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It starts smallâso small you almost miss it. A shift. A change in the way he says your name. A softening that isnât soft at all.
Martin used to say your name like it was something warm. Now he says it like heâs tired.
You tell yourself youâre imagining it⌠until it becomes impossible to ignore.
Itâs a Thursday evening. Heâs sweating through his shirt in the practice room, hair stuck to his forehead. You show up with banana milk, because he mentioned craving it days ago.
You place it beside him, smiling.
He glances. âThanks.â
Thatâs it.
No teasing. No grin. Nothing.
It feels like someone took the air out of your lungs.
You tell yourself heâs tired.
You tell yourself itâs just a day.
You tell yourself too many things.
But days become a pattern.
He replies slower.
He texts shorter.
He doesnât wait for you after practice anymore.
He doesnât ask you about your day.
He doesnât look at you long enough to notice anything.
Youâre no longer his first thought.
Youâre barely his fourth.
And you can feel it.
You feel everything.
He stops choosing you. Softly at first. Then blatantly.
One night, itâs just the two of you on the dorm couch. The boys are out. A few months ago, this wouldâve meant him tugging you into his lap or teasing you until you lost it, leaning into him, his arm around your waist, the kind of silence that feels like home.
Today?
Different couch corners.
Different energy.
Different boy.
âAre you okay?â you ask.
He doesnât look up. âIâm fine.â
You bite your lip. âYou sure? Youâve been kinda off.â
This time he finally looks at youâexpression unreadable, eyes distant.
âI donât know what you want me to say,â he murmurs. âIâm just trying to manage everything.â
You nod even though it stings.
âEverythingâ doesnât include you anymore.
He starts becoming careful around you.
Too careful.
Polite in a way that feels like a slap.
The kind of polite that feels like a goodbye disguised as manners. He stops brushing your knee with his. Stops tucking your hair behind your ear. Stops being Martinâthe one who loved loudly and stupidly and with all his focus.
This one is neutral.
This one is quiet.
This one holds doors for you but doesnât hold you.
The gentleness hurts more than distance.
One afternoon, you catch him packing his bag.
âCan we talk?â you ask.
He hesitates. âI have practice.â
âItâll take a minute.â
He doesnât pull away when you touch his sleeve, but he doesnât hold you back either.
âWhatâs wrong?â you whisper.
His jaw tightens. âNothing.â
âDid I do something?â
âNo.â Too quick.
Then softer: âIâm trying to manage everything.â
The way he says it feels like heâs explaining why youâve become extra weight.
You step back. âOkay.â
He almost reaches for you.
Almost.
But almost doesnât fix anything.
The resentment creeps in quietlyâon both sides.
When you ask if heâs eaten, he sighs.
When you hug him, he stiffens.
When you try to make him laugh, he forces a smile.
Every little thing feels like proof that heâs slipping away.
One day, you show up after practice because you miss him. Because youâre desperate. Because you still think maybe heâll choose you if you try hard enough.
He walks out of the building, sees you, stops.
Not happy.
Not relieved.
Just surprised.
âYou didnât tell me you were coming,â he says.
âThought Iâd surprise you.â
He exhales slowly. âIâm not⌠really in the mood for surprises.â
The words hit you straight in the chest.
âWe can just walk together,â you say weakly. âI donât need anything.â
Another sigh.
âY/N,â he mutters, rubbing his temples, âI said I canât do this right now.â
You blink. âDo me, you mean?â
He flinches.
And then he says nothing.
Which tells you everything.
You go home that night and cry into your pillow, biting the fabric so no one hears.
You feel stupid.
You feel small.
You feel like something important is slipping through your fingers.
And heâs letting it.
Two weeks pass.
He becomes perfectly polite again.
Too polite.
Too calm.
Too distant.
He texts âgoodnightâ again, but itâs one word.
He asks âdid you eat?â but it sounds like courtesy.
He smiles at you, but itâs empty.
He treats you like someone he used to care about.
And you donât know whatâs worseâ
his silence before, or his softness now.
One day in the dance room, the boys are loud and joking. Martin laughs with them, shoulders relaxing, eyes bright.
Youâre sitting a few feet away.
Invisible.
Forgettable.
He doesnât look at you once.
And thatâs when it hits you.
He hasnât stopped caring all at onceâ
heâs been fading out slowly.
Quietly.
Like a song you didnât realize was ending until the room went silent.
You leave the room without telling anyone.
Minutes later, your phone buzzes.
Martin: "Did you leave?"
You stare at it, heart sinking.
You: "Yeah."
A pause.
Too long.
Too obvious.
Martin: "Oh. Okay."
And thatâs when the truth settles:
He didnât break your heart violently.
He did it softly.
Carefully.
Almost kindly.
The worst way possible.
You crawl into bed that night, phone against your chest.
He loved you once.
You know he did.
But now he loves you with past tense softnessâ
the kind that ruins you slowly.
please do not scroll, this is a very important message that ALL ENGENES must do if we want heeseung back.
as most of you might know, heeseung has "decided" to leave the group to focus on his solo career. BUT, this is not true.
heeseung DID NOT decide to leave the group, he was forced to. he was apparently seen crying and "crashing out" in a hybe hallway which CLEARLY shows it was not his decision. to add on, just a few days ago he was speaking about the world tour coming up, and participating in activities and events LIKE NORMAL. it was be so weird just for him to leave like that.
ENGENE, we are a team. we can bring heeseung back. for example, MARK FROM NCT. he left the group exactly like this but came back due to the FANS PROTESTS. WE CAN DO THIS FOR HEESEUNG ASWELL! PLEASE DO THIS SO OUR HEE CAN COME BACK.
THIS IS NOT FAIR! OTHER ARTISTS LIKE: YEJI FROM ITZY, TWICE MEMBERS, TXT MEMBERS, BTS MEMBERS AND MANY MORE ARTISTS ARE ALLOWED TO PURSUE THEIR SOLO CAREER WHILE BEING IN A GROUP. BUT NOT HEESEUNG??
we all call for heeseung's return while ALLOWING HIM THE FREEDOM TO PURSUE HIS SOLO CAREER.
SYNOPSIS: a couple months ago, you believed that perhaps death was a kinder fate than ever admitting to being in love with someone again, which is why youâre nothing short of terrified when you realize the feelings you harbor for your friend, han taesan, are everything but simply friendly.
WORD COUNT: 2.2k
GENRE/CONTENTS: friends to ??? (iâll do this later)
AUTHORâS NOTE: hello!! the third and final part of this story is finally here!!!! yes, this took me forever to write and yes, it is a lot shorter than i originally imagined it to be honestly but it's done and I'm happy with it and i hope you'll be happy with it as well <3 this isn't proofread because itâs currently 2am and i got super excited to post this the second i finished it so please bear with me, i'll edit it soon đ anyways, happy reading!! ily guys đ˝
RECOMMENDED SONGS: Storms by Fleetwood Mac and Oldest Trick in the Book by Matt Maltese
PART 1 â PART 2 â PART 3
BACK TO MASTERLIST.
If there was anything you knew, it was these three things.
Number one: Myung Jaehyun doesnât love you. Despite going against everything you believed in, despite the aching in your heart, the unbearable, gut-wrenching pain that formed in your stomach at the mere thought of it, it was true. He had never thought of you as anything besides his friend. He had pictured his life with you that way you had. You and Jaehyun were never anything; you would never be anything.
Sure, you believed he had cared about you at some point in his life, when life was much simpler, when all you really needed was each other. And sure, the words âI love youâ left his lips far more often than ideal. But to expect anything from him now, when you hadnât spoken in years, after leaving you behind for the life you imagined heâd always dreamt of? It would be stupid of you to ever think that was possible, or even true.
Number two: Han Taesan is in love with you. Stupidly and undeniably so. If you thought long and hard about it, he had never been more obvious about anything in his life before. He had never really tried to hide it from you either, which only made you feel even more terrible about it all than you already did. He had never wanted anything as badly, as desperately as he wanted you and the fact that there was nothing you could do to stop him was killing you.ââ
Number three: there was nothing more terrifying than acknowledging the feelings you had grown for Taesan.
The idea of ever feeling anything romantic for him had never really crossed your mind until the last couple of months, until he drove you home from the bar you swore never to return to, until he confronted you about your lingering feelings for Jaehyun and told you he loved you. You figured it was simply because you knew he loved you and you felt this need to reciprocate it, afraid that heâd resent you for it. Or maybe it was just the aching loneliness in your heart that had grown desperate, reaching out to anything and everything it could grab a hold of. You would never develop feelings for Han Taesan out of your own free will, no. It just wasnât possible in your mind. It couldn't be.
I couldnât if I tried.
He could, really â hate you, that is. You knew he could. You knew that the moment you fell victim to your feelings, the moment you finally accepted the fact that what you felt for Taesan was much more than friendly, heâd discover something about you and despise you for it. Heâd realize how boring and terrible you really were and decide that you werenât worth all the time and energy heâd spent on you. And heâd leave you the way Jaehyun did except this time, a part of you told you itâd be far worse than anything youâd ever felt.
So no, for your own sake, you were not in love with Han Taesan, though it did bother you how beautiful he seemed to appear when he was sleeping.
Perhaps it was just your eyes playing tricks on you, your exhaustion finally catching up to you and causing you to hallucinate things. Or perhaps he simply was just that beautiful, sleeping on your couch with his arms crossed over his chest, his quiet breathing drowning out the sound of the movie playing in your living room. You sat on the floor next to his legs, your knees pulled close to your chest as you stared up at him, a million thoughts running through your mind, every single one about him.
He was supposed to go home a couple of hours ago, after dropping off the laptop charger youâd left at his place a couple of days ago. He had told you he wouldnât linger, that he had a couple of errands to run for his roommate, but you were so insistent he stay and help you finish your Hunger Games rewatch marathon for the millionth time. And knowing Taesan, you knew you wouldnât have to do much begging to get him to stay. The only question was: why did you want him to stay?
âAre you replacing him with me?â Taesan had asked you earlier that night, his eyes glued to the TV screen. The room became quiet despite the sound of the movie playing and you swore you felt your heart stop beating for a second.
âNo,â you said, your voice quiet and small. Han Taesan could never quite replace the person that Myung Jaehyun was to you, but that was probably because he had already created his own separate place in your heart. âNo oneâs replacing anyone.â
You heard him exhale and felt him shift in place, his shoulders relaxing. âGood,â he said. âI donât want to be that person, Y/N.â
You closed your eyes, letting your head lean against Taesanâs legs, wondering why it was so hard for you to accept something that was so true. Youâd never been happier than you were when you were with him, never been more at peace than you were now. And itâs not like your past feelings for Jaehyun were really much of an excuse because if you really thought about it, those feelings had faded a long time ago. Of course, they would always be there (because a part of you would always love Myung Jaehyun), but what you felt for Taesan was just so strong, like gravity pulling you back to earth, like the moon pulling on the ocean tides. You felt it so deeply in your bones, yet you felt the need to ignore it, avoid it like your life depended on it. What exactly was it about Taesan that you were so afraid of?
You feel him shift on the couch, grunting quietly as you move your head and look back at him. Taesan rubs his eyes before opening them, running both his hands through his hair, exhaling as his eyes focus, wandering before they land on you. âWhat are you doing down there?â he asked you, a smile stretching across his face as he chuckled and sat up.
âWould you believe me if I told you I didnât know?â you responded, watching him stretch his arms upward.
âMm,â he hummed, inhaling deeply. âSure. Iâll believe anything you tell me.â
Youâd be a liar if youâd said you never imagined him like this, his hair slightly tousled, his eyes droopy as he looked at you like you were the only thing heâd ever wanted. But itâs not like you had to do much dreaming â he always looked at you like that. Way to make this any easier.
âI could be lying to you, you know,â you mumbled, still looking at him. He was looking at your ceiling now, his head thrown back as he sunk into your couch, part of him wishing that this was his everyday life, that one day itâd be his couch as well.
âYeah,â he replied. âYou could be but knowing you, you probably arenât.â
Because youâre not a liar. Itâs not who you are. You could keep your feelings to yourself, hidden in the crevices of your heart for as long as you wanted, but you could never lie about them. Taesan knew this and because he knew this, you knew heâd never give up on you.
âIf I told you I didnât love him anymore, would you believe me?â you asked, a part of you hoping and praying that he hadnât heard you. But he had heard you, almost as if youâd yelled it for the whole world to hear. Taesan bit the inside of his cheek and turned his head to the side just enough to meet your eyes â your eyes that hadnât moved from him since the moment he woke up.
âI would,â he said, nodding slightly. âBecause if you finally have the courage to say it out loud, then itâs true.â Taesan paused, his eyes widening in slight curiosity and his brows furrowing questioningly, âDo you still love him?â
You do. Because Myung Jaehyun is the boy you grew up with, the boy you grew up loving. Because for a time, Myung Jaehyun was all you knew. Because if you were ever given the chance to go back, you would. Even if it meant reliving those painful memories of him. Even if it meant nothing would change in the end. Even if it led you to this very moment once again. But thatâs when it hits you, the realization of it all.
All roads you take will inevitably lead you back to Han Taesan.
Perhaps it was because you knew he loved you, because he had always loved you no matter the situation you were trapped in. Perhaps it was because you knew heâd wait forever if he had to, because he always prayed for whatever was best for you. Taesan had always put you before anyone else in his life, including Jaehyun. You remember when he chased after you the day of Jaehyunâs wedding, the day you ran away and hoped the earth would hear your pleas and make you disappear. You remember how heâd silently listen to your complaints about the boy you called your âbest friendâ, keeping his own feelings for you hidden while you expressed the ones you felt for someone else. And though you hated to admit it, he was right â Han Taesan had always been more of a friend than Myung Jaehyun ever was. And you love him. You realize that now as heâs asking you if you still love someone else, waiting for you to break his heart one more time just so he can put it back together again like he always does.
But you wonât break his heart this time â not when heâs been waiting so long for you to say it, to mean it. Not when he loves you more than anything in the world.
Not when youâre all heâs ever known.
âI donât,â you said, watching the way his expression softens, the muscles in his face relaxing. His eyes look away from yours as he sits up and stares at the first thing his eyes land on. A part of you believes he thinks youâre lying, that he doesnât believe anything you say because he canât.
But Taesan does believe you. He believes you when you say you donât love Jaehyun anymore because you wouldnât say it unless it were true, because the younger you wouldâve choked trying to force those words out of your throat. He believes you because he saw it in the way you looked at him just now â you had always been easy to read, in his eyes at least.
âDo you believe me?â you asked him. The silence was deafening, his refusal to speak killing you. âOr were you just bluffing?â
âI believe you, Y/N,â Taesan responds almost immediately, though heâs still not looking at you. But you feel him moving, practically sliding off your couch to meet you on the floor of your living room. And when he is finally sitting at the foot of the couch the way you are, he turns his head to look at you, his eyes warmer than ever. âIâll believe anything.â
Not out of desperation, not out of pity, but because it was the truth.
So when you finally found it in yourself to kiss Han Taesan, you couldnât help but ask yourself why you were so afraid of this. When he kisses you back, his hands coming up to your face and cupping your cheeks, you ask yourself why you hadnât kissed him sooner. You feel your lungs collapsing as he sucks the air out of you, and yet youâve never felt more alive than you did in this moment. Your hands find themselves in his hair, and it feels like youâve seeped beneath his skin, your touch grazing his veins, your DNA mixing with his own. And when you pull away first and he chases your bruised lips with his own, his eyes fluttering open almost drunkenly, you think you want him forever.
You think you might love him forever if heâd let you.
âWill you stay?â you asked quietly, almost begging him. âPlease?â
Taesan stared at you, his face only inches away from yours. He never thought heâd hear you ask him to stay before. Heâd dreamt of it â of you, of being with you, of staying with you. Heâd waited for this moment for so long, rehearsed his response in his head more times than he could count, and now that it had finally arrived, all he could do was smile at you and hope you didnât hear how loud his heart was pounding just for you.
It was always you.
âIâm not going anywhere.â
NOTE: just wanted to give another big thank you to everyone who waited patiently for the final part of this fic! the original story has always been very dear to me and when i first wrote it 4 years ago, i never imagined i would be writing a part 2 or 3 to it, so this is pretty huge for me. and iâm so grateful to everyone whoâs read it, whether you left feedback and reblogged or were a silent reader. thank you so much for all the love this fic received. i hope you all get your own happy ending đŤśđź xoxo.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Seonghyeon was different from the start.
Quiet.
Shy.
The kind of boy who felt everything too deeply but said almost none of it out loud.
But with you?
It was different.
You were the only person he spoke to without stuttering, without shrinking, without second-guessing every word.
He trusted you before he even understood why.
He let you into the parts of himself that he hid from everyone else.
And the little things gave him away long before the confession did â
The blush when your fingers brushed.
The way he waited after class even though heâd get scolded for being late.
The soft smiles he tried to hide, like loving you was a secret he couldnât stop leaking.
And when he finally whispered,
âI⌠like you. A lot,â
your stomach flipped so hard you almost forgot how to breathe.
You said yes.
And for a while, everything made sense.
Loving him felt easy.
Warm.
Safe.
Like a hoodie that always fits, even on your worst days.
He wasnât dramatic about love; he loved softly.
Adjusting your hair without noticing.
Holding your wrist gently while crossing the road.
Telling you âIâm proud of you,â even when you werenât proud of yourself.
Making playlists because he didnât always know how to say things out loud.
He loved you so sincerely that you never doubted it.
Until everything changed.
When he became an idol, your heart turned into a storm
You didnât fall out of love overnight.
It wasnât boredom or losing interest.
It was fear.
Insecurity.
Panic you tried so hard to swallow that it started eating you from the inside.
When Seonghyeon debuted, the whole world began looking at him â
screaming for him, praising him, adoring him.
And you?
You stayed⌠you.
Just a normal girl.
Normal life.
Normal insecurities.
But the gap between you and his world grew huge in your head.
Every time you saw him on stage, shining like he was made for that world, you felt something twist painfully inside you.
âPeople like him date idols.â
âPeople like him date someone perfect.â
âWhy would he choose me when the whole world wants him?â
âI donât belong in his world anymore.â
And then the real fear hit â
the one that kept you awake at night:
âIf people find outâŚ
he could lose his career.
His fans could turn on him.
He could get hate because of me.â
You couldnât handle the thought of being the reason his dreams shattered.
So your brain came up with one terrible, stupid plan:
Make him stop loving you before it destroys him.
Make him hate you.
Push him away until he lets go first.
You werenât falling out of love.
You were drowning in fear.
He came to you after practice â tired, sweaty, smiling softly like he always did when he saw you.
And instead of melting, your chest tightened with guilt.
You looked at him and thought,
âHe shouldnât be with me. He should be with someone like him.â
âIf I stay⌠Iâll ruin everything.â
So you picked the hardest words.
The cruelest version of yourself.
âI think we should end this.â
He froze.
Blinking like he didnât understand the language coming out of your mouth.
ââŚwhy?â
His voice was already cracking.
You couldnât tell him the truth â that you loved him too much to risk being the reason he fell.
So you lied.
âItâs not working,â you said with a coldness you didnât feel.
He shook his head immediately, stepping closer, desperately.
âNo. If somethingâs wrong, tell me. Iâll fix it. Please, just tell me. Iâll be better.â
âSeonghyeonâ you breathed, throat tight, âitâs not you. I just⌠I donât feel the way I used to.â
He froze.
Like someone paused him in the middle of breathing.
You hated this.
You hated how scared he looked.
He blinked fast, eyes filling immediately â he always felt emotions too deeply to hide them.
âDonât⌠donât say that,â he muttered, voice cracking in the middle.
You stepped forward, but he took a tiny step back â not because he didnât want you, but because he didnât know what to do with the pain.
âI still⌠I still love you,â he whispered, voice cracking. âI love you so much it hurts. How do I make you stay?â
Your heart broke â
âI donât want to hurt you,â you said softly.
âBut you are,â he whispered.
âJust by saying that.â
He looked at you like you were the whole universe collapsing in front of him.
âCanât you⌠try?â
âCan you give us time?â
âCan you stay until you feel it again?â
Every word was a plea.
Every plea was a knife.
âIâm sorry,â you whispered, because what else could you say?
He blinked slowly, tears falling without permission.
âThen why did you stop loving me?â
That question shattered him the moment he asked it.
When you didnât answer â because there was no answer â he let out a tiny, broken sound youâd never forget.
He took a tiny step back, inhaling sharply like the air hurt.
âYouâre lying,â he whispered. âYouâreâ youâre lying. I know you. I know you.â
You stayed silent.
And your silence destroyed him more than the words did.
âTell me the truth,â he begged.
âDo you want to leave me?â
You nodded even though every part of you screamed no.
He blinked, eyes flooding immediately.
âYou promisedâŚâ
His voice cracked.
âYou promised you wouldnât leave.â
You whispered the final blow because you thought it would set him free:
âI donât love you anymore.â
He flinched like you slapped him.
âOkay,â he whispered.
Soft.
Broken.
Final.
And then he walked away.
He didnât look back.
You did.
You looked back every two seconds, but he never turned around.
The moment he left, you fell apart â because you knew you didnât break up with him out of emptiness.
You broke up with him out of fear.
And love.
And insecurity.
The worst combination.
After You Left Him,
He didnât block you.
Didnât get angry.
Didnât throw your things.
He just⌠broke quietly.
Heâd stare at his phone, reread old messages, and then lock it quickly when someone walked by.
He kept your photos in his gallery but hid the album.
He tried smiling around you, but his eyes always gave him away â red, tired, aching.
Every time you crossed paths, his breath hitched, like his heart still recognized you even if he wasnât allowed to anymore.
He didnât move on.
Not really.
Because you were the first person he gave his whole heart to.
And now he has to learn how to live with a heart that still beats for someone who doesnât love him back.
Like his heart still recognized you even though he wasnât allowed to.
He didnât move on.
How could he?
You were the first person he ever loved.
The first person he trusted.
The first person he chose.
And now he had to live with a heart that still beat for someone who pretended not to want it.
He didnât lose you because he wasnât enough.
He lost you because you were scared of ruining his future.
Scared of being the reason he failed.
Scared you werenât worthy of standing beside an idol.
Scared heâd wake up one day and realize he deserved someone better.
So you left before he ever could.
And that â
that was the real tragedy.
Not the breakup.
Not the silence.
Not the distance.
But the truth that:
You never stopped loving him.
You just stopped believing you deserved him.
And he never stopped loving you â
not even after you walked away.
Hiii<3 omg tysm for asking âĽď¸âĽď¸ Iâm actually swamped with exams right now so Iâm super slow, but I am working on fics whenever I get a minute. I promise I havenât forgotten it!! Just need a lil time.
It starts way before you notice.
Before he even notices.
Before any of the boys joke about how âMartinâs been spacing out lately.â
Before he starts avoiding mirrors because he doesnât like the version of himself looking back.
It begins on a stupid Tuesday morning, when heâs tying his shoes before practice and his phone lights up with your text:
âGood morning, idiot :)â
Before, heâd grin like a fool.
Before, heâd type back instantly, something equally chaotic.
Before, heâd reread the message three times because it made him feel soft in a way nothing else did.
But today?
Today he stares at the screen a moment too long, thumb hovering, heart tight.
Heâs tired.
Overwhelmed.
Running on 3 hours of sleep and a mountain of pressure he canât talk about.
He doesnât want to hurt you.
He doesnât want to push you away.
He just⌠doesnât have space in his chest right now.
Even for things he loves.
Heâs exhausted from disappointing you.
Him being an idol adding to the fact that he can never be good enough for you.
Realising that he can never give the love you deserved to be showered with.
He feels it in every breath, every message he answers too late, every moment he sees your face fall when he gives you half of what he used to.
He replies an hour later with:
âgm.â
He hates himself immediately.
He knows youâll feel that difference.
He prays you wonât.
But of course you do.
You always do.
You read him too wellâthatâs the problem.
Martin knows heâs pulling away.
He hates himself for it.
But he doesnât know how to stop.
The Thursday you bring him banana milkâhe knows he should smile. Should tease you. Should pull you into a hug because you remembered something he said in passing.
He pretends heâs fine.
Pretends heâs grateful.
Pretends his heart isnât cracking from guilt because he canât give you the reaction you deserve.
Heâs tired.
Not of you.
Of the version of himself you think he is.
The boy whoâs always soft with you.
The boy who always has emotional energy.
The boy who never fails you.
He doesnât feel like that boy anymore.
âThanks,â he mutters.
And the second it leaves his mouth, he wants to punch a wall.
Because he hears it. The flatness. The distance.
And when he sees the way your smile wobblesâ
he wants to rewind the moment and do it right.
But he doesnât.
He just sits there, drowning in a mistake he made in one word.
Instead, he looks at the drink and feels guilt stab him so hard he almost winces.
Later that night, he sits on his dorm bed with the unopened banana milk beside him.
He wants to drink it.
Wants to text you.
Wants to fix things before they break.
Instead, he just stares at the ceiling, thinking:
Why am I like this? Why canât I just be better? For her?
He doesnât have an answer.
And that scares him more than anything.
The days after that, he tries.
God, he tries.
He sets reminders to text you back. He rehearses things he wants to tell you. He tells himself this is just burnout.
But then he opens your messages and stares at them too long. Not because he doesnât want to replyâ but because he doesnât want to reply wrongly.
He overthinks every word. Deletes sentences. Rewrites them. Ends up sending short, dry responses because if he keeps talking, heâll say something that cracks the thin ice heâs standing on.
And he hates himself for it.
The night on the couch is when it hits him hardest.
You sound fragile when you ask, âAre you okay?â
He wants to say:
No.
Iâm drowning.
I donât know how to hold you without dropping everything else.
I donât want to lose you but I also donât know how to keep you.
But all he says is, âIâm fine.â
Because every version of the truth makes him look selfish. Every version of the truth sounds like heâs blaming you. Every version of the truth feels like heâs admitting heâs losing control.
When you say heâs off, he looks at you and feels something crumble.
Because youâre right. You always are.
He hates that heâs hurting you.
He hates that you think he doesnât love you.
He hates that heâs becoming the villain in the story he never wanted to ruin.
âI donât know what you want me to say,â he murmurs.
He means: I donât know how to stop disappointing you. I donât know how to stop failing at loving you right.
But he doesnât say the truth. He never does.
When you show up at the studio, his heart dropsânot because he doesnât want to see you, but because the first thing he feels isnât excitement. Itâs fear.
Fear that heâs about to ruin another moment. Fear that heâs about to watch your face fall again. Fear that heâs about to get caught being the distant mess heâs become.
You say you wanted to surprise him. He wishes he had the energy to act surprised.
âIâm not really in the mood for surprises,â he mutters.
He hates that sentence. Every syllable.
You step closer. Hopeful. Soft. Trying. And he sees all of it.
And he feels like trash. âThat I canât do this right now.â
He meant: I canât be who you need right now. I canât figure myself out enough to love you the way you deserve.
When you say, âDo me, you mean?â
the flinch is instant. Because yes. Yes, thatâs what he meant.
But he canât say it. So he says nothing.
And watches the hurt bloom across your face like a bruise.
When you leave the dance room early that day, he notices instantly.
He searches the room twice before pretending he isnât panicking. He texts you the most bare, stupid, useless message: âDid you leave?â
He throws his phone across the couch the second he sends it. Because thatâs not what he meant.
He meant: Why did you leave without saying goodbye? Did I make you uncomfortable? Are you mad at me? Please donât be mad at me. Please donât give up on me.
Your answerâ Yeah.
Simple. Sharp. Final.
He stares at it for so long the boys ask if heâs okay. He lies.
He types out paragraphs. Deletes them. Types more. Deletes those too.
And ends up sending: âOh. Okay.â
He wants to rip his hair out.
He wants to show up at your door. He wants to say everything he swallowed for weeks. He wants to fix the space he opened between you.
But he does none of it. Because heâs scared. Because heâs overwhelmed. Because he thinks maybeâjust maybeâyouâd be better off without the version of him who keeps messing things up.
That night, he canât sleep. He keeps checking his phone. Keeps typing your name. Keeps deleting it.
He whispers your name into his pillow, voice shaky, eyes burning.
It starts way before you notice.
Before he even notices.
Before any of the boys joke about how âMartinâs been spacing out lately.â
Before he starts avoiding mirrors because he doesnât like the version of himself looking back.
It begins on a stupid Tuesday morning, when heâs tying his shoes before practice and his phone lights up with your text:
âGood morning, idiot :)â
Before, heâd grin like a fool.
Before, heâd type back instantly, something equally chaotic.
Before, heâd reread the message three times because it made him feel soft in a way nothing else did.
But today?
Today he stares at the screen a moment too long, thumb hovering, heart tight.
Heâs tired.
Overwhelmed.
Running on 3 hours of sleep and a mountain of pressure he canât talk about.
He doesnât want to hurt you.
He doesnât want to push you away.
He just⌠doesnât have space in his chest right now.
Even for things he loves.
Heâs exhausted from disappointing you.
Him being an idol adding to the fact that he can never be good enough for you.
Realising that he can never give the love you deserved to be showered with.
He feels it in every breath, every message he answers too late, every moment he sees your face fall when he gives you half of what he used to.
He replies an hour later with:
âgm.â
He hates himself immediately.
He knows youâll feel that difference.
He prays you wonât.
But of course you do.
You always do.
You read him too wellâthatâs the problem.
Martin knows heâs pulling away.
He hates himself for it.
But he doesnât know how to stop.
The Thursday you bring him banana milkâhe knows he should smile. Should tease you. Should pull you into a hug because you remembered something he said in passing.
He pretends heâs fine.
Pretends heâs grateful.
Pretends his heart isnât cracking from guilt because he canât give you the reaction you deserve.
Heâs tired.
Not of you.
Of the version of himself you think he is.
The boy whoâs always soft with you.
The boy who always has emotional energy.
The boy who never fails you.
He doesnât feel like that boy anymore.
âThanks,â he mutters.
And the second it leaves his mouth, he wants to punch a wall.
Because he hears it. The flatness. The distance.
And when he sees the way your smile wobblesâ
he wants to rewind the moment and do it right.
But he doesnât.
He just sits there, drowning in a mistake he made in one word.
Instead, he looks at the drink and feels guilt stab him so hard he almost winces.
Later that night, he sits on his dorm bed with the unopened banana milk beside him.
He wants to drink it.
Wants to text you.
Wants to fix things before they break.
Instead, he just stares at the ceiling, thinking:
Why am I like this? Why canât I just be better? For her?
He doesnât have an answer.
And that scares him more than anything.
The days after that, he tries.
God, he tries.
He sets reminders to text you back. He rehearses things he wants to tell you. He tells himself this is just burnout.
But then he opens your messages and stares at them too long. Not because he doesnât want to replyâ but because he doesnât want to reply wrongly.
He overthinks every word. Deletes sentences. Rewrites them. Ends up sending short, dry responses because if he keeps talking, heâll say something that cracks the thin ice heâs standing on.
And he hates himself for it.
The night on the couch is when it hits him hardest.
You sound fragile when you ask, âAre you okay?â
He wants to say:
No.
Iâm drowning.
I donât know how to hold you without dropping everything else.
I donât want to lose you but I also donât know how to keep you.
But all he says is, âIâm fine.â
Because every version of the truth makes him look selfish. Every version of the truth sounds like heâs blaming you. Every version of the truth feels like heâs admitting heâs losing control.
When you say heâs off, he looks at you and feels something crumble.
Because youâre right. You always are.
He hates that heâs hurting you.
He hates that you think he doesnât love you.
He hates that heâs becoming the villain in the story he never wanted to ruin.
âI donât know what you want me to say,â he murmurs.
He means: I donât know how to stop disappointing you. I donât know how to stop failing at loving you right.
But he doesnât say the truth. He never does.
When you show up at the studio, his heart dropsânot because he doesnât want to see you, but because the first thing he feels isnât excitement. Itâs fear.
Fear that heâs about to ruin another moment. Fear that heâs about to watch your face fall again. Fear that heâs about to get caught being the distant mess heâs become.
You say you wanted to surprise him. He wishes he had the energy to act surprised.
âIâm not really in the mood for surprises,â he mutters.
He hates that sentence. Every syllable.
You step closer. Hopeful. Soft. Trying. And he sees all of it.
And he feels like trash. âThat I canât do this right now.â
He meant: I canât be who you need right now. I canât figure myself out enough to love you the way you deserve.
When you say, âDo me, you mean?â
the flinch is instant. Because yes. Yes, thatâs what he meant.
But he canât say it. So he says nothing.
And watches the hurt bloom across your face like a bruise.
When you leave the dance room early that day, he notices instantly.
He searches the room twice before pretending he isnât panicking. He texts you the most bare, stupid, useless message: âDid you leave?â
He throws his phone across the couch the second he sends it. Because thatâs not what he meant.
He meant: Why did you leave without saying goodbye? Did I make you uncomfortable? Are you mad at me? Please donât be mad at me. Please donât give up on me.
Your answerâ Yeah.
Simple. Sharp. Final.
He stares at it for so long the boys ask if heâs okay. He lies.
He types out paragraphs. Deletes them. Types more. Deletes those too.
And ends up sending: âOh. Okay.â
He wants to rip his hair out.
He wants to show up at your door. He wants to say everything he swallowed for weeks. He wants to fix the space he opened between you.
But he does none of it. Because heâs scared. Because heâs overwhelmed. Because he thinks maybeâjust maybeâyouâd be better off without the version of him who keeps messing things up.
That night, he canât sleep. He keeps checking his phone. Keeps typing your name. Keeps deleting it.
He whispers your name into his pillow, voice shaky, eyes burning.
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It starts smallâso small you almost miss it. A shift. A change in the way he says your name. A softening that isnât soft at all.
Martin used to say your name like it was something warm. Now he says it like heâs tired.
You tell yourself youâre imagining it⌠until it becomes impossible to ignore.
Itâs a Thursday evening. Heâs sweating through his shirt in the practice room, hair stuck to his forehead. You show up with banana milk, because he mentioned craving it days ago.
You place it beside him, smiling.
He glances. âThanks.â
Thatâs it.
No teasing. No grin. Nothing.
It feels like someone took the air out of your lungs.
You tell yourself heâs tired.
You tell yourself itâs just a day.
You tell yourself too many things.
But days become a pattern.
He replies slower.
He texts shorter.
He doesnât wait for you after practice anymore.
He doesnât ask you about your day.
He doesnât look at you long enough to notice anything.
Youâre no longer his first thought.
Youâre barely his fourth.
And you can feel it.
You feel everything.
He stops choosing you. Softly at first. Then blatantly.
One night, itâs just the two of you on the dorm couch. The boys are out. A few months ago, this wouldâve meant him tugging you into his lap or teasing you until you lost it, leaning into him, his arm around your waist, the kind of silence that feels like home.
Today?
Different couch corners.
Different energy.
Different boy.
âAre you okay?â you ask.
He doesnât look up. âIâm fine.â
You bite your lip. âYou sure? Youâve been kinda off.â
This time he finally looks at youâexpression unreadable, eyes distant.
âI donât know what you want me to say,â he murmurs. âIâm just trying to manage everything.â
You nod even though it stings.
âEverythingâ doesnât include you anymore.
He starts becoming careful around you.
Too careful.
Polite in a way that feels like a slap.
The kind of polite that feels like a goodbye disguised as manners. He stops brushing your knee with his. Stops tucking your hair behind your ear. Stops being Martinâthe one who loved loudly and stupidly and with all his focus.
This one is neutral.
This one is quiet.
This one holds doors for you but doesnât hold you.
The gentleness hurts more than distance.
One afternoon, you catch him packing his bag.
âCan we talk?â you ask.
He hesitates. âI have practice.â
âItâll take a minute.â
He doesnât pull away when you touch his sleeve, but he doesnât hold you back either.
âWhatâs wrong?â you whisper.
His jaw tightens. âNothing.â
âDid I do something?â
âNo.â Too quick.
Then softer: âIâm trying to manage everything.â
The way he says it feels like heâs explaining why youâve become extra weight.
You step back. âOkay.â
He almost reaches for you.
Almost.
But almost doesnât fix anything.
The resentment creeps in quietlyâon both sides.
When you ask if heâs eaten, he sighs.
When you hug him, he stiffens.
When you try to make him laugh, he forces a smile.
Every little thing feels like proof that heâs slipping away.
One day, you show up after practice because you miss him. Because youâre desperate. Because you still think maybe heâll choose you if you try hard enough.
He walks out of the building, sees you, stops.
Not happy.
Not relieved.
Just surprised.
âYou didnât tell me you were coming,â he says.
âThought Iâd surprise you.â
He exhales slowly. âIâm not⌠really in the mood for surprises.â
The words hit you straight in the chest.
âWe can just walk together,â you say weakly. âI donât need anything.â
Another sigh.
âY/N,â he mutters, rubbing his temples, âI said I canât do this right now.â
You blink. âDo me, you mean?â
He flinches.
And then he says nothing.
Which tells you everything.
You go home that night and cry into your pillow, biting the fabric so no one hears.
You feel stupid.
You feel small.
You feel like something important is slipping through your fingers.
And heâs letting it.
Two weeks pass.
He becomes perfectly polite again.
Too polite.
Too calm.
Too distant.
He texts âgoodnightâ again, but itâs one word.
He asks âdid you eat?â but it sounds like courtesy.
He smiles at you, but itâs empty.
He treats you like someone he used to care about.
And you donât know whatâs worseâ
his silence before, or his softness now.
One day in the dance room, the boys are loud and joking. Martin laughs with them, shoulders relaxing, eyes bright.
Youâre sitting a few feet away.
Invisible.
Forgettable.
He doesnât look at you once.
And thatâs when it hits you.
He hasnât stopped caring all at onceâ
heâs been fading out slowly.
Quietly.
Like a song you didnât realize was ending until the room went silent.
You leave the room without telling anyone.
Minutes later, your phone buzzes.
Martin: "Did you leave?"
You stare at it, heart sinking.
You: "Yeah."
A pause.
Too long.
Too obvious.
Martin: "Oh. Okay."
And thatâs when the truth settles:
He didnât break your heart violently.
He did it softly.
Carefully.
Almost kindly.
The worst way possible.
You crawl into bed that night, phone against your chest.
He loved you once.
You know he did.
But now he loves you with past tense softnessâ
the kind that ruins you slowly.
The world ended quietly â and then it started screaming.
GENRE: Zombie AU / Thriller / Survival / Angst
PAIRING: cortis (Rookie boy group, 5 members) x gn!Reader (group survival dynamics, romantic focus)
CONTAINS: Mild peril, zombie encounters, tense survival moments, minor injuries, group dynamics, gore(slightly?), panic, (SFW)
⨠Synopsis:
One month in Seoul. life takes a turn when she joins an exchange program in Korea. New friends, unfamiliar streets, and the unexpected glimmer of magic in the everyday⌠but some things arenât what they seem. Between school, food stalls, and a mysterious rookie idol group, ordinary days are about to collide with chaos she never saw coming.
⸝
đ Authorâs Note:
Heyy! this is a mix of slice-of-life, school drama, and a little bit of K-pop (looking at you, Cortis đ). I promise thereâs adventure, friendship, and maybe a few heart-fluttering moments ahead. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I loved writing it!
WORD COUNT: ~[0.5k]
[Post-credits scene â âRecovered Footage, 15 years agoâ]
â static â
The screen flickers. The video quality is awful. You can hear Juhoon laughing way too loud behind the camera.
Juhoon (off-cam): âOKAY OKAY, EVERYONE SAY HI TO FUTURE US IF WEâRE NOT DEAD YET!!â
The shot shakes as he zooms way too close to Martinâs face.
Martin: âStopâ bro, stop zoomingââ
Juhoon: âSAY HI TO FUTURE MARTIN.â
Martin: âFuture Martin, if youâre watching this⌠I hope your hair grew back.â
The others explode into laughter.
The camera whirls toward James, whoâs holding a can of beans like itâs a trophy.
James: âDinner of champions.â
Keonho (off-cam): âYou literally forgot to heat it.â
James: âFire attracts zombies, Keonho, use your brainââ
Keonho: âUse YOUR taste budsâ this smells like battery acidââ
Everyone arguing. Camera spins again.
Now itâs on you, sitting on top of the caravan roof, wrapped in a blanket, hair messy, eyes tired but bright.
You squint at the camera. âAre you filming again?!â
Juhoon giggles, zooms in. âSay something cool!â
You think for a second, then smirk at the lens.
âIf future us is watching thisâ I hope we made it. And if we didâŚâ
You grin.
ââŚthen Martin owes me a coffee.â
Martin (off-cam): âIâ WHAT?!â
Everyone laughs so hard.
The camera shakesâ
falls sideways onto a crate.
The angle is chaotic but perfect.
It catches you walking toward Seonghyeon, whoâs sitting on the fence beam, kicking his feet like a shy little kid.
He doesnât notice heâs being filmed.
He looks up at youâ
soft, small smile, the kind that hits your ribs.
You:
âYou okay?â
He nods, cheeks pink, fingers fidgeting with his sleeves.
Seonghyeon:
âMm-hm. Just⌠looking at the view.â
You sit next to him, knees bumping.
The wind picks up your hair, brushing his cheek.
He blushes harder.
You lean in, whisper somethingâ
the mic doesnât catch it, but his ears turn red IMMEDIATELY.
And thenâ
He hesitatesâŚ
Then kisses you.
Quick. Soft. Nervous.
Like heâs scared youâll disappear if he lingers too long.
And from behind the cameraâ
ALL THE BOYS (off-cam):
âOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!â
Seonghyeon WHIPS his head around, eyes wide like he just got caught stealing snacks.
Seonghyeon:
âWâWAITâ YOUâ YOU WERE RECORDING?!â
James is wheezing.
Martin is on the ground.
Keonho is clapping like a proud mother.
Juhoon zooms in aggressively.
You hide your face in your hands but you're smiling so hard it hurts.
The camera gets knocked over.
Keonho yells, âGroup photo!â and the camera tumbles onto a crate â the view turns blurry but still frames all six of you crowding together, messy and laughing, under the sunset-orange sky.
Then one final blurry shot of all of youâ
arms around each other, faces pink from laughing,
Seonghyeon trying to hide behind you,
sunset burning orange behind the mountains.
Click.
Static fades out.
[Back to present â screen text appears:]
âFor everyone who survived. For everyone who still hopes.â
It starts smallâso small you almost miss it. A shift. A change in the way he says your name. A softening that isnât soft at all.
Martin used to say your name like it was something warm. Now he says it like heâs tired.
You tell yourself youâre imagining it⌠until it becomes impossible to ignore.
Itâs a Thursday evening. Heâs sweating through his shirt in the practice room, hair stuck to his forehead. You show up with banana milk, because he mentioned craving it days ago.
You place it beside him, smiling.
He glances. âThanks.â
Thatâs it.
No teasing. No grin. Nothing.
It feels like someone took the air out of your lungs.
You tell yourself heâs tired.
You tell yourself itâs just a day.
You tell yourself too many things.
But days become a pattern.
He replies slower.
He texts shorter.
He doesnât wait for you after practice anymore.
He doesnât ask you about your day.
He doesnât look at you long enough to notice anything.
Youâre no longer his first thought.
Youâre barely his fourth.
And you can feel it.
You feel everything.
He stops choosing you. Softly at first. Then blatantly.
One night, itâs just the two of you on the dorm couch. The boys are out. A few months ago, this wouldâve meant him tugging you into his lap or teasing you until you lost it, leaning into him, his arm around your waist, the kind of silence that feels like home.
Today?
Different couch corners.
Different energy.
Different boy.
âAre you okay?â you ask.
He doesnât look up. âIâm fine.â
You bite your lip. âYou sure? Youâve been kinda off.â
This time he finally looks at youâexpression unreadable, eyes distant.
âI donât know what you want me to say,â he murmurs. âIâm just trying to manage everything.â
You nod even though it stings.
âEverythingâ doesnât include you anymore.
He starts becoming careful around you.
Too careful.
Polite in a way that feels like a slap.
The kind of polite that feels like a goodbye disguised as manners. He stops brushing your knee with his. Stops tucking your hair behind your ear. Stops being Martinâthe one who loved loudly and stupidly and with all his focus.
This one is neutral.
This one is quiet.
This one holds doors for you but doesnât hold you.
The gentleness hurts more than distance.
One afternoon, you catch him packing his bag.
âCan we talk?â you ask.
He hesitates. âI have practice.â
âItâll take a minute.â
He doesnât pull away when you touch his sleeve, but he doesnât hold you back either.
âWhatâs wrong?â you whisper.
His jaw tightens. âNothing.â
âDid I do something?â
âNo.â Too quick.
Then softer: âIâm trying to manage everything.â
The way he says it feels like heâs explaining why youâve become extra weight.
You step back. âOkay.â
He almost reaches for you.
Almost.
But almost doesnât fix anything.
The resentment creeps in quietlyâon both sides.
When you ask if heâs eaten, he sighs.
When you hug him, he stiffens.
When you try to make him laugh, he forces a smile.
Every little thing feels like proof that heâs slipping away.
One day, you show up after practice because you miss him. Because youâre desperate. Because you still think maybe heâll choose you if you try hard enough.
He walks out of the building, sees you, stops.
Not happy.
Not relieved.
Just surprised.
âYou didnât tell me you were coming,â he says.
âThought Iâd surprise you.â
He exhales slowly. âIâm not⌠really in the mood for surprises.â
The words hit you straight in the chest.
âWe can just walk together,â you say weakly. âI donât need anything.â
Another sigh.
âY/N,â he mutters, rubbing his temples, âI said I canât do this right now.â
You blink. âDo me, you mean?â
He flinches.
And then he says nothing.
Which tells you everything.
You go home that night and cry into your pillow, biting the fabric so no one hears.
You feel stupid.
You feel small.
You feel like something important is slipping through your fingers.
And heâs letting it.
Two weeks pass.
He becomes perfectly polite again.
Too polite.
Too calm.
Too distant.
He texts âgoodnightâ again, but itâs one word.
He asks âdid you eat?â but it sounds like courtesy.
He smiles at you, but itâs empty.
He treats you like someone he used to care about.
And you donât know whatâs worseâ
his silence before, or his softness now.
One day in the dance room, the boys are loud and joking. Martin laughs with them, shoulders relaxing, eyes bright.
Youâre sitting a few feet away.
Invisible.
Forgettable.
He doesnât look at you once.
And thatâs when it hits you.
He hasnât stopped caring all at onceâ
heâs been fading out slowly.
Quietly.
Like a song you didnât realize was ending until the room went silent.
You leave the room without telling anyone.
Minutes later, your phone buzzes.
Martin: "Did you leave?"
You stare at it, heart sinking.
You: "Yeah."
A pause.
Too long.
Too obvious.
Martin: "Oh. Okay."
And thatâs when the truth settles:
He didnât break your heart violently.
He did it softly.
Carefully.
Almost kindly.
The worst way possible.
You crawl into bed that night, phone against your chest.
He loved you once.
You know he did.
But now he loves you with past tense softnessâ
the kind that ruins you slowly.
The world ended quietly â and then it started screaming.
GENRE: Zombie AU / Thriller / Survival / Angst
PAIRING: cortis (Rookie boy group, 5 members) x gn!Reader (group survival dynamics, romantic focus)
Optional Future Pairing Hints: The tall mysterious guy from Cortis đ
CONTAINS: Mild peril, zombie encounters, tense survival moments, minor injuries, group dynamics, gore(slightly?), panic, (SFW)
⨠Synopsis:
One month in Seoul. life takes a turn when she joins an exchange program in Korea. New friends, unfamiliar streets, and the unexpected glimmer of magic in the everyday⌠but some things arenât what they seem. Between school, food stalls, and a mysterious rookie idol group, ordinary days are about to collide with chaos she never saw coming.
⸝
đ Authorâs Note:
Heyy! this is a mix of slice-of-life, school drama, and a little bit of K-pop (looking at you, Cortis đ). I promise thereâs adventure, friendship, and maybe a few heart-fluttering moments ahead. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I loved writing it!
The day passed like any other â classes, hallways, and caffeine-powered chaos. School was still a maze I hadnât mastered. Every corridor looked the same, but the people? They looked straight out of a web drama. Perfect uniforms, perfect hair, perfect eyeliner.
By 3 p.m., I was exhausted and half-asleep, standing beside a grey sedan in the parking lot, waiting for my driving instructor. Heâd gone to the restroom, saying, âJust two minutes.â It had been fifteen.
I kicked at a pebble, checked my phone (2% battery), and muttered, âSir, you better not have gotten kidnapped or something.â
Thatâs when I heard it.
Footsteps. Fast. Urgent.
I turnedâand nearly screamed.
Five boys were running straight toward me, yelling something in Korean. Loud. Panicked. Totally unintelligible.
âWhaâ?! Waitâwhatâs happening??â I stuttered, backing up.
The tallest one â blonde, built like a skyscraper, definitely over six feet â stopped right in front of me, breathing hard. He switched to English in this low, clipped tone:
âItâs dangerous. You need to drive.â
I blinked. â...Drive? You mean this car?â
He nodded quickly.
âI donât know how to drive!â I said, throwing my hands up.
That apparently broke him. He groaned, dragged his hand down his face, and muttered something that sounded a lot like Korean curse words.
âOkay, rude!â I snapped. âYou come here, shout at me in another language, and now youâre mad?!â
By then, the others were already piling into the car like they owned it.
The one with orange hair â calm but clearly panicking inside â got into the driverâs seat (James, apparently).
Two others, Juhoon and Keonho, claimed the back.
The passenger seat was taken by this soft-looking guy with black hair â Seonghyeon â who looked like heâd apologize for existing if you bumped into him.
Which left⌠no seat for me.
And yet, the tall blonde had the audacity to sit in the only seat left â the one spot that was supposed to be for me.
âHey!â I said, glaring. âThatâs my seat!â
He looked at me like Iâd just asked to borrow his soul. âNo, itâs not.â
âYes, it is!â
âNot anymore!â
âWhatâ?! Excuse me?!â
We were full-on arguing now, voices rising. I was seconds away from yanking him out by the collar when one of the boys in the back â bright smile â pointed at me and started shouting something rapid-fire in Korean.
I threw my hands up. âOh my god, DUDE! This is my car! You canât just colonize it and yell at me!â
I turned to yell back again, but before I could even process what was happening, the seonghyeon guy suddenly grabbed my wrist and pulled both of us inside.
I stumbled forward, half-tripping over his legs, ready to go off on him â when I froze.
Because something cold brushed against the back of my neck.
A sharp tugâso hard it yanked my head back.
Pain exploded through my scalp, and I gasped, twisting aroundâ
And saw it.
A humanoid creature, missing one arm, its eyes milky white, its skin peeling like burnt wax. Blood smeared down its jaw. It was gripping my hair in its one remaining hand, dragging itself closer.
My breath caught in my throat. âWhat the hellâ?!â
James slammed the engine on, the tires screeching. The car lurched forward, but the creature didnât let go. It clung to my hair like it wanted to rip my skull clean off.
The pain was blinding now. I screamed, tears burning my eyes. I didnât care that the boys saw me crying â it hurt, so bad.
âHyung!â Seonghyeon shouted, panicked, fumbling for something.
Someone from the backseat â maybe Keonho â tossed forward a pair of scissors.
Before I could even ask what was happening, the guy i was sitting on seonghyeon, Iâd later learn â caught them, grabbed a fistful of my hair, andâ
snip.
The pressure vanished. The creature tumbled away from the moving car, disappearing into the distance.
I sat there shaking, staring at the uneven ends of my hair in Seonghyeonâs hand.
Silence filled the car. Only our breathing and the roar of the engine.
Seonghyeonâs knuckles were white around the scissors. martin from the back, voice was low, almost trembling:
genre: angst â comfort, lovers fighting, stubborn!james, size diff
warnings: yelling (NOT toxic), crying, 3AM doorstep scene, soft boy collapse at the end.
summary:
It wasnât supposed to be a big fight.
Tag list: @oreowon
It was supposed to be a chill day.
Day off.
No schedules.
No managers.
No cameras.
Just the Cortis dorm with everyone half-asleep and in comfy clothes.
Keonho and Seonghyeon were on the floor, aggressively playing Mario Kart like their lives depended on it.
Martin and Juhoon were on the couch beside you, lazily watching some crime documentary and arguing about who the killer obviously was.
You were curled up between them, blanket over your legs, just⌠vibing.
And then there was James.
Not vibing.
Not chilling.
He was near the dining table, earbuds in, replaying the same 10 seconds of their new song over and over while trying to choreograph somethingâhis hair messy, brows furrowed, jaw tense like heâd chew through concrete if he had to.
You watched him for a bit, soft smile forming because he looked so focused⌠but also exhausted.
Like⌠really exhausted.
So you got up, padded over to him, and gently tugged one of his earbuds.
âBabe, itâs your off day,â you said quietly. âPlease take a break? Youâve been at it for hours.â
He didnât even look at you at first.
âIâm fine,â he muttered.
But you werenât stupid. His shoulders were tight, his breathing uneven.
You reached for his wrist lightly, thumb brushing.
âYouâre gonna burn yourself out, James. Just sit with us for a bit. Five minutes.â
He snapped.
Likeâout of nowhere.
âYouâre so clingy sometimes, seriously,â he hissed, shaking your hand off.
His voice was loud.
Too loud.
The room went silent.
Even Mario Kart pausedâwhich NEVER happens.
James kept going, voice sharp, breath wavering from stress.
âJustâstop hovering over me. Iâm working. I donât need you telling me how to handle my job.â
You froze.
It wasnât even the words.
It was the tone he used.
Like you were annoying.
Like you were in the way.
Like you embarrassed him in front of his own members.
Your chest tightened so hard it hurt.
âO-okay,â you whispered, nodding quickly because your throat felt weirdly tight. âGot it.â
And you turned.
You didnât slam anything.
You didnât yell.
You just walked to the front door, grabbed your hoodie, and left the dorm before your eyes could spill anything stupid.
The second the door clicked shut?
James exhaled like heâd been stabbed.
Keonho slowly put his controller down.
Seonghyeon stared at him like heâd kicked a puppy.
Juhoon looked disappointed in that older-brother way.
Martin rubbed his face and sighed the deepest sigh of 2025.
âDudeâŚâ Martin said first. âShe wasnât trying to annoy you. She was literally just caring.â
Keonho nodded. âSheâs the only one who actually makes you stop working. And you yell at her? In front of us?â
Juhoon crossed his arms. âYou messed up. Big time.â
Seonghyeon, the quiet one, murmured, âHyung⌠she looked really hurt.â
James didnât answer.
Because he knew.
He felt it the moment the words left his mouth.
Felt it harder when he saw your face fall.
Felt it worst when the door closed and the silence punched him in the chest.
He ran his hands through his hair, pacing like he was trying not to scream.
âI didnât mean it,â he muttered, voice shaking. âI didnâtâshe was justâ Iâm stressed.â
âDoesnât matter,â Martin cut in, stern. âStress isnât an excuse. Not with her.â
And James hated that Martin was right.
He grabbed his hoodie, his wallet, didnât even put on proper shoesâjust bolted out the door like a panicked idiot.
Martin called after him, âGo apologize properly! And donât make it worse!â
But James was already gone.
you didnât mean to run.
but what were you supposed to do? stand there and pretend the words he threw at you didnât slice straight through your chest?
he said too much.
or maybe he said the one thing you never thought heâd say.
and the moment it hit you, your feet moved before your brain could catch up.
away from him.
away from that look on his face.
away from the version of him that hurt too much to look at.
james chased after you anyway â breathless, eyes wide, guilt written all over him like a bruise he couldnât hide.
âdonâtâ donât go,â he said, voice softer than youâd ever heard it. nothing sharp. nothing angry. just⌠regret. âi didnât mean it. i swear. please donât leave like that.â
he wasnât blaming you.
he wasnât yelling.
he wasnât acting like you were running from âeverything.â
he knew exactly why you left.
and thatâs why it scared him.
âIâm not staying somewhere Iâm not wanted,â you shot back.
His jaw clenched so hard the muscle jumped. His brows pulled low, eyes burning, and thenâ
âIf you walk away,â he growled, voice cracking just a bit, âdonât come back.â
It felt like someone slammed a door inside your chest.
You swallowed, kept your chin up even though your eyes stung.
You turned.
And you walked.
Not fast. Not slow.
Just⌠gone.
You didnât look back.
You didnât want to see the look on his face if he actually meant it.
3:07 AM
You tried to sleep.
Tried.
But your brain was replaying every second of earlier like a broken projector:
the way his voice cut sharp, the way the room froze, the way you felt small.
Pathetic.
So you ended up on your couch with a blanket, scrolling through reels in the dark and pretending your chest didnât hurt.
Outside, it was dead quiet.
Inside your apartment, the AC hummed like it was trying to comfort you.
Thenâ
BANG. BANG. BANG.
You nearly YEETED your phone across the room.
Someone was knocking.
Noâ pounding.
At 3AM.
You froze.
Then came a low voice through the doorâshaky, muffled, familiar.
âY/N⌠please open the door.â
Your stomach dropped.
James.
You wrapped the blanket tighter around yourself, heart thudding so loud you swore your neighbors could hear.
Another knockâsofter this time, like he was scared heâd break your door.
âY/N⌠baby, Iâjust open the door. Please.â
You swallowed hard, walked over, unlocked the doorâŚ
âŚand he practically exhaled like heâd been holding his breath for an hour.
He looked wrecked.
Not just tiredâwrecked.
Hair messy, hoodie half-zipped, chest heaving, eyes red like heâd been running.
Or crying.
Or both.
âWhy are you here?â you whispered.
He stepped inside without waiting, closing the door behind him with his palm flat on it.
His height swallowed the entryway immediately, and he just stood there staring at you like you were the only light source in the world.
âIâm sorry.â
His voice cracked.
Not dramatic cracked.
Like genuinely, painfully cracked.
You blinked. ââŚJames.â
âNoâlisten,â he said quickly, trying to keep his voice steady but failing miserably. âI shouldnât have yelled at you. I shouldnât have said that. You werenât being clingy, you were being the only person trying to take care of me.â
His jaw clenched and unclenched.
âI was stressed. I took it out on you. And the second you walked out Iâgod, I regretted it instantly.â
He took one step closer.
Then another.
You instinctively stepped back until the backs of your knees hit the couch.
He stopped right in front of you, towering over you, his breath uneven.
âI looked for you,â he confessed softly. âI went to every place you might go. Then Martin called and asked if you were safe. Thatâs when I realized how badly I scared you off.â
He lifted a handâslowly, giving you space to pull awayâ
but you didnât.
He cupped your cheek, thumb brushing lightly.
âIâm sorry,â he whispered again, eyes locked onto yours. âI donât want to lose you. I canât.â
You stared up at him, heart doing Olympic gymnastics.
ââŚYou said âif I walk away, donât come back.ââ
He winced like the words physically stabbed him.
âI didnât mean that,â he breathed. âI was talking like an idiot. If you walk awayâ I will come back. Every single time. Even if itâs 3AM. Even if itâs raining. Even if I look like I crawled out of a drain.â
You let out a small laugh, and he immediately softened, shoulders dropping like he finally felt air again.
âBabe,â he murmured, leaning his forehead against yours, height bending so much you had to tilt your chin up. âPlease tell me I didnât lose you.â
You let the silence stretch for a moment.
Thenâ
âYou embarrassed me,â you whispered.
His breath caught.
âI know. Iâm⌠Iâm sorry. I shouldâve never talked to you like that. Especially not in front of the guys.â
âAnd you hurt my feelings.â
He nodded instantly. âI know. Iâll fix it. I just⌠I need you. Please donât shut me out.â
Your fingers curled into his hoodie without thinking.
âThat depends,â you murmured.
His eyes searched yours desperately. âOn what?â
You pulled him down by the hoodie stringâ
until his lips brushed your cheek.
âOn how good you are at making it up to me,â you whispered against his jaw.
His inhale was sharp.
ââŚBaby donât tease me right now, Iâm hanging by a thread,â he muttered, voice deep and wrecked.
You finally smiledâjust a little.
And that was all he needed.
âIâm sorry,â he whispered. âIâm sorry I yelled. Iâm sorry I said⌠that.â
His eyes softened.
âJust⌠donât walk away from me. I canâtââ
He stopped himself, jaw tightening.
âPlease.â
And that was the thing that broke you.
Not his anger.
Not the fight.
The please.
You reached up, grabbed his hoodie with both hands, and pulled him down just enough.
âIâm not going anywhere,â you whispered.
His shoulders finally dropped. Like heâd been holding the world up and you just let him put it down.
He wrapped his arms around youâtight, full-body, lifting-you-off-the-floor-for-a-second kind of tightâand breathed into your hair like heâd been drowning.
And for the first time since the fight, everything felt quiet again.
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The world ended quietly â and then it started screaming.
GENRE: Zombie AU / Thriller / Survival / Angst
PAIRING: cortis (Rookie boy group, 5 members) x gn!Reader (group survival dynamics, romantic focus)
Optional Future Pairing Hints: The tall mysterious guy from Cortis đ
CONTAINS: Mild peril, zombie encounters, tense survival moments, minor injuries, group dynamics, gore(slightly?), panic, (SFW)
⨠Synopsis:
One month in Seoul. life takes a turn when she joins an exchange program in Korea. New friends, unfamiliar streets, and the unexpected glimmer of magic in the everyday⌠but some things arenât what they seem. Between school, food stalls, and a mysterious rookie idol group, ordinary days are about to collide with chaos she never saw coming.
⸝
đ Authorâs Note:
Heyy! this is a mix of slice-of-life, school drama, and a little bit of K-pop (looking at you, Cortis đ). I promise thereâs adventure, friendship, and maybe a few heart-fluttering moments ahead. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I loved writing it!
The day passed like any other â classes, hallways, and caffeine-powered chaos. School was still a maze I hadnât mastered. Every corridor looked the same, but the people? They looked straight out of a web drama. Perfect uniforms, perfect hair, perfect eyeliner.
By 3 p.m., I was exhausted and half-asleep, standing beside a grey sedan in the parking lot, waiting for my driving instructor. Heâd gone to the restroom, saying, âJust two minutes.â It had been fifteen.
I kicked at a pebble, checked my phone (2% battery), and muttered, âSir, you better not have gotten kidnapped or something.â
Thatâs when I heard it.
Footsteps. Fast. Urgent.
I turnedâand nearly screamed.
Five boys were running straight toward me, yelling something in Korean. Loud. Panicked. Totally unintelligible.
âWhaâ?! Waitâwhatâs happening??â I stuttered, backing up.
The tallest one â blonde, built like a skyscraper, definitely over six feet â stopped right in front of me, breathing hard. He switched to English in this low, clipped tone:
âItâs dangerous. You need to drive.â
I blinked. â...Drive? You mean this car?â
He nodded quickly.
âI donât know how to drive!â I said, throwing my hands up.
That apparently broke him. He groaned, dragged his hand down his face, and muttered something that sounded a lot like Korean curse words.
âOkay, rude!â I snapped. âYou come here, shout at me in another language, and now youâre mad?!â
By then, the others were already piling into the car like they owned it.
The one with orange hair â calm but clearly panicking inside â got into the driverâs seat (James, apparently).
Two others, Juhoon and Keonho, claimed the back.
The passenger seat was taken by this soft-looking guy with black hair â Seonghyeon â who looked like heâd apologize for existing if you bumped into him.
Which left⌠no seat for me.
And yet, the tall blonde had the audacity to sit in the only seat left â the one spot that was supposed to be for me.
âHey!â I said, glaring. âThatâs my seat!â
He looked at me like Iâd just asked to borrow his soul. âNo, itâs not.â
âYes, it is!â
âNot anymore!â
âWhatâ?! Excuse me?!â
We were full-on arguing now, voices rising. I was seconds away from yanking him out by the collar when one of the boys in the back â bright smile â pointed at me and started shouting something rapid-fire in Korean.
I threw my hands up. âOh my god, DUDE! This is my car! You canât just colonize it and yell at me!â
I turned to yell back again, but before I could even process what was happening, the seonghyeon guy suddenly grabbed my wrist and pulled both of us inside.
I stumbled forward, half-tripping over his legs, ready to go off on him â when I froze.
Because something cold brushed against the back of my neck.
A sharp tugâso hard it yanked my head back.
Pain exploded through my scalp, and I gasped, twisting aroundâ
And saw it.
A humanoid creature, missing one arm, its eyes milky white, its skin peeling like burnt wax. Blood smeared down its jaw. It was gripping my hair in its one remaining hand, dragging itself closer.
My breath caught in my throat. âWhat the hellâ?!â
James slammed the engine on, the tires screeching. The car lurched forward, but the creature didnât let go. It clung to my hair like it wanted to rip my skull clean off.
The pain was blinding now. I screamed, tears burning my eyes. I didnât care that the boys saw me crying â it hurt, so bad.
âHyung!â Seonghyeon shouted, panicked, fumbling for something.
Someone from the backseat â maybe Keonho â tossed forward a pair of scissors.
Before I could even ask what was happening, the guy i was sitting on seonghyeon, Iâd later learn â caught them, grabbed a fistful of my hair, andâ
snip.
The pressure vanished. The creature tumbled away from the moving car, disappearing into the distance.
I sat there shaking, staring at the uneven ends of my hair in Seonghyeonâs hand.
Silence filled the car. Only our breathing and the roar of the engine.
Seonghyeonâs knuckles were white around the scissors. martin from the back, voice was low, almost trembling:
The museum was unusually loud for a Tuesday morning. Cameras, staff, wires, lights. You walked through it all with a clipboard tucked under your arm, weaving past the production crew like youâd done this a hundred times.
Someone from the staff whispered,
âTheyâre filming with him today.â
You didnât bother asking who him was. You just needed the East Wing ready before the director had another breakdown.
When you reached the âNo Touchingâ zone, you stopped. Someone was already there, leaning too close to an artifact covered in fragile glass. A man with dark hair, soft curls falling over his forehead, dressed like he walked out of a photoshoot rather than actual life.
He tapped the glass lightly with a fingertip.
You didnât yell. You didnât gasp.
You simply walked up and said in your most neutral museum-uniform tone,
âPlease donât touch the artifacts.â
He froze.
Slowly, he turned toward you, eyes widening like you had just spoken in ancient Greek.
The entire crew around him paused.
A stylist gasped quietly.
A manager blinked.
Someone dropped a makeup sponge.
The man stared at you for a full, confused second.
âI⌠wasnât touching it,â he said, though he absolutely was.
You pointed at the glass.
âIt looked like you were.â
His mouth fell open slightly, as if no one had ever spoken to him like that.
One of the staff members rushed up to you, whisper-yelling,
âThatâs V. Taehyung. Please be careful.â
You blinked once.
âOh. Okay.â
Then you walked away to finish your checklist.
Behind you, Taehyung watched with an expression halfway between offended and intrigued.
A few minutes later, the filming began.
Every time he delivered a line, his eyes flickered in your direction, almost like he expected you to scold him again for breathing too close to historical objects.
You barely looked at him.
Chaos for him. Peace for you.
During a break, he overheard two interns whispering near the statue exhibit.
âShe didnât even react,â one said.
âI donât think she recognizes him.â
âShe talks to him like heâs a regular visitor.â
âI heard she hates idol culture.â
Taehyung paused mid-sip of water.
Hates idols?
His eyebrow twitched.
He didnât know why it bothered him.
He didnât know you, and you clearly didnât care about him.
But something about your indifference tugged at him in a way he couldnât explain.
By the end of the day, he had come to one extremely dramatic