𝙃𝙔𝙐𝙉𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙉𝙑𝙍𝙎𝙀

𝙃𝙔𝙐𝙉𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙉𝙑𝙍𝙎𝙀 𝙈𝘼𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙍𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥.

𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘦 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘸𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘯.

𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘤, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘶𝘴 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘥.

𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘵.

"𝘐𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥, 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘫𝘶𝘥𝘨𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘸𝘢𝘺. 𝘚𝘰 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘓𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧." -𝘏𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘏𝘺𝘶𝘯𝘫𝘪𝘯

"𝘐𝘧 𝘯𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘥𝘢𝘺, 𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘪𝘧 𝘯𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘥𝘢𝘺, 𝘐'𝘮 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘧 𝘯𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘥𝘢𝘺, 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭." -𝘉𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘯

"𝘚𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘺 𝘒𝘪𝘥𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘚𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘺 𝘒𝘪𝘥𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺!" -𝘚𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘺 𝘒𝘪𝘥𝘴

𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺, 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘦 𝘪'𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘦𝘴, 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘵'𝘴 𝘳𝘶𝘯 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥, 𝘴𝘩𝘩 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦? 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 -𝘚𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘺 𝘒𝘪𝘥𝘴 𝘉𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘏𝘺𝘶𝘯𝘫𝘪𝘯 (𝘌𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘦)

𝐇𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐬 𝐍𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐞… 𝐔𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐇𝐞 𝗪𝐚𝐬

Big Hug

Best Friends Little Sister

When He Misses You

Nothing yet...

For You

He Was Never Meant To Be Mine...Until He was (Work In Progress)

Nothing yet...

Nothing yet...

Nothing yet...

Nothing yet...

✯ Big Hug — Bang Chan One-Shot ✯

Genre: fluff, comfort, soft angst

Warnings: none

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆｡˚₊✩ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆｡˚₊✩ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆｡˚₊✩ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆｡˚₊✩

Bang Chan was tired.

Not the kind of tired that sleep could fix, the kind that lived in his shoulders, in the way he rolled his neck between schedules, in the quiet sighs he didn’t realize he let out when he thought no one was watching.

The studio was empty except for him and the low hum of his computer, still replaying the same beat he'd been working on for hours. His hoodie was draped over a chair, a half-empty water bottle sat beside his keyboard, and his headphones rested around his neck.

That’s when the door creaked open.

You peeked in hair slightly messy, phone clutched in your hand.

“Channie?” you called softly.

He looked up, surprised, before a smile spread across his face.

Not his stage smile. Not his fan smile.

His real one.

“Hey,” he said, voice warm.

You smiled back and walked over, stopping in front of him. For a second, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn't awkward.

It never was with him.

You opened your arms.

“Come here.”

He let out a quiet laugh, but stood anyway.

The hug you gave him wasn't rushed. It wasn't playful. It was the kind of hug that said, I see you. I know you're tired. You don't have to be strong right now.

“Channie…” you whispered, leaning back just enough to look up at him. “Are you okay?”

Chan froze for half a second, his eyes slipping shut as he let out a slow breath

When he opened them again, he looked down at you with nothing but love.

“I will be now that you're here,” he whispered.

A quiet giggle escaped your lips.

Then he melted.

He wrapped his arms around you, resting his chin on top of your head. His eyes slipped closed as though your presence alone had flipped a switch inside him. His grip tightened just a little, like he wasn't ready to let go.

You buried your face back into his chest, smiling.

“Did you know,” he murmured, “you’re really good at this?”

“At what?” you asked, voice muffled against his hoodie.

“Making everything feel...better”

You pulled back just enough to look at him. His eyes were soft—tired, but bright in that way only he had. The kind of look he saved just for you. Your cheeks warmed.

“You spend so much time taking care of everyone else,” you said softly. “You deserve to be taken care of, too, Channie. So… just let me take care of you for a little while, okay?”

He looked at you for a long moment.

Like he wanted to say a hundred things but couldn't find the words.

In the end, he simply smiled.

"Thank you," he whispered before pressing a feather-light kiss to the top of your head. He gently pulled you back into his chest, his embrace lingering a little longer this time, as though he was trying to hold on to the peace you'd brought him.

You smiled against his chest and hugged him again, gently rubbing small circles against his back.

Neither of you spoke.

You didn't have to.

The weight on his shoulders didn't disappear.

It probably never would.

But in your arms, it finally felt a little lighter.

The noise in his mind fell silent.

Outside those studio walls, he was Bang Chan.

The leader.

The one who carried everyone else.

But here...here

He could just be him.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆｡˚₊✩ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆｡˚₊✩ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆｡˚₊✩ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆｡˚₊✩

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

You’ve known Bang Chan for as long as you can remember.

Not because the two of you were close.

Not because he ever actually treated you like you existed.

But because he was always at your house.

He and your older brother, Jake, practically grew up glued at the hip. If Jake was home, Chan was probably there too—on your couch, raiding your fridge, yelling at your TV, pretending you weren’t in the room.

And for some reason you never understood, he was always cold to you.

Short answers.

Avoiding eye contact.

Brushing past you like you were just Jake’s little sister and nothing more.

You told yourself it didn’t matter.

But it did.

God, it did.

Because his distance hurt.

Because it never made sense.

Because you’d always wanted more from him, even when you knew you shouldn’t.

Even when he acted like you were an inconvenience.

But tonight changes everything.

✿♡✿♡✿ ✿♡✿♡✿ ✿♡✿♡✿ ✿♡✿♡✿

Chan and Jake had planned a guys’ night, the game, snacks, beer, the usual chaos.

You weren’t planning to see either of them.

Until your plans changed.

Your “date” told you to dress up.

So you did, little black dress, curled hair, makeup flawless.

You looked good.

You felt confident.

Until you reached the bottom of the stairs and saw him.

Chan’s head turned first.

Then the rest of him.

His eyes dragged slowly — too slowly — down your dress, your legs, your heels. He swallowed so hard you could practically hear it. His grip tightened on the beer bottle in his hand until his knuckles went white.

You ignored him.

He always ignored you back.

Why should today be any different?

Jake whistled. “Damn, Y/N. Who’re you trying to impress?”

“Just… someone,” you muttered, grabbing your clutch.

Jake grinned. “Have fun on your date!”

Chan missed the entire conversation.

Almost.

But he didn’t miss one very specific word:

Date.

And the look on his face?

Jealousy.

The hot, ugly, sharp kind.

His jaw flexed.

His nostrils flared.

He didn’t take his eyes off the door even after it closed behind you.

He didn’t watch the game.

Didn’t drink.

Barely blinked.

He just sat there thinking about the way you’d looked—about the way someone else was going to see you like that—until the thought made him physically sick.

Hours later, Jake is passed out on the couch, drooling into the cushion like a corpse. Chan is half-annoyed, half-amused—until your name lights up Jake’s phone. Again. And again. And again.

Call after call.

Text after text.

The third call breaks him.

He answers.

“Jake?” your voice trembles on the other end, soft and broken. “Jake, it was a bet. It was all a stupid bet.”

Chan freezes.

You sniffle again, and he feels something inside him snap.

“He didn’t even show up,” you whisper. “He never even planned to. I—I got screenshots. Him and his stupid friends making bets on me.”

You choke, and he grips the phone hard enough to crack it.

“I’ll be right there,” he says, voice low and dangerous.

“Chan—?”

He hangs up.

He grabs his keys, slams the door behind him, and speeds through the night like a man possessed.

Not thinking.

Just going.

He finds you sitting on the curb outside the restaurant, arms wrapped around yourself, trying not to cry.

You look up when his shoes stop in front of you.

And Chan swears his heart physically breaks.

Your eyes are swollen, mascara smudged, nose red from the cold. Your dress looks too thin for the freezing night air.

You whisper, “You didn’t have to come.”

“Unfortunately,” he mutters, shrugging off his jacket, “I did.”

He drapes it over your shoulders, then adjusts the collar so it protects your neck. His fingers graze your skin—light, warm, careful.

Your breath catches.

His does too.

“Come on,” he murmurs. “Let’s go home.”

You sit quietly in the passenger seat, picking at your nails, wearing his jacket like armor. Chan keeps checking the mirrors every few seconds, making sure you’re okay.

“Did you eat?” he asks at a red light.

“No,” you mutter bitterly. “Stupid jerk never showed.”

Chan’s jaw tightens.

He turns the car into a grocery store parking lot.

“What are we doing?” you ask.

He opens your door for you.

“You grab snacks. I need to pick up a couple things.”

You blink. “Like what?”

“You’ll see.”

Inside, he hands you a basket.

“Chips and candy to the left. Meet me at the register.”

He bolts down the opposite aisle like a man on a mission.

You grab snacks and drinks, still confused. When you get to the register, the cashier is scanning your things when Chan returns carrying:

— a pack of toilet paper

— a carton of eggs

— and a bouquet of lilies

“What is that for?” you ask.

Chan grins. “You’ll see.”

You argue over who should pay.

He wins by grabbing your wrists gently and sliding his card through the machine himself.

“You’re annoying,” you mutter.

He rolls his eyes. “You’re welcome.”

Back in the car, he hands you the lilies.

“For you.”

Your heart stutters.

“Chan… you didn’t have to.”

“You deserved one good thing tonight,” he says softly, ears pink.

You barely get a “thank you” out before he smirks.

“Wanna bet this won’t be the best part of your night?”

You narrow your eyes. “What are you planning—”

He pulls into a neighborhood.

One you recognize instantly.

Your stomach drops.

“No. Chan. No way. No—are we at his house?!”

Chan lifts the toilet paper and eggs.

“Relax, princess. This is where the fun begins.”

“Chan are you insane?!”

“Maybe a little,” he says cheerfully.

He shoves an egg toward you.

“I am NOT egging his house.”

“Oh come on, Y/N. You know you want to.”

You stare at the egg.

Then you think of the screenshots.

The bet.

The humiliation.

“Fuck it.”

You hurl the egg.

It explodes beautifully against the siding.

Chan bursts into laughter.

You grab the carton and go crazy — egg after egg hitting the house. Chan throws toilet paper into the trees, onto the roof, everywhere.

You’re laughing.

Like actually laughing.

For the first time all night.

A light flips on.

“RUN!”

Chan grabs your hand, and you sprint back to the car, tripping over your heels, laughing so hard your ribs hurt while you scream at him to drive.

He speeds away, both of you breathless.

He parks under the stars, turns off the engine, and climbs onto the hood. You follow with your chips and drinks.

For a while, you just sit there.

Talking.

Eating.

Breathing again.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “I really needed this.”

Chan smiles softly. “Anything for you, pretty girl.”

Your cheeks heat.

He pretends not to notice — but he definitely does.

Silence settles again, warm and comfortable.

“Can I tell you something?” you ask quietly.

He leans back on his hands. “Anything.”

Your eyes trace his face — the jawline, the soft glow of the rising sun behind him, the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing in the world.

“I think…” You swallow. “I think I love you.”

Chan goes still.

“What?”

“I know I love you,” you whisper. “I’ve known for a long time.”

He doesn’t speak. His throat works, chest rising and falling too fast.

You start rambling, trying to fix the silence — but he isn’t listening.

He’s staring at you like he’s seeing you for the first time.

Or maybe like he’s finally letting himself look.

The morning sun hits your face and he breaks.

He leans in and kisses you.

It’s messy.

Too hard.

Almost desperate.

He pulls back instantly, eyes wide.

“I—I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean—”

You grab his shirt and pull him back down.

This time, the kiss is deep and slow.

Your hands in his hair.

His on your waist.

A perfect, breathless push and pull.

When you finally break apart, he rests his forehead against yours.

“I love you,” he whispers. “God, I love you too.”

You smile.

He kisses you again.

The sun rises over the two of you, and for the first time in years, everything finally makes sense.

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˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆｡୨୧˚ ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆｡୨୧˚ ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆｡୨୧˚ ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆｡୨୧˚

(A/n: I apologize in advance if any of my korean is wrong 😔)

The apartment is dark when Hyunjin finally makes it home, shoulders slumped, hair damp with sweat from hours of late-night practice. He kicks off his shoes with a groan, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Muse?” he calls out, voice low and tired. “You awake?”

You appear before he can take another step.

Practically vibrating with excitement.

Before he can process it, you’re cupping his face and planting a quick kiss on his cheek… and then one on his lips. Soft. Warm. Full of something he’s too tired to name.

“Well, hello to you too,” he laughs, blinking in surprise. “What’s got you all excited?”

You shrug innocently. “Missed you.”

Hyunjin’s heart absolutely melts.

“I was gone for like five hours.”

“That’s five hours too long. Go shower — dinner’s ready.”

He nods, still smiling, still confused, still so painfully whipped.

“Okay, okay. I’m going.”

He showers quickly — faster than usual because the apartment smells like food and something warm and homey and you. The second he steps into the kitchen, towel still around his neck, he sees you plating dinner.

God, he loves coming home to you.

He walks up behind you, kissing the side of your head in a silent ‘thank you’ before sliding into his seat.

“Smells amazing,” he says.

You beam.

Dinner is warm and easy, the kind where both of you talk over each other, laughing, stealing bites from each other’s plates. Hyunjin slips comfortably into English, something he worked so hard for, something he’s proud he can give you.

But then—

He gets excited while telling a story about practice.

Really excited.

His voice lifts, his hands fly everywhere, and suddenly he blurts out:

“그리고 이형이 오늘 유난히 이상했던 거 알아요!”

(“And Lee Know hyung was extra weird today!”)

He doesn’t even realize he switched languages—

But you respond instantly.

“왜? 무슨 일 있었어?”

(“Why? What happened?”)

Perfect pronunciation. Soft voice. Totally natural.

Hyunjin freezes.

His chopsticks clatter onto the table.

His head snaps up so fast his hair whips.

You just chew another bite, blissfully unaware of the absolute meltdown happening across the table. Your cheeks are puffed out adorably, eyes wide when you finally notice him staring.

“…What?” you mumble through your food.

He blinks once.

Twice.

Then he stands abruptly, chair scraping back.

Before you can react, he’s kneeling beside your chair, gently squishing your cheeks in his hands.

“Baby—” you protest, your words muffled.

His voice drops, soft and disbelieving.

“당신은 내 말을 이해했고, 당신은 한국어로 대답했습니다.”

(“You understood me. And you answered… in Korean.”)

You blink at him.

Then you laugh — soft and warm.

His brows stay furrowed, eyes narrowed like he’s studying a puzzle he’s been trying to solve for months.

You gently pull his hands away and lace your fingers through his.

“I’ve been learning,” you say.

He repeats it like he’s making sure he heard correctly.

“You’ve… been learning?”

“Yes,” you say, cheeks rosy. “I’ve been learning for you.”

Hyunjin’s ears turn bright pink. His whole body goes still, stunned.

“How long?” he whispers.

You look away.

He clicks his tongue, gently hooking his thumb and finger under your chin and turning your face back to him.

His voice is firmer this time, eyes burning into yours.

“얼마나 걸릴까요?”

(“How long, jagiya.”)

Your voice is tiny.

“A year now.”

Hyunjin inhales sharply.

And then suddenly you’re weightless as he scoops you out of your chair. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, hands gripping his shoulders.

“Jinnie—! We’re eating dinner!” you yelp.

He ignores you completely, walking straight to the couch and sitting down with you on his lap.

“Hyunjin, what are you—mmph!”

His mouth crashes onto yours.

His hands frame your cheeks, pulling you closer, kissing you like he’s been starving for this exact moment. One hand leaves your face to guide your fingers into his hair, threading them in deep, while the other slides to the back of your head, holding you exactly where he wants you.

“I love you,” he breathes against your lips.

Kiss.

“I love you.”

Kiss.

“I love you so much.”

Kiss.

You smile into it, making him smile too.

When you finally break apart, both breathless and dazed, you scratch lightly at the back of his head. His eyes flutter shut as he melts into your touch.

You wait until the room is quiet before whispering, soft as a secret:

“나도 사랑해… 황현진.”

(“I love you too… Hwang Hyunjin.”)

His eyes shoot open, shining, lips curving.

He pulls you back down into a slow, tender kiss — the kind that says everything he can’t.

And in that moment, wrapped around him on the couch with dinner forgotten and his hands still trembling against your skin —

You know he’s never loved you more.

─⊹⊱✿⊰⊹─ ─⊹⊱✿⊰⊹─ ─⊹⊱✿⊰⊹─

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Minho swears he’s not clingy.

He swears he’s fine.

He swears he’s not pacing around the dorm kitchen like a cat waiting for its owner to come home.

He told you earlier:

“I’m busy today, don’t worry about coming over.”

Which… was a lie.

A stupid one.

One he regrets immediately.

Now he’s standing there, leaning on the counter, arms crossed, glaring at his phone like it personally betrayed him by not ringing.

Han walks past, munching on a snack.

“Hyung, who are you waiting for?”

“No one,” Minho snaps too fast.

Han raises a brow. “So you always look at the door every five seconds?”

Minho throws a dishtowel at him.

Hard.

He tries distracting himself — plays with the cats, folds laundry, even sweeps the floor twice.

But every little thing reminds him of you.

You always pet Soonie like he’s royalty.

You always fold laundry wrong and he pretends to get mad.

You always steal his comfy socks when you sleep over.

He exhales sharply and gives in.

He texts you:

“…”

Then:

“Where are you.”

Then deletes it.

Then retypes it.

Deletes it again.

Then finally sends:

“Are you busy?”

You reply:

“Not really, why?”

He stares at that message for a solid minute, jaw tight, pride fighting for its life.

Then he finally types:

“…Come over.”

He adds quickly:

“If you want.”

Then throws his phone face-down like it burned him.

When you arrive, you barely finish closing the door before he’s already walking toward you pretending he’s casual, but his eyes tell a different story.

“You took forever,” he mutters, grabbing your wrist and tugging you inside.

You raise a brow. “You said you weren’t clingy.”

He scoffs, cheeks already pink.

“I’m not. I just—”

He stops speaking the moment you step closer.

Minho wraps his arms around you without warning, burying his face in your neck like a cat claiming its favorite spot.

His voice comes out softer, muffled against your skin.

“I missed you.”

You smirk. “So you are clingy.”

He groans. “Shut up. You’re lucky you’re cute.”

He holds you longer than he intends to — and when you try to pull back even slightly, his hand slides to your waist, keeping you there.

“You’re staying tonight,” he murmurs.

It sounds like a request, but it absolutely isn’t.

And the way he kisses the side of your head?

Yeah.

He missed you more than he’ll ever admit out loud.

┈┈୨♡୧┈┈ ┈┈୨♡୧┈┈ ┈┈୨♡୧┈┈

A/N

♛ ✧ ♕ ✧ ♛ ♛ ✧ ♕ ✧ ♛ ♛ ✧ ♕ ✧ ♛ ♛ ✧ ♕

𝐀 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝. 𝐀 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞.

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐘/𝐍 𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐥𝐚𝐰 𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐠, 𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐟𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐬. 𝐀𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐝, 𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲… 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐫.