so slightly against your cheek. you could've swore you could see his eyes glistening.

“i love the way you look at me. like i’m the only person in the world–”

“you are,” he cut in, his voice rough, almost breaking, “the only person in my world. have been for a while now.”

“changbin…’ another tear slipped down your cheek, and he caught that one too.

“it’s true,” his voice was fierce now, desperate in needing you to believe his words more than he had ever needed anything. “don’t you dare try to deny it. not for a second.”

a soft laugh escaped you. you shook your head, a reflexive motion, years of self-doubt wired so deep into your bones that even now, even with him saying his truths, your first instinct was to push back. to deflect.

“chang–”

he didn’t let you finish.

his hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck—slow, deliberate, like he had all the time in the world and wanted to savor every second of this. his fingers threaded gently into your hair at the nape, tangling in the soft strands there, and the touch sent a shiver cascading down your spine like the first notes of a melody you'd been waiting your whole life to hear.

and then he kissed you.

it wasn’t a frantic desperate kiss. it was something far more devastating.

his lips met yours with a tenderness that felt like a question and an answer all at once. it was soft, warm, a whisper of pressure that seemed to ask ‘is this okay?’ even as it promised ‘i’ve been wanting this forever.’ he hovered at the edge of you, giving you time, giving you space, giving you every chance to pull away if you needed to.

as if you had ever wanted to pull away from this.

he kissed you as if he was memorizing you. there was no rush in the way his lips moved against yours. he was a dedicated scholar, and it seemed as though the curve of your lips was a sacred text he intended to learn by heart. every angle, every soft sigh, every tiny movement you made… he absorbed it, catalogued it, stored it away in the deepest parts of his memory.

he traced the seam of your mouth with his own, a slow exploration that was more intoxicating than any rush. his upper lip brushed against your lower, then the reverse, a gentle push and pull that made your head spin and your knees weaken despite being seated.

one of your hands rose to rest against his chest, seemingly on its own initiative. your palm pressed flat against the solid warmth of his, fingers spaying slightly over the fabric of his shirt.

you could feel the frantic, staccato beat of his heart beneath your palm, and it shattered the last of your resistance.

whatever walls you had been clinging to, whatever voices in the back of your mind still whispered that this couldn’t be real, they all crumbled into dust, carried away by the truth of his heartbeat against your palm.

you kissed him back with everything you had.

your hand fisted gently in his shirt, pulling him slightly closer. your lips parted against his, inviting him, welcoming home. a soft sigh escaped you, and he swallowed it like a man dying of thirst, like you were the only thing that could sustain him.

his hand tightened in your hair, not pulling, just holding, just keeping you close. his other hand splayed over your waist, drawing you against him until there was no space left between you, until you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began.

when the kiss finally ended, it wasn’t because either of you wanted it to. it was simply that you both needed to breathe, needed to come up for air and remind yourselves that the world still existed outside of this moment.

he pulled back slowly, his lips lingering against yours even as he moved away, like they couldn’t bear to break contact completely. his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm and uneven, mingling with yours in the tiny space between.

you opened your eyes and just looked at him, at the man who had just rearranged your entire universe with a single kiss. your hand was still on his chest, rising and falling with every breath. the shiver he had sent down your spine had settled into deep, resonant warmth in the very core of you.

“that…” you exhaled, a toothy smile touched your lips–unguarded and real, “what a way to shut me up, seo changbin.”

a laugh rumbled in his chest beneath your palm–low, warm, and a little bit breathless.

“been wanting to do that for a while,” he murmured softly, his voice intimate in a way that made your stomach flip. his thumb traced a slow, absent-minded pattern on your waist, like he couldn’t stop touching you, like he was still reassuring himself you were really here.

your face flushed hot, the heat crawling up your neck and settling in your cheeks like it had every right to be there. you ducked your head slightly, a flustered smile tugging at your lips. you gave him a light, playful shove on his chest.

“shut up,” you mumbled, yet there was no heat in it. only embarrassment and the giddy, overwhelming rush of being wanted by him.

changbin stumbled back, a hand flying to his chest right where you had hit him, his eyes going wide with theatrical offense.

“ow,” he breathed, genuinely, like you had actually wounded him, “right in the heart. direct hit. you’re a dangerous woman, y/n y/l/n!”

you laughed, rolling your eyes even as your smile grew. your tears had dried up by now, replaced by the warm, bubbling joy that seemed to fill every corner of your chest whenever you were around him. the weight that had settled there earlier, the years of self-doubt and insecurity, felt lighter now. it was as if he had somehow shouldered some of it without you even noticing.

“dangerous,” you repeated, shaking your head at him, “it was just a little tap.”

“a little tap, huh?” he clutched his chest with both hands now, staggering another distance for good measure, “i think you cracked a rib. i might need medical attention!”

“hah, funny,” you crossed your arms, attempting to look unimpressed, yet the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you completely, “okay, drama queen. should i call an ambulance?”

he nodded solemnly, still clutching his chest, “yes. but only if the paramedic looks like you. and performs CPR exactly like you do.”

your face went red again–so quickly, so fiercely, that you could feel the heat radiating from your own skin. you opened your mouth to respond, to fire back with something witty, yet nothing came out. just a sputter. a flustered, embarrassed sputter.

changbin’s expression shifted instantly, the playful theatrics melting into something softer, more tender.

“god, y/n, you're so cute,” before you could react, his fingers were pinching your cheek–gently, of course. he squished your cheek slightly, his grin widening as your lips pursed into an involuntary pout.

“stop,” you mumbled through your squished cheek, yet it came out sounding more like sthob and that only made him laugh harder.

“can’t do, princess,” another squish, “you’re stuck with me.”

princess. oh, he’s gonna’ be the death of me.

the thought barely had time to form before changbin’s eyes lit up with that familiar mischievous spark. his head tilted, studying your face with exaggerated curiosity, “cat got your tongue?”

your heart, yet again, did a full somersault in your chest. your face flushed even deeper, if that was possible. you tried to look away, to break free from his knowing gaze, yet his hands on your cheeks held you gently in place.

“n–no,” the stutter gave you away completely.

his grin widened.

“no?” he repeated, his voice was honey and mischief all at once. he finally released your cheeks, only to let his fingers trail slowly down to your chin, tilting your face up towards his, “then, can i kiss you again?”

you should be used to this by now. the way he looked at you. the way his touch made your skin tingle. the way his voice dropped just slightly when he was about to do something that would ruin you in the best way.

but you weren’t used to it. you didn’t think you had ever get used to it.

“…yes,” you whispered, your voice barely audible even in the quiet of the car.

when his lips finally met yours, it was like the first time all over again.

soft. warm. perfect.

he kissed you like he had all the time in the world, like there was nowhere else he would rather be, like you were the only thing that mattered. his hand stayed on your chin, while the other found its way back to your cheek, gently cradling your face.

you melted into him.

your hands found his shirt again, fisting in the soft fabric, holding on as the kiss deepened. you could feel his smile against your lips, and you couldn’t help but to reciprocate it.

when he finally pulled back, it was only by a breath.

“i love you, y/n,” he whispered against your lips.

you couldn’t help but to press your lips against him once more, a gentle peck.

“i love you too.”

he captured your lips once again, before his kisses left a burning trail on your forehead, cheek, and jaw. returning to your lips once more.

“be my girlfriend?” he whispered against your lips, his bottom lip brushing against your upper as he spoke.

your heart stopped.

then started again, faster than before.

“yes,” an immediate response. the word tumbled out of you before you could think, before the doubts could creep in. for once, your heart spoke before your fears could silence it.

“yeah?”

“yeah,” you were smiling now, happiness radiating from every part of you, “yes, changbin. a thousand times yes.”

he smiled once more, before leaning in once again.

your eyes fluttered close.

not because you were scared. not because you were hiding. not because you were trying to block out the world.

because for the first time, you didn’t need to see to believe.

you could feel him–his warmth, his love, his unwavering certainty. the gentle pressure of his lips against yours. the way his hand cradled your cheek preciously. the steady beat of his heart against your chest, syncing with your own.

with your eyes closed, you left yourself fall.

into this. into him. into your future.

© lynsbng 2026