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19

seungmin biased 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚

‘She’s a super freak, super freak she’s super freaky, yow’

Tag list open

Requests open

The almost confession

Han jisung x f!reader

Synopsis: After months of almost-confessions, Jisung finally tells you he loves you. But the happiness barely has time to settle before you confess you’re leaving the next morning, turning a long-awaited confession into an almost-goodbye.

Cw: mostly soft/fluffy angst, crying, separation anxiety, bittersweet ending

a/n: this idea has been in my notes app for agesss i’m so glad i finally wrote it

Wc: 3,408

The studio is quiet except for the soft hum of the computer and the tiny crackle of his speakers. Outside, Seoul is asleep, but inside the room, Jisung is wide awake, sitting cross-legged on the floor with his hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands.

You’re on the sofa behind him, half-buried under his oversized jacket because you complained about the air conditioning twenty minutes ago. He had acted like giving it to you was no big deal, but he hasn’t stopped glancing back at you since.

Wrong person, right love

Kim seungmin x f!reader

Synopsis: After years of quietly loving Seungmin from the sidelines, you finally realise that being his safest place is breaking your own heart. So you walk away - not because you stopped loving him, but because you needed to stop waiting. Months later, Seungmin returns with the confession you once dreamed of hearing, only to realise he learned to love you too late.

Cw: none! Just a little angsty

A/n: this is quite abit shorter than normal, im sorrryyy

Wc: 2,062

The first time you realised you loved Kim Seungmin, he was laughing at something that wasn’t even funny.

It was late, too late for either of you to still be awake, but neither of you had ever been very good at leaving each other alone. He was sitting on your kitchen counter, swinging his legs like he belonged there, like your home had always had a place carved out for him. His hoodie sleeves covered half his hands. His hair was messy from the rain outside. His cheeks were pink from the cold.

And when he laughed, soft and breathless, you remember thinking:

Oh.

Not dramatic. Not earth-shattering. Not like the films said it would be.

Just oh.

Like your heart had finally found the name it had been trying to say for years.

You never told him.

Maybe that was where everything went wrong.

Or maybe everything had already gone wrong long before that — in every almost, every lingering glance, every night he called you first but introduced you to everyone as his best friend. His safest place. His person.

Never the person.

Just… his.

And for a while, that had been enough.

Until it wasn’t.

“Are you listening?” Seungmin asks, nudging your shoe with his under the table.

You blink, pulled back into the café, into the soft clatter of mugs and rain tapping against the window beside you. He’s watching you with that familiar half-frown, the one he wears when he’s pretending not to be worried.

You hate that you know him so well.

You hate that he knows you just enough to notice when something is wrong, but never enough to understand that it has always been him.

“Yeah,” you lie, wrapping both hands around your cup. “Sorry. I’m just tired.”

“You’re always tired lately.”

There’s no accusation in his voice, only concern, and somehow that makes it worse.

You smile because it is easier than explaining. Easier than saying, I’m tired of being in love with someone who only reaches for me when he’s lonely. Easier than saying, I’m tired of being your almost.

Instead, you shrug. “Work’s been busy.”

Seungmin hums, unconvinced. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

Your fingers tighten around the cup.

There it is.

The thing you both knew, but neither of you had said out loud.

You look out of the window, watching people hurry past beneath umbrellas, their shoulders brushing as they walk close enough to share warmth. “I haven’t.”

“You have.”

“Maybe you’re just not used to me having a life outside you.”

It comes out sharper than you mean it to.

Seungmin goes still.

For one awful second, you wish you could swallow the words back down. But then he looks at you — really looks at you — and something in his expression makes your chest ache.

Not anger.

Hurt.

Confusion.

Like he truly has no idea how long you’ve been breaking beside him.

“What does that mean?” he asks quietly.

You laugh once, but there is no humour in it. “Nothing.”

“No.” His voice is firmer now. “Don’t do that. Don’t say something like that and then act like it’s nothing.”

You finally meet his eyes.

Bad idea.

Seungmin has always had eyes that make you weak. Not because they are soft all the time — they are not. He is blunt and teasing and sometimes so emotionally constipated it makes you want to scream. But his eyes have always given him away.

And right now, they are begging you to stay exactly where you are.

Exactly where he left you.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you say.

The words are barely above a whisper, but they land between you like a dropped glass.

His brows draw together. “Doing what?”

You breathe in.

Your throat burns.

“Being yours when you’re not mine.”

Seungmin doesn’t move.

The café continues around you like your entire world hasn’t just cracked open. Someone laughs near the counter. A spoon clinks against ceramic. Rain streaks down the window in thin silver lines.

He says your name, so softly it almost ruins you.

You shake your head. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t know.”

“That’s the problem, Seungmin.” Your voice trembles, and you hate it. “You never knew. I was right there. For years, I was right there.”

His lips part, but no sound comes out.

You look down before you start crying in front of him. You promised yourself you wouldn’t. You promised yourself that when this moment came, you would be calm. Dignified. Untouchable.

But loving Seungmin has always made a liar out of you.

You stand before your courage can leave you.

Seungmin rises too quickly, his chair scraping against the floor. “Don’t go.”

And God, you almost listen.

Because it is him.

Because it has always been him.

But that is exactly the problem.

For years, every part of you has bent towards him like a flower chasing sunlight, even when all it did was leave you cold. You have loved him through every mixed signal, every midnight call, every careless touch that meant everything to you and nothing to him.

You have loved him so quietly that he never had to notice.

And now, for the first time, you are tired of being quiet.

“I have to,” you say.

His face changes. “Why?”

The question almost makes you laugh.

Not because it is funny.

Because it hurts that he still has to ask.

You look at him one last time — at the boy who knows your coffee order, your favourite songs, the exact tone of your voice when you are about to cry. The boy who knows everything about you except the one thing you have been begging him to see.

“Because I can’t keep being your safest place when you’re the reason I don’t feel safe anymore.”

Seungmin freezes.

You see the words hit him. You see the confusion turn into something sharper, something closer to realisation.

But not close enough.

Still not enough.

He says your name, barely above a whisper.

You shake your head. “Please don’t.”

“If I did something—”

“You didn’t do anything,” you say, and your voice finally breaks. “That’s the problem. You never did anything. You never chose me. You never asked me to stay. You just kept leaving enough space for me to hope.”

Silence settles between you.

For once, Seungmin has nothing to say.

You wish that made it easier.

It doesn’t.

“I loved you,” you admit.

The past tense makes him flinch.

And maybe that is cruel, but it is also true. Or at least, it is what you need to become true if you are ever going to survive this.

His lips part. “Loved?”

You smile, small and sad. “Yeah.”

It is a lie.

Mostly.

But maybe healing starts with saying something enough times until your heart gets tired of arguing.

“I’m done waiting, Seungmin.”

He looks at you like you have just taken something from him.

Maybe you have.

Maybe, after years of handing him your heart without him ever asking for it, you are finally taking it back.

You pick up your coat.

This time, he does not stop you.

And this time, you do not turn around.

⸻

Months later

The first thing Seungmin notices is that you look lighter.

Not happier, exactly.

That would have been easier to hate.

No, you look peaceful.

Like the world has stopped hurting you in places he never knew existed.

He sees you outside the small bookshop you used to love, the one tucked between the florist and the bakery on the corner. You are holding a paper bag in one hand and a drink in the other, your hair moving gently in the wind. Someone beside you says something, and you laugh.

Really laugh.

Seungmin forgets how to breathe.

For months, he has imagined this moment.

He thought seeing you again would feel like relief. Like coming home after being lost for too long.

Instead, it feels like standing outside a house that no longer has a door for him.

You notice him a second later.

Your smile fades, but not completely.

That hurts more than he expects.

Because you do not look angry.

You do not look like someone still waiting for an apology.

You just look surprised.

“Seungmin,” you say softly.

His name sounds different in your mouth now.

Less like a prayer.

More like a memory.

“Hi,” he says.

It is pathetic. After all the things he has practised saying, that is what comes out.

Hi.

You glance at the person beside you, then back at him. “Can we have a minute?”

They nod, giving Seungmin a polite smile before stepping inside the bookshop.

He hates how easily they listen to you.

He hates that they know where to stand.

He hates that they seem to understand something he spent years missing.

You turn back to him. “How have you been?”

The question is gentle.

Too gentle.

“I miss you,” he says.

Your expression shifts.

Not enough for anyone else to notice, maybe.

But Seungmin notices.

He notices everything now.

Too late.

You look down at the cup in your hands. “Seungmin…”

“I know,” he says quickly. “I know I don’t have the right to say that.”

“You don’t.”

The words are not harsh.

That makes them worse.

He swallows, nodding once. “I know.”

A silence passes between you, filled with all the things he should have said months ago. Years ago.

“I didn’t understand it then,” he says. “When you left. I thought I was losing my best friend, and I was so angry because I didn’t know why it felt like more than that.”

Your eyes soften, but you do not move closer.

“I know now,” he continues, voice cracking. “I know what you were to me. What you always were.”

Your grip tightens around your drink.

His heart stumbles.

“I love you,” he says.

There.

The words are finally out.

The ones he should have given you when they still could have saved something.

For a moment, you say nothing.

And Seungmin lets himself hope.

Just for a second.

Then you close your eyes.

When you open them again, there are tears there, but they do not fall.

“I wanted that so badly once,” you whisper.

His chest aches.

“Once?”

You smile, and it is the saddest thing he has ever seen.

“I waited years for you to say that.”

“I know.”

“No,” you say gently. “I don’t think you do.”

He looks at you, helpless.

You take a breath, shaky but steady. “I loved you until loving you started feeling like losing myself. And then I had to learn how to stop.”

Seungmin shakes his head. “You don’t have to stop.”

“But I already did.”

The world goes quiet.

He hears people walking past. The soft bell of the bookshop door. The wind brushing through the street.

He hears everything except his own heart, because it feels like it has stopped.

“You moved on,” he says.

You look at him with so much tenderness that it almost breaks him.

“I had to.”

His eyes burn. “Is there really no chance?”

You are quiet for a long moment.

Then you say it.

The sentence that will live inside him forever.

“You only loved me when I stopped waiting for you to.”

Seungmin flinches.

Not because you are cruel.

Because you are right.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

You nod, blinking back tears. “I know.”

“I really do love you.”

Your smile trembles.

“I believe you.”

That hurts most of all.

Because you believe him.

And you are still leaving.

The bookshop door opens behind you. The person from before looks out, not interrupting, just checking. You turn slightly, and something in your face changes — softens in a way Seungmin remembers wanting for himself.

That is when he understands.

This is not a punishment.

You are not trying to hurt him.

You have simply built a life that no longer has space for the version of him who took too long to choose you.

“I hope you’re happy,” he says, even though it nearly kills him.

You look back at him.

“I’m trying to be.”

He nods.

There is nothing else to say.

So this time, Seungmin is the one who watches you walk away.

I would love it if you could write a reader×Seungmin (or Felix (but if you think there's another member who suits better feel free to ignore my suggestion)) first love story where they both start having feelings for each other. But since it's her first time feeling like this she is super scared and backs away anytime he makes a move because she's scared it's not what she wants + she doubts whether she's even good enough for him.

Don’t pull away

Seungmin x f!reader

Synopsis: Falling for Seungmin should feel easy, especially when he’s nothing but gentle, patient, and quietly devoted. But for the first time, your feelings are too real to ignore, and every soft glance or almost-touch sends you running before he can get too close. When Seungmin finally confronts you about pulling away, the truth comes spilling out: you’re scared you’re not good enough for him. But Seungmin isn’t willing to let you believe that. Not when all he wants is to love you exactly as you are.

Cw: none just fluff!

a/n: haii im so sorry i didn’t get to you request beforee. But i hope you enjoy it, this was super fun to write!!

wc: 2,034

౨ৎ

Seungmin had a way of caring that made it impossible to pretend he didn’t.

He never announced it. Never made a show of it. He just remembered.

He remembered that you liked your coffee with more milk than coffee, that you always forgot your scarf even when the weather was cold enough to bite, that you hated walking too close to the road. Somehow, every time the pavement narrowed, he ended up on the outside without saying a word.

It should have been easy to ignore.

It was not.

Your pussy is completely soaked now, Jisung's face shiny with your juices as he continues to eat you out. Minho reaches down and slaps Jisung's cheek, marking it with your own wetness. "Open your mouth,ji..."

Jisung instantly drops a sloppy kiss on your clit before opening his mouth wide, panting heavily with his tongue out, presenting himself completely to Minho. Your juices drip from his lips and chin, his entire face glistening with your arousal. Minho spits right onto his tongue, claiming him.

Seungmin x f!reader

Synopsis: After years of loving Seungmin through comebacks and tours, you realise understanding his life doesn’t make the waiting hurt less—and you choose to let go, even though you both still love each other.

a/n: sorry i haven’t posted in so longg ive been super busy but i should be back to posting regularly again

Cw: angst, no happy ending

Wc: 2,181

The months that are yours are always so good it’s almost cruel.

They’re the quiet stretches between the noise—when the promotions slow down, when the flights stop stacking like dominoes, when his phone isn’t vibrating every five minutes. Those months feel like you’re allowed to exhale again.

Seungmin cooks badly on purpose because he likes the way you laugh when he pretends it was “definitely meant to taste like that”. He falls asleep with his cheek pressed to your shoulder, arm heavy around your waist like he’s anchoring himself. He sends you voice notes just to say, “I’m walking home,” as if the fact he’s walking home to you is the most ordinary, precious thing in the world.

In those months, it’s easy to forget the other version of your relationship exists.

And for a specific scene (if possible 🙏): I’d like a moment a few days later where he’s trying to make it up to her; maybe he texts or talks to her and says something like, “Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” but she thinks he’s joking or someone’s pranking her with the other members. It adds a little twist to the emotional stuff.

Have i ever told you how beautiful you are?

Seungmin x f!reader

Synopsis: she’s pretty, everyone knows it – except her.malicious comments + a careless “hideous” joke from seungmin are enough to crack everything open. now it’s up to him to fix what his words broke and prove that when he calls her beautiful, he means it.

Cw: insecurity about appearance, offhand joke taken badly, mentions of toxic/jealous fans, crying, miscommunication, happy ending

a/n: tysm for requesting this!! it’s a bit different from how i usually write seungmin (i don’t really think he’d ever say something as bad as “hideous”), but i really wanted to try and make it work in a way that still felt like him while keeping all the angst. i promise i love getting asks like this and playing with your ideas, so pls don’t ever be shy to send more! hope you enjoy <33

Wc:4,441

You don’t think of yourself as ugly.

You think of yourself as… fine. Decent. Pretty on a good day if the lighting is kind and you’ve actually slept.

You definitely don’t think of yourself as “idol’s secret girlfriend” pretty.

Apparently, neither do some of his fans.

You only open the thread because someone sends it to you with a “don’t read the comments lol” attached, which of course means you absolutely do.

It’s the same blurry street photo that’s been going round for weeks now: Seungmin in a mask and cap, head ducked, laughing at something. You, next to him, in an oversized hoodie and a beanie, caught mid–turn so your face is only half–visible.

is this the girl from the last rumour??

she’s so plain wtf

he could do better 💀

average at best ngl

maybe she’s nice but damn the visuals are not visual-ing

i’d cry if my idol really chose HER

You lock your phone so quickly your thumb hurts.

Your heart is pounding, loud in the quiet of your flat. It’s stupid. They don’t know you. They’ve never actually seen you properly; half your face is hidden, for god’s sake. You’d sworn you weren’t going to go looking for this stuff.

But seeing it typed out, in black and white, against your own face—

Plain. Average. Not good enough for him.

You drag a hand over your eyes and breathe in slowly through your nose, out through your mouth.

It’s fine. It doesn’t matter. They’re jealous and bored and hiding behind anonymous accounts. Seungmin loves you. That’s all that should matter.

Only… he’s an idol. He’s surrounded by people whose job it is to be beautiful. Sometimes you still can’t quite believe that he chose you out of everyone he could have had.

And now his fans are saying it out loud: he could have done better.

Your phone buzzes on the worktop, making you jump.

Seungmin 🐶

16:01: finished practice early

16:02: the guys are being loud and i want to die

16:02: come save me?

You stare at the messages for a moment, thumbs hovering. Then you type:

you: give me 20 mins

you: i’ll bring snacks

He replies with a flurry of celebratory emojis and a voice note of dramatic cheering. You can’t help the small smile that tugs at your mouth.

He loves you, you remind yourself. That’s the truth. Not a handful of nasty comments from people who don’t know either of you.

You grab your bag, pull on the biggest hoodie you own, and try not to think about how you look as you head out.

౨ৎ

The dorm is its usual sort of chaos when you let yourself in.

Someone’s music is blasting down the corridor, there’s a pile of trainers by the door, and you can hear two different arguments happening at once. It’s a familiar sort of noise now; you could probably pick Seungmin’s voice out blindfolded.

“You came,” he says, appearing in the hallway with socked feet and messy fringe, eyes lighting up in that way that never fails to loosen something in your chest.

“Of course,” you say, holding up the plastic bag. “I brought bribery.”

“My favourite kind of love language.” He leans in for a quick kiss, then pulls you further inside. “We’re just finishing some stupid game Chan made up. You can watch me destroy everyone and then we’ll hide in my room, yeah?”

You nod, letting him tow you into the living room.

There’s a camera set up, but pointed firmly at the boys, who are sprawled around the coffee table arguing over cards. You’ve been strict about that rule; you don’t appear in official content, not even as a blur in the background. Rumours are one thing, confirmation is another.

Chan lifts his head when you come in. “Oi, no girlfriends on camera, you know the rules,” he says, but it’s fond, already reaching over to flip the screen so it’s just on them.

“Relax, hyung,” Seungmin says, rolling his eyes as he drops down onto the floor. “She’s not going to appear. She’s just here to witness my victory.”

“You mean your loss,” Changbin pipes up.

You smile and curl up at the very edge of the sofa, out of the shot. You’re used to this positioning now: close enough that Seungmin can glance back at you, far enough that no one watching later will be able to tell you’re there.

The game is simple and ridiculous and results in a lot of shouting. You mostly watch Seungmin, the way his whole face goes scrunched when he laughs, the way he keeps half–turning to you as if to check you’re still there.

It helps. The comments fade a little at the edges.

Halfway through a particularly heated round, Jeongin glances up at the camera and grins. “Hyung, you’re being too noisy. Your girlfriend is going to break up with you if she sees you like this.”

Seungmin huffs, eyes still on the table. “She already knows I’m like this. She knows all my worst sides and still sticks around.”

“So she’s a saint,” Minho says dryly.

“Obviously.” Seungmin leans back on one hand, twisting slightly to look towards the sofa. Even though the camera isn’t pointed at you, habit makes you shrink a little further into the cushion.

You forgot, for a second, what you were wearing.

Big hoodie. Old joggers. No make–up. Hair scraped back out of the way. You’d dressed for comfort, not to sit five metres away from a group of very pretty idols and a filming camera.

Seungmin’s eyes scan over you, warm and familiar, a smile curling at the edge of his mouth.

“Look at her,” he says lightly, jerking his chin in your direction. “She’s sat there in that ridiculous disguise looking absolutely hideous, and she’s still my favourite person. That’s how you know it’s real love.”

He says it in the same tone he uses when he calls you “gremlin” or “monster”, the familiar lilt of long–running banter. He’s grinning, eyes soft, clearly amused by the fact you’ve turned up looking like you’re trying to sneak past paparazzi.

The others snort.

“It’s not a disguise, it’s fashion,” Changbin argues on your behalf.

“She looks fine,” Chan adds, without glancing up. “Keep playing, Min, it’s your go.”

The moment passes for them.

It doesn’t for you.

The word slams into you harder than it should. Hideous. It bounces around your skull, sticks to the inside like glue.

You know, logically, that he’s teasing. He called your outfit hideous, not your face; the fondness in his eyes is obvious. Objectively, you know that.

But all you can hear is the thread from earlier. So plain. He could do better. Average at best.

And now the person you’re most afraid of secretly agreeing with them has used almost the same word.

The room feels suddenly too warm. You force a laugh you hope sounds normal, fingers gripping the cushion until your knuckles ache.

Seungmin glances back at you, smile still there, as if waiting for you to roll your eyes and call him a menace.

You paste on a weak grin. His shoulders relax, attention turning back to the game.

You spend the rest of the filming trying not to cry.

౨ৎ

You make your excuses as soon as they’re done.

“Early start tomorrow,” you lie, shoving your phone into your pocket before he can see your hands shaking.

“I’ll walk you down,” Seungmin says immediately, already half–standing.

You almost tell him not to, but the hurt is starting to feel irrational even to you. The last thing you want is to turn it into an obvious sulk.

“It’s fine,” you say. “Stay, you’re still filming, right? I can get myself home.”

“It’s just packing up,” Chan says. “Go.”

Seungmin hesitates, then follows you into the hall, closing the door quietly behind him.

“Hey,” he says, voice gentler now that you’re alone. “You really okay?”

You stare at your shoes. “Yeah, just tired.”

He studies you for a second. Then he tips your chin up with his fingers, eyes searching your face.

“You’re sure?” he presses softly. “You seem… I don’t know. Far away.”

For a moment you think you might actually tell him. That the stupid comments got under your skin and then his stupid joke dug the hole a bit deeper. That you keep looking in the mirror and seeing “not enough” written across your forehead.

Instead, you force a tiny smile. “I’m fine, Min. I promise. Just sleepy.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but he leans in and kisses your forehead, lingering there for a second.

“Text me when you’re home, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You get home, shower, and stand in front of your bathroom mirror, dripping water onto the tiles.

You try to see yourself how he sees you. You really do. You think of all the little ways he’s called you pretty over the months, the unposed photos he’s taken of you grinning over street food or curled up reading on his bed.

But your brain keeps circling back to that one word.

Hideous.

You don’t cry. You just turn the light off.

౨ৎ

The next couple of days, you pull back without meaning to.

You still text him, you’re not a monster. You reply to his memes and his random dog photos, but you don’t send selfies back when he asks. You dodge video calls with excuses about work and bad Wi–Fi.

He tells you he believes you, and a horrible part of you is almost relieved when he doesn’t push.

Because if he sees your face, what if he realises the comments are right?

౨ৎ

Seungmin notices, obviously.

At first he tells himself he’s being paranoid. People get busy. Sometimes you go a few days without proper face–time when your schedules clash.

But you never used to hesitate to show your face. He’d got used to random photos of you half–asleep, or with a sheet mask on, or with a new lipstick that you “needed an opinion on”. You’d always rolled your eyes at his teasing and called him dramatic when he told you you were beautiful.

Now, every time he asks, he gets a sticker instead.

On the third day, he overhears his own name and yours in the same sentence and stops outside the studio door.

“She looked really upset,” Jeongin is saying inside. “I mean, I could be wrong, but… she went really quiet after that.”

“After what?” Chan asks.

“The whole ‘hideous’ thing,” Jeongin replies. “I know he was obviously joking, but still. If my partner called me hideous I’d cry.”

Seungmin’s hand tightens on the door handle.

Chan hums. “You think that’s why she’s been distant?”

“I dunno,” Jeongin says. “It’s Y/N, she’s normally chill, but… I just have a feeling.”

Seungmin pushes the door open before he can talk himself out of it.

Both of them jump.

“Hyung,” Jeongin blurts, guilty. “We weren’t—”

“You think I upset her,” Seungmin says, ignoring the twist in his stomach, the way his voice comes out rough.

Jeongin winces. “I’m not saying it like that, just… that word is harsh if you’re not used to the way we joke?”

Seungmin drops into the chair opposite them, rubbing a hand over his face.

He sees it now, replayed in his head. The way you’d gripped the cushion, the way your laugh had sounded a little off, the sudden rush to leave afterwards.

“You don’t know about us,” he mutters, staring at his shoes. “Not properly. You only see the banter, not the… everything else.” The late–night phone calls, the soft kisses, the way he touches your face like it’s the nicest thing he’s ever seen.

“Talk to her,” Chan says simply. “Don’t sit here guessing.”

Seungmin nods, already reaching for his phone.

౨ৎ

You decline his first call because you’re in the shower. You miss the second because you’re sat on your bed staring at yourself in the black screen and you can’t make yourself hit accept.

He texts almost immediately.

Seungmin 🐶

20:11: are you avoiding me?

20:11: is this about something i said

20:12: please talk to me

You sigh, guilt churning.

you: sorry was in the shower

you: and work’s been mad

you: i’m not avoiding you i promise

You stare at the three little dots, then at your reflection in the dark window. Your hair is still damp, your eyes ringed with tired shadows.

The phone buzzes again.

Seungmin 🐶

20:15: can we meet tomorrow?

20:15: somewhere near you

20:15: please

You hesitate.

Saying no feels cruel. Saying yes feels terrifying.

you: there’s that café near the station

you: 3pm?

Seungmin 🐶

20:17: i’ll be there

౨ৎ

The next day, you arrive five minutes early and spend the entire time fighting the urge to flee.

The café is cosy, humming with low chatter and the hiss of the coffee machine. You choose a table in the corner and order a drink for you and Seungmin, and pick at a napkin until the paper starts to tear.

He comes in two minutes past three, hood up, mask on, but you’d know him anywhere.

The relief on his face when he spots you is almost painful.

“Hi,” you say, hating how small your voice sounds.

“Hi,” he replies, tugging his mask down as he reaches the table. There are faint smudges under his eyes; he looks like he hasn’t slept well.

He sits opposite you, hands wrapped round his own cup as if he needs something to anchor him. For a moment neither of you speaks.

Then, out of nowhere, he says, “Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?”

You blink at him.

It’s so abrupt, so ridiculously cheesy, that your first instinct is to laugh. Your second is suspicion.

You narrow your eyes. “All right, what did you do?”

He looks genuinely confused. “What?”

“Did you lose a bet?” you continue.

“No,” he says, eyebrows drawing together. “Y/N, I’m being serious.”

You shake your head, a bitter little laugh catching in your throat. “You don’t have to say stuff like that just because you feel bad.”

His fingers tighten around his cup. “So you are upset.”

You stare down at the table. The wood is scratched near your elbow, little white lines where the stain has come off.

“I told you, I’m just—”

“Don’t say you’re tired,” he cuts in, gentle but firm. “You’ve been saying you’re ‘just tired’ for days. You’re not sending me photos, you won’t pick up my calls, and when you do talk to me it feels like I’m texting a polite stranger. Something happened. Please… let me fix it, if I can.”

Your eyes sting.

“It’s stupid,” you say. “You’re going to think I’m being dramatic.”

“Try me.”

You swallow, pick a spot on the table to focus on, and force the words out.

“Someone sent me a thread,” you begin. “With those street photos. The ones where people think we’re… whatever they think we are.”

His jaw clenches.

“You read the comments,” he guesses quietly.

You laugh humourlessly. “I know I shouldn’t. I know they’re jealous and bored and projecting. But I read them, and they were…” You exhale sharply. “They were nasty, Min. Talking about how plain I am. How you could ‘do better’. How I’m not on your level.”

You finally look up, and his expression is somewhere between furious and heartbroken.

“Then I came to the dorm,” you continue, voice wobbling. “And you called me hideous.”

He flinches, like you’ve slapped him.

“And I know,” you hurry on, before he can speak, “I know you were joking, I know you meant my outfit, I know that’s just how you tease. But all I could hear was them, and I thought… maybe that’s what you really think, too. You just finally said it out loud.”

Silence falls between you, heavy and taut.

Seungmin’s eyes are shining now. “Y/N,” he says, and your name breaks in the middle. “No. No, no, that’s not— God, I’m such an idiot.”

You blink at him, thrown.

“I was talking about your disguise,” he says, words tumbling over each other. “You were all bundled up in that massive hoodie and hat and I thought you looked like a tiny grumpy marshmallow. I was trying to tease you because I— because that’s how we always… I never, ever meant you. Not your face, not your body, not any part of you.”

Your throat feels tight again. “You still said it,” you whisper. “About me.”

“I know,” he says miserably. “And I’m so sorry. I thought it was obvious I was joking. I thought you’d see my face and know I was being dramatic on purpose.” He drags a hand through his hair. “I forget sometimes that you don’t see yourself the way I do.”

You look away, blinking hard.

“You’re used to looking at idols,” you mutter. “At people who are actually stunning. Of course next to them I’m going to look—”

“Don’t,” he says sharply.

You freeze.

He exhales, softer this time. “Don’t talk about yourself like that,” he says. “Not in front of me.”

“Have you seen the comments?” you ask, anger finally bubbling up past the hurt. “They’re brutal, Min. They screenshot my face and pick it apart like I’m some kind of… of before photo. They call me average and plain and—”

“They’re jealous,” he cuts in. “They’re jealous and cruel and they think because they’re fans they have the right to dehumanise the people in our lives. It’s disgusting, and it has nothing to do with you not being pretty enough.”

You give a shaky laugh. “You have to say that, you’re my boyfriend.”

“No,” he says. “I have to say it because it’s true.”

You scoff, but he leans in, elbows on the table, gaze unwavering.

“Do you know what I thought when I first saw those rumours?” he asks.

“What?”

“I thought, ‘Wow, even when someone’s taken a grainy photo from across the road, she still looks gorgeous.’” His mouth twists. “And then I wanted to break everyone’s phones for looking at you without your permission, but that’s a separate issue.”

Despite yourself, you huff.

“I’m not just saying you’re beautiful to make you feel better,” he goes on. “I’m saying it because it’s the first word that comes into my head when I look at you. Even when you rock up to the dorm in a hideous hoodie and questionable joggers.”

You sniff. “So you admit the hoodie is hideous.”

He manages a tiny smile. “The hoodie is hideous. You are not.”

The insistence in his voice makes something crumble in you.

“I couldn’t stop hearing it,” you confess quietly. “In your voice, in theirs. Every time I looked in the mirror it was just… there.”

His expression crumples. “I hate that I put that there. If I could go back and slap the word out of my own mouth I would.”

You let out a wet laugh. “That would be a weird thing to watch.”

“I’d do it,” he insists, squeezing your hand. You hadn’t even noticed when he’d reached out; his fingers are warm, solid, grounding. “I will never, ever mean something like that about you. If I tease you and it hits something raw, that’s on me, not on you. I don’t care if it was a joke—if it hurt you, then I’ve got to do better.”

You stare at your joined hands. His thumb is stroking lightly over your knuckles, back and forth.

“I don’t want you to feel like you can’t joke with me,” you say eventually. “That’s one of my favourite things about us.”

He smiles faintly. “We can still joke. I’ll just… retire ‘hideous’ from my vocabulary when it comes to you. Put it in a bin, set fire to it, stomp on the ashes.”

“Dramatic,” you murmur.

He shrugs. “I’m an idol, what did you expect.”

The tension in your chest eases, just a fraction. Your eyes are still stinging, but the panic has ebbed enough to let something else in.

“You really think I’m beautiful?” you ask, hating how small you sound.

He looks at you like you’ve just asked if the sky is blue.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” he repeats softly. “Because I feel like I say it all the time in different ways. When I take photos of you for no reason. When I stare at you until you get embarrassed and throw a cushion at me. When I refuse to let you delete a picture you hate because I think you look perfect in it.”

You swallow.

“I know you don’t see what I see,” he says. “But I’m going to keep telling you anyway. Not because of the rumours, or the comments, or to prove anything to anyone. Just because it’s true, and you deserve to hear it louder than those voices in your head.”

A tear slips down your cheek. He reaches across instinctively, thumb catching it before it can fall further.

“Can you forgive me?” he asks quietly. “For being thoughtless. For not realising.”

You breathe out slowly.

“I do,” you say. “I just… might need a bit of time to untangle it.”

“That’s okay,” he replies immediately. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You believe him.

He squeezes your hand, then stands, coming round to your side of the table. “Can I hug you?” he asks.

You nod, and then you’re up, pressed against his chest, his arms around you firmly like he’s trying to hold you together and himself at the same time.

“You’re not a rumour,” he murmurs into your hair. “You’re not a blurry picture or a nasty comment section. You’re my girlfriend, and you’re so, so pretty it actually hurts sometimes.”

You snort into his hoodie. “You need to work on your compliments.”

“Never,” he says. “I’m being painfully sincere, this is hard enough.”

You laugh properly then, the sound muffled against him. The ache in your chest is still there, but it feels different now—less like something breaking, more like something slowly, carefully being stitched back together.

He pulls back just enough to look at you.

“Say it with me,” he says softly. “They’re jealous and wrong.”

You roll your eyes. “They’re jealous and wrong.”

“And I’m right,” he adds.

You hesitate, then: “And you’re right.”

He grins, triumphant. “Good. Now, homework: next time you want to go down a rabbit hole of horrible comments, call me instead and I’ll read you a list of everything I love about your face.”

“That sounds awful,” you say. “And a bit narcissistic.”

“That sounds like healing,” he corrects, leaning in to kiss your forehead. “And you deserve all of it.”

You breathe him in, let the warmth of him sink into your bones.

Hideous doesn’t echo quite as loudly in your head anymore.

Beautiful does, though.

And for the first time in a while, you let yourself think that maybe—just maybe—he’s not completely wrong.

౨ৎ

A few days later, your phone buzzes while you’re half–asleep on the sofa, a drama playing quietly in the background.

You blink blearily at the screen.

Seungmin 🐶

23:41: have i ever told you how beautiful you are?

You stare at the message.

It’s not that he hasn’t said it since the café. He has—softly, in passing, tucked into other sentences. “You look beautiful today.” “That colour is beautiful on you.” Little things.

But this is… concentrated. Random. Suspiciously sweet.

Your first thought is not aw.

Your first thought is okay, which one of them stole his phone this time.

You snort and type back:

you: …

you: who has your phone

you: i’m not falling for whatever dare the guys came up with in the dorm

The reply comes fast.

Seungmin 🐶

23:42: wow

23:42: can a man not express his genuine feelings without being accused of crimes

You roll your eyes, but your mouth is already tugging into a smile.

you: you? genuine? sounds fake

you: send proof it’s actually you”

There’s a long enough pause that you’re sure you’ve caught them out—until a photo pops up.

It’s Seungmin, clearly snapped in a rush: hair messy under a cap, mask tugged down, headphones crooked round his neck. He’s in what looks like a practice room corner, fluorescent light doing nothing for him, eyes a little tired but still soft.

Another text follows:

Seungmin 🐶

23:44: alone

23:44: no audience

23:44: just me being disgustingly sincere on main

23:44: unfortunate for you

A quiet laugh slips out of you.

You zoom in on the photo, just because you can. Even grainy and badly lit, he still manages to look stupidly good. It’s unfair.

you: ok fine

you: congrats on unlocking sincerity

you: what’s the occasion

There’s a tiny pause. Then:

Seungmin 🐶

23:46: homework

23:46: remember?

23:46: me telling you the truth louder than the comments in your head

23:47: starting with: you’re beautiful

23:47: and i’m very very in love with you

23:47: annoying but true

Your chest does that complicated little twist again.

Part of you still wants to brush it off, make a joke, hide behind emojis and sarcasm. The old reflex is strong: he’s exaggerating, he doesn’t really mean it, it’s just him being nice.

But you remember the way he looked at you in the café. The way his voice shook when he apologised. The way he said I’m going to keep telling you anyway.

You inhale slowly.

you: you’re so weird

you: but

you: thank you

you: i’m… trying to believe you

It takes a second, and then:

Seungmin 🐶

23:49: that’s all i’m asking

23:49: i’ll keep saying it until you don’t have to “try” anymore

23:49: now send me a selfie so i can prove my case

You hesitate, then flip your camera, hair a bit messy, eyes a little shiny, no filters.

You take the photo before you can overthink it and hit send.

The response is immediate.

Seungmin 🐶

23:50: exhibit A 😤

23:50: the most beautiful person i’ve ever seen

23:50: tell “average at best” twitter users to come fight me

You laugh, out loud this time, warmth spreading through your chest.

Hideous feels like a word from another life.

Beautiful is starting to sound, if not natural, then at least… possible.

you: you’re ridiculous

you: my ridiculous though

you: goodnight, minnie 💗

Seungmin 🐶

23:52: goodnight, beautiful

You lock your phone, the screen going dark, your own faint reflection staring back at you.