──────── ୨ৎ 𝙼𝚄𝚂𝙴𝚄𝙼 of fictional feelings

⋆ ɪᴛ’ꜱ ᴍᴇ

Even the stars are jealous of you

☾ MASTERLIST ☾ ⋆ ♡ TAGLIST ♡⋆ ☕︎ RECOMMENDED ☕︎

୨ৎ 𝓵𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓼𝓽: secondhand ♡ han jisung ❜ ⌗ . . . . . . . . . ⌗ ❜ advanced calculus ♡ han jisung

paring: non!idol!han x fem!reade

gender: just a long ass story with some confort and fluff as fuck.

You're a teenager (Soojin) from one of the richest families in Korea, but what happens when you lose all your money and a lower-middle-class boy meets you?

word count:

warnings: highschool!au, alcohol, cigarrets, kissing, angst

Han had imagined this moment a thousand times, not the acceptance, that part felt impossible, unrealistic, like one of those dreams you tell yourself not to believe in because it'll hurt less if it doesn't happen, no. He had imagined telling you, because obviously you'd be the first person he'd tell, you were always the first person.

The email arrived on a Tuesday afternoon, at first Han thought he was hallucinating, then he read it again, and again , and again. His hands were shaking, his heart was pounding, his vision was blurry, because the words weren't changing.

Congratulations.

We are pleased to offer you admission...

Admission, not waitlisted, not rejected, accepted, actually accepted.

Then he kept reading, and suddenly sat down, hard, because there was more, much more. The scholarship, the full scholarship, tuition, housing, expenses, everything.

Han stared at the screen, then laughed, then cried a little, then laughed again, because this wasn't supposed to happen. People like him weren't supposed to get opportunities like this, not really, not from Juilliard, not from New York, not from one of the most prestigious music schools in the world.

And yet—

there it was, his dream sitting in an email, real.

Han immediately grabbed his backpack, then ran, literally ran, ignoring calls, ignoring messages, ignoring traffic, because he only wanted one thing. To tell you.

You were sitting at your apartment table when the door burst open, not unusual, Han never knocked, unfortunately.

You looked up and immediately froze, because Han looked insane, breathless, wild-eyed, smiling. The biggest smile you'd ever seen.

"Soojin."

You blinked.

"What happened?"

Han laughed, actually laughed, the kind that happened when someone couldn't contain happiness anymore.

Then:

"They accepted me."

Silence.

Your heart stopped.

Because immediately—

you knew. Not just any acceptance, the acceptance, the one, Juilliard, New York, America. And suddenly your stomach dropped, not because you weren't happy, because you were. God, you were. But another feeling arrived too, something ugly, something you hated. Jealousy, not of Han, of what he'd been given, of the life that should've been yours.

Or at least—

the life you'd always been told would be yours. The girl who traveled, the girl who studied abroad, the girl whose future stretched across oceans, that girl was gone.

And now Han—

Han was standing in front of you holding the future you'd lost. The feeling hit before you could stop it. Han was still smiling, still waiting, still expecting you to be happy.

Then quietly:

"...You got in?"

His smile widened.

"Yeah."

You nodded slowly.

Then:

"...But you don't even speak English that well."

Silence, immediate silence.

The second the words left your mouth—

you wanted them back, immediately.

Han froze, completely froze. The smile disappeared, not slowly, instantly, like someone switched off a light. And suddenly the apartment felt cold.

"What?"

His voice was quiet, too quiet. You looked away, because now you were angry, not at him, at yourself, at life, at everything.

"So what?"

Han stared.

"You think you're just gonna move to New York?"

The words kept coming and you hated every single one, but you couldn't stop.

"Do you even know how hard that's gonna be?"

Han didn't answer, not yet, because honestly? He was still trying to understand what was happening. Five minutes ago he'd been the happiest he'd ever been, now he felt like someone had punched him in the chest.

"You don't understand."

You laughed bitterly.

"No, YOU don't understand, literally and rhetorically, you probably used Google Translate to find out what the email said."

Silence. Han's expression changed, slowly, from hurt, to disbelief.

Then finally:

"I thought you'd be happy for me."

And somehow—

that hurt more, because he sounded so disappointed, not angry, disappointed. Like you'd failed him, which maybe you had.

You looked away, because you couldn't stand looking at him. The acceptance, the scholarship, the dream, everything you'd lost, standing right in front of you.

Then quietly:

"Must be nice."

Silence.

Han blinked.

"...What."

"Getting everything you want."

The moment the words left your mouth—

you knew

You knew.

Too far.

Way too far.

Because Han's face changed immediately. The hurt became something else, something sharper.

And for the first time in a very long time—

Han looked angry, actually angry.

"You think I got everything I wanted?"

His voice rose slightly, not yelling, just hurt, deeply hurt.

"You think this just happened?"

You didn't answer, and somehow that made it worse.

Then Han laughed, not happily, the kind of laugh people make when they're trying not to break.

"Seriously?"

Silence.

Then finally:

"I'm not the reason you lost everything, Soojin."

The words hit instantly, hard, like a slap, because he wasn't wrong, that was the worst part. He wasn't wrong.

Han's chest hurt, because this wasn't supposed to be this conversation, this wasn't how today was supposed to go.He wanted to celebrate with you, he wanted to tell you, he wanted you, and somehow now he felt completely alone.

"You think I don't know your life changed?"

His voice cracked slightly.

"You think I don't know what you gave up?"

Silence.

Then:

"But don't punish me for it."

Your eyes burned, because suddenly you wanted to cry, not because he was wrong, because he was right and you hated it. You hated yourself for saying it, you hated the jealousy, you hated the fear, you hated how much the idea of losing him scared you.

But instead of saying that—

you stayed silent and Han took that silence as his answer. For a long moment neither of you moved, neither of you spoke.

Then finally—

Han grabbed his backpack, slowly, quietly, no dramatic exit, no yelling, no slamming doors. Which somehow felt worse, because Han only got quiet when he was truly hurt, at the doorway he stopped, for a second, like maybe he was hoping you'd say something, anything.

Stay.

Sorry.

Wait.

Something.

But nothing came. So he nodded once and left. The apartment door clicked shut behind him.

And suddenly—

for the first time since meeting Han Jisung—

you felt completely alone.

Meanwhile, walking home, Han stared at the acceptance letter on his phone, the letter he'd dreamed about for years, the letter that should've made him feel invincible.

And somehow—

for the first time all day—

he didn't feel happy anymore, just heartbroken.

The apartment felt wrong after Han left, not quiet, not empty, wrong. Because Han had left before, a thousand times, after movie nights, after studying, after dinner, after dates, but this felt different, because usually when the door closed—

you knew he'd text you five minutes later, or show up tomorrow, or call, or send a meme. This time? You weren't sure and suddenly that terrified you.

You sat frozen at the kitchen table, still staring at the place where he'd been standing, his excitement, his smile.

God.

His smile, the biggest smile you'd ever seen, and what had you done? Destroyed it. You dropped your face into your hands.

"Oh my God."

The words came out as a whisper.

Because suddenly—

the entire fight replayed itself, not how it felt, how it actually happened. Han had come running to tell you, running, like a little kid with good news, like the first person he wanted to tell was you.

And instead of celebrating—

instead of hugging him—

instead of being proud—

You'd hurt him, on purpose, no. The realization hit hard, not on purpose, but the result was the same.

Your chest hurt, because now that the anger was gone—

the truth remained, and the truth was ugly.

It wasn't about Juilliard, it wasn't about scholarships, it wasn't even about your old life, not really. The realization arrived slowly, then all at once, like a wave.

You weren't jealous because Han got accepted, you were terrified because Han got accepted. Your breathing caught.

Because suddenly—

you saw it.

New York, an ocean away, different time zones, different life, different country, different continent, Han walking through streets you'd never seen, Han making new friends, Han building a futur, without you.

And suddenly tears appeared, because there it was. The thing you'd been refusing to think about for months, the thing you'd buried every time the applications came up, the thing that scared you most.

You were going to lose him, not because he stopped loving you, not because he wanted to leave, because life was moving forward.

And for the first time since losing everything—

you couldn't stop it.

A sob escaped before you could stop it, because somehow that hurt more than losing the mansion, more than losing the money, more than losing the school. The thought of losing Han, home.

You curled up on the couch, the same couch where he'd fallen asleep, the same couch where you'd watched movies, the same couch where he'd kissed your forehead a hundred times, and suddenly everything hurt, because now you understood.

You hadn't been angry, you'd been scared, yerrified.

And instead of saying:

I'm scared you're going to leave.

You'd said:

You don't even speak English that well.

Your stomach twisted violently, because God. How could you say that?To Han? Han, who spent nights practicing, Han, who worked harder than anyone you knew, Han, who believed in you before you believed in yourself.

The memory made you feel sick, then another realization hit, even worse.

You laughed bitterly through tears, because the thing you feared most had already happened, not New York, not the distance, not graduation. You had already pushed him away, with your own hands.

Because instead of trusting him—

instead of talking to him—

instead of saying:

I'm scared.

You'd hurt him, and now you remembered his face, the disappointment, not anger, disappointment, like you'd broken something.

Your chest physically ached, because Han had looked at you like he didn't recognize you, and honestly? You didn't recognize yourself either.

The apartment door opened quietly, your mother, much later. She found you exactly where she'd left you, curled into yourself, crying.

The second she saw your face—

she knew, something happened.

She sat beside you, didn't ask questions immediately, just waited, the way mothers do.

Eventually:

"What happened?"

And somehow—

that was all it took, everything came pouring out. The acceptance, the fight, the things you'd said, the things he'd said, the fear, especially the fear.

Your mother listened, quietly, patiently.

Until finally you whispered:

"I think I'm losing him."

Your mother sighed softly.

And for a second—

she looked strangely sad. Not because of Han, because she recognized something, the same thing she'd gone through once.

Then gently:

"No."

You looked up.

"What?"

She smiled sadly.

"You're afraid of losing him."

A pause.

"Those aren't the same thing."

The words hit harder than expected, because she was right. you weren't losing Han, not yet. You were just afraid, and fear had made you cruel.

The apartment fell silent again, then your mother reached over, brushed some hair away from your face, and smiled softly.

"Soojin."

Your eyes burned.

"What?"

"That boy loves you."

Immediate tears, because you knew.

God.

You knew.

"Then why did he leave?"

Your voice cracked. Your mother looked toward the window, thinking, then answered honestly.

"Because you hurt him."

The truth, simple, painful. Then she squeezed your hand.

"But hurting someone isn't the same as losing them."

Your throat tightened.

Because suddenly—

for the first time since the fight—

there was a tiny bit of hope, small, fragile, but there.

And as you sat awake long after midnight—

staring at the photos on your wall, the photos in your camera.

The memories of buses and rooftops and birthdays—

you finally admitted the truth.

The thing you'd been avoiding all day, you weren't scared of New York, you weren't scared of Juilliard, tou weren't even scared of distance.

You were scared because somewhere along the way—

Han Jisung had become the most important person in your life and the idea of a world without him in it felt unbearable.

The worst part? You knew exactly what you needed to do, you just didn't know if he'd still be there to hear it.

Han didn't go home immediately, which was stupid, because it was getting dark, because he had nowhere to go, because his mother was probably wondering where he was. But home was the last place he wanted to be, because home meant questions.

And right now—

he didn't have answers.

So instead he walked, and walked, and walked. Seoul blurred around him, people passed, cars passed, the city continued moving. Meanwhile Han felt stuck, the acceptance email remained open on his phone, still there, still real, still the greatest thing that had ever happened to him.

And somehow—

it felt terrible now.

Eventually he ended up in the park, the park, of course. Because apparently every important moment in his life happened there.

He sat on the same bench where all five of you had spent countless afternoons. Then stared at the acceptance letter again. Juilliard, New York, full scholarship, everything, everything he'd wanted. So why did he feel like crying?

Han laughed bitterly, because honestly? The answer was obvious. The first person he'd wanted to tell was you, and somehow the conversation had turned into the worst fight of his life.

His stomach twisted, because now that the adrenaline was gone—

the anger was gone too.

Leaving only hurt, and guilt, a lot of guilt, because yes, you'd hurt him. But God, he'd hurt you too. The memory replayed.

"I'm not the reason you lost everything, Soojin."

Han closed his eyes immediately.

"...Idiot."

The word came out as a whisper, because the second he'd said it—

he'd regretted it.

Not because it wasn't true, because it was. That was the problem, it was true, and he'd used the truth like a weapon.

The realization made him sick, because he knew, more than anyone. He knew what you'd lost, the mansion, the school, the future, the certainty. He'd been there, he'd watched it happen, he'd held you while you cried, he'd sat beside you in silence, he'd listened.

And then today—

the moment he was hurt—

he'd thrown it back at you.

His chest hurt, because that wasn't who he wanted to be, not with you, never with you.

Han rubbed both hands over his face, then looked up at the sky.

And for the first time all day—

another realization arrived. One he hadn't wanted to think about. The possibility that you were right. Not about the English, not about Juilliard, about the fear, because honestly? He was scared too, terrified.

The acceptance letter sat in his lap, proof that everything was changing, proof that his dream was becoming real.

And for weeks—

months—

he'd been pretending not to think about what came after, because thinking about it hurt. The truth? He wanted Juilliard, desperately. He wanted New York, the music, the opportunities, the future, he wanted all of it, but he wanted you too, and suddenly he wasn't sure how both things fit together.

His chest tightened, because maybe that was why your reaction hurt so much, not because you doubted him.

Because part of him had been hoping—

desperately hoping—

you'd tell him everything would be okay. That you'd figure it out together. That somehow there was a future where nobody had to choose.

Instead—

you'd looked afraid, and seeing that fear in your eyes made his own impossible to ignore.

For the first time since receiving the acceptance—

Han allowed himself to think it.

Really think it. New York meant leaving, leaving the apartment, leaving Dori, leaving Felix, leaving Changbin, leaving Hyunjin, leaving you. An ocean, thousands of kilometers, different lives, different futures, and suddenly he felt nauseous.

Because for the first time—

his dream wasn't just exciting. It was terrifying.

A message notification appeared, hHan looked down immediately. Then froze, not you. Felix, of course.

heard u got accepted proud of u idiot

Silence. Then another, Changbin.

don't become american

And then:

Hyunjin.

call me tomorrow congratulations

Han smiled despite himself, small, tired. Then his eyes burned, because suddenly he wanted to text you, more than anything, tell you he was sorry, tell you he understood, tell you he wasn't angry anymore, tell you he was scared to, but his thumb hovered over your contact and stopped, because what if you didn't want to hear from him?

The thought hurt more than expected, so instead he locked his phone.n Coward, complete coward. The same coward who'd spent months trying to confess, some things never changed.

Eventually he made his way home, late, much later than usual. His mother was waiting, of course she was.

The second she saw his face—

she knew.

Something happened, parents always knew, it was unfair.

"Han."

He looked up, and suddenly he felt eighteen years old. Not a future Juilliard student, not a musician, just someone's son, a kid who'd had a terrible day.

"What happened?"

And somehow—

that was enough, because suddenly everything came pouring out. The acceptance, the scholarship, the fight, the things you said, the things he said, everything.

His mother listened quietly, then eventually asked:

"Do you think she was jealous?"

Han shook his head immediately.

"No."

The answer came too fast, too certain.

Because deep down—

he already knew. It wasn't jealousy, uIt was fear.

The same fear currently eating him alive, his mother nodded slowly. Then smiled sadly.

"Sounds like she loves you very much."

Silence. Han stared.

Because somehow—

that hurt, and comforted him, at the same time.

Then softly:

"I love her too."

His voice cracked.

Just a little.

His mother squeezed his shoulder, and suddenly Han realized something, the thing he'd been avoiding all evening.He wasn't scared of New York, not really, he wasn't scared of Juilliard, or moving, or English, or failure.

The thing that terrified him most—

the thing that kept him awake that night—

Was the possibility that the person he loved most in the world had looked at his biggest dream...

And seen goodbye.

paring: non!idol!han x fem!reade

gender: just a long ass story with some confort and fluff as fuck.

You're a teenager (Soojin) from one of the richest families in Korea, but what happens when you lose all your money and a lower-middle-class boy meets you?

word count: 3.5 k

warnings: highschool!au, alcohol, cigarrets, kissing

part XV / part XVI / part XVII / part XVII / part XIX / part XX / part XXI / part XXII

The last months of high school felt strange, not sad, not yet. Just...

different.

Like everyone could feel something ending, and something else beginning.

The countdown to graduation kept shrinking.

60 days.

43 days.

31 days.

Every week felt faster than the last. Suddenly everyone was talking about applications, universities, scholarships, interviewe, the future.

A year ago none of you would've imagined this version of yourselves. Now it was all anybody talked about. Changbin had finally decided on sports science, Felix was applying for design and media programs, Hyunjin, unsurprisingly, was pursuing art. And Han? Music, always music. The only thing he'd ever been completely sure about.

Meanwhile you had finally figured out your own answer, journalism. The moment you'd said it out loud, everything clicked. Stories, people, photography, travel, questions. It was everything you loved, everything that felt like you, not your parents' dream, not your old life, yours. And honestly? That felt incredible.

One afternoon the five of you sat in your apartment surrounded by laptops, paperwork, snacks, and stress. A truly horrifying environment. Felix was fighting with an application essay, Changbin kept forgetting password, Hyunjin looked suspiciously calm. Meanwhile Han was working on scholarship applications, a lot of them, because music programs weren't exactly cheap and everyone knew it.

You sat beside him editing one of your essays, occasionally glancing over, not intentionally. Okay. Maybe intentionally.

You liked watching him work. He always got this focused expression, like the rest of the world disappeared, cute, very cute.

At some point Felix dragged Han into an argument about something stupid, which meant Han abandoned his laptop, mistake, because your eyes drifted toward the screen automatically, not snooping, not really, just looking.

Then you froze, because one application name stood out immediately.

The Juilliard School.

Your heart skipped.

Oh.

You knew Juilliard, of course you knew Juilliard. Even in your old life, even before everything happened, everybody knew Juilliard. One of the most prestigious music schools in the world, the kind of place people dreamed about, the kind of place people crossed oceans for, the kind of place located in New York. Very far from Seoul, very far from you.

Your stomach tightened unexpectedly. You looked away immediately, then looked back, because suddenly you noticed something else. Scholarship application, full scholarship application.

Silence.

Your chest felt strange, because this wasn't just some random application. Han was trying, really trying.

And knowing Han—

he wouldn't waste time applying unless he believed he had a chance, a real chance. You stared at the screen for another second, then quickly looked away before he noticed.

The conversation across the room continued. Felix was yelling, Changbin was laughing, Hyunjin looked exhausted, normal. Everything felt normal, except suddenly it didn't, because a thought had appeared, and now you couldn't get rid of it.

What if he gets in?

The question settled heavily inside your chest, Because obviously—

you wanted him to succeed, more than anyone.

If somebody deserved a place like Juilliard—

it was Han, the boy who spent nights writing songs, the boy who carried notebooks everywhere, the boy who lived and breathed music.

Of course you wanted him to get in, so why did your chest hurt? The answer arrived immediately.

Because if he got in—

he'd leave. New York wasn't a neighboring city, it wasn't a different district, it wasn't even a different country, it was an entirely different life, a ocean away, different time zones, different schedules, different everything.

The realization hit harder than expected and suddenly the apartment felt smaller. You hated that feeling immediately, because this wasn't about you, this was his dream, his future, and the last thing you wanted was to become someone who held him back.

So you stayed quiet, very quiet, for the rest of the afternoon. Han noticed within twenty minutes, of course he did, because unfortunately he knew you too well.

Later, after everyone left, he found you sitting on the rooftop, your favorite place. The city stretched beneath you, spring wind moved softly through the air. You didn't notice him at first, not until his hoodie appeared around your shoulders, automatically, as always. Then Han sat beside you.

"...What's wrong?"

You immediately looked away.

"Nothing."

The world's least convincing lie. Han raised an eyebrow.

"Soojin."

You sighed, because there was absolutely no point hiding things from him.

Not anymore.

So quietly—

"I saw the Juilliard application."

Silence. Han froze.

Oh.

For a moment neither of you spoke.

Then softly:

"...Okay."

You stared at the city lights, not him, because somehow looking at him made this harder.

"When were you gonna tell me?"

Han looked down. The answer wasn't great, because honestly? He hadn't told you because he didn't know if it mattered yet, he didn't know if he'd get in, he didn't know if the scholarship was realistic, he didn't want to make promises, or create fears, nntil something was real.

So quietly:

"I wasn't hiding it."

You nodded, you believed him. That wasn't the problem, the problem was the image in your head. Han in New York, Han living another life. Han not sitting beside you on buses, or rooftops, or in your apartment.

The thought hurt, a lot and suddenly tears threatened unexpectedly. Not because you were angry, because you loved him, and sometimes loving someone meant realizing they might grow in directions that scared you.

Han saw it immediately, the sadness, the fear. And suddenly his chest hurt too.

Because the truth was—

he'd thought about it, many times, the possibility, getting accepted, leaving, leaving you. He hated that thought too, more than he'd ever admit. So gently he reached for your hand, and held it. Not trying to fix anything, just there, with you.

Then quietly:

"It's just an application."

You nodded.

"I know."

Silence, then after a moment:

"...Do you want to go?"

The question hung between both of you. Big, dangerous, important. Han stared out at the city.

Then answered honestly.

"...Yeah."

Your chest tightened, because of course he did, and somehow hearing it hurt, and made you proud, at the same time.

Then softly:

"But I'm also terrified."

You looked over. Han laughed weakly.

"I've never even been to New York."

That made you smile slightly.

Then quieter:

"And I'd miss you."

The honesty of it nearly broke you, because there was no dramatic speech, no grand declaration, just truth, simple truth. Han would miss you, you would miss him, and neither of you knew what the future looked like anymore.

For a while neither of you spoke, the city lights flickered below, the wind moved gently around you. Then finally Han squeezed your hand and smiled softly.

"We're getting worried about a future that doesn't even exist yet."

You laughed quietly, maybe he was right.

Maybe.

Still—

as you rested your head on his shoulder that night—

one thought stayed with you.

For the first time since meeting Han—

the future felt uncertain, and somehow that scared you more than losing everything ever had.

For a while neither of you sat in silence, the city stretched endlessly beneath the rooftop, cars moved through the streets below, the wind carried the scent of spring. Your head rested against Han's shoulder, his fingers remained intertwined with yours.

And yet—

that uncomfortable feeling still lingered, not because you were angry, not because you didn't support him, because you did, more than anyone. But suddenly there was a future in front of you that didn't automatically include both of you in the same place, and that was new, very new. Han could feel it too.

Because despite everything he'd said—

he knew exactly what was going through your head.

New York, distance, years apart, the possibility of losing the little life you'd built together. Honestly? He hated thinking about it too.

Then suddenly he snorted, you looked up.

"...What."

Han shook his head, then laughed.

"No, because we're literally being stupid."

You frowned.

"Why."

Han looked genuinely confused.

"Soojin."

"What."

"Soojin."

The second repetition meant emotional damage was coming. You already knew. Han pointed dramatically toward the imaginary future both of you had spent the last ten minutes catastrophizing.

"We're acting like I'm already packing my bags."

Silence.

"...You're not?"

Han laughed harder, then grabbed both sides of your face.

"Soojin."

"What."

"They're not accepting me."

You blinked.

"...What."

"They're not."

"Han."

"No seriously."

He looked completely sincere.

"It's Juilliard."

You stared. Han stared back.

Then:

"It's JUILLIARD."

"You keep saying it like that."

"Because it's Juilliard."

He pointed at himself.

"Look at me."

You immediately started laughing.

"What does that mean."

"It means they have people applying from all over the world."

"Okay?"

"People who are geniuses."

"You are a genius."

Han physically recoiled.

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Han."

"Soojin."

You rolled your eyes. Then suddenly Han smiled, that familiar smile. The one that always appeared when he was trying to make you feel better, vven when he was worried himself.

"I sent the application because Felix wouldn't shut up about it."

"That sounds fake."

"It is mostly fake."

You laughed.

And somehow—

the knot in your chest loosened slightly, because now that you thought about it...

he was right.

Nothing had happened, no acceptance letter, no scholarship, no decision. Just an application, a possibility, a dream, not reality, not yet. Han nudged your shoulder lightly.

"Besides."

"What."

"If by some miracle they accepted me..."

You immediately looked over. Han smiled softly, then squeezed your hand.

"We'd figure it out."

The words were simple, not dramatic, not romantic, just honest. The kind of promise Han always gave.

Not:

Everything will be okay.

But:

We'll deal with it together.

And somehow—

that felt stronger.

You smiled despite yourself, then leaned into his shoulder again.

"You're annoying."

Han looked offended.

"I literally fixed the situation."

"You called yourself untalented for ten minutes."

"That was strategy."

"You have terrible strategy."

"It worked."

Unfortunately—

it had, because now you were laughing, and the fear wasn't gone completely, but it felt smaller, manageable. The future was still uncertain, graduation was still coming, everything was still changing.

But for now—

Han was beside you, his hand was holding yours, and New York was still just a city on an application, nothing more.

One week, that was all that remained, seven days, seven actual days until graduation. Which was absolutely ridiculous because everyone had collectively agreed that it was still January, somehow it was not.

The entire school felt strange lately, teachers looked emotional, students looked stressed, everybody kept talking about university, the future, leaving. And honestly? Nobody knew how to act, which was how you ended up trapped in a graduation planning meeting after school, aterrible fate.

The classroom was packed, students everywhere, half listening, half scrolling through their phones. You sat beside Han near the back, as usual. Meanwhile Felix was drawing mustaches on random worksheets, Changbin was eating something, nobody knew what, Hyunjin was sketching. Educational environment, obviously.

At the front stood the class president, a terrifyingly organized person, which was unfortunate because nobody else was.

"Okay."

She clapped once, immediately nobody listened.

"Guys."

Still nothing.

"GUYS."

Finally silence, more or less. She sighed dramatically.

"We need to decide the graduation ceremony."

Collective groans echoed throughout the room, because nobody wanted to talk about graduation. Talking about graduation made it real and nobody was emotionally prepared for that. The class president continued.

"So."

She looked down at her notes.

"We need someone to give a speech."

Immediate silence.

Then:

"No."

"Absolutely not."

"I'd rather die."

"Can we skip that part?"

The class president looked exhausted.

"Someone has to do it."

A student in the front raised his hand.

"We should do something academic."

Collective disappointment.

"Oh God."

"No."

"We've suffered enough."

Another student nodded.

"Like a speech about achievement and hard work."

The room immediately started booing, you couldn't even blame them. Then suddenly Felix stood dramatically.

"I have a better idea."

Dangerous, very dangerous. The class president immediately regretted calling on him.

"What."

"We do music."

Silence, actually...

not silence.

Several people immediately agreed.

"Oh."

"Wait."

"Actually."

"That sounds way better."

The mood shifted instantly, because honestly? Nobody wanted another generic graduation speech, people wanted memories, something they'd remember, the class president looked surprised.

"...Music?"

A girl near the front nodded.

"We have talented people."

Another student added:

"It'd be more personal."

More agreement followed, suddenly the idea spread through the room.

Then somebody said:

"Who would perform?"

And immediately—

without even thinking—

your eyes moved toward Han.

The second they did—

you realized half the room had done exactly the same thing.

Oh.

Han froze.

"...What."

Several students pointed.

"You."

Han looked horrified.

"Why me?"

The entire room stared, silence.

Then:

"Are you serious?"

"You literally write music."

"You've performed before."

"You're the obvious choice."

Han immediately looked at the ceiling, as if asking God for helpo help ar, nrived. Meanwhile you were trying not to smile, because honestly? The idea made perfect sense.

Music had always been Han, even before you met him, before the group, before everything. It was the one thing he'd always known. The class president looked interested now.

"Would anyone actually want to perform?"

A few hands went up immediately, someone offered to sing, another offered piano, a few students suggested small performances. The idea slowly started becoming real. Then eventually the class president nodded.

"Okay."

She scribbled notes.

"That could work."

The room visibly relaxed, because somehow this felt better, more like your class. Then she looked up.

"Anyone else?"

Silence. People avoided eye contact immediately, cowards.

Meanwhile beside you—

Han was pretending to look busy, very obviously pretending.

Because the truth was—

he wanted to, you knew him.

He always pretended not to want attention, but music? Music was different. You could see it,the little spark in his eyes, the way he kept glancing toward the front, thinking, considering.

And suddenly—

you nudged him. Han looked over.

"...What."

You smiled, small, encouraging. The same smile he'd given you a hundred times before.

The one that always meant:

you can do it.

"Do it."

Han immediately looked away.

"No."

"Han."

"No."

"Han."

He groaned, the universal sign of defeat. You smiled wider.

Then quietly:

"You'll regret it if you don't."

Silence, because that hit hard. You could see it immediately, the thought landing, settling, because maybe this was the last time. the last school event, the last graduation, the last week before everything changed. And suddenly Han looked toward the front again, then back at you, nervous, uncertain. The way he'd looked before applying to music schools, before performing, before every important thing.

Then softly:

"...You think I should?"

You didn't hesitate.

"Yeah."

Instant answer, certain answer, because honestly? Nobody deserved that stage more than him.

Han stared at you for a second, then laughed softly, the nervous kind.

Then slowly—

raised his hand.

The class president immediately pointed.

"Han?"

The room turned, everybody. Han looked mildly terrified.

Then:

"...I'll do it."

Silence. Then applause, actual applause, the entire room. Felix immediately stood on his chair.

"THAT'S MY GUY."

"GET DOWN."

Changbin looked proud, Hyunjin smiled slightly, and you? You looked at Han, and suddenly remembered the first day you met him. The boy who sat beside a lonely girl at lunch, the boy with the notebook full of songs, the boy who thought nobody listened. Now an entire room wanted to.

The apartment was unusually quiet, not because nobody was there, because somebody was concentrating, which was rare, very rare.

Han Jisung concentrating was a phenomenon that occurred approximately three times a year, snd you were currently witnessing one of them. You sat cross-legged on the couch with a cup of tea slowly growing cold in your hands. Meanwhile Han occupied the center of the living room, a guitar balanced across his lap, sheets of paper scattered around him, lyrics, notes, corrections, ideas.

The graduation performance was only days away now, and suddenly it felt real, very real, because what started as a random suggestion had somehow become:

Han performing at graduation.

Naturally everyone was excited. Felix had already informed approximately seventy people, against Han's wishes, bbviously. Now Han was stuck rehearsing, and honestly? You couldn't stop staring, not because he was your boyfriend, okay, partially because he was your boyfriend, but mostly because this version of Han always amazed you, the version that appeared when music took over, the joking stopped, the chaos stopped, the endless teasing stopped.

And suddenly—

there was only him, focused, passionate, certain. It felt like watching someone become exactly who they were meant to be. Han adjusted a few notes on the page.

Then sighed.

"...Again."

You smiled.

"You've said that seven times."

"Eight."

"That's worse."

Han pointed dramatically.

"Perfection requires sacrifice."

You rolled your eyes. Then immediately melted when he smiled, traitorous heart. A few minutes later he finally sat up straighter, guitar in position, then looked toward you.

"Okay."

You immediately paid attention.

"What."

"Actual attempt."

Your stomach flipped slightly.

Because every time Han played something new—

it felt special, like getting a glimpse into a place very few people were allowed to enter, his mind. his heart, the place where songs were born.

Han took a breath, then started. The first guitar notes filled the apartment, soft, clean, beautiful, immediately your chest tightened, because he was good, ridiculously good. You knew that already, everyone knew that already, but hearing him play up close always felt different.

The melody slowly unfolded, warm, nostalgic, almost like looking back on something beautiful. Then Han started singing, and honestly? You forgot how to breathe, because no matter how many times you heard him sing—

it always happened.

That moment.

The one where your brain remembered:

Oh. He's incredible.

His voice filled the apartment effortlessly. The lyrics carried emotion without feeling forced, like every word belonged exactly where it was. You didn't even realize you were smiling, not until Han glanced over briefly, and immediately smiled too, without missing a note, show off.

Then came the rap section and suddenly the energy shifted. The song transformed, sharper, faster. Han leaned into it naturally, the confidence, the rhythm, the control. You genuinely couldn't look away, because this wasn't just someone performing, this was someone doing what they loved most, and God. There was something beautiful about that, watching someone become completely themselves.

The song eventually built toward the final section, the guitar returned, his voice softened again, the melody settled gently, then ended.

Silence, complete silence. The apartment suddenly felt too small, too quiet, because honestly? The performance deserved a stadium, not your living room. Han looked up immediately.

"...Well?"

You stared, still processing. Han immediately panicked.

"Oh no."

You laughed.

"What."

"That was the face."

"What face."

"The bad face."

"It wasn't a bad face."

"It absolutely was."

You shook your head, then finally found words.

"Han."

He froze, because that tone always meant something important. Your voice softened.

"...That was beautiful."

Silence, because compliments from you still hit differently, still landed directly in his chest, especially when you sounded sincere.

And right now—

you sounded completely sincere. Han looked away, the tips of his ears turning pink.

"...Thanks."

You smiled.

Then quietly:

"No."

He looked confused.

"What."

"I mean it."

Your eyes drifted toward the guitar, the lyrics, the pages scattered around the floor, then back toward him.

"You look happiest when you're doing this."

Silence, because suddenly this wasn't about the performance anymore, or graduation, or school, it was about him, the future, the dreams he'd been chasing long before you met him.

Han swallowed, then smiled softly, the vulnerable kind, the one reserved for moments like this.

"...I am."

Your chest immediately melted.

Because somehow—

that answer made you happier than the song itself, seeing him happy, seeing him alive, eeing him become more himself every day, yhat was your favorite thing.

Then Han stood, walked over and dropped onto the couch beside you, close enough that your shoulders touched. Then immediately rested his head against yours, comfortable, automatic, home.

The word appeared instantly, as always, for a while neither of you spoke, the guitar remained leaning against the chair, the lyrics remained scattered around the floor, the sunset slowly painted the apartment gold.

Then quietly—

Han reached for your hand, and squeezed it.

"...I'm scared."

The admission surprised you. You looked over, Han stared toward the window, not at you, like admitting it was easier that way.

"The performance?"

He nodded. Then laughed weakly.

"A little."

Silence.

Then:

"The future too."

Your chest tightened, because suddenly you understood, the universities, the applications, the graduationverything.

It was all getting closer.

And for the first time—

Han sounded unsure.

You intertwined your fingers with his.

Then smiled.

The same smile he'd given you so many times before.

The one that always meant:

You can do it.

"You're gonna be amazing."

Han looked over.

Then smiled.

And somehow—

despite all the uncertainty waiting outside that apartment—

he believed you.

Because if there was one thing Han trusted completely—

it was the way you looked at him when he was becoming who he was meant to be.

paring: non!idol!han x fem!reade

gender: just a long ass story with some confort and fluff as fuck.

You're a teenager (Soojin) from one of the richest families in Korea, but what happens when you lose all your money and a lower-middle-class boy meets you?

word count: 2.6 k

warnings: highschool!au, alcohol, cigarrets, kissing, smut (prepare yourself), jerkin off, sex with protecction, opening a condom with the teeth (NEVER DO THAT), soojin first time, han being desesparte

part XIV / part XV / part XVI / part XVII / part XVII / part XIX / part XX / part XXI

The thing about dating Han was that he was technically broke, painfully broke. The kind of broke where buying two drinks instead of one required genuine financial consideration, the kind of broke where he checked prices before ordering food, the kind of broke where every coin in his pocket had a purpose.

And yet—

for some reason—

everything he had always seemed to end up with you. You noticed it constantly, the last dumpling, the warmest seat on the bus, the bigger half of a snack, the umbrella when it rained, his hoodie when it got cold. Every single time without fail. And every single time you complained about it.

"Han."

"What."

"You took the smaller one again."

Han looked down at the two fish-shaped pastries in your hands. Then immediately looked away.

"...Did not."

"Han."

"It's literally the same size."

"It is not."

Silence.

Then:

"...Maybe a little."

You groaned. Meanwhile Han smiled. Because honestly? Seeing you happy felt worth more than snacks anyway, which was deeply embarrassing.

Saturday arrived warm and bright, the kind of spring day that made the city feel softer. You found Han waiting outside your apartment, his hands shoved into his hoodie pocket, dark hair slightly messy, asmile appearing instantly when he saw you. And God. That smile still got you every time.

"...Hi."

"Hi."

The smile got bigger, because apparently he still hadn't gotten used to this. To you, to being allowed to love you openly, and honestly? Neither had you.

The date started with absolutely no plan, which was normal, because Han's version of planning usually consisted of:

we'll figure it out

A terrifying philosophy, yet somehow it always worked.

The first stop was a convenience store, of course, you should've expected that. Han disappeared inside, returned five minutes later, holding two ice creams. You immediately narrowed your eyes.

"...How much money do you have."

Han froze.

"Enough."

"That's not a number."

"It's a mysterious amount."

"Han."

He laughed, then handed you the better ice cream, again, always.

The two of you ended up walking aimlessly through the city, no destination, no schedule, just talking. About school, music, graduation, Dori, everything.

At one point you wandered through a flea market, the same type where he'd taken you months ago, back when second-hand clothes felt strange, back when everything felt strange.

Now it felt familiar, comfortable. You stopped at a small stand selling old cameras, immediately, of course. Han smiled, because honestly? Watching you get excited over photography was one of his favorite things. You picked up an old camera carefully, examining it, talking about lenses, film, colors. Meanwhile Han wasn't listening at all, not because he didn't care, because he was watching you. The way your eyes lit up, the way your hands moved, the way your smile appeared when discussing something you loved. And suddenly he thought:

I could watch her talk forever.

Deeply embarrassing realization.

Later, you found a small bookstore, then lost an entire hour inside. Looking through old novels, comic books, photography books. The owner eventually started laughing, because neither of you could decide. At one point Han picked up a book.

"...This reminds me of you."

You looked over. It was a collection of travel photographs. Your chest softened instantly, because of course, he remembered. The countries, the stories, the places you'd loved, the dreams you weren't sure belonged to you anymore.

Eventually the sun started setting, the city glowed gold, and both of you ended up sitting near the river. A place you'd visited dozens of times, nothing special.

And somehow—

one of your favorite places.

Because Han was there, simple as that.

The two of you sat side by side eating ramen from paper cups, not fancy, not expensive, just warm. The wind moved softly through the trees, the water reflected sunset colors and for a while neither of you spoke, comfortable silence, your favorite kind.

Then suddenly:

"...Sorry."

You looked over.

"What."

Han stared down at his noodles.

"...I wish I could take you somewhere nicer."

Your heart immediately broke.

Oh.

Han kept talking, still looking away.

"Like sometimes I see couples going to nice restaurants or buying gifts and stuff and—"

You immediately put your ramen down, because absolutely not, not today, not ever.

"Han."

He stopped, finally looked at you, and the insecurity there hurt, because he genuinely meant it, because somewhere inside him—

a small part still worried he wasn't enough.

You reached over, brabbed his hand, firmly.

"Look at me."

He did. Then softly:

"My favorite birthday was a used camera."

Silence. His chest tightened immediately. You continued.

"My favorite trips lately have been buses."

A small smile appeared.

"My favorite meals have been convenience store ramen."

The smile got bigger.

"My favorite place in Seoul is a random rooftop."

Now he was laughing softly, nut your voice stayed serious, because you meant every word. Then quietly:

"Do you know why?"

Han already knew.

Still—

he shook his head. You smiled.

"Because you were there."

And suddenly everything became quiet. The river, the city, the sunset, everything.

Because somehow—

those four words meant more than any expensive gift ever could. Han stared at you, completely gone, hopelessly, ridiculously, in love.

Then softly—

almost embarrassed—

he squeezed your hand.

"...That's unfair."

You laughed.

"What is."

"You always say things that make me want to marry you."

You immediately choked on your ramen. Han looked equally horrified.

"Oh my God."

"I DIDN'T MEAN RIGHT NOW."

Your laughter echoed across the river. Han covered his face.

"Forget I said anything."

"Never."

And honestly? You wouldn't.

Because years from now—

you wouldn't remember how much the date cost, you wouldn't remember the exact food, or the exact route you walked. You'd remember this, the warmth. the laughter, the feeling of sitting beside someone who made every ordinary moment feel precious. Because maybe Han couldn't give you luxury, maybe he couldn't buy expensive gifts, maybe he never would. But somehow—

every date with him felt richer than anything you'd ever had before.

And for the first time in your life—

home wasn't a place, it was a person.

The apartment felt unusually quiet, not lonely quiet. Just… still.

The kind of quiet that only happened when it was late and there was nobody else coming home for hours.

Your mother had texted earlier:

Working late. Don't wait up. Han, please make sure she eats something.

Which immediately made Han laugh because apparently your mother trusted him more than she trusted you. A little rude, honestly.

Now the two of you were curled up together on the couch, amovie played in the background, neither of you were watching it, at all.

Dori was asleep in his favorite spot by the window, the city lights glowed softly outside, everything felt warm, safe.

You rested against Han's chest while he absentmindedly played with your fingers, one of his favorite habits, one of yours too. Neither of you talked much, you didn't need to.

After a year of friendship, months of dating, countless bus rides, countless rooftops, countless moments. Silence had become comfortable, home.

Han pressed a soft kiss against your hair, then another against your forehead, then your temple. You smiled.

"You're clingy."

"I'm affectionate."

"Same thing."

"No."

You laughed and Han smiled immediately, as always, but this time, something shifted in his eyes, something hungry.

The movie continued playing somewhere in the background, neither of you knew what was happening anymore.

Eventually your head tilted upward. Han looked down and suddenly the room felt smaller. His hand brushed gently against your cheek. You kissed him first. Soft, slow, comfortable, not desperate, not like the first time, this felt different now, familiar, like something you'd done a hundred times.

The kiss deepened gradually, neither of you rushing, neither of you trying to prove anything, just wanting to be close.

But then Han's hand moved to your waist, squeezing, pulling you closer.

You felt it then—how hard he was already, straining against his jeans, pressed against your hip. He broke the kiss, breathing ragged against your lips.

"Soojin," he whispered, voice rough. "Fuck, I want you so bad."

His desperation was palpable. His hands trembled slightly as they gripped your hips, but he was still holding back, still being careful.

"Tell me if this is too much," he said, even as his fingers dug into your skin with barely restrained need. "Tell me to stop and I will. I swear to god, I'll stop."

You reached up an tuched his face gently.

"I trust you."

The words came easily, because they were true, more than anyone. Han closed his eyes briefly, then rested his forehead against yours.

"Are you sure?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper. "I need you to be sure, Soojin. Because once I start touching you properly, I don't know if I can—"

"Yes," you interrupted, pulling him closer. "I'm sure, Han. I want you inside me. Please."

His breath hitched.

"Fuck," he groaned, capturing your mouth again.

This kiss was different, hungrier, desperate. His hands roamed your body with newfound confidence, slipping under your shirt, palming your breast through your bra.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured against your neck, sucking marks into your skin. "So fucking beautiful. I've thought about this so many times. Thought about how you'd feel. How you'd sound."

You gasped as his thumb found your nipple, rolling it through the fabric, sending sparks down your spine. Before you could say anything else, Han pulled you closer and carried you to your room, gently placing you on the bed, but his hand never left your waist or your chest.

"Han—"

"Tell me what you want," he demanded, his voice dropping lower. "Tell me exactly what you want me to do to you."

You felt your face flush, but the words came anyway.

"I want you to fuck me," you whispered. "Right here. On my bed. I want to feel you."

Han's eyes darkened.

"Shit, Soojin. You can't say things like that to me."

"Why not?"

"Because I won't be able to control myself."

"Then don't."

That was all the permission he needed. Han lifted you easily, settling you across his lap so you were straddling him.

You could feel him now—hard and thick beneath you, making you ache. He grabbed your hand, pressing it against his erection.

"Feel what you do to me?" he growled. "This is all for you. Only you."

You stroked him through his jeans and he groaned, head falling back against the bed frame.

"Fuck, baby. Keep doing that."

You unbuttoned his jeans slowly, teasing.

"You're killing me," he breathed.

"Good."

Finally, you freed him. He was thick and heavy in your hand, warm, pulsing.

"Shit," he hissed as you stroked him. "Just like that. Fuck, your hand feels so good."

But he stopped you before you could build a rhythm.

"Wait," he panted. "Condom. I have one—in my wallet."

You watched as he fumbled for it, his hands shaking slightly. He tore the packet open with his teeth.

"Let me," you said, taking it from him.

You rolled it down his length slowly, enjoying the way his jaw clenched. The way his breath caught.

"You're torturing me on purpose," he accused, but he was smiling.

"Maybe."

He lifted your shirt over your head, then your bra. His eyes roamed your bare chest with something like reverence.

"Perfect," he whispered, leaning forward to take a nipple into his mouth.

You cried out, fingers tangling in his hair. He sucked and licked. switching between your breasts, making you writhe against him.

"You taste so good," he mumbled against your skin. "So fucking sweet."

His hand slipped between your legs, rubbing you through your underwear.

"Already wet for me," he observed, sounding pleased with himself. "Were you thinking about this? Thinking about my cock inside you?"

"Yes," you admitted, breathless.

"Say it again."

"I was thinking about you. About this. Please, Han—"

He slipped his fingers beneath your underwear, found you soaked.

"Christ," he groaned, circling your clit with practiced precision. "You're dripping. You need this as bad as I do, don't you?"

You nodded frantically.

"Words, Soojin. I need to hear you say it."

"Yes! I need you. Please, Han. Please fuck me."

He didn't make you ask again. Han lifted you off his lap and gently laid you on the bed. You watched as he took off his shirt, his pants, and his underwear, leaving him completely naked, and God, he looked fucking sexy. Then he positioned himself at your entrance.

"Look at me," he commanded.

You locked eyes with him, dark and intense and full of love, so much love.

"I love you," he said, voice raw. "So fucking much."

"I love you too," you whispered back.

And then he lowered you onto him, slowly, so slowly. You both gasped as he filled you, stretching you so fuckin perfect.

"Fuck," he groaned, head falling back. "You feel—shit, you feel incredible. So tight. So warm."

You gave yourself a moment to adjust, feeling his pulse inside you.

"Move," you begged. "Please, Han. Move."

He gripped your hips and started to thrust. It was slow at first, controlled, but the desperation was building. You could see it in his face, the way his jaw tightened, the way his fingers dug into your skin.

"More," you demanded. "Harder."

"Fuck, Soojin—"

He picked up the pace, snapping his hips up to meet yours. The sound of skin against skin filling the quiet apartment.

"Is this what you wanted?" he grunted. "Wanted me to fuck you like this? Wanted to feel me deep inside you?"

"Yes! Yes, just like that—"

"You're taking me so well," he praised, his voice strained. "So perfect. Made for me. Only for me."

He groaned, thrusting harder, the bed creaked beneath you.

"Touch yourself," he ordered. "I want to feel you come around me. Want to feel you squeeze my cock."

You reached between your bodies found your clit and rubbed circles as he fucked into you.

"That's it," he encouraged, watching your face. "Let me see you. Let me see you fall apart."

The pressure built quickly, coiling tight in your belly.

"Han—I'm close—"

"Come for me, baby. Come on my cock. I want to feel it. Want to feel you."

His words pushed you over the edge. You cried out, spasming around him, your vision whiting out.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck—" he chanted, feeling your orgasm.

He thrust through it, chasing his own release. A few more desperate, sloppy thrusts and then he buried his face in your neck, groaning long and low as he came. You felt him pulse inside you, even through the condom.

For a moment, neither of you moved, just breathing hard, sweaty, aatisfied. Han pressed kisses against your shoulder, your neck, your jaw.

"I love you," he whispered again.

Like a prayer, like a promise.

"I love you too," you murmured back, still trembling.

He helped you clean up. Took care of the condom. Pulled you back onto the bed with him, you lay curled against his chest beneath blankets, his arm wrapped around your waist, your fingers lazily intertwined, neither of you were asleep yet, nust listening to each other's breathing.

Eventually Han pressed a kiss to the top of your head, soft, careful, the same way he always did.

Then quietly:

"…Thank you. For trusting me."

You smiled against his shoulder.

"Always."

And somehow—

with the apartment dark around you and Han holding you close—

the future didn't feel scary anymore.

It felt like home.

paring: non!idol!han x fem!reade

gender: just a long ass story with some confort and fluff as fuck.

You're a teenager (Soojin) from one of the richest families in Korea, but what happens when you lose all your money and a lower-middle-class boy meets you?

word count: 2.9 k

warnings: highschool!au, alcohol, cigarrets, kissing

part XIII / part XIV / part XV / part XVI / part XVII / part XVII / part XIX / part xx

The funny thing about love was that sometimes it arrived loudly.

And sometimes—

it had been sitting quietly between two people for months before either of them said it.

For you and Han, it was definitely the second one, because honestly? Everyone already knew, Felix knew, Changbin knew Hyunjin knew, your mom definitely knew, Dori probably knew. The only people pretending otherwise were you and Han, not because you didn't feel it.

God.

You felt it, every day, in every little thing. The way Han remembered your favorite snack without thinking, the way you automatically saved him the last bite of food, the way he reached for your hand before looking, the way you couldn't imagine your future without him in it anymore, love was everywhere. It just hadn't been spoken yet.

The words started becoming dangerous sometime during summer, spring had passed, school was almost over. The weather had grown warmer, and somehow your relationship had become even softer, which felt unfair, because neither of you thought it was possible.

One evening, the group gathered on the rooftop of your apartment, the usual. Cheap food, music, Felix being loud, Changbin eating everyone's food, Hyunjin pretending he wasn't having fun. By midnight, everyone started leaving, one by one.

Until eventually—

it was just you and Han, again, as always. The city stretched below you, warm lights, summer air, distant traffic. You sat beside each other on an old blanket, not talking much, comfortable silence, your favorite kind.

Han lay on his back looking at the stars, or at least the three stars visible through Seoul's light pollution. You laughed softly.

"What."

"There are like four stars."

Han pointed dramatically.

"Let me dream."

You smiled. Then looked back at the skyline, for a while neither of you spoke.

Until Han suddenly said:

"...It's weird."

"What."

He turned his head slightly, looking at you.

"Sometimes I forget there was a time before you."

Your chest tightened immediately.

Because somehow—

that sounded more intimate than any confession. You looked down, trying to hide your smile.

"You knew me for like a year."

"Yeah."

Han's voice softened.

"And somehow that's enough."

Silence, dangerous silence, because lately moments like this kept happening. Moments where the words sat right there, between you, waiting, neither of you saying them, both of you feeling them.

Then suddenly Han sat up.

"...Can I tell you something embarrassing?"

You immediately smiled.

"Always."

"Okay."

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, which usually meant emotional damage was incoming.

"I had this whole plan."

You laughed immediately.

"Another one?"

"Don't bully me."

"You literally planned your confession."

"And it failed."

"It failed spectacularly."

Han looked offended.

"That's not the point."

You smiled.

"What's the point?"

For a second he didn't answer. Instead he looked at you, really looked at you and suddenly your heartbeat became weird, because his expression changed, softer, vulnerable, like he was trying to decide something.

Then quietly—

"I've been trying not to say something for weeks."

Your breath caught.

Oh.

OH.

Han immediately laughed nervously.

"See now I'm scared."

Your heart started racing, because you know what is coming next, you knew exactly what he was talking about and somehow that made it worse.

Because you had been doing the same things, for weeks, maybe months. The words sat in your chest every time he smiled, every time he kissed your forehead, every time he made your life feel brighter.

And now—

here they were, finally. Han looked away briefly.

Then admitted:

"I keep almost saying it."

Everything disappeared.

Leaving only:

you.

Him.

And the words neither of you had managed to say. Your eyes burned unexpectedly, because somehow hearing that hurt. in a good way, like your heart had become too full.

Then softly—

"...Me too."

Han froze.

Actually froze, then looked back at you, the rooftop suddenly felt very small, very quiet, very honest. Neither of you laughed anymore, neither of you looked away, then Han smiled, small, nervous, the same smile from your first bus ride, the same smile from your birthday, the same smile that accidentally became home.

And quietly—

so quietly you almost missed it—

"I love you."

There it was, no fireworks, no dramatic speech, no grand gesture. Just Han, looking at you like he'd never been more certain of anything.

And somehow—

that made it perfect.

Your vision blurred immediately.

"Oh my God."

Han panicked.

"WAIT."

You started laughing through tears.

"No."

"Was that bad?"

"Han."

"I can take it back."

"You literally can't."

"I'll try."

"You idiot."

And before he could spiral further—

you grabbed his face.

And kissed him. The kind of kiss that felt like relief, like coming home after being lost.

When you finally pulled away—

Han still looked stunned, completely gone, destroyed.

Then quietly—

you smiled.

"I love you too."

Silence.

Then:

"...Really?"

You immediately burst out laughing.

"Really?"

"What?"

"That's your response?"

Han looked completely serious.

"Just checking."

You kissed him again, because honestly? There was no saving him and maybe that was okay.

Because somewhere along the way—

between buses and rooftops and convenience stores and birthdays—

you'd fallen in love with him too.

Completely.

And for the first time—

both of you finally said it out loud.

The conversation started because graduation suddenly felt real. For months, it had existed somewhere far away, a future problem, something that belonged to another version of yourselves.

But then one morning, someone hung a countdown banner in the hallway.

87 DAYS UNTIL GRADUATION

And suddenly everyone collectively lost their minds.

Felix spent ten minutes dramatically pretending to cry, Changbin immediately started calculating how many classes he could still skip, Hyunjin claimed he wasn't emotional, nobody believed him.

And you?

You stared at the banner for longer than you should have.

Because for the first time in a while—

the future looked blurry.

That evening, the group was hanging out in the park, the same park, the same benches, the same skate ramps, the same place where your entire life somehow changed. Changbin was eating, as usual. Felix was attempting tricks on a skateboard, as usual. Hyunjin was sketching, as usual.

Meanwhile, you and Han sat on the grass slightly away from everyone, your shoulder pressed against his. His hand absentmindedly playing with your fingers, comfortable, the sun was beginning to set. Everything glowed gold.

Then suddenly Felix yelled:

"WHAT ARE YOU GUYS DOING AFTER GRADUATION?"

The question echoed across the park.

Changbin answered immediately.

"Sleeping."

"Career wise, idiot."

"Oh."

Silence.

Then Hyunjin spoke.

"I want to study art."

Everyone nodded, nobody was surprised. Felix wanted something involving social media and design. Changbin wasn't fully sure yet, but had a few ideas.

Then naturally—

everyone looked at Han.

Han shrugged.

"...Music."

Silence.

Then Felix pointed dramatically.

"Yeah."

"Obviously."

"Shocking."

Han threw a leaf at him, because honestly?

Everyone already knew. Han had known for years that music wasn't just something he liked, it was part of him, songs, writing, producing, performing. Every version of his future somehow included music.

Then eventually—

everyone looked at you and suddenly you wished they hadn't, because you didn't have an answer.

"...I don't know."

The words came out quieter than expected, the group blinked, because usually you always knew things. You always had plans, solutions, answers.

Now—

nothing.

You looked down at the grass.

"...I really don't know."

Silence settled around the group, not uncomfortable, just thoughtful. Then Felix spoke gently.

"What did you want before?"

Your chest tightened.

Before.

The dangerous word.

You looked toward the sunset, then admitted:

"I was supposed to study abroad."

Nobody interrupted, nobody joked, they all listened. You appreciated that.

"A good university.NYU, maybe Yale or someting in Germany"

You laughed softly, not because it was funny, because it felt strange now.

"My parents had everything planned."

You remembered it clearly. Law school, maybe business, maybe politics, Europe, America, something prestigious, something expensive, something impressive.

Your entire future mapped out before you were old enough to understand it, you used to think that was normal, now it felt like someone else's life.

"I always thought I'd study law."

Han looked over.

"...Did you want to?"

Silence.

You opened your mouth, then stopped, because honestly? You didn't know.

Had you wanted it?

Or had you simply never considered another option?

"...Maybe."

The answer sounded weak even to you, because suddenly you realized something. You couldn't remember ever being excited about law, not once. You only remembered being expected to do it. The realization sat heavily in your chest.

Across from you, Han watched quietly.

Listening, thinking

Then eventually the conversation drifted elsewhere, Felix started talking again, Changbin got distracted, someone mentioned food. The group slowly returned to normal.

But the thought stayed.

And later that night—

after everyone left—

you and Han walked home together. For a while neither of you spoke.

Then quietly:

"...You're worried."

You looked over. Han's hand was still holding yours. You sighed.

"...Maybe."

Han squeezed your hand gently.

"Because you don't know?"

You nodded. For a moment neither of you spoke, then Han looked up at the sky, thinking.

And eventually:

"I think that's okay."

You frowned slightly.

"What is."

"Not knowing."

You looked at him, Han shrugged.

"I mean..."

He smiled a little.

"A year ago you didn't know how to use a bus."

You immediately hit his arm.

"HEY."

He laughed.

"But seriously."

His voice softened.

"A year ago neither of us knew any of this would happen."

The park, the friends, the apartment, Dori, the relationship. Each memory flashed briefly through your mind, because he was right, none of it had been planned.

And somehow—

it still became beautiful.

Han looked down at your joined hands.

Then quietly:

"You don't have to have your whole life figured out right now."

Your chest tightened, because maybe that was what scared you most. Everyone else seemed certain. Meanwhile you felt stuck between two versions of yourself.

The girl who lost everything and the girl who didn't know what came next.

Han noticed immediately, of course he did.

Then gently:

"What do you actually like?"

You blinked.

"...What."

"If nobody expected anything."

His eyes met yours.

"No parents."

"No money."

"No plans."

"No pressure."

"What would you choose?"

The question hit harder than expected, because nobody had ever asked it before, not seriously, not like it mattered. You thought, really thought, photography, travel, stories, people, art, moments, the camera he gave you. The way photographs preserved feelings, not faces, feelings.

Your heart skipped slightly.

"...I think..."

You smiled faintly.

"I think I like telling stories."

Han's expression immediately softened, like he'd just heard something important, because maybe he had.

Then quietly:

"That's a start."

And for the first time all day—

the future didn't feel quite so terrifying anymore.

Han spent three full days pretending he wasn't nervous. Which would've been a convincing performance if literally everyone around him wasn't capable of seeing through him.

Unfortunately for Han—

nobody was.

It started when his mother casually asked:

"So when am I meeting her?"

And Han nearly inhaled his drink.

"...What."

"The girlfriend."

His younger brother immediately appeared, like he'd been summoned.

"YES."

"No."

"YES."

"No."

His father looked up from the newspaper.

"I'd like to meet her."

Traitor. Han pointed aggressively.

"Why is everyone against me?"

His brother gasped.

"We're against you?"

"Absolutely."

"We're trying to meet the girl you write songs about."

Silence. Han froze. His mother narrowed her eyes.

"...Songs?"

His brother immediately realized his mistake.

"Oh."

"Oh no."

His father started laughing. Meanwhile Han looked ready to disappear forever.

The truth was—

his mother had mixed feelings, not because she disliked you, she didn't know you. But because she loved Han and mothers who love their children tend to be protective, especially when that child is the type to love with his entire heart.

She'd seen it already. The way he smiled at messages, the way he talked about you, the way he looked happier than she'd seen him in years, and honestly? That scared her a little, because people who love deeply can get hurt deeply too.

So yes, she was skeptical, not hostile, not mean.

Just...

careful.

His father, meanwhile? Completely different. The man had figured out Han was in love months ago. And honestly? He was thrilled, mostly because Han wouldn't stop talking about you.

At dinner:

"Soojin likes this song."

Watching TV:

"Soojin would hate this character."

At the grocery store:

"Soojin loves strawberries."

Eventually his father had simply accepted that you existed in every conversation.

And his little brother? His little brother thought it was hilarious, because apparently watching Han become soft around one specific girl was peak entertainment.

The day finally arrived on a Saturday. You stood outside Han's house and immediately realized you were nervous, bery nervous.

The house wasn't fancy, not huge, not luxurious.

Just...

warm.

The kind of house that looked lived in. Flowers near the entrance, a bike leaning against a wall, shoes near the doorway, home.

Your stomach flipped, Han noticed instantly.

"...You're nervous."

You looked offended.

"No."

"Soojin."

"Maybe."

Han laughed softly, then grabbed your hand, immediately, automatically, the same way he always did.

"You'll be fine."

Easy for him to say. This was his family, not yours.

The front door opened before either of you could knock, his younger brother, who immediately pointed.

"SHE'S REAL."

Silence. You blinked. Han sighed.

"...I'm leaving."

"No you're not."

His brother grinned. Then looked toward you.

"...Hi."

The smile that followed was genuine, warm, excited and suddenly your nervousness eased slightly.

"...Hi."

Inside, the house smelled like food, something cooking, something familiar. And immediately it felt different from the places you'd grown up, not better, not worse.

Just...

real.

Photos covered walls, family photos, cacation photos, school photos, a life, a history.

You found yourself staring at one picture of a much younger Han, bowl haircut, terrible fashion choices. Han immediately tried covering it.

"No."

"YES."

"No."

You laughed. His brother took your side immediately.

"She deserves to see it."

Then his parents appeared and suddenly your heartbeat returned. His father smiled first, exactly the kind of smile Han inherited.

"So you're Soojin."

You nodded.

"Nice to meet you."

And honestly? Meeting him felt easy. Then came his mother, the dangerous one, the skeptical one, the one Han had been secretly terrified about all week. She looked at you. You looked at her.

And for a second—

nobody spoke.

Then:

"It's nice to finally meet you."

Her voice wasn't cold, just careful, observing, trying to understand who her son had fallen so completely in love with.

Dinner started normally. Conversation, food, stories. At first his mother mostly listened, watching, observing and honestly?

The more she watched—

the more confused she became, because you weren't what she'd imagined, not at all. Han talked about you constantly, so she'd accidentally built an image in her head. Something impossible. But the girl sitting across from her wasn't impossible. You were polite, funny, kind, you thanked her for dinner three separate times, you laughed at her husband's jokes, you asked questions, you listened when people answered.

And most importantly—

you looked at Han exactly the way Han looked at you, like he mattered, a lot.

Then came the moment that completely changed everything, it happened accidentally, of course. His brother was talking about school, complaining dramatically. When he mentioned struggling in a class and without thinking, you immediately offered help. Not to impress anyone, not because you had to, just because that was who you were, simple, natural kindness. His brother immediately lit up.

"Really?"

"Of course."

And suddenly they were discussing homework. Meanwhile his mother sat quietly, watching, realizing something. Because you weren't trying to be liked. You genuinely cared. That was different, very different.

Then she noticed something else. Han. Her son looked happy, not performative happy, not social happy, safe happy, comfortable. The kind of happy people only became around someone they trusted completely. And suddenly her skepticism began dissolving.

By dessert, she found herself laughing with you, actually laughing, the kind that surprised her.

Because somehow—

talking to you felt easy.

And when you mentioned your mom—

the apartment—

everything your family had gone through—

she finally understood.

You weren't spoiled, you weren't shallow, you weren't with Han for money, or status, or convenience.

If anything—

you understood loss better than most adults, and yet somehow remained kind.

After dinner, Han disappeared briefly to grab something upstairs, leaving you alone with his parents. His father smiled knowingly, meanwhile his mother looked at you quietly.

Then finally asked:

"Can I ask something?"

You nodded. She smiled softly.

"Genuinely..."

Her eyes drifted toward the staircase.

"...what do you see in my son?"

Silence. And honestly? You didn't even have to think, your answer came immediately.

"Everything."

The room went quiet, because you meant it, completely, then you smiled.

"He makes every place feel like home."

And suddenly his mother understood, fully, completely, because nobody could fake an answer like that, nobody could say it that quickly unless it was true.

Later, after you left—

Han's mother sat quietly in the kitchen, his father smiled.

"...Well?"

She looked toward the front door, where you'd disappeared only minutes ago. Then smiled softly, the first genuine smile she'd had about this relationship.

"I was wrong."

His father laughed.

"I know."

And quietly—

almost affectionately—

she added:

"She's wonderful."

Upstairs, Han's brother immediately kicked open Han's bedroom door.

"Mom likes her."

Han sat up instantly.

"...What."

"Mom likes her."

Silence.

Then:

"...Really?"

His brother grinned.

"Dude."

And honestly?

For the first time all day—

Han stopped worrying.

Because somehow his two favorite people in the world had finally met.

And somehow—

they'd loved each other too.

paring: non!idol!han x fem!reade

gender: just a long ass story with some confort and fluff as fuck.

You're a teenager (Soojin) from one of the richest families in Korea, but what happens when you lose all your money and a lower-middle-class boy meets you?

word count: 2.6 k

warnings: highschool!au, alcohol, cigarrets, kissing

part XII / part XIII / part XIV / part XV / part XVI / part XVII / part XVII / part XIX

Han's eighteenth birthday was three weeks away, and you were already in crisis, a severe crisis.

The kind that made you stare dramatically at your bedroom ceiling at two in the morning while Dori slept on your stomach completely unaware of the emotional emergency occurring beneath him, because what exactly were you supposed to do?

Seriously.

What.

Exactly.

Were.

You.

Supposed.

To.

Do.

You groaned and covered your face with a pillow. Dori immediately meowed in protest.

"Sorry."

The cat looked unconvinced, the problem wasn't that Han was difficult to buy gifts for. Actually, Han was surprisingly easy.

Give him:

music

food

cats

attention

And he'd probably cry. The problem was bigger than that, much bigger.

Because every time you thought about his birthday—

your mind immediately drifted back to your own. Your eighteenth birthday, the worst birthday you had expected.

And somehow—

the best one you ever got.

You remembered waking up in your tiny apartment expecting nothing, no luxury gifts, no huge parties, no designer bags, no trips, no surprises, nothing.

You remembered sitting in the kitchen with your mom, the tiny cupcake, the apology in her eyes, the way both of you pretended it was enough, then school, then Han. Han, who somehow found out, Han, who disappeared for an hour, Han, who bought you that little camera, a secondhand camera, a cheap camera. One that your old self would've probably ignored.

And yet—

you still kept it beside your bed, because nobody had ever paid attention like that before, nobody had listened when you casually mentioned loving photography, nobody had remembered, except him.

Then there was the rooftop, hhe abandoned building, the sunset, the way he smiled when you hugged him.

God.

Your chest physically hurt, because if someone asked you right now:

"What was your favorite birthday?"

You wouldn't say:

the luxury parties

the five-star hotels

the expensive gifts

You'd say:

The day Han bought you a used camera and somehow that felt insane.

You rolled onto your side dramatically, Dori immediately rolled too.

"What do I do?"

You asked him, the cat yawned, unhelpful.

The next day at school the crisis continued.

By lunch you had reached the stage where even Felix noticed, which was saying something, because Felix usually noticed things approximately three business days late.

You sat staring at your food, not eating, thinking.

Then suddenly:

"...You look haunted."

You blinked.

Felix.

"Thanks."

"No seriously."

Changbin looked up too.

"You do."

Hyunjin glanced over his sketchbook.

"...What happened."

You sighed dramatically.

"It's Han."

The table immediately reacted.

"Oh no."

"What did he do."

"Did he get arrested."

"Again?" Han asked as he sit down at the cafe table, everyone ignored him. You pointed aggressively at your boyfriend.

"It's going to be his birthday."

Silence.

Han blinked.

"...Yeah."

You looked genuinely distressed.

"How am I supposed to top mine?"

The table froze.

Then immediately:

"Aww."

"Oh."

Felix looked emotional.

"That's actually adorable."

"I'M SERIOUS."

Because you were, hHan looked equally confused.

"What do you mean."

You stared at him.

"What do I mean?"

"Han."

"Your gift literally changed my life."

Silence. Han's ears immediately turned red.

"Oh."

You kept going.

"You got me my favorite camera."

"It wasn't even expensive."

"That's not the point."

The entire table went quiet, because everyone knew. Everyone remembered, the birthday, the camera, the rooftop, the beginning.

You looked down at your food, then admitted quietly:

"It was my favorite birthday."

Han stopped breathing completely.

Because the way you said it—

so casually.

So honestly.

Like it was simply a fact.

Meanwhile your friends looked between both of you. Then Felix immediately stood up.

"Nope."

"What."

"Nope."

"Felix."

"I cannot be here."

"Why."

"Because you're looking at each other."

Hyunjin nodded.

"The look is happening."

"The look?" you asked.

Han immediately covered his face.

"Oh my God."

Changbin pointed dramatically.

"The one where they forget we're alive."

The worst part?

They weren't wrong, because right now Han couldn't stop staring at you, not because of the proximate birthday, not even because of the gift conversation. Because suddenly he realized something. You remembered, not the camera, the feeling. The way he made you feel, and honestly? That mattered more than any gift ever could.

After school, the crisis somehow became worse, because now Han kept teasing you about it, you sat together on the bus.

Spring sunlight spilled through the windows, the city moved softly outside and Han looked entirely too amused.

"...You're really stressing about this."

You glared.

"Yes."

"It's cute."

"It's not cute."

"It kinda is."

You crossed your arms aggressively. Han laughed, then gently grabbed your hand and immediately your anger weakened. Traitorous heart.

"Seriously though."

His voice softened, you looked over.

Han smiled.

That small smile.

The one that always felt private.

"Soojin."

"What."

"You don't have to beat your birthday."

Your chest tightened, because suddenly he sounded sincere, not teasing anymore, just honest.

"The reason it was my favorite birthday wasn't because of the camera."

You looked at him carefully.

Then softly:

"...Then why."

Han squeezed your hand once and smiled.

"Because it was you."

And unfortunately—

that answer made planning his birthday approximately ten times harder.

Han's eighteenth birthday arrived far too quickly.

And somehow—

despite three weeks of panicking—

you still felt completely unprepared, because no matter what you bought, made, planned, or said...

nothing felt big enough, not for Han, not for the boy who accidentally changed your life.

The day itself started quietly, exactly how Han liked it, no giant parties, no crowded restaurants, no fancy venues, just friends.

The five of you spent most of the afternoon together, eating convenience store food, walking through the city, making fun of each other, doing what you always did.

At one point Felix dramatically announced:

"Eighteen years ago the world made a mistake."

Han immediately threw a chip at him, Changbin bought him a cheap keychain, Hyunjin gave him a sketch, Felix gave him something so ridiculous nobody could explain it.

Including Felix.

And somehow—

Han loved all of it.

Because honestly? The older he got, the less he cared about gifts, the more he cared about moments and today was full of them.

The afternoon slowly turned into evening, the city lights came alive,the sky darkened. Spring air carried the first hints of warmth, eventually everyone gathered near the river, sitting together beneath glowing streetlights, talking about nothing, talking about everything.

At some point Han looked around, at Felix laughing, at Changbin eating everyone's food, at Hyunjin pretending not to care, at you. And suddenly eighteen didn't feel scary anymore.

Because somehow—

he wasn't alone.

Hours later the group finally separated. Felix left first, then Changbin, then Hyunjin.

Until only you and Han remained.

The city felt quieter now, the kind of quiet that only happened late at night. You walked beside him slowly, neither of you speaking much.

Han noticed immediately.

"...You're nervous."

You looked offended.

"I'm not."

"You absolutely are."

"No."

"Your ears are red."

"It's cold."

"It's twenty degrees."

Traitor.

Han laughed softly, then slipped his hand into yours.

Comfortable.

Natural.

Home.

The word appeared in your mind immediately, as it always did now.

Eventually you stopped near a small hill overlooking the city, one of your favorite places, one of his too. Han sat beside you on the grass, then looked over.

"...Okay."

You immediately panicked.

"What."

"You've been weird all day."

"I have not."

"You have."

Silence.

"...Maybe a little."

Han smiled.

"I knew it."

Then softer:

"What is it?"

And suddenly—

your heart started racing again, because this was the moment. You reached into your bag and carefully pulled it out.

The photo album, simple, handmade. Filled with photographs, memories, pieces of your life together. Han immediately froze.

"...Soojin."

You suddenly felt shy, which almost never happened around him anymore.

"It's not that good."

Han looked horrified.

"Don't start."

You laughed nervously, then handed it over, for a moment neither of you spoke. The city glowed below, cars moved like tiny stars, spring wind moved softly through the trees.

And Han opened the first page. The first picture was from the bus, months ago, s younger version of him, blond hair, laughing, completely unaware you were taking a picture.

Beneath it:

The first person who made public transportation less terrifying.

Han immediately smiled, then turned the page.

And another.

And another.

Pictures.

Stories.

Memories.

The convenience store.

The rooftop.

Incheon.

Dori.

The first snowfall.

The flea market.

The stupid gray birthday frosting.

Every page carried little notes, tiny things only the two of you understood.

At one point Han laughed.

At another he covered his face.

At another he looked suspiciously emotional.

You pretended not to notice.

Then he reached a page.

And stopped.

It was a picture of both of you.

Before dating.

Before the confession.

Before everything.

Just two people looking happy.

Underneath you had written:

We were already home. We just didn't know it yet.

The words hit him so hard he physically looked away, because God.

Nobody had ever loved him like this, nobody, not in details, not in memories, not in moments. Han swallowed hard, then quietly kept turning pages. Until he reached the end.

And there—

tucked carefully inside—

was the second gift.

A necklace, simple, silver, slightly worn. The kind of thing most people would've ignored, but not you, not him. Han picked it up carefully.

"...This is from the flea market."

You smiled.

"Yeah."

Silence.

Then softly:

"It reminded me of you."

Han looked down, the pendant was tiny, a little star, slightly imperfect, a little scratched, but somehow beautiful anyway. Your voice softened.

"It felt like something you'd find in one of your notebooks."

God.

That nearly killed him, because of course that's why you chose it, not because it was expensive, not because it was perfect, because it felt like him.

Han looked down at the necklace for several seconds.

Then quietly:

"...Is beautiful?"

Your chest melted instantly.

When he finally fastened it—

Han immediately touched the pendant, then smiled, small, soft, completely in love. You knew that smile, it belonged only to you.

Then suddenly:

"I'm never taking it off."

You laughed.

"Han."

"I'm serious."

"You don't have to wear it forever."

"I literally do."

And the thing was—

he wasn't joking.

Because to Han—

the necklace wasn't jewelry.

It was you, a reminder, a memory, a piece of home he could carry everywhere.

Then quietly—

after a long silence—

he looked at the photo album again, then at you.

And for once—

Han Jisung looked completely speechless.

"...You know..."

"What."

His voice softened.

"I think every year after this is gonna be disappointing."

You laughed immediately.

"Why."

Han reached for your hand, then kissed your knuckles gently and smiled.

"Because I don't think anyone can top this."

And honestly?

Neither of you cared about topping it.

Because years later—

when the photos faded a little,

and the necklace became worn,

and life changed again—

Han would still keep both, not because they were gifts.

Because they were proof proof that once upon a time a girl who used to have everything

looked at him—

and decided he was the best thing she'd ever found.

At some point, Han Jisung stopped being embarrassed and honestly?

That should've terrified society more than it did, because for the first few months of dating, Han had at least pretended to have shame, a little, tiny amounts, trace amounts. Sure, he'd hold your hand, sure, he'd sit too close sure, he'd stare at you like you personally invented happiness. But there was still a line, a tiny one, a fragile one.

Then one day—

it disappeared completely.

And unfortunately for everyone around him—

Han suddenly realized something.

You were his girlfriend.

His.

Girlfriend.

Not in a possessive way.

Not in a weird way.

Just in a:

wow i somehow got the prettiest girl alive to like me back

kind of way.

Which apparently unlocked a new personality trait, affection, constant affection.

The first victim was Felix. Because one morning, Felix was talking to you outside school completely normal conversation, nothing weird. Then Han arrived, saw you, and immediately walked over.

Without breaking eye contact with Felix—

he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and rested his chin on top of your head.

"...Morning."

You smiled instantly.

"Morning."

Meanwhile Felix stared, then slowly looked between both of you.

"...Wow."

"What."

"You're marking territory."

Han looked offended.

"No I'm not."

"You absolutely are."

Han squeezed your shoulder, immediately proving Felix right.

"See?"

Han ignored him aggressively. You laughed, which somehow made Han even happier.

Then came the forehead kisses, those appeared randomly. St first only when nobody was looking.

Then eventually—

all the time, Before class, after class, while waiting for the bus, while studying. Once while you were literally talking, Han simply leaned down ,kissed your forehead, then continued the conversation, like that was normal. You forgot what you were saying immediately.

"Han."

"What."

"You can't just do that."

"Apparently I can."

Felix almost walked into a wall watching.

The biggest change happened because of the boys at school, not because they bothered you, most didn't. But occasionally Han noticed things, a guy lingering too long, someone trying to talk to you, some random idiot asking for your number. Normally Han wasn't jealous, actually, he trusted you completely.

The problem was:

he liked showing you off, a lot. Because honestly? Look at you. Of course he wanted everyone to know.

One afternoon, you were standing by your locker when some guy from another class started talking to you, perfectly polite, perfectly normal. You were answering nicely, everything was fine. Then Han appeared, like he'd been summoned. The guy didn't even notice, you did, immediately. Because Han was already smiling, that smile, the dangerous one, the one that always meant trouble.

Before you could react—

Han walked over, slipped one arm around your waist, pulled you gently toward him and kissed you. Just once, soft, quick, natural.

Then:

"Hi baby."

Silence.

The guy froze, you froze, Han smiled, completely innocent.

Liar.

The guy immediately understood.

"Oh."

"Oh."

And suddenly found somewhere else to be. Interesting, very interesting.

The second he left—

you looked up.

"...Baby?"

Han immediately looked proud of himself.

"What."

"You've literally never called me that."

"Did it work?"

You started laughing, Han grinned. Mission accomplished.

Meanwhile from across the hallway:

Felix screamed.

"THAT WAS INSANE."

Changbin pointed.

"THAT WAS A WARNING SHOT."

Hyunjin didn't even look surprised anymore.

"You guys are becoming a married couple."

Han shrugged.

"Okay."

The others immediately exploded.

"OKAY?"

"HE SAID OKAY."

"HE DIDN'T DENY IT."

Han laughed, because honestly? Why would he deny it? Not anymore.

The thing was—

Han spent so much time terrified of losing you, back when you were friends, back when he didn't know if you liked him, back when every glance felt dangerous.

Now?

Now he got to love you openly and that was his favorite thing in the world.

One afternoon, you were sitting together outside school. Your head rested on Han's shoulder while he played with your fingers absentmindedly, neither of you talking much, just comfortable.

Then suddenly you asked:

"...Why are you so clingy lately?"

Han blinked.

"I'm not clingy."

You stared, silence, long silence. Han looked down.

Realized:

one arm around your shoulders

fingers intertwined

your backpack beside his

your hoodie currently stolen by him

"...Okay maybe a little."

"A little?"

"A medium amount."

You laughed and immediately Han smiled too.

Then after a second—

his expression softened, the teasing disappeared, only honesty remained, quiet honest. Because suddenly he looked at you like he did when nobody else was around, like you were his favorite thing.

Then softly—

"I just like people knowing."

Your chest tightened immediately.

"Knowing what."

Han looked genuinely confused.

"That you're my girlfriend."

Because of course, of course that was his answer, simple, honest. He shrugged slightly, then smiled.

"I spent too long wanting to be your boyfriend."

God.

Your heart immediately melted.

"So now..."

He squeezed your hand gently and leaned over, kissing your forehead once more.

"...Everybody can know."

paring: non!idol!han x fem!reade

gender: just a long ass story with some confort and fluff as fuck.

You're a teenager (Soojin) from one of the richest families in Korea, but what happens when you lose all your money and a lower-middle-class boy meets you?

word count: 2.6 K

warnings: highschool!au, alcohol, cigarrets, kissing

part XI / part XII / part XIII / part XIV / part XV / part XVI / part XVII / part XVII

Your first real date happened almost by accident, which honestly was fitting, because nothing important between you and Han had ever been planned properly, not your friendship, not your confession, definitely not your first kiss.

So naturally, your first official date started with Han texting:

hungry

Followed immediately by:

that's the whole message

And somehow that turned into a date.

Saturday afternoon was cold enough to turn your hands numb, late winter still clung stubbornly to Seoul, though sunlight made everything look softer than usual.

Han waited outside your apartment wearing the black hoodie you liked most, the second you stepped outside, he visibly forgot what he was about to say, which happened a lot lately. You noticed immediately.

"...What?"

Han blinked, then looked away.

"Nothing."

Suspicious, very suspicious. You narrowed your eyes.

"Han."

"I'm literally not doing anything."

"You were staring."

"No I wasn't."

"You absolutely were."

Han shoved his hands into his pockets dramatically.

"I have rights."

"You lost them."

"I knew dating you was a mistake."

You laughed immediately and Han smiled automatically. Because honestly? Making you laugh had become his favorite hobby.

The restaurant wasn't fancy, just a tiny place squeezed between a convenience store and a laundromat.

The kind of place old Soojin would've walked past without even noticing, now it was exactly the kind of place you loved. The owner remembered Han, the food was cheap, the portions were enormous, and the old woman working there immediately looked between both of you and smiled knowingly.

Han nearly died.

"Please don't."

The woman ignored him.

"Your girlfriend is pretty."

You immediately looked down. Han nearly choked on water.

"Oh my God."

The woman walked away laughing.

Halfway through lunch, you set your camera on the table, big mistake. Han immediately grabbed it.

"Mine now."

"Han."

"Too late."

You reached for it. He leaned away dramatically.

"No."

"Give it back."

"Absolutely not."

The restaurant owner was openly watching now, Han ignored her completely. Instead he pointed the camera at you.

Click.

You froze.

"Did you just take a picture?"

"No."

"Han."

Click.

"Stop."

Click.

You covered your face. Han laughed so hard he almost dropped the camera.

"This is gold."

"I hate you."

"You love me."

Unfortunately.

Very unfortunately.

You did.

The rest of the afternoon became a disaster.

Han took pictures of everything.

You eating.

You laughing.

You getting annoyed.

You trying to steal the camera back.

You sitting by the river afterward.

You looking at the city skyline.

You not noticing he was looking at you.

That one ended up becoming his favorite, though he wouldn't admit it.

A week later, you noticed something strange.

You were sitting in class waiting for Han to finish arguing with Felix about something stupid, as usual.

Then suddenly—

his phone fell out of his hoodie pocket, you picked it up automatically and froze.

Behind the transparent phone case—

there was a picture.

A printed picture.

Your picture.

The one from the river.

The one where you weren't looking at the camera.

Just smiling softly at something outside the frame.

Your heart immediately melted.

Oh.

OH.

You looked up.

Han was still distracted, completely unaware. Meanwhile your chest felt dangerously warm, because apparently this idiot printed a picture of you and carried it everywhere, like a lovesick loser, your loser.

God.

That thought alone nearly killed you.

Later that day, while walking home together, you finally brought it up.

"...I saw your phone."

Han immediately froze.

Oh no.

OH NO.

"You what."

You smiled.

"I saw the picture."

Silence.

Han physically covered his face, the tips of his ears turned red instantly.

You started laughing.

"Oh my God."

"Stop."

"You PRINTED it."

"Please stop talking."

"You carry it around."

Han looked ready to throw himself into traffic, which only made it funnier. Eventually he groaned dramatically.

"Fine."

You smiled.

"It was cute."

The embarrassment immediately softened into something gentler. Han looked away.

"...Yeah?"

"Yeah."

And honestly? That answer alone made the entire embarrassment worth it.

Then suddenly an idea hit you.

"Oh."

Han looked suspicious.

"What."

"I want one too."

Silence.

"...What."

"I want a picture of you."

Han stopped walking, completely, absolutely still, like a deer spotting a hunter.

"No."

You blinked.

"What."

"No."

"Why."

"Because."

"That's not an answer."

"It absolutely is."

You laughed. Then grabbed his sleeve.

"Han."

"No."

"Han."

"No."

"You literally carry me around in your phone case."

"That's different."

"How."

Han looked personally attacked, because honestly? He didn't have an answer.

Three days later, you cornered him in your apartment. The scrapbook sat nearby, Dori slept between both of you and you refused to give up.

"Choose one."

"No."

"Han."

"No."

"You chose mine."

"I regret everything."

You laughed immediately.That laugh alone weakened his resolve. Finally Han groaned dramatically, then handed over your camera.

"Fine."

Victory.

The problem?

There were too many pictures. Hundreds, maybe thousands.

Most were stupid, some were blurry, some were accidental, but almost all of them showed the same thing:

Han being loved.

Because that was how you photographed him, not perfectly, not dramatically, just honestly.

You scrolled quietly for several minutes. Then stopped.

"Oh."

Han immediately looked nervous.

"What."

You turned the camera toward him.

The picture showed both of you, taken by Felix months ago, before the confession, before the kiss, before anything. You sat beside each other on the rooftop, laughing at something, looking completely unaware of the camera, completely unaware that both of you were already in love.

Your chest softened instantly. Han stared at it too.

And suddenly—

he smiled, small, warm, fond.

"...That's a good one."

You nodded.

"Yeah."

Neither of you mentioned the real reason.

The way it captured something important, not your relationship, not the romance, the beginning. Back when neither of you knew yet, back when home was already forming quietly between you.

A few days later, Han noticed something while you sat together on the bus. Your phone rested in your hands, transparent case.

And behind it—

that picture.

The rooftop picture, the one with both of you. Han stared for a second, then another.

Your stomach flipped immediately.

"You noticed."

His smile appeared instantly, soft, hopeless, completely in love.

"...Yeah."

Then after a second:

"You picked us."

Your heart melted.

Because somehow—

that sounded happier to him than if you'd picked a picture of just him.

And honestly? It was, because your favorite picture of Han had never really been Han, it was the two of you, together.

Spring arrived so quietly that none of you noticed at first. One day there was snow.

The next—

flowers had started appearing between cracks in sidewalks, trees slowly turned green again and suddenly everyone stopped wearing six layers of clothing just to survive. Including you, which immediately became Han’s problem, because apparently now he had to see his girlfriend looking pretty in sunlight. A truly difficult burden.

Saturday afternoon found all five of you sitting in your usual park. The one near the skate ramps, the one where everything started months ago, back when you didn't know how buses worked, back when Han wasn't your boyfriend, back when Felix still had functioning emotional stability, actually no, Felix never had that.

Changbin sat on a bench eating snacks, Hyunjin sketched quietly nearby, Felix was laying dramatically across the grass.

And Han—

Han was currently using your lap as a pillow, like a cat. Which honestly wasn't unusual anymore. You absentmindedly played with his hair while looking through photos on your camera. The spring sunlight filtered through trees above you, everything felt soft, comfortable, easy.

Then suddenly Felix sat up.

"...Wait."

Nobody reacted, dangerous. Whenever Felix had ideas, suffering followed.

"...WAIT."

Han didn't even open his eyes.

"What."

Felix pointed dramatically toward both of you and gasped.

"Oh my God."

Changbin immediately looked over, then froze.

OH.

Hyunjin glanced up once, then immediately started laughing.

You blinked.

"...What."

Felix looked genuinely horrified.

"We just realized something."

Han opened one eye.

"Dude, if this is another conspiracy theory—"

"SOOJIN IS A CRIMINAL."

Silence. You stared.

"...What."

Han sat up immediately.

"What."

Changbin pointed dramatically.

"No wait."

Felix looked emotional now.

"OH MY GOD."

You looked around helplessly.

"What is happening."

Hyunjin physically covered his face.

"Guys."

"It's true."

"What is true?"

Felix pointed at Han.

"He's seventeen."

Then pointed at you.

"She's eighteen."

Silence, absolute silence. You blinked once, twice.

Then—

"...What."

Changbin immediately stood up.

"ABUSE OF A MINOR."

The entire park echoed with Felix's scream.

"WE WERE FRIENDS WITH A FELON THIS WHOLE TIME."

Han physically folded in half laughing, meanwhile you looked horrified.

"OH MY GOD."

"You can't say that."

Felix looked devastated.

"I trusted you."

"I'M FOUR MONTHS OLDER THAN HIM."

"THE LAW DOESN'T KNOW THAT."

"THE LAW ABSOLUTELY KNOWS THAT."

Hyunjin was laughing too hard to contribute anymore. Changbin grabbed Han dramatically.

"Blink twice if you're being held against your will."

Han couldn't even answer, he was laughing too hard. You threw a chip at Changbin, he caught it and ate it, then continued.

"Wow."

"I can't believe it."

"Our innocent Han."

Han pointed at himself.

"Innocent?"

Felix nodded.

"The victim."

"The victim?" Han repeated.

You looked deeply offended now.

"HE CONFESSED TO ME."

The group immediately stopped

Then:

"OHHHHHHHHHHHH."

Han's ears turned red instantly.

"Oh my God."

Felix looked delighted.

"HE DID."

Changbin collapsed onto the grass.

"WAIT."

"He confessed first?"

Han looked betrayed.

"...Why is that the shocking part."

"Because look at her."

You blinked.

"What does that mean."

"It means you look like the kind of person people write songs about."

Silence. Then Hyunjin quietly pointed toward Han.

"...He literally did. You guys don´t remember?"

The entire group exploded. Han immediately covered his face.

"STOP."

Felix physically rolled onto the ground.

"He wrote a whole ALBUM."

"It was one song."

"One song THAT WE KNOW OF."

You started laughing so hard your stomach hurt, and honestly? Seeing Han embarrassed was becoming one of your favorite hobbies, especially because now he was hiding his face in your shoulder dramatically.

Felix pointed aggressively.

"LOOK."

"The victim is seeking comfort from his abuser."

You almost choked, Han finally looked up.

"Oh my God."

Then immediately grabbed your hand and looked at Felix.

"...She's literally the nicest person I know."

The words came out so naturally that everyone froze.vBecause he wasn't joking, not even slightly. You looked at him too and suddenly his expression softened, that look, the one that always appeared around you now, like he forgot everyone else existed. Felix immediately screamed.

"THERE IT IS."

"What."

"THE LOOK."

Changbin nodded.

"The disgusting one."

Hyunjin sighed.

"You guys have been dating for two months and somehow became worse."

Han looked genuinely confused.

"How."

All three answered instantly.

"EVERYTHING."

The idea started because Han was bored, which was always dangerous.

Historically speaking, Han Jisung with free time had a success rate of approximately 12%.

The remaining 88% usually resulted in:

bad decisions

questionable hair choices

or Felix somehow being involved

This time it was all three.

You were sitting in your apartment after school while everyone pretended to study.

And by "study" you meant:

Changbin eating chips

Felix laying upside down on the couch

Hyunjin sketching

Han scrolling through pictures of cats

Educational environment, obviously.

Then suddenly Han sat up.

"I think I'm gonna dye my hair."

Everyone looked up immediately, because those words never led anywhere good.

Changbin sighed.

"...What color."

Han shrugged.

"I don't know."

Felix gasped dramatically.

"PINK."

"No."

"BLUE."

"No."

"GREEN."

"No."

"BALD."

Han threw a pillow directly at his face. Meanwhile you looked over from the floor. His blond hair had grown slightly longer lately, messy, soft. The kind of blond that made him look like he belonged in a coming-of-age movie. You secretly loved it, unfortunately. You also loved literally everything about him, so your opinion wasn't reliable.

Still—

"...What color are you thinking?"

Han looked toward you immediately, like your opinion mattered more than everyone else's, which it did.

"I dunno."

He ran a hand through his hair.

Then casually:

"Maybe black again."

The room went silent. Hyunjin looked up.

"Oh."

Changbin blinked.

"Oh."

Felix looked personally offended.

"OH."

Han narrowed his eyes.

"What."

"You'd look insanely good."

"That's not a problem."

"It absolutely is."

The thing was—

everyone remembered Han with black hair.

And unfortunately for society—

black hair Han was dangerous, too dangerous. The kind of dangerous that made people forget basic motor functions.

A week later, he finally did it. You weren't there, which immediately became the worst day of your life.

Because Han texted the group chat:

done

Followed by:

don't be weird

And then absolutely refused to send a picture, coward.

The next morning, you arrived at school first, normal, fine, completely calm, definitely not excited.

Then Felix appeared, immediately screaming, actually screaming.

"Oh my GOD."

You jumped.

"What happened."

Felix pointed dramatically toward the school gate. No words, just pointing. You turned and immediately forgot how breathing worked.

Oh.

OH.

Han.

Black hair.

The blond was completely gone.

Replaced by soft dark hair that fell slightly into his eyes.

And somehow—

somehow—

he looked older, sharper, sexier. The word hit your brain before you could stop it.

Sexy

Han looked sexy. Your entire nervous system immediately resigned. Meanwhile Han spotted you and instantly knew, because your eyes widened slightly. Then stayed there, looking. Your heartbeat betrayed you from fifty feet away.

Han immediately looked away, not because he was embarrassed, because if he looked at you any longer, he'd start smiling like an idiot.

Unfortunately—

everyone else noticed too.

Changbin physically grabbed Felix's arm.

"LOOK AT HER."

"I KNOW."

"SHE'S STARING."

"I KNOW."

"SHE LOOKS LIKE SHE SAW GOD."

"I KNOW."

You finally walked closer. Trying, failing to act normal.

Han shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets. Trying, failing to act normal too.

Then softly:

"...Hi."

Your stomach flipped.

Oh no.

Even his voice sounded sexier today. This was ridiculous. You stared at him for another second.

Then:

"...Wow."

Silence. Han's ears immediately turned pink.

Felix collapsed dramatically.

"Oh my GOD."

"What?" Han asked defensively.

You looked completely honest.

"...You look really good."

And that—

that almost killed him instantly, because compliments from you hit differently now. Han looked away immediately, the tips of his ears burning.

"Thanks."

Meanwhile Felix looked emotional.

"He can't even make eye contact."

Changbin pointed.

"He's blushing."

"I'm not."

"You absolutely are."

The rest of the day became torture, because apparently everyone agreed with you; teachers, students, random strangers, one girl literally walked into a door.

Han wished he was joking.

At lunch, things got worse, because now you kept taking pictures, constantly, relentlessly. Han finally noticed after the seventh one.

"...Are you photographing me?"

"No."

"Soojin."

"No."

Click.

Han looked horrified.

"You absolutely are."

You smiled innocently.

"Maybe."

"You're impossible."

The worst part? You weren't even trying to hide it, because black hair Han had somehow unlocked something in your brain.

Now every time he laughed, you wanted a picture, every time sunlight hit his hair, you wanted a picture, every time he looked at you—

especially when he looked at you—

you wanted a picture.

Eventually Han cornered you after school, by cornered, he stood beside you while holding your camera hostage.

"You've taken thirty-two pictures."

You looked thoughtful.

"Thirty-three."

Han groaned dramatically.

"Oh my God."

You laughed and there it was again. That laugh, the one that made everything worth it.

Then softly, quieter now:

"...You really like it?"

Your heart melted instantly, because suddenly he looked nervous. Not insecure.

Just...

Hopeful.

Like maybe your opinion still mattered most, which it did, it always would. So you reached up carefully, adjusted a strand of dark hair that had fallen into his eyes and smiled.

"...I think you're beautiful."

Silence.

Complete silence.

Han stopped functioning immediately, absolutely gone, destroyed, finished.

Meanwhile across the street, Felix watched the entire thing happen. Then slowly turned toward Changbin.

"...They're disgusting."

Changbin nodded.

"Yeah."

Hyunjin looked up from his sketchbook.

"They've been disgusting for months."

And honestly?

Nobody disagreed.

paring: non!idol!han x fem!reade

gender: just a long ass story with some confort and fluff as fuck.

You're a teenager (Soojin) from one of the richest families in Korea, but what happens when you lose all your money and a lower-middle-class boy meets you?

word count: 2.9 K

warnings: highschool!au, alcohol, cigarrets, kissing

part IX / part X / part XI / part XII / part XIII / part XIV / part XV / part XVI / part XVII

Dating Han Jisung turned out to be surprisingly embarrassing, not because he was a bad boyfriend. The opposite, actually. Han was annoyingly good at loving you. Which became everyone else’s problem immediately.

Because somehow the two of you went from: emotionally constipated slow burn disasters

to

disgustingly soft couple behavior in less than a month.

And unfortunately, neither of you even noticed half the things you did anymore, like the hand thing. At some point, Han just… started reaching for you automatically.

Crossing streets? Hand.

Walking through crowded hallways? Hand.

Cold weather? Both hands.

One morning you were half asleep waiting for the bus when Han silently grabbed your fingers and shoved your joined hands into his hoodie pocket because: “your hands feel like death.”

Your heart nearly exploded on the sidewalk.

Meanwhile Han acted like this was completely normal behavior, which made it worse. Then there were the kisses, not dramatic ones, tiny ones. Forehead kisses while you studied, quick kisses before class, Han kissing the top of your head absentmindedly while scrolling through songs beside you.

The first time he did it in front of the others, Felix screamed so loudly someone from another classroom checked on him.

“HE KISSED HER LIKE A HUSBAND.”

Han looked genuinely confused.

“…What does that even mean.”

“You guys are becoming emotionally unbearable.”

Changbin pointed aggressively.

“You tuck her hair behind her ear now.”

Han froze, because apparently he did do that now, constantly, without thinking. Your face burned immediately while Hyunjin looked deeply exhausted beside everyone.

“At this point just get married and leave us alone.”

The thing was—

dating Han didn’t feel dramatic most of the time, it felt easy. That was the dangerous part. Like somehow loving each other had already woven itself naturally into your everyday life.

You started stealing his hoodies openly now, Han started leaving more things at your apartment accidentally on purpose, your mom stopped acting surprised whenever he appeared, Dori officially preferred Han over everyone else in society.

At one point you walked into your kitchen at 2 a.m. and found Han sitting on the counter feeding your cat tiny pieces of egg while talking to him seriously.

“Your mother is emotionally unstable.”

“Excuse me?”

Han jumped slightly. Dori betrayed him immediately by meowing.

You laughed sleepily while walking closer and immediately Han softened, like every time he sees you. Every single time you walked into a room now, something in his expression changed automatically, like his entire body recognized you before his brain did.

Then softly:

“You should be asleep.”

You leaned sleepily against his shoulder.

“So should you.”

Han immediately wrapped one arm around your waist instinctively, natural, warm, like he’d been doing this forever. Your chest melted. Meanwhile Dori looked deeply judgmental from the counter.

Another thing: Han became clingy.

Not intentionally. Actually he seemed completely unaware of it.

But now he constantly:

leaned against you

pulled you into his side

rested his chin on your shoulder

searched for your hand automatically

At first you thought maybe he’d stop once the relationship stopped feeling “new.”

Unfortunately, he only got worse.

One afternoon while the group studied together at your apartment, you got up to grab water, Han followed immediately without realizing. Changbin stared.

“…Did he just trail after her.”

Felix looked emotional.

“He’s literally a stray cat.”

Meanwhile in the kitchen, you turned around and blinked at Han standing there.

“…Why are you here.”

Han blinked too.

“…I don’t know.”

Then both of you burst into laughter immediately.

It happened constantly now.

Little moments. Tiny moments.

Han resting his head in your lap during movie nights, you fixing his hair absentmindedly before school, late-night convenience store runs where neither of you stopped smiling like idiots, even silence felt different now; comfortable, full.

One rainy afternoon, both of you sat on the bus together while water streaked softly against the windows. You rested against Han sleepily while he listened to music through one headphone shared between both of you. Neither of you talked for almost twenty minutes.

Then suddenly Han looked down at you quietly.

“…Hey.”

“Hm?”

“You know I’m obsessed with you, right?”

Your face immediately burned.

“What kind of sentence is that.”

“A truthful one.”

“You’re insane.”

Han grinned softly.

Still sleepy-looking. Still warm.

Then quieter—

“I’m serious though.”

Your chest tightened instantly, because even jokingly, Han always sounded honest when talking about you. You looked up at him carefully.

“…You’re really happy lately.”

The softness in his expression after that nearly destroyed you.

“Yeah,” he admitted quietly.

Then after a second:

“You are too.”

And honestly?

That scared you a little sometimes; how much happiness he gave you now, how naturally he became home.

Not your old mansion. Not luxury. Not expensive things.

Just Han.

Han carrying your bag while complaining dramatically, Han stealing your fries, Han kissing your forehead before class, Han looking at you like loving you was the easiest thing he’d ever done.

One night, while sitting together on the rooftop wrapped in blankets, you admitted something quietly.

“I used to think relationships were supposed to feel complicated.”

Han looked over immediately.

“What do you mean.”

You shrugged slightly.

“I don’t know. Big gestures. Fancy dates. Constant drama.”

Han snorted softly.

“That sounds exhausting.”

“It does now.”

Silence settled gently around both of you after that. Then Han leaned over and kissed your temple softly.

“So what does this feel like then?”

You looked at him.

At the boy who accidentally became the center of your entire life.

Then smiled helplessly.

“…Like breathing.”

And the way Han looked at you afterward—

God.

You were pretty sure nobody had ever loved anyone more than he loved you in that moment.

Han’s family realized he was in love long before he admitted it out loud. Honestly? They probably realized before he did.

At first it was small things, tiny things, easy to ignore individually. Like Han smiling at his phone constantly, or suddenly caring about his appearance before school, or the fact that he started buying strawberry milk regularly despite not even liking it that much himself.

His mother noticed first, of course she did. Mothers always knew terrifying things.

One morning she walked into the kitchen and found Han making two sandwiches instead of one. She blinked once.

“…Who’s the second one for.”

Han froze immediately.

“Nobody.”

“Interesting. Because you just cut the crusts off.”

Silence, Han looked horrified.

“…I did not.”

“You absolutely did.”

Unfortunately—

he had.

Because you hated crusts. Which apparently his brain now remembered automatically. Deeply humiliating realization.

Meanwhile his younger sibling walked into the kitchen half asleep, looked at Han once, then immediately said:

“Oh my God, he’s in love.”

Han nearly dropped the sandwiches.

“I am NOT.”

“You’re making food gently.”

“That sentence means nothing.”

“It means everything.”

Things only got worse after you officially started dating, because suddenly Han became impossible, actually impossible.

He smiled too much now, hummed constantly. And worst of all—

he started talking about you without realizing.

Constantly.

At dinner: “Soojin likes this place.”

Watching movies: “Soojin cried at this scene.”

Passing a random cat outside: “Soojin would steal that immediately.”

His family endured approximately six days before snapping.

Friday night found Han sprawled dramatically across the couch texting you while pretending not to smile like a psychopath. Unfortunately for him, his mother walked past at the exact wrong moment.

Then stopped, slowly.

“…You’re doing the face again.”

Han blinked up.

“…What face.”

“The pathetic one.”

His sibling looked over from the table immediately.

“Oh my God he IS.”

Han sat up instantly offended.

“You guys are evil.”

“No,” his mother answered calmly. “You’re just incredibly obvious.”

Han groaned and dropped face-first into the couch cushions dramatically. Because honestly? He knew.

Lately it felt physically impossible hiding how much he loved you, especially because loving you affected everything now, music sounded better, winter felt softer, even walking home felt wrong if you weren’t beside him. Terrible condition honestly.

His sibling suddenly leaned over the couch aggressively.

“So when do we meet her.”

Han froze immediately.

“…What.”

“The girlfriend.”

“She’s not—”

His entire family stared at him flatly.

Silence.

Then his mother:

“Han.”

“…Okay fine she’s my girlfriend.”

The room exploded immediately.

“I KNEW IT.”

“OH MY GOD.”

“YOU HAVE A GIRLFRIEND?”

Han physically covered his face.

“This was a mistake.”

His mother looked deeply emotional suddenly.

“My son finally leaves the house for love instead of convenience stores.”

“That’s so rude.”

His sibling grabbed a pillow dramatically.

“What’s she like?”

Han opened his mouth automatically, then stopped.

Because suddenly he realized something terrifying, he could talk about you forever, actually forever.

Still—

his expression softened instantly anyway and his family noticed immediately.

“Oh,” his mother said quietly.

OH.

Because there it was, that look. The one people only got when they were genuinely, hopelessly in love.

Han looked down at his phone unconsciously smiling at your latest text.

dori knocked over my water and somehow looked proud after

A soft laugh escaped him automatically. And honestly? That alone told his family everything. His sibling stared at him in horror.

“You’re gone.”

Han looked up defensively.

“What.”

“You’re SMILING at messages.”

“So?”

“You used to answer texts like you were being held hostage.”

His mother sat beside him softly smiling now.

“What’s her name?”

Han’s chest warmed instantly.

“…Soojin.”

And the way he said your name—

gentle. Careful. Like something precious—

made his mother immediately understand the full situation.

Oh.

This wasn’t some casual teenage relationship, this girl mattered, a lot.

“She’s the girl from the songs, isn’t she?”

Han froze completely, absolute silence. His sibling gasped dramatically.

“WAIT THE LOVE SONGS?”

“You WRITE LOVE SONGS?”

Han looked ready to pass away instantly.

“Oh my God.”

Because yes, unfortunately. Your existence completely changed his music too, before you, Han wrote loneliness beautifully.

After you—

everything became softer, warmer. Full of hands and rooftops and winter light and home.

His mother had noticed months ago. Back when she heard him quietly recording lyrics at 2 a.m. that sounded suspiciously hopeful, now it all made sense. Han rubbed his face aggressively.

“You guys are making this weird.”

His sibling looked genuinely emotional now.

“You’re like… REALLY in love.”

Silence. Han looked down at his phone again.

At your contact name. At the tiny heart beside it he pretended nobody knew about.

Then quieter—

“…Yeah.”

The room softened after that, because suddenly the teasing faded a little.

His family looked at him differently now, like they understood. His mother smiled softly.

“She makes you happy.”

Han didn’t even hesitate.

“Yeah.”

Instant answer, certain answer. And somehow that hit his family harder than anything else.

Because Han had always loved loudly: music, friends, life itself.

But this?

This felt deeper, steadier. Like he found somewhere safe to put all the tenderness he carried around inside himself. Then suddenly his sibling grinned.

“So when’s she coming over.”

Han immediately panicked.

“What.”

“We need to inspect her.”

“You’re fourteen.”

“Exactly.”

His mother laughed softly while Han groaned dramatically into the couch again.

But secretly—

deep down—

his chest felt warm the entire rest of the night, because for the first time in a very long time, Han could finally say it plainly.

Yes, he was in love, completely.

Your mother knew long before either of you officially told her. Honestly? She probably knew before you and Han did.

At first it was obvious little things; Han showing up at your apartment almost daily, the way your entire mood changed whenever he arrived.

How naturally he fit into your life now— sitting at your kitchen counter feeding Dori pieces of egg while arguing with Felix over speakerphone like he belonged there.

Then came the softer things; Han carrying groceries upstairs without being asked, fixing loose cabinet doors because “they looked dangerous", staying late whenever your mother worked night shifts because he “didn’t want you alone.”

And worst of all—

the way he looked at you. Your mother noticed that immediately.

Like you hung the moon personally, like loving you had become instinctive for him.

So by the time you and Han officially started dating, your mother already knew.

The only problem?

Neither of you actually told her, not because you were hiding it. More because every time the opportunity came up, both of you panicked emotionally and changed the subject, which your mother found deeply entertaining.

Friday evening found Han sprawled across your couch helping you “study.”

Which actually meant:

you studying

Han doodling in your notebook

Dori asleep across both your legs

and approximately zero productivity

Rain tapped softly against the apartment windows while warm kitchen light filled the room. Your mother moved around quietly making tea while occasionally glancing toward both of you with increasing amusement, because honestly? You and Han had become disgustingly obvious lately.

Right now Han rested against your side so naturally it looked permanent, one of his hands absentmindedly rubbed circles against your knee while reading over your homework dramatically.

“This assignment is emotionally abusive.”

“You say that about everything.”

“Because everything attacks me personally.”

Your mother smiled slightly from the kitchen. Boyfriend behavior, severe boyfriend behavior. Then suddenly Han looked up from your notebook.

“…Wait.”

“What.”

“You wrote this answer wrong.”

You frowned immediately.

“No I didn’t.”

“Yes you did.”

“Han.”

“Soojin.”

Your mother watched both of you bicker softly for another minute before finally interrupting calmly:

“You two act married already.”

Silence, complete silence. Han physically stopped moving and you nearly inhaled air wrong.

Oh my God.

Your mother sipped tea innocently like she hadn’t just emotionally assassinated both of you. Han’s ears immediately turned bright red.

“We do NOT,” he answered way too fast.

Your mother looked unconvinced.

“Mhm.”

“We don’t,” you added weakly.

“You literally finish each other’s sentences.”

Han looked horrified immediately.

“That’s not intentional.”

“Somehow that’s worse.”

You covered your face aggressively with your hands while Han stared at the floor like it personally betrayed him. Meanwhile your mother looked seconds away from laughing. Because honestly? Watching both of you dance around the obvious had become her favorite form of entertainment.

Then casually—

“So are you going to officially tell me eventually or should I keep pretending not to know?”

Silence again. Han’s soul visibly left his body, you turned toward your mother immediately.

“…You KNOW?”

Your mother stared at you flatly.

“Soojin, sweetheart. He looks at you like you invented happiness.”

Han physically choked beside you.

“Oh my GOD.”

Your face burned instantly. Meanwhile your mother continued calmly drinking tea like this conversation wasn’t destroying both of you emotionally.

“I assumed you were dating weeks ago.”

Han looked deeply betrayed.

“Weeks?”

“You fell asleep holding hands during a movie.”

Silence, you froze.

“…We did?”

“Yes.”

Han covered his face completely now.

“This is humiliating.”

Your mother laughed softly. And honestly?

Seeing Han this flustered almost killed you from affection, because usually Han acted so confident around you now.

Teasing. Comfortable.

But the second parental figures got involved? Complete disaster.

Dori meowed loudly from the couch cushions like he wanted involvement too. You looked toward your mother nervously.

Then quietly—

“…Okay, yes.”

Han looked up immediately. You laughed softly despite your embarrassment.

“…We’re dating.”

The words felt strangely huge saying them out loud in front of your mother.

Real.

Official.

And suddenly your chest warmed painfully because oh.

Han was actually your boyfriend.

Your mother smiled immediately.

“There it is.”

Han still looked completely overwhelmed beside you. His face remained bright red while one hand stayed over his mouth like he physically couldn’t process this conversation. Your mother looked toward him teasingly.

“You know, you’re much quieter now than usual.”

Han groaned weakly.

“I’m trying to survive.”

You burst into laughter beside him.

And unfortunately—

that made him look at you automatically, big mistake. Because suddenly the embarrassment faded slightly from his expression and softened into something worse.

Affection.

God.

So much affection.

Like even now, being laughed at by your mother didn’t matter because you looked happy. Your chest physically hurt, then softly, before thinking, you reached over and grabbed his hand. Instantly Han looked down, then back at you.

And the expression on his face nearly destroyed your entire nervous system, your mother noticed too, of course she did. That look again. The one where Han stared at you like he still couldn’t believe this was real.

Then quietly, teasingly:

“He really is gone for you, huh?”

Han immediately dropped his forehead against your shoulder dramatically.

“Oh my God please stop talking.”

You laughed harder instantly while instinctively rubbing his hair softly, which only made things worse.

Because now your mother looked genuinely emotional, not because you were dating, because you looked happy again, teally happy.

And Han—

Han looked at home beside you.

Then softly your mother stood up and carried her tea toward the kitchen again, but before disappearing, she glanced back once more.

“You know,” she said gently, “I haven’t seen her smile this much in a very long time.”

Silence filled the apartment afterward. Han looked up slowly, your chest tightened immediately. Because suddenly the teasing disappeared from his face completely. Now he just looked… emotional, quietly emotional.

And when he squeezed your hand softly after that—

you realized something terrifying again. You weren’t just dating anymore.

Somewhere along the way—

you and Han had become part of each other’s healing.

paring: non!idol!han x fem!reade

gender: just a long ass story with some confort and fluff.

You're a teenager (Soojin) from one of the richest families in Korea, but what happens when you lose all your money and a lower-middle-class boy meets you?

word count: 3 K

warnings: highschool!au, alcohol, cigarrets, kissing

part VIII / part IX / part X / part XI / part XII / part XIII / part XIV / part XV / part XVI

The morning after kissing Han Jisung felt deeply unreal. You woke up already knowing something had changed. Not dramatically, the world didn’t stop spinning, nothing exploded, but somehow everything felt softer now, because now every time you thought about Han, your brain immediately replayed:

his hands on your waist

the sound he made when you touched his hair

the way he kissed you back like he’d been starving for it

Your face immediately burned against your pillow.

“Oh my God.”

Dori meowed judgmentally from beside your bed like he agreed. You physically covered your face with a blanket. How were you supposed to see him normally again after that?

The answer, unfortunately, was: you weren’t.

Meanwhile across the city, Han sat at his kitchen table staring blankly at cereal while internally losing his mind.

His mother looked at him once.

“…Why are you smiling at milk.”

Han immediately looked away.

“I’m not.”

“You literally are.”

Because unfortunately, Han couldn’t stop replaying last night either.

Your hands grabbing his hoodie. The way you kissed him back immediately. The fact that you liked him too.

God.

Every time he remembered that part specifically, his chest physically hurt. You liked him back, actually. Han dropped his forehead dramatically against the kitchen table. His younger sibling walked by and looked concerned.

“…Are you dying.”

“Possibly.”

By the time school started, both of you had already emotionally combusted at least six times separately.

And then—

you saw each other.

The hallway suddenly felt microscopic. Students moved loudly around you while winter morning light spilled through classroom windows, but none of it mattered because Han stood near the door already looking at you too.

And instantly—

everything came rushing back.

The streetlights. The confession. The kiss.

Your heartbeat became violent immediately. Han looked equally destroyed. For one second neither of you moved. Then Felix appeared beside Han mid-sentence and immediately stopped talking, because apparently the tension between you both was visible from space.

“…Whoa.”

Changbin looked between both of you suspiciously.

“What.”

Felix narrowed his eyes slowly.

“…Something happened.”

Your entire nervous system shut down, Han immediately looked away aggressively.

“Nothing happened.”

“That was the fastest response I’ve ever heard.”

Hyunjin arrived last carrying coffee. Took one look at both of you.

Then calmly:

“Oh my God.”

You nearly choked.

“What?!”

“You both look insane.”

Han rubbed a hand over his face immediately.

“We’re literally standing here.”

“Exactly,” Felix answered dramatically. “Like divorced lovers reconnecting after war.”

“That analogy is getting concerning,” Changbin muttered.

Meanwhile you still hadn’t properly looked at Han again. Because every time your eyes almost met, your stomach flipped violently, and apparently Han was suffering from the same problem.

Because he kept glancing at you—

then immediately looking away like eye contact physically hurt him now.

Which honestly? Same.

The worst part came during class, because Han sat beside you. And now suddenly every tiny thing felt overwhelming. His knee brushing yours beneath the desk. His hoodie sleeve touching your arm. The way he leaned close while whispering sarcastic comments during lectures. You genuinely thought you might die.

Then midway through class, your pencil rolled off the desk. You bent down to grab it at the exact same time Han did, your hands touched and immediately both of you froze.

Oh.

The contact felt tiny, barely anything.

Still—

your breath caught instantly.

Han looked at your hand touching his like he’d never experienced human interaction before.

Then slowly—

very slowly—

his fingers shifted slightly against yours. Not fully holding your hand, not accidentally either, something in between. Your heartbeat completely lost control.

The classroom blurred around you.

Then suddenly:

“Oh my GOD.”

Both of you jumped apart immediately.

Felix sat two rows behind staring at you like a detective solving murder.

“You guys are WEIRD today.”

Han looked murderous instantly.

“Focus on your own life.”

“I AM. Your life is entertaining.”

You covered your face with your hands aggressively.

“This is humiliating.”

Hyunjin looked up from his sketchbook calmly.

“The sexual tension became worse somehow.”

Changbin pointed dramatically.

“I knew something happened.”

“Nothing happened,” you and Han answered immediately.

Too fast, way too fast. Felix gasped.

“You even synchronize now.”

The rest of the day became torture.

Because now that you’d kissed—

both of you seemed incapable of acting normal around each other anymore. Han kept unconsciously moving closer to you, you kept staring at his mouth accidentally.

And worst of all—

both of you smiled too much now.

At one point during lunch, you laughed at something stupid Han said and instinctively grabbed his sleeve. The second you realized what you did, you froze. Han looked down at your hand, then up at you, and suddenly the air shifted again, too soft, too close. Your fingers still held lightly onto his hoodie. Neither of you moved away immediately. Then Changbin physically slammed his tray onto the table.

“OKAY.”

Both of you jumped.

“This is getting creepy.”

Felix pointed aggressively between both of you.

“You’re looking at each other like fanfiction.”

You nearly inhaled water. Han started coughing violently beside you. Hyunjin looked exhausted.

“Please just date already so the rest of us can heal.”

Silence. Your heart stopped instantly.

Because technically—

what were you now?

You and Han both looked at each other briefly. Then immediately away again.

Oh no.

OH NO.

Felix’s eyes widened slowly.

“WAIT.”

Han stood up immediately.

“We’re leaving.”

“You’re literally proving my point.”

Han grabbed your wrist without thinking.

And instantly everything got quiet again.

Because now:

his hand wrapped around your wrist

your eyes locked automatically

and neither of you reacted like this was weird anymore

The realization hit everyone simultaneously. Felix looked emotionally devastated.

“Oh my God.”

Changbin covered his face.

“They’re in love.”

Hyunjin sipped his coffee calmly.

“We’ve known that for months.”

Meanwhile you stared at Han’s hand around your wrist while your heartbeat melted completely.

And honestly?

You didn’t even want him to let go anymore.

The rest of the school day became a complete disaster, not externally. Internally. Because after Han grabbed your wrist in front of everyone and neither of you reacted normally about it—

something shifted again.

Now both of you were hyperaware of everything. The way his hand lingered too long when passing you things. The way you instinctively stood closer to him now. How naturally your bodies kept finding each other in crowded hallways.

And worst of all—

your friends absolutely would not shut up about it.

By last period, Felix had physically started a list titled:

reasons han and soojin are obviously dating

Which currently included:

emotional eye contact

synchronized lying

“violent yearning”

Han carrying your bag without realizing it

“This is harassment,” Han muttered.

“You’re welcome,” Felix answered proudly.

Meanwhile you sat beside Han pretending to focus on class while internally spiraling, because Felix accidentally brought up a terrifyingly good point earlier.

What were you and Han now?

You kissed.

More than once technically.

Han confessed. Kind of. Messily.

And you admitted your feelings too.

But nobody actually said: we’re together.

The realization sat uncomfortably in your chest the rest of the afternoon. Apparently Han was suffering the same crisis, because every few minutes he’d glance toward you like he wanted to say something. Then stop himself. Coward. Unfortunately, you were also a coward. So neither of you brought it up.

Which was how you somehow ended up walking home together afterward in painfully awkward almost-couple silence. The city glowed softly beneath evening lights while cold air moved through the streets around you.

Han walked beside you with his hands shoved deep into his hoodie pockets. You held your camera against your chest mostly because it gave your nervous hands something to do.

Neither of you spoke for almost an entire block.

Then finally—

“…So.”

You looked over immediately.

Han looked equally nervous.

“…So.”

Silence again, terrible, absolutely terrible. Han laughed weakly under his breath.

“This is weird now.”

Your stomach flipped instantly.

“…In a bad way?”

Han looked horrified immediately.

“No— no, obviously not.”

Relief softened through your chest so quickly it almost embarrassed you. Han noticed immediately and somehow that seemed to calm him slightly too.

Then quieter:

“I just mean…” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “What are we doing?”

There it was.

Oh God.

Your heartbeat became violent instantly.

Cars passed softly nearby while both of you slowed to a stop beneath glowing convenience store lights.

You looked down briefly.

Then admitted quietly:

“I was kinda hoping you knew.”

Han laughed softly. Completely overwhelmed sounding.

“Yeah, no. I’ve been losing my mind since this morning.”

That made you smile helplessly. Because honestly?

Same.

Han looked at you carefully then, really carefully, like he was trying to gather courage for something. And suddenly his expression softened into something gentler, more certain.

“…I don’t wanna do this halfway.”

Your breath caught slightly. Han stepped a little closer, not enough to touch, just enough that the space between you felt warm despite the cold.

“I know everything’s been messy,” he said quietly. “But I like you too much to pretend we’re just… whatever this is.”

Your chest physically hurt.

God.

The way he said things.

You looked up at him slowly.

“…So what are we?”

Han’s ears turned slightly pink. Which honestly almost killed you.

Then softly—

“…I kinda wanna be your boyfriend.”

Silence.

Your heart melted instantly, not because it was smooth, because it wasn’t.

Han looked nervous. Hopeful. Like the answer genuinely mattered too much.

And somehow that made it feel even more real.

A helpless smile spread across your face before you could stop it.

“…Yeah?”

Han looked at you carefully, like he still couldn’t fully believe this was happening.

Then quieter:

“Yeah.”

You laughed softly.

And God—

Han thought he’d spend the rest of his life addicted to that sound.

“So,” you teased gently, “this is your official boyfriend proposal?”

“I had a better speech originally.”

“You keep saying that.”

“I DID.”

You stepped slightly closer then, close enough now that Han’s breathing caught softly.

“And if I say yes?”

Han looked completely gone already.

“…I’d probably never shut up about it.”

Your chest warmed painfully.

Then softly—

“Okay.”

Han blinked once.

“…Okay?”

You smiled.

“Okay, boyfriend.”

The word visibly destroyed him instantly. Han physically covered his face with one hand.

“Oh my God.”

You burst into laughter immediately.

“You’re so dramatic.”

“You called me boyfriend.”

“Well technically you asked.”

Han looked at you again after that, and suddenly the teasing faded completely, because now it was real.

Actually real, uou were his. Not in a possessive way, in a terrifying precious way.

Then quieter—

almost disbelieving—

“…Can I kiss you again?”

Your heartbeat stumbled immediately. The difference this time nearly killed you.

Last night’s kiss had been desperate. Chaotic. Months of tension exploding at once.

This?

This felt softer, careful. Like both of you finally had time to understand what was happening.

You nodded slightly, hHan stepped closer immediately.

One hand moved gently against your jaw while the other stayed tucked nervously in his hoodie pocket like he still couldn’t fully believe he was allowed to touch you like this now.

And when he kissed you—

God.

It felt completely different.

Slow.

Warm.

No desperation this time.

Just Han.

The softness of his lips against yours beneath cold city lights while evening traffic hummed softly around both of you.

Your hands instinctively grabbed lightly at the front of his hoodie and Han smiled against your mouth immediately. Tiny smile, happy smile. The kind you felt more than saw.

And somehow that made your chest ache worse than the desperate kiss yesterday. Because this one felt real.

Not tension. Not almost.

Real.

Han kissed you gently once more before pulling back slightly, forehead resting against yours. Both of you breathed softly into the cold night air.

Then quietly—

almost laughing at himself—

“…This is insane.”

You smiled helplessly.

“What is.”

“You’re actually my girlfriend.”

Your stomach flipped violently. And honestly? Hearing Han Jisung say that might’ve become your new favorite sound in the world.

The relationship lasted exactly twelve hours before everyone figured it out, which honestly was impressive. You and Han genuinely tried hiding it, not because you were ashamed, because suddenly everything felt fragile, new, important in a way that terrified both of you a little.

This was your first real relationship.

Not school flirting. Not awkward almost-dates arranged by rich parents.

Real.

And for Han—

this was the first relationship that actually mattered. The first one where he looked at someone and thought: oh. this could ruin me completely.

So naturally both of you handled it terribly.

The first problem started the next morning, because apparently becoming your boyfriend erased Han’s ability to act normal around you entirely.

You spotted him near the school gate talking to Felix and immediately your stomach flipped. Han looked up at the exact same moment and instantly smiled. Not his usual teasing grin, something softer, automatic. Like seeing you genuinely made his entire face light up before he could stop it. Felix noticed immediately.

His eyes widened.

“Oh my God.”

Han’s smile disappeared instantly. Too late, way too late. You walked closer trying to act normal despite your heartbeat being violent already.

“Morning,” you said softly.

Han shoved his hands deeper into his hoodie pockets immediately like he physically didn’t trust himself.

“…Morning.”

Too soft, again. Felix looked between both of you slowly like a detective solving a murder.

Then dramatically:

“Absolutely not.”

Both of you froze.

“What,” Han answered too quickly.

“You guys are glowing.”

Changbin arrived seconds later carrying coffee.

“…Why does Han look like he won the lottery.”

“HE DOES,” Felix yelled immediately.

You immediately looked down to hide your smile, mistake, big mistake. Because now Changbin noticed too.

His eyes widened slowly.

“…WAIT.”

“No,” Han said instantly.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Meanwhile Hyunjin approached calmly, looked at all four of you once, then directly at Han.

“…You finally kissed, didn’t you.”

Silence, complete silence. Han physically malfunctioned. You nearly choked on air. Felix screamed.

“I KNEW IT.”

Changbin looked emotionally devastated.

“YOU DIDN’T TELL US?”

Han covered his face aggressively.

“Oh my God.”

The problem was—

neither of you could even deny it convincingly.

Not when:

Han kept unconsciously standing too close to you

you kept smiling every time he talked

and both of you looked seconds away from combusting whenever your hands touched

Which happened constantly now, like suddenly your bodies forgot personal space existed.

At one point during class, Han absentmindedly tucked your scarf higher around your face because you looked cold. Then immediately froze after realizing what he did, because boyfriend behavior, in public.

Your heart melted instantly anyway. Felix saw the entire thing happen from across the room, he physically slammed his desk.

“THAT’S INSANE.”

The teacher yelled at him immediately. Worth it.

By lunch, everyone already knew, not officially, but enough. The atmosphere around you and Han had changed too much to hide it anymore.

Now every interaction carried this unbearable softness underneath it, Han carrying your bag automatically, you stealing his hoodies without asking, the way he always checked if you ate lunch now, the way your eyes searched for him first in every room.

Disgusting behavior honestly.

You sat together on the rooftop during lunch beneath shared blankets while Felix stared at both of you like a disappointed father.

“You guys are actually revolting now.”

Han looked offended.

“How.”

“You keep doing the eye thing.”

You blinked.

“…The eye thing?”

“Yes.” Felix pointed aggressively. “THIS.”

Han looked at you automatically after hearing that and immediately both of you smiled slightly. Felix physically collapsed onto Changbin.

“OH MY GOD.”

Changbin looked exhausted.

“They’re gone.”

Hyunjin sipped coffee calmly.

“It’s been over for months.”

Meanwhile your entire face burned. Because honestly? You couldn’t help it.

Everything Han did affected you now, the way he laughed, the way he looked at you like you were something precious. Even stupid things like him pushing his hair back made your heartbeat weird lately. Which was deeply embarrassing.

Then suddenly Han reached over quietly and brushed crumbs off your sleeve without even thinking. The entire group screamed.

“STOP TOUCHING EACH OTHER LIKE MARRIED PEOPLE.”

Han jumped slightly.

“We literally aren’t doing anything!”

“You’re emotionally holding hands,” Felix answered.

“That means NOTHING.”

“It means you’re obsessed with her.”

Han opened his mouth immediately, then stopped.

Because unfortunately—

that was true.

And the worst part?

He didn’t even feel embarrassed about it anymore, not really.

Later that afternoon, after the others finally disappeared toward cram school and buses, you and Han walked slowly through the city together.

The winter air felt softer today somehow or maybe you were just happier now.

Han walked beside you quietly for a while before suddenly speaking.

“…This still feels unreal.”

You looked over.

“What does?”

Han glanced at you briefly.

“…You.”

Your heartbeat stumbled immediately. He continued before you could recover.

“The fact that you’re actually my girlfriend now.”

The word still affected you embarrassingly hard.

Girlfriend.

God.

You smiled shyly down at the sidewalk.

“You keep saying it like you’re shocked.”

“I am shocked.”

“Why?”

Han looked at you like the answer was obvious.

“Soojin, have you seen yourself.”

You laughed helplessly.

“That made no sense.”

“It makes perfect sense.”

Then quieter—

more honest now—

“I just mean…” Han rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I really like this.”

Your chest physically ached, because same, so much.

You’d expected relationships to feel dramatic maybe, complicated.

But this?

This felt strangely natural, like Han had already been part of your life long before either of you admitted what this was.

You reached for his hand carefully then, still nervous, still new enough that your stomach flipped doing something so simple. Han looked down immediately, then back at you. And the softness in his expression nearly destroyed you, because suddenly he smiled again. That same helpless happy smile he only seemed to have around you now.

Then quietly—

“…You know everyone’s gonna keep bullying us, right?”

You laughed softly.

“Definitely.”

“Felix is gonna become unbearable.”

“He already is.”

Han squeezed your hand gently, warm, careful, like he still couldn’t fully believe this was allowed now.

Then softly—

almost to himself—

“…Worth it.”

paring: non!idol!han x fem!reade

gender: just a long ass story with some confort and maybe fluff.

You're a teenager (Soojin) from one of the richest families in Korea, but what happens when you lose all your money and a lower-middle-class boy meets you?

word count: 2.1 K

warnings: highschool!au, alcohol, cigarrets

part VII /part VIII / part IX / part X / part XI / part XII / part XIII / part XIV / part XV

The song changed everything, not officially. Neither of you confessed, nobody said the words directly.

But after that day—

the air between you and Han felt permanently altered, too honest now. Because once you hear someone love you out loud—even through lyrics—there’s no going back to pretending you imagined it.

Now every glance lingered longer, every touch felt intentional.

And worst of all—

both of you knew.

Not fully. Not verbally. But enough. Enough to make your heartbeat unbearable every time he looked at you, which was exactly why being alone together had become dangerous. And unfortunately for both of you, the universe apparently found this hilarious.

Friday night found you and Han alone again on the rooftop, not the abandoned building this time. Your apartment rooftop, smaller and quieter.

Snow had melted days ago, leaving cold wet concrete and winter air sharp enough to sting your lungs, the city glowed softly beneath the dark sky while distant traffic hummed somewhere below. You sat beside Han wrapped in blankets with your camera resting in your lap. Neither of you spoke for a while, ot awkward silence, worse. Comfortable silence. The kind that already felt intimate.

Han leaned back against the wall behind both of you while sipping cheap convenience store coffee. You glanced sideways at him carefully, and immediately regretted existing. Because lately looking at Han felt impossible.

Knowing he wrote those lyrics about you ruined your emotional stability completely, especially because now every tiny thing made sense.

The way he remembered everything you liked, the way he looked at you when you laughed, the way his voice softened around you instinctively.

Then suddenly:

“…Why are you staring.”

You nearly dropped your coffee immediately.

“I wasn’t.”

Han looked deeply unconvinced.

“You literally were.”

“I was thinking.”

“That’s even scarier.”

You rolled your eyes softly, but smiled anyway, and Han noticed that too, of course he did. Because lately he noticed everything about you, especially now.

Now that he knew you read the song, now that he knew you called it beautiful.

God.

That alone still replayed in his head constantly.

The cold wind picked up slightly around both of you, you shivered automatically. Immediately Han moved. Without thinking, he tugged part of the blanket higher around your shoulders carefully.

Your breath caught softly. There it was again, that unbearable tenderness. Like caring for you had become instinctive for him.

“…Thanks,” you murmured.

Han shrugged slightly.

“You’re always cold.”

“You smoke in winter jackets and somehow I’M the weak one?”

“I’m built different.”

“You’re built stupid.”

Han laughed softly beside you, and the sound made your chest ache.

God.

You loved him so much, the thought no longer scared you now, not really, now it just felt inevitable, like gravity.

For a while, both of you sat quietly watching the city lights.

Then eventually, softly—

“…Did you mean it?”

Han blinked beside you.

“What.”

You looked down at your coffee nervously.

“The song.”

Silence.

The wind moved softly through the rooftop. Han’s heartbeat became violent instantly.

Oh.

Oh no.

Slowly, carefully, he looked toward you. Your face stayed turned slightly away, but he could still see your nervousness. Your fingers tightening around the cup. The way you avoided his eyes. And suddenly Han realized something terrifying, you were nervous too, not uncomfortable nervous, hopeful nervous. His throat tightened immediately.

“…Yeah,” he answered quietly.

Honest. No jokes this time, no hiding, just truth. You looked up slowly.

And God—

the softness in your expression nearly destroyed him. The city noise faded strangely around both of you. Everything felt smaller suddenly, closer. Han could hear his own heartbeat, could see the reflection of rooftop lights in your eyes, and suddenly neither of you looked away. Your breathing slowed.

Han’s eyes dropped briefly—

to your lips.

Then immediately back to your eyes again, but you noticed, of course you noticed. Your heartbeat stumbled so hard it almost hurt.

Oh my God.

The space between you suddenly felt microscopic.

One movement, that was all it would take. Han shifted slightly closer without realizing. You didn’t move away, neither of you spoke, because now the tension felt almost unbearable. Not friendship tension anymore, not maybe, not almost. This was something else entirely.

Real.

Your lips parted slightly like you wanted to say something. Han’s hand tightened unconsciously around the blanket beside you.

And slowly—

carefully—

he leaned closer. Your breath caught instantly. He was close enough now that you could feel his warmth even through the freezing air, close enough to smell smoke and coffee and Han. Your eyes fluttered slightly.

And God—

Han wanted to kiss you so badly it physically hurt.

Then suddenly—

your apartment window slammed open below. Both of you jumped apart instantly like the universe personally attacked you.

Your mother’s voice echoed upward:

“SOOJIN? DID YOU LEAVE THE RICE COOKER ON?”

Silence, complete silence. Han stared blankly ahead like he’d just survived psychological warfare. You covered your face immediately.

“Oh my God.”

Han laughed once, completely broken sounding. The moment shattered instantly, gone, destroyed. And somehow that almost made it worse, because now both of you knew exactly what almost happened.

Your mother yelled again from downstairs.

“SOOJIN?”

“I’M COMING,” you yelled back weakly.

Neither of you moved for another second.

Then slowly—

Han looked toward you again, and the expression on his face nearly stopped your heart, like he wanted to kiss you still, like interrupting the moment hadn’t changed that at all. Your chest tightened painfully.

Then quietly, almost laughing at himself:

“…We were definitely about to do something stupid.”

You looked at him helplessly.

And softly—

“…Yeah.”

But neither of you sounded like you regretted it.

The almost-confession ruined both of you, not because anything bad happened, because now neither of you could pretend anymore.

The tension had become unbearable, actually unbearable. Every interaction felt too charged now, too close, too soft.

And worst of all—

both of you kept almost saying things. Then stopping, like cowards.

Three days after the rooftop incident, you and Han walked home alone after leaving Felix’s apartment late at night. Cold air bit at your cheeks while the streets of Seoul glowed softly beneath neon signs and convenience store lights. It had snowed earlier, leaving sidewalks wet and shining beneath streetlamps. Han walked beside you with his hands shoved into his hoodie pockets while you held your camera close against your chest.

And neither of you could act normal anymore.

At one point your hands brushed accidentally, both of you immediately reacted like you’d been electrocuted.

“This is getting ridiculous,” Han muttered.

You looked over immediately.

“What is?”

“You.”

Your heartbeat stumbled.

“…Me?”

Han groaned softly and rubbed his face.

“See? That.”

“That explained literally nothing.”

“You make everything weird now.”

You stopped walking immediately.

“I make things weird?”

Han turned toward you, equally offended.

“Yes.”

“Oh my God, you’re unbelievable.”

“I’m serious!”

“How am I making things weird?”

Han opened his mouth, then closed it immediately.

Because unfortunately the real answer was: because I want to kiss you every five seconds now.

Instead he looked away aggressively.

“You just do.”

You stared at him for a second, then suddenly laughed softly. And honestly? That made everything worse, because Han loved your laugh. Loved it so much it physically pissed him off sometimes.

“You’re laughing at my suffering.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“You did this to me.”

You blinked.

“…Did what.”

Han stopped walking.

The city noise blurred softly around both of you while cold wind moved through his blond hair, and suddenly the look on his face changed. Not teasing anymore. Not joking. Something more dangerous. Your heartbeat became violent immediately.

“…Han?”

He looked exhausted suddenly, like he was tired of fighting himself.

“Told you,” he muttered quietly.

“Told me what?”

“That you make things weird.”

Your chest tightened.

Because the way he looked at you right now—

God.

You couldn’t breathe normally around him anymore. Han laughed weakly under his breath and looked away toward the street.

“This is not how I wanted this to happen.”

Your stomach flipped instantly. What did that mean.

What did that mean??

Then quietly, almost to himself:

“I was gonna do this properly.”

Your breath caught.

Oh.

OH.

Han immediately realized he said that out loud.

“…Fuck.”

You stared at him helplessly. The air suddenly felt too cold.

“Do what properly?” you asked softly.

Han physically looked like he wanted to die, because this wasn’t the plan. This wasn’t romantic.

There were cars passing. Some guy smoking outside a restaurant. Felix had literally texted him three minutes ago asking if he stole his charger.

This was supposed to happen differently.

Still—

he looked at you. And completely lost the ability to lie.

“…Confess.”

Silence. Your heartbeat slammed violently against your ribs.

Han laughed once.

Nervous. Broken sounding.

Then suddenly the words started spilling out before he could stop them.

“Because this is insane now, Soojin.”

Your chest tightened painfully.

“You’re everywhere.” Han ran a hand through his hair frustratedly. “At school, in my songs, in my head— I literally found myself smiling at strawberry milk yesterday like a psychopath.”

A startled laugh escaped you through your panic. Han pointed at you immediately.

“See? That.”

“That’s not my fault.”

“It literally is.”

His voice softened suddenly after that. And somehow that was worse.

“God, I’m so…” He stopped and looked away briefly. “I’m so gone for you.”

The words hit like a punch directly to your chest, the street suddenly felt unreal. Your fingers tightened around your camera shakily. Han looked terrified now, actually terrified. Like saying this out loud physically exposed him.

“I know this probably makes everything complicated and I swear I wasn’t trying to pressure you or ruin what we have or—”

“Han.”

He stopped immediately. Your throat hurt suddenly, because how were you supposed to survive hearing him say things like that. You stared at him helplessly beneath cold city lights while your heart completely unraveled.

And softly—

“…You didn’t ruin anything.”

Han’s breathing stopped for half a second. You looked down briefly, nervous suddenly.

Then admitted quietly:

“I think I’m just as gone for you.”

Han stared at you, actually stared. Like his brain physically stopped processing information.

“…What.”

You laughed nervously.

“Oh my God.”

“No wait,” Han stepped closer immediately. “Say that again.”

Your heartbeat became violent.

“You heard me.”

“I think I hallucinated it.”

“You didn’t.”

Han looked genuinely overwhelmed now, like months of tension suddenly hit him all at once.

“You like me back?”

You stared at him flatly.

“Han, I literally have 700 pictures of you.”

“That could mean anything.”

“It absolutely does not.”

He laughed breathlessly then.

Relieved. Disbelieving. Happy.

And suddenly the tension between both of you snapped completely, because now there was nothing left hiding underneath it anymore.

Just truth. Your eyes met again.

And this time—

neither of you looked away.

The city noise faded softly into the background. Han stepped closer slowly, close enough now that your breath caught instantly. Your chest rose shakily while his eyes dropped briefly to your lips.

Then back to your eyes again.

And God—

the look on his face nearly killed you, like he wanted this too much, like he’d been holding himself back for months.

“Soojin,” he whispered softly.

You didn’t even realize you moved first.

One second there was space between you—

the next your hands grabbed the front of his hoodie and pulled him toward you desperately.

Han kissed you immediately.

Hard.

Messy.

Like he’d wanted this for way too long.

The force of it almost made you stumble backward against the wall beside the sidewalk while Han grabbed your waist instinctively to steady you without breaking the kiss once.

And God—

it felt desperate.

Not polished. Not careful.

Needy.

Like months of almost-touching and almost-confessions finally exploded all at once.

Your fingers slid shakily into his hair and Han made this wrecked sound against your mouth that nearly destroyed you instantly. He kissed you deeper immediately after that, hands tightening against your waist almost painfully like he couldn’t get close enough. Your heart felt completely out of control.

The cold night air. City lights. Cars passing somewhere nearby.

None of it mattered.

Only Han.

Only the way he kissed you like he was terrified you’d disappear if he stopped.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you breathed hard while staying impossibly close. Foreheads almost touching. Han looked completely ruined.

Lips swollen slightly. Hair messy now from your hands.

And somehow—

still staring at you like this couldn’t possibly be real.

Then suddenly he laughed softly against your mouth again, completely overwhelmed.

“…That was way better than my original plan.”

You burst into breathless laughter instantly.

“You HAD a plan?”

“I had a whole speech!”

“You literally confessed by accident.”

“Technically,” Han said weakly, “you emotionally cornered me.”

You laughed again.

And God—

Han thought he could spend the rest of his life chasing that sound.

paring: non!idol!han x fem!reade

gender: just a long ass story with some confort and maybe fluff.

You're a teenager (Soojin) from one of the richest families in Korea, but what happens when you lose all your money and a lower-middle-class boy meets you?

word count: 3.7 K

warnings: highschool!au, alcohol, cigarrets

part VI / part VII /part VIII / part IX / part X / part XI / part XII / part XIII / part XIV

It started because Felix canceled. Which honestly should’ve warned you the universe was planning something terrible.

By Friday afternoon, the original plan had been:

Felix invading your apartment dramatically

Changbin stealing all your food

Hyunjin pretending not to care while secretly staying until midnight

and Han existing somewhere in the middle of all that chaos

Group settings meant you didn’t have to think too hard about the way your heart acted around Han lately.

Unfortunately, around four in the afternoon Felix texted the group chat:

emergency my cousin is crying don’t ask questions

Followed immediately by Changbin:

my mom said no

Then Hyunjin:

honestly i never agreed to go anyway

Traitors, absolute traitors. Which left only one problem.

Han.

Because Han was already outside your apartment building holding snacks when the texts arrived. You stared at your phone dramatically while standing near the doorway.

“This feels targeted.”

Han leaned against the wall beside you looking equally betrayed.

“We got abandoned.”

“By all our friends.”

“They were never our friends.”

You laughed softly despite yourself, because being alone with Han lately felt different. Not uncomfortable, worse. Too comfortable. Like both of you had slowly started slipping into something neither of you fully knew how to name yet.

Still—

neither of you wanted to cancel. Which was probably the first mistake.

“Do you still wanna hang out?” you asked carefully.

Han looked at you like the answer was obvious.

“…Yeah?”

Your stomach flipped immediately.

So ten minutes later, Han sat cross-legged on your living room floor while Dori attacked his shoelaces violently.

And somehow—

everything already felt weirdly domestic. You hated it, a little.

Your apartment smelled like instant noodles and laundry detergent while winter light spilled softly through the windows. Your mom wouldn’t be home until late, meaning the entire place felt quiet in a way it usually didn’t when the group came over.

Just you, Han and Dori emotionally destroying society. Han looked around the apartment while opening snacks.

“…It’s weirdly clean in here.”

You narrowed your eyes immediately.

“That sounded insulting.”

“It sounded surprised.”

“You’re rude.”

“You have three cups on your desk growing ecosystems.”

“That’s called science.”

Han snorted softly.

God.

You loved that sound. Terrible realization.

Dori suddenly climbed into Han’s lap dramatically, immediately demanding attention. Han looked down.

“…Your son is needy.”

You nearly choked.

“Do NOT start with that again.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You implied.”

Han grinned slightly while scratching beneath Dori’s chin.

And unfairly—

he looked stupidly pretty right now. Oversized hoodie, messy blond hair, comfortable in your apartment like he belonged there. Your chest felt dangerous suddenly. You immediately stood up.

“I’m making ramen.”

Han looked up suspiciously.

“Running away?”

“What?”

“You do that.”

“I literally don’t.”

“Mhm.”

You ignored him aggressively while moving into the kitchen. Unfortunately, your apartment was tiny, meaning Han could still see you perfectly from the floor and apparently he intended to make your life harder.

“You know,” he called casually, “you’re weirdly bad at hiding things.”

You froze slightly near the stove.

“…What things.”

“Your emotions.”

Your heartbeat stumbled immediately, absolutely not. You refused to turn around.

“Well maybe you’re just nosy.”

“I am.”

The honesty caught you off guard enough to accidentally drop chopsticks. Han burst into laughter immediately.

“Oh my God.”

“Shut up.”

“You’re flustered.”

“I’m holding noodles.”

“That’s not a denial.”

You hated him, a little, maybe a lot. Mostly because he was right. Lately you’d become embarrassingly obvious around him. Especially after realizing you loved him, which still felt insane.

Sometimes you looked at Han and genuinely wondered when exactly this happened. When he became the first person you wanted to tell things to. When your apartment started feeling emptier without him in it. When his happiness started mattering so much to you.

Meanwhile behind you, Han watched quietly from the living room. And honestly? He was suffering too, because being alone with you like this felt unfair. Too intimate. The tiny apartment, your socks sliding against the kitchen floor. the way you absentmindedly hummed softly while cooking. It felt less like hanging out and more like accidentally playing house. Which was ruining him emotionally.

Then suddenly you yelped. Han immediately sat up straighter.

“What happened?”

“…Oil.”

“What.”

“It attacked me.”

Han stared at you blankly.

“You got injured by ramen?”

“You don’t understand the violence happening over here.”

He walked into the kitchen before you could protest, grabbing your wrist gently to inspect the tiny red mark near your finger.

And immediately—

everything stopped. Your breath caught slightly. because now he was close. Again. Always too close lately.

Han’s fingers stayed wrapped lightly around your hand while he frowned dramatically at the injury.

“…You’re surviving?”

“Barely.”

“You’re so brave.”

His thumb brushed lightly against your skin without thinking.The entire kitchen suddenly felt too small. You looked up, Han was already looking at you, too soft, too focused. Your heartbeat became violent.

Then Dori screamed somewhere in the apartment, both of you jumped apart instantly. Han cleared his throat aggressively.

“…Your child interrupted the moment.”