what’s on the menu? me n u

it was late, the kind of late where the city had thinned out and the world felt hollowed by sleep. he slipped inside your home without knocking, muscle memory guiding him; shoes kicked off by the door, phone placed onto the side table, shoulders already sagging before he reached you. you were on the couch, knees tucked up, light low. you always were.

he exhaled when he saw you looking so comfortable. a sound he didn’t seem to notice himself making.

“what a long day,” he sighed, like it was an explanation instead of a complaint.

you hummed, soft, accommodating, shifting so there was space. he took it immediately, head dropping to your shoulder, weight familiar and unguarded. his hair smelled like shampoo, sweat, and the sterile chill of practice rooms. you lifted a hand without thinking, fingers threading through his unbrushed hair, slow and grounding. you knew how to do this. you were good at this.

he talked. about schedules, about pressure, about how his chest felt tight lately and he didn’t know why. you listened. you always listened. you offered quiet reassurances, murmured affirmations, reminders he’d heard before and still needed. you said them anyway.

he relaxed against you inch by inch, like your body was a permission slip for his mind to let go.

when he finished, there was a pause. not heavy. not uncomfortable. just… empty.

you waited.

he didn’t ask how you were.

not because he didn’t care. you knew that. it was because you looked fine. you always did. you were composed, capable, and self-sufficient in a way that had taught him you didn’t need checking in on. you’d never demanded softness. you’d never made it urgent.

so he pressed a kiss to your temple instead, absent and grateful.

“thanks,” he murmured. “i don’t know what i’d do without you.”

it should’ve felt like devotion. it landed like responsibility. obligation.

you smiled anyway. you made it easy. you always had.

when he eventually pulled away, his body lighter now, calmer. you watched him go—he said something about needing to be up early tomorrow—with the strange, quiet awareness that he left fuller than he’d arrived. and you remained exactly the same, still holding the space. and still unheld.

later, alone, you sat in the quiet he left behind and wondered when love started to feel like a listen-and-comfort service you grew to be very good at providing.

and why being good at it had never earned you that same gentleness in return.

what you felt to be emotional neglect from chan begun happening gradually, the way habits usually do. quietly enough that you could never point to a single point in time and be able to say this is where it started.

you weren’t needy in ways that felt harmless at first.

you’d wave off missed meals with a shrug because chan was busy with a comeback and you could eat later. plans that shifted last minute, schedules rewritten in the margins, and you adapted without complaint. when he texted late—‘sorry, practice ran long’—you replied with ‘it’s okay’ before he could finish apologising.

until he stopped apologising at all.

because you were always okay.

you’d always tell him to ‘stop apologising, work happens. i get it.’

you didn’t think he’d take you seriously, but you also didn’t say anything about it.

because that’s who you were. easygoing.

you learned the rhythm of waiting rooms and practice halls, learned where to stand so you were not in the way. not inconvenient. you brought a book you never really read, headphones you wore without music playing, just to look occupied.

once, you sat on the floor against the wall while they ran the same eight-count again and again. your back sore and your legs tingled with pins and needles, but you stayed put. chan caught your eye in the reflection once, gave you a quick, grateful smile before turning back to the music. it was enough. it always was.

stylists brushed past you, rushing, hands full. one of them clipped your shoulder and startled, quick with an apology. you told her it was fine, really, and meant it. she moved on without another thought. you adjusted your position slightly so it would not happen again.

you never asked where you should sit. you never asked if you should leave.

chan noticed these things in the way people notice conveniences. vaguely. fondly. you made his life easier in ways he didn’t have to think about. you didn’t add weight to days already heavy. you didn’t ask him to choose between you and his job. you didn’t nag him with reminders, or explanations. you didn’t beg for compliments or reassurance.

you fit.

once, while walking back from a late schedule, he laughed softly and said you were easy to be with. low maintenance. the words were warm, affectionate, and paired with a squeeze of your hand like it was a compliment you should be proud of.

you laughed too, because it was easier than asking what easy was supposed to look like. because you didn’t want to complicate something that sounded like praise.

when plans fell through, you told him not to worry. when dates turned into quick check-ins, you told yourself it still counted. when calls went unanswered because he fell asleep exhausted, you filled the silence on your own, scrolling until your eyes hurt, convincing yourself it was fine. he got such little sleep as it is, you guilted yourself with the idea of interrupting it.

when he came to you drained and restless, you were steady. when he needed to vent, you listened. when he doubted himself, you anchored him. you learned exactly how much to give without overwhelming him. you learned how to make space for his bad days.

what you did not learn—what no one ever taught you—was how to ask for the same without feeling like you were making a problem out of nothing.

so when he forgot to ask how your day had been, you decided it musn’t have been important enough to mention. when he leaned into you for comfort but never lingered long enough to notice you needed some too, you told yourself you were just tired. when you felt the absence of tenderness—unprompted, unearned tenderness—you swallowed it down and called it maturity.

you were proud of how little you needed.

you were proud of your self-sufficiency.

or maybe you told yourself you were.

because needing less felt safer than wanting more.

it felt easier than explaining why being strong all the time was starting to feel like a quiet kind of loneliness.

it felt easier than risking being seen as another responsibility on his already overfull plate.

you became good at anticipating disappointment and stepping around it before it could bruise you.

and slowly, without anyone ever asking you to, you made yourself convenient. adaptable. endlessly understanding.

not because you were afraid to ask—but because every time you considered it, it felt unnecessary. non-urgent. something that could wait.

and over time, without meaning to, you taught everyone around you exactly how much of you they could take—and how little they needed to give back.

as you often found yourself watching practices, you often were invited to eat with the guys afterwards as well.

this specific time was loud in the way it usually was—overlapping conversations, clinking glasses, food ordered in excess because someone was always hungrier than they thought. you sat tucked between two members, shoulder brushing one, knees angled toward the table, posture easy and familiar.

chan was across from you, distracted but present, laughing at something you missed, eyes crinkling when he smiled. he looked lighter tonight. you told yourself that was enough to keep you content.

someone mentioned schedules. someone else complained about how hard it was to balance everything—work, fan expectations, relationships. it was said casually, half-joking, like most truths were.

“that’s why i could never date someone high maintenance,” seungmin said, waving a chopstick vaguely in the air. “i’d lose my mind.”

you barely looked up. it was background noise. people talked like that all the time.

changbin chimed in, amused. “yeah, but that’s why chan’s got it good.”

you froze, just a fraction.

“what?” chan asked, distracted, reaching for a drink.

the table laughed. he continued, “you’ve got it easy. she’s chill. never complains. just goes with the flow.”

low maintenance, unspoken but implied.

you smiled automatically, small and polite, the way you always did when attention brushed too close. someone nodded in agreement. someone else said something about how lucky he was. it all moved on quickly, the conversation veering elsewhere like nothing important had been said.

chan didn’t say anything.

not because he agreed. not because he didn’t care.

because there was nothing to correct.

it wasn’t untrue. you were easy. you did go with the flow. you had built yourself carefully into something that fit around his life without friction.

so you laughed lightly, like it was funny. like it didn’t matter.

but something in your chest shifted, subtle and unpleasant. not hurt. just awareness.

the realisation that this was how you were perceived. not as someone patient, kind, or generous—but as someone who asked for nothing.

and that chan had let that version of you exist without ever asking if it was fair.

you paid no attention to conversations after that.

later, when the table cleared and conversations split off into smaller pockets, he leaned close and pressed a kiss to your cheek, warm and absentminded.

“you okay?” he asked, because you’d gone quiet.

you nodded. “yeah. i’m fine.”

and you were—in the way you always were. composed. accommodating. low maintenance.

but as you watched him turn back to the group, already absorbed in their laughter again, you felt the beginning of something you didn’t yet have a name for.

a thin, sharp understanding that being easy to love had slowly taught everyone—including chan, especially chan—not to love you tenderly at all.

a few days later, you were in chan’s building on one of your days off. you were supposed to meet him by the elevators. he’d texted be out in two minutes, which usually meant five to ten, which you didn’t mind. you never did. you leaned against the wall near the practice rooms, phone loose in your hand, listening to the muted thud of bass bleeding through doors down the corridor.

voices carried easily here. the walls were thin. everyone talked too loud.

you recognised one of them immediately. chan’s voice had a particular warmth to it when he was relaxed, easy laughter softening his words. he sounded light and unburdened in the way he usually was after unloading everything onto you.

his laugh made you smile without thinking.

you hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. you really hadn’t. you were half-scrolling, half-waiting, mind elsewhere—until your presence became the subject without anyone knowing you were there.

“man, you’ve got it good,” a voice said, casual, amused. footsteps slowed nearby, just out of sight. “seriously.”

chan laughed. “what do you mean?”

there was a pause. the sound of someone leaning against the wall, comfortable.

“your girlfriend,” they said. “she’s so low maintenance. i don’t think i’ve ever heard her complain. ever.”

the word landed gently. almost kindly.

you didn’t move.

“yeah,” the voice continued, chuckling. “it’s rare. most people would lose it with your schedule. most girls nag and carry on and be annoying all the time—but she’s chill. just… lets you do your thing. must be nice to be free like that.”

there was a beat. just long enough for correction. for nuance. for something.

chan huffed out a quiet laugh.

“yeah,” he said. fond. tired. easy. “she’s good like that.”

good.

like it was a trait. a function. a setting.

you felt the word settle somewhere low in your chest, heavy and oddly calm. not sharp. not yet. just final.

a different voice added, “honestly, that’s the dream. someone who understands and doesn’t need much. someone who comes with an ‘off’ button.”

chan didn’t answer right away this time. you wondered—distantly—if he was thinking of you. the way you never asked him to choose. the way you said it’s okay like a reflex.

when he spoke again, his voice was lighter, joking.

“yeah,” he said. “i’d be screwed otherwise.”

they laughed. the sound bounced down the hallway, warm and unbothered.

you realised then that no one had said anything cruel about you.

no one had insulted you personally. no one had meant harm. it was just guy talk.

that was the worst part.

because there was nothing to defend. nothing to push back against. no misinterpretation to correct.

you were low maintenance. you were good like that. you had built yourself into something easy to please.

so chan had agreed—not because he didn’t care, but because agreeing cost him nothing. he wasn’t lying.

you stepped back quietly, shoes barely making a sound against the floor. your body moved before your thoughts caught up, instinct guiding you away from the corner, away from the voices, away from the version of you being discussed like a convenience.

once the elevator had begun to lower to the ground floor, your phone buzzed in your hand.

are you here? just finished up.

you stared at the screen for a moment, the words blurring slightly before settling back into focus.

stepped outside. felt like some air.

the reply came almost instantly.

okay. be right there.

you didn’t wait.

you walked out the elevator, past the glass doors, past the security desk where someone nodded at you without really seeing you. outside, the night air hit your face sharp and clean, like a reset. you breathed in deeply, once, twice.

your chest didn’t hurt the way you thought it might.

it felt… quiet. too quiet.

you stood there for a moment, phone tucked away, listening to the hum of the city and the distant echo of laughter still ringing in your ears. you wondered when being easy had stopped feeling like love and started feeling like permission to be overlooked.

you pictured chan inside the building, probably checking the hallway, scanning for you with that familiar crease between his brows. he would apologize for taking too long. maybe lean into you later and tell you about the conversation you’d already heard.

he hadn’t done anything wrong tonight. you tried to convince yourself. it wasn’t working.

he’d just been honest, and that was the issue. you were finally done misunderstanding what that honesty meant.

he found you where he expected to.

outside, near the building, arms folded loosely like you were just waiting. you looked normal. composed. the same way you always did. relief softened his face the second he saw you.

“hey,” he said, breathless, like he’d been worried. “sorry, that ran longer than i thought.”

you nodded. “it’s okay.”

the words came out automatically. they always did.

he smiled, warm and grateful, and stepped into your space without hesitation. an arm slid around your shoulders, familiar, easy. he leaned his weight into you like he always did, forehead brushing your temple.

“you good?” he asked, low, distracted. “you disappeared.”

“yeah,” you said. “just needed air.”

“mm.” he pressed a kiss into your hair, absent and affectionate. “thanks for waiting.”

it should have been fine. it had been fine a hundred times before.

but something about the way he said it—like waiting was just another thing you were good at—made your throat tighten.

he pulled back slightly, still smiling. “you hungry? we could grab something. my treat.”

you didn’t answer right away.

chan noticed then, the half-second delay. the way your body had gone still under his arm instead of settling in. his smile faltered, confusion flickering across his face.

“what’s wrong?” he asked. softer now.

you hesitated. this was unfamiliar. uncharted territory.

his brow creased. “did something happen?”

you swallowed. “i heard you.”

he blinked. “heard me?”

“in the hallway,” you said. “before the elevators.”

recognition crossed his face, followed by a quick wince. “oh. that.”

he pulled his arm back, rubbing the back of his neck. “okay, but— you know they didn’t mean anything by it, right?”

you nodded. “i know.”

“and i didn’t either,” he added quickly. “it wasn’t a bad comment.”

“i know,” you said again.

that made him pause. “then why do you look disappointed?”

you exhaled slowly. “because it’s true.”

he let out a short laugh, relieved. “yeah. that’s what i’m saying. you are easygoing. that’s not a bad thing.”

“no,” you said quietly. “it’s not.”

he relaxed a little, misreading the calm in your voice. “okay. so what’s the problem?”

you looked at him then, really looked at him.

“the problem,” you begun, trying to hide the waver of finally standing up for yourself, “is that you’ve gotten comfortable with it.”

his smile faded. “comfortable with what?”

“with taking,” you replied. “with coming to me every time you’re exhausted. every time you need reassurance. every time you need someone to listen and hold everything together for you.”

his jaw tightened slightly. “i thought that was… us. i thought that was trust.”

“it is,” you said. “for you.”

he stiffened. “what does that mean?”

it was all there now, pressing against your ribs, too heavy to keep contained.

“it means you take and take and take,” you said, voice steady but strained, “and you don’t even notice that you’re not giving anything back to me.”

his eyes flashed. “that’s not fair.”

“isn’t it?” you asked. “when was the last time you asked what i needed without me prompting it?”

he opened his mouth, then closed it.

“when was the last time you reassured me,” you continued, “without me already holding myself together?”

“i didn’t know you needed—”

“that’s the point,” you cut in, sharper now. “you don’t know. because you don’t look. because i’ve been so good at being fine that you stopped checking.”

his frustration flared. “you never said anything was wrong.”

“because every time something came up you’d only talk about your problems, and never ask about me,” you shot back, “i never got the opportunity to vent, and you took that as proof that nothing was wrong.”

he ran a hand through his hair, agitation rising. “so what, now i’m neglectful? now i’m some kind of asshole because i trusted you to speak up when you need something?”

“you trusted me to carry it,” you said. “that’s different.”

his voice tightened. “you’re acting like i did this on purpose.”

“i know you didn’t,” you said. “and that’s what makes it worse.”

he stared at you. “how is that worse?”

“because it means you got used to it,” you said. “used to me being the easy one. the understanding one. the one who doesn’t need much. and instead of loving me more carefully because of that, you loved me less.”

anger sparked, defensive and hot. “that’s not true.”

“you agreed with them,” you said. “you laughed. you called me good. like this is a feature you benefit from.”

“because it is good,” he snapped. “do you know how hard everything already is? do you know how much pressure i’m under?”

and there it was.

you nodded slowly. “yeah. i do. because i’m the one you come to when it gets too much. i’m the one who hears about nothing from you other than how hard everything already is.”

he inhaled sharply. “so what do you want from me right now?”

you felt your chest tighten. “i want you to realise that loving me isn’t supposed to be effortless for you all the time.”

he scoffed, hurt turning into anger. “so now i’m doing everything wrong because i didn’t make you a problem?”

“no,” you said. “you’re doing me wrong because you turned me into something convenient.”

his voice rose despite himself. “you can’t expect me to read your mind.”

“i’m not asking you to,” you said, tears finally burning behind your eyes. “i’m asking you to care enough to notice.”

silence fell, thick and ugly.

he looked away first. “i think you’re blowing this out of proportion.”

the words hit harder than anything else he’d said.

you nodded, once. slow. resigned.

“that’s the thing,” you said softly. “you think this is small because it doesn’t cost you anything.”

he didn’t answer.

“and i’m realising,” you continued, “that i’ve been making myself smaller so loving me never would burden you.”

his anger flickered, uncertain now. “so what, you’re just leaving?”

you stepped back. “i’m stepping away.”

“that’s the same thing.”

“no,” you said. “leaving would mean i wanted you to chase me. stepping away just means i’m done carrying this alone.”

chan watched you, stunned, as you turned away.

inside, something in him was still arguing—still insisting he hadn’t meant to hurt you, still angry at being made into some villain.

and that was why he didn’t stop you.

because he was too busy defending himself in his head to see that this was the moment you finally stopped being low maintenance—and started being nothing.

good morning everyone

pt two soon 😇