Untitled

Han

You’re on your back, legs spread, Han between them, shirt halfway off, lips wet, breathless. The room is dim except for his lamp, casting golden light over his flushed face. His mouth is on your chest, and one hand is already inside your underwear, making you squirm.

“You’re so fucking pretty like this,” he pants, nuzzling against your jaw before biting softly. “I missed you all day.”

“You saw me at lunch,” you gasp, fingers tugging at his hair.

“Yeah, and you were wearing that skirt I like,” he says, rubbing his fingers in slow circles. “I couldn’t stop thinking about this.”

The pace picks up. You’re kissing like you’re starving for each other, his hips grind against your thigh, your shirt rides up, and just as he’s about to slide your panties off,

The door opens.

“What the f..” Minho stops dead, his voice low and sharp.

Han jerks his head up, blinking, hand still in your panties. “Hyung?!”

You scramble, tugging the hem of your shirt down, but Han doesn’t move, like his brain hasn’t caught up yet.

Minho exhales slowly and closes the door behind him, but he doesn’t leave.

“You seriously couldn’t lock it?”

Han’s face is red, but there’s a defiant edge to his voice. “It’s my room.”

Minho folds his arms, eyes cutting toward you, then back to Han. “And I guess you figured I wouldn’t come looking for my charger?”

You sit up fast, pulling the blanket over yourself. “Minho, I didn’t know you’d..”

“I don’t care that you’re with her,” he snaps, a little too fast. Then, quieter, almost biting, “But maybe next time you wait until no one’s in the dorm.”

Han gets off the bed, annoyed. “Why are you acting like this?”

“You know why,” Minho says, voice cool. “I told you I didn’t want to see this.”

Your eyes flick between them, there’s something heavy in the air, unspoken tension.

Han doesn’t say anything. He just walks to the desk and grabs the charger Minho came for, tossing it at him without looking.

Minho catches it, eyes hard. “Clean yourselves up.”

He walks out, slamming the door behind him.

You exhale shakily, heart racing. Han is quiet for a second, then he sighs and climbs back into bed beside you.

“Well,” he mutters, rubbing a hand down his face, “That could’ve gone worse.”

You look at him, confused. “What did he mean… he told you he didn’t want to see this?”

Han just shrugs, eyes on the ceiling. “It’s complicated.”

—

Felix

The warm steam curls around you as Felix leans against the bathroom counter, shirtless, golden under the soft light. His hair is damp, and you’re pressing a cold towel to the nape of his neck when he leans in and kisses you. Soft at first, then deeper, needier. His hands slide under your shirt like he can’t help himself.

“You always take such good care of me,” he whispers, breath warm. “Let me take care of you now.”

He lifts you onto the counter. His mouth finds your neck, your chest, his hands firm on your thighs. You’re still half-clothed, but your jeans are already undone, his fingers tugging at the waistband, lips trailing lower.

He sinks to his knees in front of you, nose brushing your stomach, pulling your panties down slowly like it’s a ritual.

“Lixie..” you gasp.

“Shh. I’ve been thinking about this since you came to practice,” he says, eyes fluttering shut as he kisses between your thighs. “Let me, baby.”

His tongue flicks, your head falls back against the mirror, fingers tangled in his hair, and you’re close to forgetting the world entirely,

Until the bathroom door swings open.

Hyunjin freezes.

You jerk upright. Felix stumbles backward like he forgot other people exist. Your shirt’s bunched up, your jeans half-off, and Felix is literally on his knees.

“Hyung!” Felix yells, panicked. “Don’t look!”

Hyunjin slams the door shut so hard it echoes.

“Are you kidding me?! This is the communal bathroom! I brush my teeth in there!”

You burst out laughing, a breathless, embarrassed giggle. Felix hides his face in your stomach, groaning.

“Why does this keep happening to us?” he mumbles, voice muffled.

You kiss the top of his head. “We’re just cursed.”

Outside the door, Hyunjin shouts again.

“You better disinfect everything! Every! Thing!”

Felix whimpers dramatically and hugs your waist tighter. “I can never look him in the eye again.

—

Changbin

“You’re gonna get us caught,” you whisper, but your hands don’t stop exploring under his oversized hoodie.

Changbin grins up at you, cheeks pink. “Then be quiet, baby.”

You’re straddling him in Chan’s producer chair, shirt already discarded, bra unclipped and hanging by one strap. Changbin’s hoodie is bunched around his shoulders, his mouth warm on your chest, sucking a mark just above your heart. His hands are on your ass, grinding you down against his cock through layers of clothes.

“You know what this chair does to me,” he mutters against your skin. “I see you sit here and all I can think about is fucking you in it.”

Your head tilts back. “God, Binnie…”

His hips buck up. One hand slips into your leggings and finds you soaked, needy. His fingers curl, teasing.

“Let me hear you.”

You kiss him hard, breath catching. You’re moaning into his mouth, grinding down onto his fingers, his cock trapped and throbbing beneath your heat,

And that’s when the studio door clicks open.

“Hey, did you guys..”

Bang Chan stops in the doorway.

He sees your bare back, your top on the floor, Changbin’s flushed face between your tits, and your hips mid-grind.

“…Jesus Christ.”

You freeze like a statue. Binnie doesn’t move. No one breathes.

Chan turns around immediately.

You scramble for your shirt.

“I don’t even.. I’m not here. I’m leaving. I didn’t see shit.” he yells as the door slams shut again.

Changbin bursts out laughing, arms wrapped tight around you. “Oh my god, he’s gonna bring this up for years.”

You’re mortified, hiding your face. “We are so dead.”

He kisses your cheek. “Totally worth it.”

—

Hyunjin

You’re pressed against the mirrored wall, one leg hooked around his waist, Hyunjin’s hands under your thighs holding you up. His body grinds into yours, sweat-slicked and panting between kisses that leave you breathless.

“You knew what you were doing,” he murmurs, mouth hot against your ear. “Wearing that little skirt to practice.”

“You liked it,” you whisper.

“I loved it.”

He thrusts against you through your underwear and the thin fabric of his sweatpants, grinding in a slow rhythm. The glass behind you fogs with your shared heat, his shirt somewhere on the floor, your hoodie unzipped and useless.

One of his hands slips into your panties, fingers sliding between your folds. “Fuck, you’re wet already?”

“Because of you,” you breathe.

He kisses you again, messy and hungry, his fingers moving faster as you whimper against his mouth,

Then the door opens.

“…Hyunjin, have you seen..”

Seungmin stares.

You’re lifted against the mirror, half-naked, skirt pushed up, Hyunjin’s hand clearly down your panties. His hair is wild, lips swollen, chest heaving.

Hyunjin freezes.

Seungmin blinks once. Twice. Then just says flatly, “I’ll come back never.”

He turns on his heel and walks away like a ghost. No shouting. No slamming doors.

Just the sound of his footsteps fading as you and Hyunjin stare at each other, horrified.

“…Is he okay?” you whisper.

Hyunjin’s mouth twitches. “He’s dissociating. That’s what that is.”

You snort. “We broke Seungmin.”

He rests his forehead on your shoulder. “He’s never going to look me in the eye again.”

“Good,” you murmur, breath still shaky. “Let’s make sure he never walks in on this again either.”

Hyunjin smiles into your skin. “Or we lock the door next time.”

—

Seungmin

You’re on the bed, lying on your stomach, textbooks forgotten on the floor. Seungmin is straddling your hips, kissing along your back slowly, his fingers under your shirt tracing your spine.

“You’re not even pretending to study anymore,” you tease, cheek pressed to the pillow.

“I’ll study your body,” he murmurs, smug.

You giggle. “That’s the corniest thing you’ve ever said.”

He leans down, kissing your shoulder, lifting your shirt further. His hands are so gentle, so precise, always focused. One moves between your legs, spreading you open through your shorts as he settles lower.

“I missed this,” he says, voice low. “You always smell so sweet.”

His fingers slide under the waistband, stroking you soft and slow. You’re moaning into the pillow, trembling under him as he whispers praises in your ear, when the door bursts open.

Jeongin stands in the doorway, blinking.

You’re on your stomach, shorts halfway down your thighs, Seungmin in between them, fully clothed but very much in position. You let out a horrified yelp, reaching back to yank your shorts up.

Seungmin doesn’t move. He just lifts his head and sighs deeply, like this is the greatest inconvenience of his entire life.

“Innie.”

Jeongin is frozen. “I..uh..um..”

Seungmin calmly pulls the blanket over you. “Close the door.”

“I didn’t know anyone was home!”

“Now you do.”

Jeongin shuts the door so fast it practically bounces off the frame. You bury your face in the pillow.

“Oh my god.”

Seungmin just flops next to you. “I’m never going to hear the end of this.”

You groan. “He saw my whole ass.”

Seungmin turns to you with a deadpan expression. “He’s seen worse.”

You gape at him. “What?!”

He smirks. “Just kidding. Maybe.”

—

Jeongin

You’re curled up on the couch with Jeongin, wrapped in a blanket and watching a movie, but the remote’s long forgotten, the TV flickering soundlessly as your bodies melt together. His hoodie is hiked up, yours already discarded, and your leg is slung over his as you straddle his lap.

“I still can’t believe you’re letting me do this in the dorm,” he whispers, voice husky as his hands grip your hips, guiding your rhythm.

“You’re being quiet,” you tease, breath hitching.

“I have to be. Han hyung has super hearing.”

“Then shut up and kiss me.”

And he does, eager, open-mouthed, tongue gliding against yours as you grind down harder. His sweatpants do nothing to hide how desperate he is, cock straining up into your heat, the friction making him bite back moans.

Your arms are wrapped around his shoulders, his hoodie tugged halfway off, your underwear already shoved to the side as he bucks up into you.

“I think I’m gonna..”

The light flicks on.

“What the actual fuck?!”

Han is standing in the doorway in his pajama pants and an old hoodie, holding a water bottle and blinking like he walked into a horror movie.

You freeze. Jeongin groans out loud, like he’s not even embarrassed, just pissed.

“Hyung..really?”

“I thought I heard raccoons in the kitchen!” Han yells, looking personally offended. “Not raccoon sex!”

You try to climb off Jeongin but nearly fall off the couch in the process. He tugs the blanket higher to cover both of you and glares at Han.

“Can’t you knock?!”

“You’re in the living room!” Han is pacing now, hand over his eyes. “I eat snacks on that couch, bro!”

You bury your face in Jeongin’s shoulder. “We are never living this down.”

Han turns, looking mildly betrayed. “I thought you were the innocent one, Innie.”

Jeongin looks him dead in the eye. “That’s your first mistake.”

Han makes a strangled noise and bolts back down the hallway, muttering something about bleach and betrayal and how he’s going to move out.

You’re still clinging to Jeongin, breathless with laughter now.

“Your hyung hates me.”

“He’s just jealous,” Jeongin says smugly, dragging the blanket up and pulling you closer. “He wishes he got to fuck you on the couch.”

—

Bang Chan

He has one hand tangled in your hair and the other gripping your thigh, guiding your hips slowly against his.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he groans against your mouth. “You wore this hoodie on purpose, didn’t you?”

You just smile and roll your hips again, feeling his cock slide deeper. “What if I did?”

His head falls back, breathless. “Then I’m never letting you out of it.”

Your lips are on his jaw, his neck, his shoulder, kissing and biting as you ride him slow and deep. The chair creaks under you, muffled by the low bass of the music, and Chan is nearly panting now, whispering praise in your ear.

“Look at you. So perfect like this. Taking me so well, baby.”

Your nails rake down his chest as you grind harder. His hands tighten on your hips, and then the door opens.

Changbin stops.

Chan freezes.

You both turn slowly, still fully connected, and see Changbin standing there with wide eyes, holding a Tupperware container like he was just looking for snacks.

His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.

“…I was gonna ask if you wanted leftovers but..”

You bury your face in Chan’s shoulder, mortified.

Changbin nods slowly. “I think I’m just gonna starve.”

“Binnie..” Chan starts.

“No, nope, I’m good.” He backs out of the room like he’s witnessed a murder. “Enjoy your… hoodie party.”

The door shuts.

You groan. “I cannot believe he saw us mid-fuck.”

Chan just laughs, low and raspy. “Well, he did walk in uninvited.”

You smack his chest. “You forgot to lock the door!”

—

Lee Know

Minho’s bed creaks softly under you as he kisses down your chest, hands gripping your waist to keep you pinned. His mouth is slow, focused, worshipful, trailing hot kisses from your sternum to your stomach.

“Minho..” you whisper, breath shaky.

He hums against your skin. “Mm. You’re so impatient.”

“You’re teasing me.”

“I like when you squirm.”

He kisses the inside of your thigh, still fully clothed except for his shirt, which is crumpled somewhere on the floor. You’re only in your underwear now, chest bare and flushed from how long he’s been edging you. Your legs tighten around him, trying to pull him closer.

“Please,” you whisper, breathless.

“Say it again.”

“Please..”

“Say my name.”

“Minho..fuck..”

He’s just dragging your panties down, tongue licking his lips like he’s starving, when the door swings open.

“Hey, are you guys..”

Chan stops in the doorway.

Minho doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even move from between your thighs.

Chan’s face goes completely blank. Not surprised. Not horrified. Just… processing.

You let out a strangled yelp and scramble to cover your chest with the nearest pillow.

Minho lifts one brow. “Hyung.”

Chan holds up his hands like he’s being arrested. “I didn’t knock. That’s on me.”

“Correct.”

There’s a beat of silence. You’re still clutching the pillow. Minho is still half-leaned over your inner thigh, looking completely unfazed.

Chan slowly steps back into the hallway. “I was gonna ask if you wanted to order food.”

“Later,” Minho says simply, voice low and calm. “We’re busy.”

Chan closes the door behind him with a soft, horrified, “…Okay.”

You stare at Minho, face burning. “You didn’t even try to move.”

He smirks. “You think I’m letting that distract me from this?” His fingers trail slowly up your thigh.

“You’re evil.”

Prologue

(L/n) (Y/n) - The Threadseer Witch: A witch capable of perceiving and interacting with the threads that bind living beings, magic, fate, and emotional resonance.

Threadseers experience magic as interconnected strands, invisible to others eyes. They can see threads that link people to one another, to places, to events, and to latent potential. These threads carry emotional weight, magical tension, and memory, allowing the Threadseer to sense imbalance, fracture, or strain within both individuals and shared bonds.

T̶͈͍̳̃̐̐͌h̴̠̮̹̪͉̫̱͒̚͘r̸̡̡̫͎̲̲̪̈́̾̑͆͐̏ͅe̶̢̡͍̯̰̞̰̲̙̣̾́ả̵̦̝͍̬̜̹̆͐͋͋͊̀d̴̨̳̖̰͗̑̄̈́̈̍̾̐̀͗ ̶̛͎̗̏̉́̇̄͘s̴͈͕͌̂̿̏͠ḙ̸̛͇͔͍̊̓̊͑͂̓͛̕͝v̸̢̢̘̞̟̮̈́̂̿ĕ̷̢̛͎̞͌̃̊̆̊̒͌̚r̸̩̻̥̦̦͓̦̙̄̀̅͋ȃ̴̻̰̪̥̩͈̱̤̕n̸͙͍̙̺̥̜̻̜̋̚̚ͅc̶̹̫̩̘̆͋̏̈̍̚e̵͈̪̤͙͖̣͂͠ C̶o̶m̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶s̶o̶o̶n̶

Bang Chan - The Binding Witch: A witch capable of weaving binding resonance between people, objects, spaces, or magical energy. These bindings can manifest physically, emotionally, or magically, allowing the witch to anchor individuals to reality, reinforce fragile states, share strength, or prevent magical destabilization. Strong emotional bonds often enhance the effectiveness of a binding, making trust and proximity key components of their magic. Binding magic is frequently subconscious in early stages, activating automatically to protect or ground others.

Han Jisung - The Feymind Witch: A witch whose magic is intrinsically tied to the mind, emotions, and subconscious. Feymind magic often activates instinctively, especially under stress or fear, prioritizing survival responses over conscious control. Common manifestations include involuntary teleportation, environmental distortion, and the creation of dream echoes or memory imprints. Without grounding, prolonged emotional distress can cause unstable or repeated manifestations.

Lee Minho - The Wildheart Witch: Witches whose magic is rooted deep into their instincts, territory and protective resonance. They are very responsive to emotional states, especially fear, threat or attachment, they may activate automatically to defend those the witches consider theirs.  This magic often manifests through heightened senses and an instinctive perception of danger within claimed spaces or toward protected individuals. Wildheart witches can unconsciously (and consciously) establish territorial wards, marking people or places as under their protection and subtly deterring hostile magic or intent.  A defining aspect of Wildheart magic is animal resonance. Sometimes the witch mirrors certain animal traits which can influence posture, movement, and emotional responses. Animals are also often drawn to Wildheart witches and may respond instinctively to their presence.

[WORK IN PROGRESS] Kim Seungmin - The Silence Witch: A witch whose magic manifests through the negation and suppression of others magic. Silence magic dampens sound, emotional resonance, and magical activity within its range, causing spells to fail, unravel, or never form at all. Often tied to stress or overload, Silence may activate involuntarily as a protective response, creating zones of quiet where both sound and magic are muted. Without conscious control, prolonged activation can induce sensory disorientation or temporary deafness in those affected.

Seo Changbin - The Echoheart Witch: A witch whose magic externalizes emotion through sound, the opposite twin to the Silence witch. Echoheart magic amplifies vocalizations, heartbeats, and environmental noise into physical force, with intensity directly tied to the witch’s emotional state. Joy may strengthen and uplift, while anger, fear, or grief can fracture space, shatter objects, or reverberate through living bodies.

Echoheart magic can also act as a booster of other witches’ magic. When ungrounded it can cause uncontrolled amplification of magic.

Hwang Hyunjin - The Illusioneer:

Lee Felix - The Dawnlight witch:

Chan:

You wake up to your phone buzzing against the nightstand. You don’t even open your eyes but you  feel a smile spread across your face.

It’s always him.

You roll onto your side, hair falling in your face as you squint at the screen. The brightness stinging your tired eyes, but it’s worth it.

Channie 🐺: Morning, baby.

A second later, a selfie loads. He’s standing in the bathroom mirror, chest bare as a few stray water droplets roll down the dips and contours of his muscles, his sweatpants hanging lose at his hips with his hair still damp and curling at the ends like he didn’t bother to dry it properly. 

His dimples are half-hidden behind his phone, like he’s trying to hide his face but shamelessly show off the rest of him. There’s a tiny smudge of toothpaste on the corner of his mouth.

You half-laugh, half-choke as your eyes take in every inch of him, thumbs already flying.

You: GOOD MORNING 😭💞 

You: you must be trying to kill me 😮‍💨

Three dots appear almost instantly.

Channie 🐺: It’s just a picture.😉 Don’t die on me today, yeah?

You press your phone to your chest for a second, trying to slow your heart rate, warmth spreading through you like sunlight under your ribs.

It’s only been a few months since you started dating, Not long enough to feel this safe. Not long enough for this to feel so real.

And yet…

It was like you’d known each other for years the way you fell into the comfort of each other’s presence, feeling like you just fit in a way you couldn’t explain.

The rest of your day passes in a blur of moments, your mind and heart looking forward to tonight. 

Dating a celebrity comes with its drawbacks backs, the main one being the busy schedule. So when you find time to be together you take every opportunity.

Today must still be a busy day at the company cause even though you send your usual mid-day check in text to make sure he ate something, and then later a voice note reminding him to take breaks.

He wasn’t reading them til hours after and the photo of your coffee was left on delivered for longer than normal.

You tried not to let it bother you, knowing he’s busy and when he gets in the zone he’s all in on what he’s focused on so you figure you’ll let it be and you’ll see him later.

It’s easy to let yourself be absorbed by your work letting the time fly by at a comfortable pace til you’re clocking out and making your way home.

You sit with your headphones in as you scroll mindlessly on your phone, thinking of what to order for dinner tonight and excited to see your boyfriend.

when the article pops up, you don’t even register it at first. It’s just another headline, meant to suck you in for clicks, a blurry picture and another attempt at stirring something out of nothing.

STRAY KIDS’ BANG CHAN SPOTTED WITH RUMORED EX?! — FANS FULL OF QUESTIONS!

You frown at the screen for just a moment, letting your thumb hover over the image.

The photo is grainy, zoomed in too far. The man in the picture looks similar to Chan but in low quality way so it’s hard to say for sure. 

There’s a girl beside him, her face turned away. The angle makes it look like they’re walking together, close enough that their shoulders almost touch.

You scoff.

You know how this works. You know how people take something and run with it.

Still, you find yourself clicking on the link.

By the time you’ve read the whole thing, there’s a knot sitting in your stomach that wasn’t there before.

You knew he had been dumped by his ex a couple months before the two of you met, he had been open about his dating history since the very beginning, wanting you to know exactly what came with dating someone in his world.

You knew that they had been together for quite a while and that their breakup was hard on him, but you also knew that he would never have asked you out if he wasn’t ready for another relationship…. Right?

After all the place where the photo was taken is a restaurant you had showed him a few weeks ago and he loved it, you planned several dates while you were there, and he has even gone there for lunch a few times since.

So you don’t text him about it. Not right now, it’s probably just a misunderstanding.

You tell yourself you’ll bring it up later, casually, like it doesn’t matter.

 Cause it doesn’t….

Does it?

When you show up at the dorm that evening, Chan looks exhausted. Hoodie swapped for a worn t-shirt, hair shoved under a beanie, dark circles smudged under his eyes. 

He smiles when he sees you, soft and familiar, arms opening automatically. You let him hug you, but your mind is back on the article.

“Long day?” You ask.

He hums into my hair. “Always.”

Youpull back, studying his face. He looks the same. Feels the same. Warm hands, steady presence, that quiet steadiness that always pulls you in.

So why does the picture keep flashing behind your eyes?

You sit on the edge of the couch while he grabs you both a water from the kitchen. The dorm is quiet for the first time since you’ve been together. Without the sound Changbin’s shouting or Felix laughing. 

the living room feels like its own small, closed-off world.

You clear your throat when he comes back giving you a questioning look as he set a bottle down in front of you.

You figure now was probably the best time to bring it up.

“I saw something today.” Your voice is a little scratchy from nerves.

Chan pauses, his own bottle halfway to his mouth. 

“Yeah?” he smirks a little, waiting for you to continue.

“An article.” You try to sound casual, but he can see that something is wrong.

“What about?” His shoulders tense just slightly as he lowers the water.

“This.” You pull out your phone and show him the picture. 

“Seriously? That?” He leans back, squints. Then he sighs, long and tired.

“What do you mean, ‘that’?”

He sits beside you, elbows on his knees. “It was a fan. She recognized me outside a café and asked for a picture. That’s literally it.”

“It doesn’t look like that,” you add weakly.

“Because cameras and people lie,” he says, a little sharper than before. 

“You know that,” he looks at you pointedly.

You shift. “Then why haven’t you responded to my texts all day?”

“I didn’t think I had to.” his words land wrong.

“Why not?” you press. “You always respond to my texts”

Chan turns to you, brows knitting together. “I didn’t think getting a picture of your coffee cup was something I needed to respond to, not when I have more important things to do.”

“I’m not saying that,” you add quickly, but his words stung a little. 

“I’m just saying it would’ve been nice to hear from you instead of reading about your day from some headline.”

His jaw tightens. “So you believe them over me?”

“That’s not what I said,” you defend.

“But that’s what it sounds like.” He stands looking down at you with slight hurt.

“Sorry if seeing my boyfriend with his ex makes me a little nervous!” Your hands are shaking a little bit so you clench them into fists in your lap.

“I told you it was a fan, not my ex!” His face contorts in a way I’ve never seen.

Our voices are loud. You don’t remember either of you deciding to raise them. You realize you’re also standing glaring up at him.

“I trust you,” you tell him. “I just—this stuff makes me feel weird.”

You hesitate, and He notices.

“Weird how?” he asks, more firmly.

Your chest feels tight. “Like I don’t really know where I stand.”

Chan exhales through his nose. “What is that supposed to mean?”

You shrug, but it’s defensive. “It means you have a past. A really public one. And I don’t know where I fit into that.”

“You fit because I chose you,” he says. “I’m with you. Isn’t that enough?”

The way he says it, like he’s tired of this conversation, and frustrated that you even brought it up, like he’s sick repeating himself.

It hits a nerve you didn’t know was raw.

“Sometimes it feels like I’m just… filling space,” you say.

Chan looks at you like he doesn’t recognize you. 

“That’s not fair.” his voice is strained as you stare at each other.

The room feels smaller.

You don’t know who says it first. You don’t know when it stoped being a conversation and turned into a fight.

“I just don’t get why you’re so calm about this,” you snap. “Like it doesn’t matter.”

“Because it doesn’t,” he fires back. 

“Then why am I the only one who feels like this is a problem?” you quip back.

“Because you’re making it one.” his words hit and sink like a pit in your stomach.

The words are out before you can catch them.

“Maybe it’s a problem because I feel like you’re not over her-" his shout cuts you off.

“YEAH? SO MAYBE I’M NOT!”

The air goes still.

Chan’s mouth parts. His eyes widen, just a little.

“Wait—” he starts.

You feel something in you tilt. Slide. Start to fall.

He opens his mouth like he can take back the words, but you’re already spiraling, already feeling that sinking pain in your chest.

He takes a step towards you but you move back.

“I didn’t—I don’t—I just-“ he struggles to find the words his eyes pleading with me.

The words don’t even sound real at first. They float in the air between you, ugly and heavy and wrong.

Your chest caves in.

Chan’s face changes instantly. His eyes widen, panic crashing in like a wave. “No—no, I didn’t mean—”

But you’re not hearing him anymore.

There’s a high-pitched ringing in your ears, like something just snapped inside your head.

You nod once, like your body needs to confirm it heard him right.

“Okay,” you say softly.

You grab your bag from the couch. Your hands are shaking so hard you almost drop it.

“Wait,” Chan says, stepping forward. 

“Please, that’s not what I meant. I was angry, I didn’t—”

You don’t look at him.

You walk toward the door, every step feeling like it weighs a ton.

He follows you, faster now. 

“Stop. Just stop for a second,” he pleaded, his voice breaking.

You reach for the handle.

His fingers close around your wrist.

You flinch like you’ve been burned, ripping your hand away, turning on him, eyes stinging, vision blurred.

“Don’t touch me.”

The words come out sharp, venomous, dripping  hurt.

Chan freezes.

You see it then—really see it. The fear in his eyes. The way his chest is rising too fast. The way his hands are half-raised, like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

But it doesn’t matter.

You open the door and slam it behind you.

Lee Know:

Lee Know is kind enough to you, and that’s almost the problem.

warm enough. Nice enough. Not the kind of kind that wraps around you and pulls you close. His kindness is measured, controlled, like everything else about him. 

It’s a hand on your back when you step off a curb. It’s a quiet “text me when you get home” that sounds more like a habit than a real want. It’s him holding doors open and remembering how you take your coffee.

It’s never him letting you in.

Still, the morning starts the same way it always does.

Your phone buzzes, soft against your pillow.

Lino 🐱: You up?

You smile, blinking at the screen.

You: Barely. Good morning, Minho.🩷

You get out of bed and start your morning routine, you are slipping on your shoes before your phone buzzes again.

Lino 🐱: Practice all day. Don’t be annoying while I’m gone. <3

You snort.

You: I can’t make any promises.

You send a heart. He reacts to it with a thumbs-up.

And you tell yourself that it’s normal, you chat with friends in the hallways, laughing and making plans for the weekend. Enjoying the natural warmth and closeness that comes from good friends.

You stumble across the article in between classes.

You scroll past it at first, not even fully reading the title, but when your eyes pick up his name, you swipe back. You stare at the headline like it might change if you give it long enough.

STRAY KIDS’ LEE KNOW SEEN WITH EX-GIRLFRIEND — STAYS IN UPROAR!

The picture is worse than you expect.

They’re close. Too close. Her hand is mid-gesture, like she’s laughing at something he said. His face is turned toward her, expression soft in a way you don’t see very often, and he’s holding the door open for her to exit whatever restaurant they were just at.

You swallow.

You know you shouldn’t but You open the article anyway. It doesn’t say much. Speculation mostly. A reminder of how public his last relationship was. How messy the breakup had been.

Your phone buzzed and you read the text notification bubble.

Lino 🐱:  don’t forget to eat. 🥪

Followed by a picture of an aesthetically pleasing sandwich, its wrapper matching the logo in the picture from the article.

You feel a lump form in your throat and any appetite you had is long gone.

You don’t text him back.

The dorm that evening feels colder than usual.

Lee Know is in the kitchen when you arrive, cutting fruit with careful precision. The motion is neat. Controlled. Like everything he does.

“Hey,” he says when he sees you.

“Hey.” You stand there for a second, not sure where to put yourself.

He slides a bowl toward you. “You didn’t eat today, did you?”

You blink. “How did you—”

“You always get like this when you haven’t eaten much,” he gives a half-hearted smile before going back to the fruit.

You almost laugh. Almost.

You sit at the counter, pushing the fruit around with your chopsticks.

He watches you for a moment. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitate. Then you pull out your phone and show him the article.

His eyes flick over it. Once. Twice.

He exhales through his nose.

“Seriously?”

“That’s what I said too,” you mutter before you can stop yourself.

Lee Know’s mouth twitches. “Funny.”

“That’s it?” you ask before adding.

“That’s all you have to say?” you know he can see the hurt on your face, but he just rolls his eyes.

“What do you want me to say?” his tone is flat.

“I don’t know,” you admit. 

 “It’s a picture.” He sets the knife down, turns to face you fully.

“With your ex.” you press.

“With someone I used to date,” he corrects. 

“There’s a difference.” he states.

“Is there?” you ask.

He stiffens. Just a little.

“Yes.”

You look at him, really look at him. He’s standing there with his arms crossed, weight on one foot, expression calm. Closed. The same way he looks when fans ask too personal questions. 

The same way he looks every time you try to get too close.

“Then why does it feel like there’s still something there?” you ask quietly.

“There isn’t.” His jaw tightens. 

“But you don’t look at me like that,” you say before you can stop yourself.

The words hang in the air between you.

“Like what?” Lee Know’s eyes narrow. 

“Like you love me,” you say.

That gets a reaction.

It’s small, but it’s there. A flicker of something in his eyes.

“You think I don’t?” he asks.

“I don’t think you let yourself,” you say. 

He looks away, and that’s enough of an answer. Your chest feels heavy. 

“Why are you even with me, Minho?” You hate how needy the words make you sound.

He frowns. 

“What kind of question is that?” his tone is annoyed and not at all reassuring.

You shrug not knowing what to say, but he just stares at you waiting for a response.

“Sometimes it feels like I’m… convenient,” you admit.

“That’s ridiculous.” He scoffs softly. 

“Is it?” you push.

 “You keep me right here.” You hold your hand out in front of you. 

“Close enough to touch. Not close enough to let me in.”

His shoulders tense.

“That’s not fair,” he says.

“Then what is fair?” you ask. 

when he doesnt respond to continue.

“Because it feels like I’m standing in front of a wall you won’t even admit is there.”

He turns away, staring at the sink. The silence stretches.

You hate it. You hate how familiar it feels.

“You’re not over her,” you say quietly.

Lee Know turns back to you slowly.

“That’s not your place,” he says.

The words are calm and even as they cut away any hope you had.

Your heart stutters. 

“It is if I’m the one standing here now.” You let the hurt show through your words.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He runs a hand through his hair, frustration slipping through the cracks. 

“Then explain it to me,” you say. “Explain why you keep me at arm’s length. Why you don’t let me in. Why you still look at her like—”

“Like what?” he snaps.

You flinch.

“Like you’re still in love with her,” you finish.

His lips press into a thin line.

You feel yourself slipping. Falling into the same spiral you swore you wouldn’t. But you’ve spent too many late nights wondering this to not say anything.

“I’m just a rebound, right?” you say voice soft.

“Someone to pass the time until you figure yourself out,” you say, hoping he denies it.

Lee Know laughs once. It’s sharp and empty.

“And what if you are?”

The words hit like ice water. Your breath leaves your lungs in a rush, and for a moment, you can’t move.

Lee Know’s face changes almost immediately. His eyes widen, just slightly. His mouth opens like he wants to pull the words back.

“No,” he says. “That’s not what I meant.” his voice is serious, but his eyes show the panic he's feeling.

But you’re already stepping away from the counter, away from him.

Your hands feel numb as you grab your jacket.

“Wait,” he says, reaching for you.

You turn and give him a pained smile.

“Maybe you should figure that out before you hurt someone else.”

You don’t raise your voice; you don’t have to. The hurt in your eyes is louder than your words.

Lee Know freezes.

You walk to the door, open it, and step into the hallway.

Behind you, he says your name.

But you don’t turn around.

Changbin:

Your phone buzzes right before your alarm goes off.

You groan, rolling over, hitting the snooze button and wishing you could fall back asleep, but you’re already half-awake.

Picking up your phone you see a notification that makes you smile.

Binnie 💪: MORNINGGGG

A selfie follows the text, with him in the gym mirror, cheeks puffed out, hair sticking up in a dozen different directions, his tank top tight on his frame. 

He’s making a peace sign and a ridiculous face that still manages to make your chest warm.

You smile, typing back without thinking.

You: Good morning, Bin. Have a good day today. Don’t forget to eat. I’ll see you tonight 😘

he responds a few minuets later.

Binnie 💪: I will! 🫡

You grin like an idiot before begrudgingly make your way to the shower to get ready.

The day feels light after that. Normal and easy, you start on your work and everything is going great.

Until it isn’t.

The article shows up in your feed just as you sit down to have lunch.

You don’t even register it at first. You recognize the format immediately. bold headline, blurry picture, speculation dressed up to get clicks.

STRAY KIDS’ CHANGBIN SECRET MEET UP WITH EX?? —

Your stomach drops anyway, and despite your better judgment you click on the link.

The picture is grainy, taken from across the street. But Changbin’s car is unmistakable even with the tinted windows you can still make out the two figures.

The wide shoulders are undeniably his as he’s half-turned toward someone just blocking them from view. A girl’s arm is visible, hand resting briefly on his shoulder.

You scroll on, heart thudding in your chest.

Words like reconciliation and unfinished business jump out at you as fans speculate.

You close the tab.

You tell yourself you’ll ask him about it later, that you’ll handle this calmly, like the mature individual you are.

But by the time you’re standing outside the dorm that evening, your blood is heated and your mind is racing from the hours you’ve had to over think.

Changbin answers the door with a grin.

“There you are!” he says, pulling you into a hug so tight it almost knocks the air out of your lungs. 

“I thought you were going to ditch me,” he teases,

You laugh weakly, hugging him back. 

“Now why would I do that?” The joke falls flat but he doesn’t seem to notice as He leads you inside, talking a mile a minute about practice, and about a new verse he’s been working on.

You nod along, smiling and laughing when you’re supposed to.

But your mind is somewhere else.

When there’s finally a break in his rambling, you clear your throat.

“Binnie.”

He looks at you immediately. “Yeah?”

“I saw something today.” Your voice is hesitant, and he notices.

“What kind of something?” His smile falters but doesn’t disappear.

You pull out your phone and show him the article.

The reaction is instant.

Changbin stiffens. His shoulders tense. His eyes flick away from the screen like it burned him.

“Oh—come on,” he says, a little too fast. 

“That’s not—” but you cut him off.

“Then why are you acting like this?” you ask.

“Like what?” He blinks. 

“Like you just got caught,” you accuse.

His eyes narrow, and his smile vanishes. 

“I didn’t get ‘caught.’” he uses air quotes as if that negates what you just said.

“Why are you panicking?” you prod. 

“I’m not!” he snaps.

“You are!” You counter.

“It’s just annoying. These articles are always annoying.” He runs a hand through his hair, pacing now. 

“Then why can’t you look at me?” Your voice is low, and your eyes show the sadness you're trying to keep inside.

He stops moving, shooting you a dark look.

“What does that have to do with anything?” he asks, voice rising.

“It has to do with everything!” you match his tone.

“Because you look guilty!” you don't understand why he's reacting like this.

“I’m not guilty of anything!” he yells.

The word echoes in the room making You flinch.

He seems to realize how loud he got, because his eyes widen slightly. 

“I didn’t mean to—” you cut him off as something in you snaps too.

“Then explain it,” you say, voice pleading.

 “Explain why-" he cuts you off.

“Because I’m tired of this!” he shouts. “I’m tired of people assuming things about me.”

“I’m not ‘people,’” you shout back. 

“I’m your partner!” Your words ring out through the empty dorm.

He freezes for a second at that.

Then he laughs, breathless and sharp, but he doesn’t say anything just shakes his head.

Your heart stutters. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” You hate how pathetic the question sounds.

“It means you’re acting like this is some huge betrayal when it’s not,” he scolds, as if you are the problem for bringing it up.

“Then why does it feel like one?” you fire back. 

“Why do you look like you’ve been hiding something since the second I showed you that article?” you try to calm down but your heart is racing.

Changbin opens his mouth, but he's at a loss.

You see it then.

The hesitation, and the guilt, it makes your chest tighten.

“Right,” you say, voice shaking. 

“Because I’m just here to hold the place for the person you really want,” you spit the words out like they burn.

“That’s not—” he starts.

“Isn’t it?” you interrupt. 

Changbin’s breathing is heavy now. His fists clench at his sides, you can see the emotions running through him as he stands there.

You open your mouth to tell him to just tell the truth, but when he sees you open your mouth, something in him snaps, and he shouts.

“YES OK?!”

“I got with you because I thought it would make her jealous,” he yells. 

The word slams into you.

He doesn’t stop there.

“And it worked.”

The room goes silent.

The only sound is your own heartbeat in your ears.

Your mouth opens, but no words come out, tears sting your eyes as you find it hard to breathe.

Changbin’s face drains of color almost immediately. His eyes widen like he can’t believe what just left his mouth.

“No,” he says, stepping forward. “Wait- that’s not—“

You step back.

Your hands are shaking so badly you have to grip the hem of your hoodie to keep yourself from falling apart.

“So that’s it,” you whisper. 

“No!” he says, panic flooding his voice. 

“That’s not all you are. That’s not what I meant,” he tries to take back the words that are echoing in your brain.

“But it’s what you said,” you reply.

You grab your bag from the chair.

“Wait,” he says, rushing toward you. 

“Please, I was angry. I didn’t think—” He reaches for you, but you yank your arm away.

“Don’t.” Your voice is quiet.

Changbin stops dead, his hand lingering in the air as if fighting with himself.

You walk to the door, every step heavy.

“Don’t go,” he says, voice breaking. 

“I messed up. I know I did. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” he's pleading as tears fill his eyes.

You turn the handle.

“You don’t get to be sorry after that,” you whisper as you leave.

The door closes with a soft click.

The hallway feels endless, and despite the numbness your legs carry you without you really telling them where to go.

Your phone buzzes.

You pull it out only to shut it off.

Hyunjin:

Hwang❣️: Good morning, angel.

 His text brings a smile to your face as you move from one work meeting to another, his morning texts come a little later than yours but Sometimes there’s a selfie to make up for it.

soft lighting, hair falling into his eyes, lips curved into that small, private smile he says is only for you. Sometimes it’s of a painting or drawing he stayed up late working.  

His words are always gentle and sweet.

You reply the same way you always do.

You: Good morning, pretty boy. Have a good day today. I’ll see you later ❣️

He reacts with the same heart emoji.

It feels like something sacred.

You love the way that Hyunjin loves like an artist. He notices the way sunlight hits your face, the way you tilt your head when you’re listening, the way you tuck your hands into the sleeves of his hoodie when your hands get cold. 

He tells you you’re beautiful in ways that feel like he’s painting you with his words instead of just looking at you.

But sometimes, when he thinks you aren’t paying attention, he stares past you, like his mind is somewhere else, or maybe someone else.

You tell yourself it’s nothing.

The post is on a fan account, one you follow cause you love the way they keep track of the boys better than you can sometimes, so you smile and tap the notification that says ‘new post’.

OMG?!? 😱 Hyunjin’s been meeting up with his ex again?😱 

There’s a photo attached. Blurry. Taken from far away.

Two figures sitting on a bench in a small park. One of them is unmistakably him, his long limbs, familiar posture, head tilted slightly as he listens. The other is a girl with her hair pulled back, head resting on his shoulder while his arm is wrapped around her.

They look… comfortable.

You swallow and even though you know you shouldn’t you spiral into the post.

It leads you to a thread of similar posts all of them dating from the time you started dating, to even before you got together.

Him and this girl, there were pictures of drawings he’d done pointing out how they resemble his ex and the pictures, so many pictures.

Some clear as day, others were a little more of a reach, but the ones that were undeniable made your heart feel like someone had it in a death grip.

You don’t confront him right away.

You waited, trying to think of what to say to him.

That night, the walk to the dorm felt heavier than usual, like you were moving towards something inescapable.

Hyunjin is in the living room, sketchbook open on his knees, pencil moving slowly across the page.

He looks up when you walk in and smiles. 

“You’re late.” His voice is teasing, but you don’t smile.

“Sorry,” you say. 

“Got caught up.”

He sets the sketchbook aside and stands, stepping toward you. His hands hover at your waist, he smiles at you before his arms wrap around you pulling you against him.

You let him touch you, but your chest feels heavy, and the embrace feels forced.

You sit together on the couch. He leans into you, head resting against your shoulder.

For a moment, it almost feels normal.

Then you speak.

“Are you still seeing her?” Your voice is soft, but the question hits him hard.

His body goes still.

“Who?” he asks softly.

“You know who,” you say.

“Where did you hear that?” He pulls back, eyes searching your face. 

“So you are,” you whisper.

Hyunjin exhales slowly. 

“It’s not like that—” he starts but you interrupt.

“Then what is it like?”

He looks down at his hands. 

“We talk.”

“What is there to talk about?” you ask, tone flat.

He hesitates, and that’s enough of an answer.

“How long?” Your chest tightens. 

“Since before I met you,” he admits.

The words feel like a knife sliding between your ribs.

“Why?” you ask.

He looks at you then, really looks at you. His eyes are bright and vulnerable.

“Because I never stopped caring about her,” he says.

Silence stretches between you.

“I care about you too,” he adds quickly. 

Your laugh comes out hollow. 

“That’s not comforting, Hyunjin.” Your tone is unamused.

He leans forward, hands reaching for yours. 

“I don’t think love is always something that only fits one person at a time.” he tries to meet your eyes, trying to get you to understand.

You pull your hands back from him, your eyes flashing with something close to disgust making him flinch.

“What does that mean?” you ask.

“It means,” he says slowly, carefully, “that I can love you. And still love her.”

Your throat closes as your mind races.

“So what am I, then?” you whisper.

He opens his mouth, but no words come out.

You feel something in you break.

“I’m your second choice, aren’t I?” you say, voice breaking at the end.

“Someone to keep you company while you hold space for her.” You want him to deny it, but you both know it's true.

His eyes fill with tears instantly.

“No,” he says. “That’s not—”

“But it is,” you say. 

“You’re with me now, but the second you can be with her, you’ll leave.” Your hurt bleeds through your words.

 “I didn’t mean for it to hurt you.” He drags a hand down his face, voice cracking.

“How could it not?” you ask, voice rising from a whisper. 

He shakes his head, tears slipping down his cheeks. 

“I love you.”

“And you love her,” you spit.

“Yes,” he whispers.

The word hangs in the air.

You stand slowly.

“So you’re asking me to share you?” The words are bitter on your tongue.

“I’m asking you to understand me,” he pleads, tears running down his face.

You shake your head feeling your own tears hot and heavy, grabbing your bag from the floor you move towards the door.

“Isn’t having me enough?” he cries, voice breaking.

You pause at the door.

“That’s the problem,” you say softly. “If you still love someone else… do I even really have you in the first place?”

He steps toward you, hands outstretched. 

“Please. Don’t go. I can figure this out. I just—” his voice is choked as tears stream down his face.

You step back.

“No, I deserve more than second place.”

His hands fall to his side as he shakes with a sob.

You open the door with shaking hands and behind you, he collapses to his knees.

You don’t look back as you shut the door.

tag list:

Chan:

He doesn’t sleep.

He lies on his bed staring at the ceiling, phone clutched in his hand like it might dissolve if he lets go. The room is dark, quiet except for the distant hum of traffic outside and the occasional sound of the wall shifting when someone moves in another room.

Every time he closes his eyes, he sees your face.

The way you looked at him when he said it.

The way you pulled away when he tried to reach for you.

He groans softly and turns onto his side, burying his face into his pillow.

“ Fucking idiot,” he mutters.

His phone lights up, not a notification, just the time. 2:47 AM.

He unlocks it anyway.

Your chat is still open.

The last thing you sent is from that morning.

The words twist in his chest, what he wouldn't do to go back to that morning and start over.

He starts typing, deletes it, types again, and deletes that too.

Finally, he just sends something. Anything.

Chan: I’m so sorry.

The message delivers.

He stares at the screen like he can will you into replying.

You don’t.

He runs a hand through his hair and sits up, elbows resting on his knees, blankets tangled in his legs from his constant shifting.

Chan: I don’t know why I said that. I didn’t mean it. You didn’t deserve that, and I know I hurt you.

He exhales shakily and keeps going, thumbs moving faster now, like if he stops, he’ll lose the nerve.

Chan: When you said I wasn’t over her, it hit something in me and I snapped. I used the one thing I knew would hurt you back and I hate myself for it.

His chest tightens as he hits send.

Chan: You’re not a rebound. You’re not temporary. I chose you. I want you. I want us.

He tries to swallow the lump in his throat, feeling like his own emotions are about to choke him out.

Chan: I understand if you need time. I can wait. I can’t begin to explain how sorry I am.

He sets the phone down, face in his hands as he takes a few shaky breaths.

Minutes pass.

Nothing.

He doesn’t know what hurts more, the silence or knowing he deserves it.

You don’t sleep much either.

You lie on your side staring at the wall, face hot and damp with half-dried tears, phone on the nightstand where you can hear it buzz every time Chan sends another message.

You don’t open them at first.

You know what they’ll say.

You know how he is when he messes up, how he apologizes like he can fix anything if he says sorry enough, like he's trying to stitch everything back together with his words alone.

you relize now how unfair your questions and accusations were to him, how you could have handled the situation better, but instead you got in your head and then self-destructed.

Both of you were casualties of your own insecurity and his anger; neither of you is blameless, but his words still hurt and you know that if you let him in you could fix this.

But you’re not ready to let him pull you back in yet.

Hours pass with you going over all the things you both said and how you wished you could go back to before you saw the article.

Eventually, around three in the morning, your curiosity wins over pride.

You turn over and grab your phone, unlocking it with a swipe.

The messages stack down the screen, one after another, and you read them over, sections sticking with you as you move to the next.

I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it. I hate myself for it. I want you. I want us.

Your chest aches.

You set the phone back down without replying.

Not because you don’t care.

Because you care too much, and your mind is too full to risk saying anything else right now.

The next day is slow.

Heavy.

You go through the motions, work, errands, and coffee to take the edge off the sleepless night. Chan’s texts sit in the back of your mind like a weight.

Your phone buzzes again in the afternoon.

Chan: I won’t keep blowing up your phone. I just wanted you to know I’m here whenever you’re ready.

You stare at the message for a long time.

Your fingers hover over the notifications.

Then you lock your phone.

Chan seems to mess everything up that day.

He messes up a move in practice. Misses a cue. Stares off into space long enough for Changbin to snap his fingers in front of his face.

“Earth to leader,” Changbin says. “You good?”

Chan forces a smile. “Yeah. Just tired.”

It’s only a half lie.

Everything reminds him of you.

A vending machine you always complain about because it always eats your money, your favorite drink he keeps for days when you visit him in the studio.

He pulls out his phone during a break.

Still nothing.

He stares at the screen.

A minute passes.

Then two.

Then—

You let out a breath, quickly hitting send before you can take it back.

You: I can’t do this over text.

The three dots appear almost instantly.

Chan: Okay. I understand. wherever you’re comfortable with.

You hesitate before typing out your response.

You: The park near my place. The one with the small bridge, after work.

Chan: I know it. I’ll be there.

The air is cool when you arrive.

The park is quiet, streetlights casting soft pools of yellow on the path. The bridge sits over a narrow stream, water reflecting the lights like broken stars.

Chan is already there, sitting on the lone bench on the bridge.

He stands up the second he sees you. He's bundled in a hoodie, a beanie, a mask hiding most of his face, and he keeps his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

For a moment, neither of you move.

“Hey,” he says softly.

“Hey.” You stop a few steps away from him.

You swallows. “Thank you for coming.”

He nods, shifting on his feet.

“I don't know how to start this.” you say awkwardly, unsure where to look as you move to the railing.

He winces slightly. “Yeah. Me neither.”

There’s an awkward pause.

Chan breaks it first.

“I meant what I said in my messages,” he says. “All of it. I didn’t mean what I said that night. Not even a little.”

You look down at the bridge railing instead of at him.

“I know I responded terribly,” he continues. “When you accused me of not being over her, I felt… insulted. Hurt. Like you didn’t see what I felt for you. And instead of saying that, I snapped and said the worst possible thing.”

You let out a quiet breath. “You used my words against me.”

He nods immediately. “I did. And I hate that I did that to you.”

You finally look at him.

His eyes are tired. Red-rimmed. Earnest in a way that makes your chest ache more.

“I’m not with you because I'm waiting for someone else,” he says. “I’m with you because I love you. I like the way you laugh at my dumb jokes. Because you remind me to eat. Because you make my bad days feel lighter.”

Your throat tightens.

“But I also know,” he adds, “that loving you doesn't make up for the way I hurt you; loving you is supposed to make you feel safe. And I didn’t do that. I broke that trust.”

You nod slowly. “I don’t know if we can go back to the way things were before.”

“I know,” he says quietly. “And I’m not asking it to. I just… I don’t want this to end because I said something I didn’t mean. I want us to grow from this.”

You lean against the railing, staring at the water.

“I shouldn’t have said what I said either,” you admit. “About you not being over her. I was projecting my insecurities, and that was not fair to you.”

He steps a little closer. Not touching. Just closer.

“Then let’s talk about that,” he says. “The scared part. Not the fighting part.”

You consider him.

“I don’t want to feel like I’m competing with your past,” you say. “I don’t want to feel like I’m a replacement.”

“You’re not,” he says immediately.

“I'm going to need a lot of reassurance for a while,” you reply. “Not just when things are good, but especially when they’re hard.”

He nods, slow and serious. “Okay. I can do that.”

There’s another pause.

It’s not comfortable.

But it’s honest.

“I’m sorry that I hurt you too,” you say.

“I know,” he answers.

"I'm going to work on my insecurities and do my best to be a better partner to you."

“I know,” he says again. “I’ll be here, even if it takes a while.”

You look at him.

He doesn’t reach for you.

He just waits.

After a moment, you step closer.

Not into his arms.

Just close enough that your shoulders touch.

“It's a start,” you say.

His breath shudders out. “I’ll take it.”

You stand there together, quiet under the streetlights, not fixed, but not broken beyond repair either.

Lee Know:

Lee Know tells himself he did the right thing; he just went about it in the wrong way.

He tries to convince himself it’s easier this way.

He sits on the edge of his bed, forearms on his knees, phone in one hand, his other hand over his mouth, staring at the blank chat screen.

Your name sits at the top like a dare. The room is quiet, the kind of quiet that makes thoughts louder.

He replays the moment over and over again in his head.

Maybe you are. His voice echoes.

The way your face fell.

The way you said 'don’t touch me' without raising your voice.

He exhales through his nose and leans back on the mattress, staring at the ceiling.

He didn’t mean it like that.

He meant it like 'Don’t expect more from me than I can give.'

But the way he said it, he knows you heard, 'You don’t matter.'

He presses his palm into his eyes.

His phone buzzes. He brings his phone up to check the notification.

Not you.

It's Chan, asking if he’s okay.

He doesn’t know how to answer.

He tells himself his walls are necessary.

The last time he let someone in, it ended in shouting matches in parking lots, in late-night calls that turned into sobbing, which led to days of silence, in watching something he thought was solid fall apart in his hands.

He tells himself he learned.

He's convinced himself he’s being smart with his heart.

But when he opens his fridge and sees the uneaten fruit he meticulously cut, he closes the door too hard and swears under his breath.

He sits at the kitchen counter, the only light coming from his phone screen as he types, then deletes, before typing again.

Lino: I shouldn’t have said that.

He stares at the message for a long moment.

Then he sends it.

The delivery checkmark appears.

But no response comes.

You stare at the text, not answering because you don’t know what to say.

Because 'I shouldn’t have said that' doesn’t begin to fix what it felt like to hear those words from his mouth.

You go about your day with a hollow space in your chest that feels like something was forcefully removed.

When your phone buzzes again later, you look out of habit.

Lino 🐱: I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just don’t know how to do this without getting hurt myself.

You read it twice.

Then you put your phone away.

Two days pass.

Lee Know keeps thinking he sees you.

At the café near the practice building. On the corner near the crosswalk. In the reflection of glass.

He doesn’t, and it's driving him crazy.

He finally texts again.

Lino 🐱: Can we talk?

You stare at the message for a long time.

You: Okay. The café near the company, Tomorrow.

The café is quiet and slow, and the comforting scent of coffee and sweets helps you relax while you wait for him to show up.

You sit on the opposite end of the café in view of the door, so you watch as he steps inside, his eyes locking on you as he walks slowly towards your table, taking the empty seat across from you.

You both sit there waiting for the other to say something.

Lee Know keeps his hands folded in his lap, knuckles white.

“I’ve been thinking,” he says.

“Me too,” you reply.

He nods, like he expected that.

“I didn’t say what I said because I don’t care,” he continues. “I said it because I do.”

You give him a confused look. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“It does to me,” he says. “The last time I cared about someone too much, it ended badly. I promised myself I wouldn’t let it get that far again.”

“So you decided not to let it get far at all?” you clarify.

He swallows and nods.

“I don’t want to go through that again,” he admits. “I don’t want to get hurt.”

You look at him. Really look at him.

“And what about me?” you ask.

He opens his mouth, but he can't find the words.

You shake your head as you move to stand up slowly.

“That’s what I thought.” Your voice is tired as you grab your bag.

He stands too, panic in his eyes. “That’s not fair.”

“Neither is loving someone who won’t meet you halfway,” you say.

He runs a hand through his hair, frustration slipping through his calm. “I’m trying.”

“You’re trying to protect yourself,” you reply. “Not this. Not us.”

Silence stretches between you.

“I care about you,” he says finally.

“So you say,” you shrug. “But you don’t fight for me. You don’t even fight for this.”

He flinches.

“I shouldn’t have to convince you to want to be here,” you continue. “I shouldn’t have to prove that I’m worth the risk.”

He looks away.

"If protecting yourself means hurting me, why should I endure that? Why should I pay for the sins of someone else? Why do I have to convince you to love me?" You shoot one question after the other, but he just stands there.

you shake your head and look away to gather your thoughts before turning back to meet his eyes.

“That’s not my job,” you say softly. “It’s yours.”

He swallows.

“What are you saying?” he asks.

You take a breath.

“I think we should take a break,” you say. “You need to figure out if you actually want this.”

His jaw tightens. “And what if I do want it?”

“Then you’ll come back when you’re ready to show it,” you say.

You make your way to the door, but before you step out, you turn back to him.

“I hope you figure it out,” you say. “I really do.”

The door chimes as you make your way out, and he watches you walk away.

Later, he sits in his room, staring at the empty notification bar where your name used to light up.

He tells himself he did the right thing, that this is what he wanted.

But the silence feels a lot like losing.

Changbin:

Changbin tries to text you that night, but the message doesn’t go through.

He stares at the screen, waiting for the little checkmark that never appears.

He tries again.

Nothing.

He swipes to your contact, hits call.

It goes straight to voicemail.

Blocked.

The realization settles in his chest like a stone.

He tells himself you just need some time, he tells himself he’ll try again tomorrow.

But when tomorrow comes, he doesn’t.

A few days later, when the phone chimes, he thinks you're finally done throwing a tantrum, but when he checks, it's a name he hasn’t seen in months lights up his phone.

Her.

He almost doesn’t belive its real.

Almost.

He quickly opens the message.

Ex: Hey, Binnie. I know this is random, but I was thinking about you. Want to grab coffee sometime? Just to catch up.

He stares at the screen longer than he should.

He thinks about you. About the way your voice sounded when you said don’t touch me. About how your eyes looked angry—hurt.

He types, deletes, types again.

Changbin: Yeah. Sure.

He tells himself it doesn’t mean anything, he tells himself it’s just coffee.

Cause that's all it is, right?

The café is warm and bright, sunlight pouring in through the front windows and painting her face in golden light.

They sit in the booth by the glass, the one closest to the door.

It feels like a bad choice, but he ignores what his gut is telling him.

Changbin realizes that about twenty minutes in, when he’s already laughing.

They talk about everything and nothing. Old jokes. Shared memories. gossip about people they both know. They fall back into old habits, like the way things used to be.

Time slips by without him noticing.

Their drinks sit half-empty on the table, ice melted, condensation soaking into the napkins.

She leans forward, resting her chin in her hand. “I missed this,” she says.

He smiles without thinking. “Yeah. Me too.”

There’s a lull in the conversation.

The kind that’s comfortable instead of awkward.

She reaches across the table.

Her fingers brush his forearm, then settle there, warm and familiar.

She bats her lashes at him, a gesture he recognizes too well.

“I know you’re seeing someone,” she says softly. “But I’ve really missed you, Binnie.”

His heart stutters.

He opens his mouth to respond—

And the door opens, the bell above it chimes.

And then he hears it.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

He freezes.

He doesn’t need to turn around; he knows that voice.

Slowly, he turns anyway.

You’re standing in the doorway, eyes blazing, chest rising and falling too fast. Your hands are clenched at your sides, knuckles white.

His face gives him away instantly.

Guilt flashes across his features before he can stop it.

He stands up so fast the table squeaks against the floor.

“Wait—” he says, already moving toward you. “It’s not—”

You turn.

He moves to rush after you, heart pounding.

“ just let me explain—”

“Binnie?”

The voice behind him is soft.

Sweet.

He stops, and he turns to look back at her.

She’s still sitting in the booth, looking up at him, confusion and something else in her eyes.

“Have you missed me too, Binnie?” she asks.

She blinks up at him, doe-eyed.

The world tilts.

For a second, everything else fades.

He blushes, and he almost hates that he does.

He swallows.

“More than you know,” he whispers, looking into her eyes.

Outside, you stop, you don’t know why.

Maybe it’s hope. Maybe it’s habit.

You turn around, expecting to see him behind you.

He’s not.

Through the café window, you see him standing there for a moment longer.

Then he sits back down, across from her.

You watch as she reaches out and brushes his hair off his forehead.

You watch as he smiles, soft and familiar, the way he used to smile at you.

You watch as he takes her hands in his.

Something in your chest caves in.

You don’t remember when you start crying.

You just know suddenly your vision is blurred and hot, angry tears are burning trails down your cheeks like acid.

You turn away.

This time, you don’t look back.

Changbin doesn’t realize what he’s done until later.

Much later.

He walks home in a haze, her laughter still echoing in his ears, the way her hands felt in his own.

He catches himself smiling at the thought, but then suddenly, as if his brain catches up with him, the picture of your face burns across his mind like an asteroid set on destruction.

he tries to shake it away bringing his focus back to the way she said she missed him.

He lies on his bed, staring at the ceiling, phone resting on his chest.

The smile he doesn’t deserve is still on his lips when his phone buzzes.

Your name lights up the screen.

His heart jumps, and then sinks.

The message isn’t really a message.

It’s a link and two words.

You: fuck you.

His stomach drops as he clicks the link.

The color drains from his face.

STRAY KIDS’ CHANGBIN CAUGHT CHEATING WITH EX-GIRLFRIEND

There’s a picture.

Him in the café.

You in the doorway, eyes full of fury and hurt.

Another picture.

Through the window.

Him sitting across from her, her hand in his, his smile unmistakable.

Seconds later, his phone explodes in his hand, a flurry of messages fills the screen as he feels like he's about to be sick.

Chan: WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO? Han: This is bad.

Other texts come flooding in, from their manager, their PR team, even his older sister.

His chest tightens, and it's like he can’t breathe.

He tries to text you.

Undelivered: Please. Let me explain.

The message doesn’t go through.

Blocked.

He calls.

Straight to voicemail.

He throws his phone onto the bed and drags his hands down his face.

“Oh my god,” he whispers.

He sits up, head in his hands.

The article stays on his screen, taunting him, the comments piling in. Judgment. Words like betrayal, disgusting, and poor girl flashing across the screen.

He scrolls back to the picture of you.

The look on your face.

He presses his fist into his teeth.

“I messed up,” he mutters.

He thinks about how he didn’t try harder. How he didn’t fight for you when he should have, how easy it was to fall back into something familiar instead of fixing what he already had.

His phone buzzes again.

He stares at the message you sent before you blocked him permanently.

You: You don’t get to be sorry after that.

He swallows hard.

This time, there’s no door to chase you through.

No hand to reach for.

Just silence.

And the consequences of choices he can’t take back.

Hyunjin:

He doesn’t sleep, he's not sure if he ever will be able to again.

He lies on his back, staring at the ceiling of his room, watching the shadows from passing cars slide across the walls like ghosts. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees your face from that night, the way your voice trembled when you told him that you deserve better than second place.

Why did he say yes when you asked if he also loved her?

Somehow, that had felt like the most honest and cruel thing he’d ever done.

His phone rests in his hand, screen dark.

He doesn’t know who he’s supposed to reach for.

The café is quiet when he walks in.

Mid-afternoon, soft music playing low, sunlight spilling through the windows. It feels wrong that the world can still look like this when his chest feels like it’s caving in.

She’s already there.

His ex.

Sitting at a small table near the back, hands wrapped around a cup as she looks out the window.

She looks up when he approaches.

She smiles, small and polite.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hey,” he replies.

He moves to sit.

There’s an awkward pause, nothing like the easy comfort he remembers from the last time they spoke. The space between them feels heavier than the guilt he feels from yesterday.

He clears his throat. “Thanks for meeting me.”

She nods. “Of course.”

He fidgets with the sleeve of his sweater, nerves buzzing under his skin. He hadn’t planned what to say. He just knew he needed to see her.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” he admits.

She doesn’t look surprised.

He rushes on, words tumbling over each other. “I mean, I’ve been thinking about us. About what we were. And I just—I don’t think I ever really got over it.”

She studies him for a moment.

Then she exhales slowly.

“Hyunjin,” she says gently, “I know.”

His heart stutters.

"You do?" his voice is soft but she continues before he can say anything else.

"Why else would you keep asking to just talk?" she adds and his face heated a little but he doesnt know what to say to that.

She lets out a sigh when she sees he's not going to say anything.

“I moved on,” she continues. “It took a long time, but I did. And I know you’re seeing someone now.”

He swallows. “It’s… complicated.”

She gives a sad smile. “Love usually is.”

He leans forward. “I still love you.”

The words feel like a confession and a wound all at once.

She looks at him with something like fondness. And something like closure.

“I care about you,” she says. “But not like that anymore.”

The café feels suddenly too quiet.

“I think you should focus on the person you’re with now,” she adds. “They deserve all of you, not half of you, still looking back at me.”

His chest tightens.

“I wish you the best, Hyunjin,” she says. “Truly.”

She stands before he can respond, slipping on her coat.

As she walks away, he realizes something terrifying.

He didn’t lose her today; he lost her a long time ago.

He walks back to the dorm in a daze; the city feels too loud. Too bright, too alive, when a part of him feels like it's just died.

His phone buzzes in his pocket.

Your name lights up the screen.

You: Are you free?

His heart leaps, then steadies.

This is it, he thinks. This is where he does it right. Where he gives you everything he should have from the beginning.

Hyunjin: Yes, Can we meet?

You’re waiting for him outside his dorm.

Sitting on the low wall near the entrance, swaying back and forth as you study your shoes. When you look up and see him, your expression is soft, but resolved.

He slows.

Something about the way you’re sitting makes his stomach twist.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hey,” you reply.

He moves to sit beside you, close enough to feel your warmth, far enough to overwhelm you.

“I met with my ex,” he says.

You nod. “I know.”

He blinks. “You… what?”

“I reached out to her,” you admit. “I asked if she’d meet you.”

His breath catches. “Why would you do that?”

You stare out at the street. “Because I didn’t want to be the one who ‘won’ just because she didn’t want you anymore.”

He shakes his head. “That’s not what this is.”

“Isn’t it?” you ask quietly.

He opens his mouth to say no, he loves you, he always has been he's finally ready to give you everything, like he should have done in the first place.

But you continue before he can say anything, voice steady even as your hands tremble in your lap. “You said you loved both of us. That you were with me, but you still wanted her. I couldn’t stop thinking about what that meant.”

He swallows. “But I'm here to tell you I choose you.”

Your eyes flicker to his.

“What if she had chosen you?” you ask.

He doesn’t answer.

And that was answer enough.

You exhale, slow and shaky. “I don’t want to be someone you settle for because your first choice walked away.”

He reaches for your hand.

You don’t pull away, but you don’t squeeze back either.

“She turned me down,” he says softly. “She told me to focus on you. That you deserve all of me.”

You smile sadly.

“She’s right,” he continues, cupping your hand in both of his, looking at you earnestly.

“Let me give you that,” he pleads. “All of me. I can. I want to.”

You look at him for a long moment.

“I'm sure you do,” you whisper sadly.

His chest tightens. “What does that mean?”

“It means you’re still learning how to let go,” you whisper. “And I can’t be the person you practice on while you’re still holding onto love for someone else in your heart.”

Tears sting your eyes, but you don’t let them fall.

“I don’t want to be loved in comparison,” you continue. “I want to be loved completely.”

He feels something crack inside him.

“I love you,” he says.

“I know,” you reply. “And I love you too.”

The words hang between you, heavy and heartbreaking.

“But sometimes,” you add, “love isn’t enough to make something work.”

He looks down at your hand in his.

“At least not like this.”

You gently pull your hand away.

“Hyunjin,” you say softly, “the best for both of us… isn’t each other.”

His throat tightens. “Then what is?”

You stand.

“Finding someone who only has one heart to give,” you say. “And gives it without hesitation.”

You step back, putting space between you.

“I hope you find that,” you tell him. “Truly.”

He stands too, but it feels like he’s too late.

“I hope you do too,” he whispers.

You hold each other’s gaze for a moment longer.

Then you turn.

And walk away.

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