may ୨୧

Changbin has been stressed before.

You know what stressed Changbin looks like. You know the difference between tired Changbin and irritated Changbin, between the version of him who needs an hour at the gym to shake something off and the version who needs to sit silently beside you while you scratch your nails gently through his hair. You know the particular tension that settles across his shoulders when a deadline is creeping closer, the way he starts checking his phone during meals when there are too many people waiting for answers from him, the way he sometimes wakes in the middle of the night and lies perfectly still because he thinks you’re asleep and doesn’t want you to know his mind is still running.

Comeback season has never been easy, but this one already feels different.

Maybe it’s because there’s something hanging over all of them now that nobody seems to know how to talk about properly.

Minho is leaving.

Not forever. You know that, and Changbin knows that. Hell, everyone knows that. There’s a date and a length of service and promises about messages and visits and meals when he gets leave. There have already been jokes about Minho coming back somehow even more terrifying than before, and Minho has threatened all of them approximately seventeen times for acting as though he’s being shipped off to another planet.

But he’s still leaving.

And once Minho goes, it becomes harder to pretend the clock isn’t ticking for everybody else.

For Changbin.

He hasn't said that part aloud, and you know him well enough not to make him. You also know him well enough to understand that sometimes loving Changbin means letting him come to you rather than dragging something out of him before he’s ready to give it. So you’ve waited. You’ve listened when he complains about choreography changes, recording schedules, and meetings that should have been emails. You’ve rubbed his shoulders when he comes home aching. You’ve left food in the fridge when he texts at midnight to say he still hasn’t left the company. You’ve swallowed your disappointment when plans disappear because something ran over again.

You have tried - God, you have tried - which is why it hurts so much when he looks at you tonight like you're another problem he doesn't have time to solve.

“I said I'm fine.”

The words are clipped. You stand on the opposite side of the kitchen island, staring at him because Changbin doesn't look fine. He looks exhausted. His cap is still pulled low over his forehead even though he's been home for nearly twenty minutes, and his hoodie hangs loose around his body. He hasn't taken his bag off properly; he's dumped it beside one of the stools like he intends to leave again at any moment. His dinner is sitting untouched on the counter between you.

You'd reheated it twice. The first time, when he said he was twenty minutes away; the second, when forty-five minutes had passed. But you don't mention that.

“I didn't say you weren't fine.”

“You keep asking.”

“Because you came through the door looking miserable.”

“I'm tired.”

“I know.”

“Then why are we doing this?”

You blink, taken aback. “Doing what?”

“This.” He gestures vaguely between you, irritation bleeding into his voice. “This whole thing where I come home, and you start asking me what's wrong.”

Your stomach twists, but you tell yourself not to react. You know that he's tired and stressed. You know that this isn't necessarily about you.

Except… He's looking directly at you.

“I'm asking because I care about you, Bin.”

“I know.”

“Okay.”

“So can we just leave it?”

There is something dismissive about the way he says it that makes your jaw tighten.

You nod anyway. “Fine.”

You turn towards the sink, and it should end there. You’ll even think about that later—how easily it could have ended there. How if Changbin had gone to shower or you had gone to bed, maybe the entire night could have been saved. Maybe you'd have woken up tomorrow with his arm heavy around your waist and his face buried against the back of your neck, and he would have apologised for being short with you.

Instead, behind you, you hear him let out a frustrated sigh. Your hands immediately stop beneath the tap, shoulders tensing, but you don’t turn to face him just yet.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

You turn the water off. “Changbin.”

“I said nothing.”

“You sighed.”

“What? Am I not allowed to sigh now?”

You finally turn to meet his eyes, but they close immediately. For half a second, regret flashes across his face until his phone buzzes and he looks down at the screen. You can see the moment his shoulders hunch up, see the way his face pinches from an unknown pressure.

You don't know who messaged him exactly. You don't know whether it's Chan asking about a track, a manager changing tomorrow's schedule, or one of the members sending something completely innocent. All you know is that it’s enough for him to check out of your conversation and back into idol mode.

The damage has been done, and you don’t think that it’ll be fixed any time soon.

“Forget it,” you murmur, turning back around.

“What does that mean?”

“It means forget it.”

“No, because now you're annoyed.”

You laugh once, incredulous, scrubbing at the plate in your hand harder as your own frustration grows.

“You just snapped at me for asking what was wrong, and now you're annoyed because I'm not asking?”

“I didn't say that.”

“You didn't have to.”

Changbin drops his phone onto the counter. “Can you not do this tonight?”

Something inside you cracks, and you spin back around to face him, asking, “Do what?” His mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Before you can stop yourself, you’re talking again. “No, seriously.” You fold your arms, more to hold yourself together than anything else. “What exactly am I doing, Changbin?”

“I don't know.”

“Clearly you do, because apparently I've been doing it since you walked through the door.”

“That's not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

He drags both hands over his face. “I just don't have the energy for an argument.”

“We weren't arguing.”

“We are now.”

“Because you started one!”

His head snaps up, and he points at himself, looking incredulous. “I started one?”

“Yes!”

“How?”

“You came home in a mood, I asked if you were okay, and somehow you've turned that into me being the problem.”

“I never said you were the problem.”

“You're acting like I am!”

His jaw clenches, and you can see him fighting something. Usually this is where Changbin catches himself. Usually this is where his shoulders fall, and he exhales and reaches for you. Even if he's still angry, even if you're still angry, one of you remembers that this is the person you love standing across from you.

Tonight, something is different. Tonight, he's already drowning, and when you reach for him, he pushes you away.

It would hurt less if he’d done so physically.

“I can't keep doing this every time I come home.”

You’re temporarily shocked into silence as you stare at him. You don’t know how your evening turned into this, but you desperately wish you could turn back time and go back to before this argument began.

The anger drains out of you so quickly it leaves you cold. “Doing what?”

Changbin seems to realise what he said, and his expression shifts. He looks hesitant, but he doesn’t take back his words.

You swallow. “Changbin. Doing what?”

“Having to—” He stops and shakes his head. “Forget it.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“No, you don't get to say something like that and then tell me to forget it.”

“I didn't mean it like that.”

“Then explain how you meant it.”

His fingers curl against the edge of the counter. “I have a million things going on right now.”

“I know.”

“I have rehearsals. Recording. Meetings. We have the comeback. Everything needs to be ready, and it isn't, and every time we fix one thing something else changes. I'm trying to keep up with everything, and everyone needs something from me—”

“I don't need anything from you.”

“Yes, you do. You always do.”

You recoil as if he’d slapped you. Changbin notices, and you see the instant he wishes he could shove the words back into his mouth. It’s too late, though. You’re hurt, and you’re so tired. You might not have a comeback or thousands of people waiting for you to perform perfectly. You might not have cameras waiting to catch every sign that you're exhausted or unhappy. But you have spent weeks watching the person you love disappear into himself, and apparently all your attempts to keep him afloat have been another weight around his ankle.

“What do I need from you?” you ask quietly.

“That's not—”

“No. Tell me.”

“You want time with me.”

The fact that he says it as though it's unreasonable nearly knocks the breath from your lungs. “I haven't complained once.”

“I didn't say you complained.”

“I haven't complained when you've cancelled plans. I haven't complained when you come home at two in the morning. I haven't complained when you answer calls during dinner or spend half the night working when you're supposed to be resting. I've been trying to make this easier for you.”

“I know that.”

“Do you?”

“Yes!”

“Because right now you're making it sound like loving me is another fucking appointment you don't have time for.”

Changbin goes completely still. Your eyes burn, and you hate it. You hate crying during arguments because it makes you feel as though you've lost control of yourself, so you blink quickly and look away.

Changbin's voice drops, hesitation creeping into his tone. “I didn't say that.”

“You didn't have to.”

“Stop saying that.”

“Then stop making me guess what you mean!”

“I don't know what I mean!”

His voice echoes through the kitchen, and both of you freeze. Changbin's chest rises sharply. You can see the panic underneath the anger now. You think that it's been there the whole time, but you just didn't recognise it because he buried it so well.

“I don't fucking know,” he says again, quieter. “I don't know what I'm doing right now.”

Your anger softens despite yourself, and you reach out for him. “Bin—”

“Don't.” Your face falls, and his eyes squeeze shut from guilt. “Please,” he says. “Just... don't.”

You let your hand fall back to your side. “Okay.”

You don't know what else to say. He wants space, so you’ll give him space. Except apparently that hurts him too, because his expression twists when you step backwards. For one impossible second, he looks like he might cry before he looks away.

He clears his throat and says, “Minho hyung leaves soon.” The words come so quietly you almost don't hear them. You don't move as Changbin stares down at the countertop. “And then what?”

You know exactly what he means. Still, you let him say it.

He laughs, but there's nothing amused about it. “Then we keep going. We do everything we're supposed to do. We smile and tell everyone it'll be fine and that we'll be back together before they know it. And then someone else goes. I go.”

Your heart aches. “Changbin.”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“You’re already talking about it.”

“Because you wouldn't leave it alone!”

The softness vanishes. It happens so quickly that you flinch, but this time you can’t drop it. You can’t keep letting him take his frustration out on you. Doesn’t he understand that you’re also thinking of him going off to the military? That you’re counting down the days, dreading the time half your heart is away from you?

“I wouldn't leave you alone?” you repeat.

“That's not what I—”

“I'm sorry.” Your voice cracks, and you turn away before he can see the tears properly. “I'm sorry I asked if you were okay.”

“Baby—”

“No.” Now you're the one stopping him. You swipe furiously beneath your eyes. “I get it.”

“No, you don't.”

“You want me to leave you alone. Fine.”

“I didn't say that.”

“You've spent the last ten minutes saying exactly that!”

“Because I can't breathe!”

The words rip out of him, and when you turn back he looks wrecked.

But so do you.

“I come here, and I know you're waiting for me,” he says, words spilling faster now, too fast for him to control them. “And I know you've made dinner, and you've stayed awake, and you've changed your plans around mine, and I know I'm supposed to be grateful—”

“Supposed to be?”

“That's not what I meant.”

“Then stop!” Your voice breaks into a shout. “Stop saying things you don't mean!”

“I can't think!”

“Then don't take it out on me!”

“I'M NOT TRYING TO!”

“But you are!”

Silence crashes down so suddenly that your ears ring. You're both breathing too hard, staring at each other across the kitchen, his plate of dinner left untouched between you.

Suddenly you're exhausted. Completely, utterly exhausted.

“I don't know what you want from me,” you whisper.

His expression crumples for half a second, because neither does he. That's the problem. He doesn't want you to fix anything, to leave. He doesn't want to admit he's scared, or to think about the comeback, or Minho leaving, or his own enlistment, or how different everything is going to look in a year.

He wants time to stop.

And you're standing here asking him what's wrong when the answer is everything.

“I think I need to go.”

Your heart stops. “What?” Changbin is already reaching for his bag, and you watch him sling it over his shoulder. “Changbin.”

“I need to get out.”

“Out where?”

“I don't know.”

“It's nearly midnight.”

“I'll go to Felix's.”

The casualness of it hurts more than anything else tonight. The way he says it… It sounds like it’s easy to leave you.

“Right.” He pauses at the easy acceptance. You fold your arms again, desperately trying to hold the pain in until you have a minute to yourself. “Go, then.”

His eyebrows draw together. “Don't do that.”

A humourless laugh escapes you. “Do what, Changbin?”

“Act like I'm abandoning you.”

Your eyes widen. “I didn't say that!”

“You're looking at me like—”

“Like what?” He doesn't answer, so you push on. “Like my boyfriend just started an argument with me over nothing and is now walking out instead of dealing with it?”

“I told you, I need space.”

“And I'm giving it to you.”

“You're making me feel guilty for it.”

That does it.

You stare at him for a second, genuinely unable to believe what you're hearing before you shake your head.

“No. Absolutely not.” You walk away from him, and you keep going, even when he calls your name. It had started with him needing space, but now you needed it yourself. “You do not get to make me responsible for that too,” you say, turning around in the hallway. “You feel guilty because you know you're being horrible to me.”

His face falls, but you don’t care at the moment. You're crying properly now, and you hate it, but you're too angry to care.

“I have done everything I can to support you. Everything. I've given you space. I've cancelled things without complaining. I've stayed awake waiting for you because I know you hate coming home to an empty flat after schedules. I've cooked for you knowing half the time you're going to be too tired to eat it. I've listened when you wanted to talk and shut up when you didn't. And tonight I asked you one question. One. I asked if you were okay.”

“I know.”

“And you made me feel like I'm suffocating you.”

His eyes shine with his own unshed tears. “I know.”

“So if you want to go, go.”

He doesn't move, and for a few seconds you’re both stood staring at each other until Changbin whispers your name.

You shake your head, hand raised in protest. “Please don't.”

His mouth closes.

You don’t want him to apologise just yet, because you know that you’ll forgive him straightaway, but you’re too hurt at the moment to want to do that. You need him to understand that, to understand that being scared doesn't give him permission to tear into the safest person in the room.

Changbin looks down as he nods slowly. “Okay.”

He puts his shoes on. You stand at the end of the hallway and watch. Every part of you is screaming at him to stop, and every part of him looks like it's waiting for you to ask. Neither of you does, though. His hand closes around the door handle, and he hesitates. It’s brief – just a second – before the door opens and then closes behind him.

The click of the latch is horrifyingly quiet.

You stand there and wait, but you don’t know what for. Maybe footsteps coming back or the door opening. Maybe Changbin realising halfway down the corridor that this is stupid, that none of this was worth it, that he should come back and wrap himself around you and finally tell you he's terrified.

Nothing happens.

Eventually, your legs carry you back into the kitchen where his dinner sits cold and untouched. You stare at it before your knees buckle, and you collapse into the nearest chair as you cry.

Felix opens his door at twelve seventeen in the morning, wearing pyjama bottoms and an expression of immediate concern.

“Hyung?”

Changbin can't speak, but apparently that tells Felix everything he needs to know. He steps aside as Changbin walks in. Seungmin is sprawled across the sofa with his phone held above his face. He looks up when Changbin enters, eyebrows lifting.

“What happened?”

Changbin dumps his bag onto the floor. “Can I stay here?”

Felix closes the door behind him, frowning at Seungmin as he says, “Of course.”

Seungmin sits up. “What happened, hyung?”

Changbin sinks onto the opposite end of the sofa. He puts his elbows on his knees before he covers his face with both hands. Neither Felix nor Seungmin speaks for several seconds. They share a concerned look as Felix sits beside him.

“Did you two fight?”

Changbin nods.

“About what?”

“I don't know.”

Seungmin's eyebrows lift. “You don't know?”

“I started it.”

The words wipe the faint amusement from Seungmin’s face, and he realises just how serious the situation is when Changbin drags his hands from his face, and he sees the tears in his hyung’s eyes.

“I don't even know why.”

He knows he’s lying when he says that. He knows exactly why he started it. He sees Minho's enlistment date every time he looks at the calendar, the comeback schedule beneath it. He sees rehearsals and recordings and promotions and fan calls and flights and performances and deadlines.

And somewhere among all of that is you, waiting for him. Loving him unconditionally. Accepting the scraps he offers you at his busiest times.

And lately that terrifies him too.

Because every time he looks at you, he thinks about leaving. Not like tonight, but in the future. He thinks about shaving his hair. About saying goodbye. About you going home without him. About all the ordinary pieces of your relationship continuing somewhere he can't reach. He thinks about whether you'll be lonely, and whether he'll be different when he comes back.

Whether you'll be different after two years without him.

And because Changbin is apparently an idiot, instead of saying any of that, he came home and punished you for asking if he was okay.

“I was horrible to her.”

Felix's expression softens. “I'm sure you weren't horrible.”

“I made her cry.”

Seungmin winces, and Felix goes quiet, unsure of what to say.

Changbin stares at his hands. “She asked me what was wrong.”

That's it. That's the entire crime you committed. You cared about him, and he’d punished you for it.

His throat closes. “And I basically told her she was another thing I had to deal with.”

“Hyung,” Felix murmurs.

“I didn't mean it.”

Seungmin leans back against the sofa. “But you said it.”

Changbin looks at him as Felix shoots Seungmin a warning glance, but Seungmin was nothing if not brutally honest.

“What?” Seungmin asks quietly. “He doesn't need us telling him it's fine if it wasn't.”

Changbin looks back down. “No. He's right.”

Seungmin studies him for a moment. “Why did you leave?”

“She told me to.”

“Did she really?”

Changbin thinks about it.

If you want to go, go.

His stomach turns. “Fuck. No.”

Seungmin nods. “You told her you needed space.”

“Yeah.”

“And she got upset.”

“Yeah.”

“And then you left.”

Changbin swallows, voice cracking as he repeats, “Yeah.”

Felix rubs his back. “You were overwhelmed, but hyung… That doesn't make what you said okay.”

“I know.”

“But it at least explains why you snapped.”

Changbin's eyes sting. He hates that twenty minutes ago he was angry enough to walk out and now all he wants is to go home. His phone feels impossibly heavy when he pulls it from his pocket to check for what he knows won’t be there.

It still hurts when he sees that there are no missed calls or messages.

His heart sinks, and Felix glances at the screen as he asks, “Do you want her to text?”

Changbin laughs weakly. “I told her to leave me alone.”

“Technically,” Seungmin says, “you told her she wouldn't leave you alone.”

Changbin groans and drops his head into his hands again. “Why are you like this?”

“Because somebody has to tell you when you're being an idiot.”

“I know I'm an idiot.”

“Good. Saves time.”

Felix nudges Seungmin's leg with his foot, and he sighs. His voice comes out softer when he speaks again.

“Hyung.” Changbin looks up, and Seungmin continues. “Don't go back tonight.”

His stomach drops. “What?”

“Not because you shouldn't go back,” Seungmin clarifies. “Because you're still all over the place. And she's probably upset. You going back because you feel guilty isn't going to magically fix it.”

“I don't want her alone.”

“She might want to be alone.”

That hurts.

Changbin looks at his phone again, and Felix squeezes his shoulder. “Message her.”

He opens your conversation, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

I'm sorry.

Too small.

I didn't mean any of it.

Not good enough.

Can I come home?

Selfish.

He locks the phone, shoving it back into his pocket. “I don't know what to say.”

Seungmin watches him. “Then don't say something just because silence makes you uncomfortable.”

Changbin frowns. “That sounded suspiciously wise.”

“Don't get used to it.”

Felix almost smiles, but Changbin doesn't. He sits there staring into space, mind crowded with thoughts of the argument.

Across the city, you're curled beneath your duvet on his side of the bed. You don't know why. Maybe because the pillow smells like his shampoo, or because you're angry and heartbroken and stupidly desperate for something that feels like him.

Your phone lies face-up beside you, silent.

You keep telling yourself you don't care. You don't care if he messages or calls. He wanted space, so he can have it.

Except every time headlights move across the ceiling from the street below, your heart jumps because some ridiculous part of you thinks he's come back.

But he doesn't.

And sometime after one in the morning, you finally turn your phone face-down because staring at an empty screen hurts too much.

At Felix's, Changbin lies awake on the sofa. At your flat, you lie awake in your bed. Neither of you sleeps, but neither of you reaches out. And for the first time since the two of you fell in love, the distance between you has absolutely nothing to do with schedules.

Changbin gets approximately forty-three minutes of sleep. He knows this because he checks the time the last time he gives up on pretending he isn't watching the clock - 4:38am - and then wakes with a violent jerk at 5:21am because his phone slips out of his hand and hits him directly in the mouth.

For one disorienting second, he doesn't know where he is.

The ceiling isn't right. The sofa beneath him is too narrow, and his neck hurts. There is a blanket twisted around one ankle, someone is snoring faintly from somewhere down the hall, and his phone is lying on his chest after nearly breaking his front teeth.

 But then yesterday comes rushing back.

You.

The kitchen.

Your face.

Because right now you're making it sound like loving me is another fucking appointment you don't have time for.

Changbin closes his eyes. “Fuck.”

He rolls onto his side and immediately opens your messages, but there’s nothing new to see. He hadn't expected anything, but he’d still hoped anyway. His thumb hovers over your name, rereading the last thing in your conversation, which is from yesterday afternoon.

Bin: running late again 😭 Bin: don't wait to eat You: I already started cooking :( You: I'll wait Bin: baby 😭❤️ Bin: i love you You: love you too. hurry home ❤️

Changbin stares at it until his eyes burn.

You'd waited for him, made him dinner, greeted him when he finally came through the door and asked whether he was okay.

And he'd made you cry.

His stomach rolls. He sits up slowly, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes.

He needs to go home.

That's the first coherent thought he has.

He can’t – won’t – hide behind phone calls or messages. He’ll go home and face you, because he needs to stand in front of you and apologise properly. He needs to tell you about Minho and the comeback and the horrible ticking clock that seems to have appeared somewhere inside his head. He needs to explain that when he said everybody needed something from him, he hadn't meant that you were a burden.

You are the complete opposite.

You're the place he goes when everything else becomes too much, which, Changbin thinks bitterly, makes what he did even worse. He took the one person who makes him feel safe and made you feel unsafe instead.

He gets off the sofa as Felix appears, hair sticking up in every conceivable direction.

“Hyung?” Changbin looks over but doesn’t say anything as Felix blinks at him in surprise. “I’m surprised you’re awake already.”

“Didn't really sleep.”

“Neither did I.”

Guilt immediately joins the collection of unpleasant feelings already occupying Changbin's chest. “Sorry.”

Felix waves him off. “You were moving around like you were fighting demons.”

“Probably was.”

Felix's sleepy expression softens. “You going home?”

Changbin nods. “Yeah.”

“Good.”

He finds his hoodie where he abandoned it over the back of a chair and pulls it on. His heart is already beating faster. He doesn't know what he'll find when he gets there. You might still be asleep or refuse to speak to him. Maybe you’ll-

His spiralling thoughts are interrupted by his phone ringing, and when he looks at the screen, he sees it’s his oldest hyung calling. He nearly declines it on principle, but years of instinct win.

“Hello?”

“Bin?”

Chan sounds far too awake, and Changbin closes his eyes because he can just tell that he should never have picked up the phone.

“Were you asleep?”

“No.”

Technically true.

“Good. Can you come in?”

Changbin stares at the front door. “Now?”

“Please. I was going over the second verse again, and I think something's bothering me. I need another brain.”

Changbin almost laughs. He currently possesses approximately twelve percent of a functioning brain. “Hyung—”

“Won't take long.”

Changbin hesitates, and Felix watches him from across the room. When Changbin looks at him, expression desperate, the younger mouths, What?

Changbin mouths back, Studio.

Felix grimaces sympathetically as Changbin looks at the time. If he goes to you now, he isn't leaving quickly. He doesn't want to leave quickly. And the last thing he wants is to arrive at home, open this enormous wound between you, and then announce halfway through the conversation that he has to go to work. Chan doesn't know what’s happened. That's the part Changbin can't even be angry about. Chan has absolutely no idea that Changbin spent last night detonating his relationship. To Chan, this is an ordinary morning where work needs doing, and Changbin is awake and reliable.

“Yeah,” Changbin sighs. “Okay.”

“You're the best.”

“Don't say that.”

There's a pause. “...Okay?”

“I'll be there soon.”

He hangs up.

Felix raises an eyebrow. “Studio?”

“Studio.”

“Does Chan hyung know?” Changbin shakes his head, and Felix winces in sympathy before asking, “You going to tell him?”

“No.” Felix looks thoroughly unimpressed by his response, and Changbin sighs before he corrects himself. “I don't know.”

“Maybe you should.”

“I need to talk to her first.”

“Then tell Chan you can't go.”

Changbin looks at his phone. He could tell him; Chan would understand if Chan knew why. But that requires explaining, and Changbin doesn't even know how to explain what happened without sounding like the biggest asshole alive. Besides, it's work. The comeback that's partly responsible for all of this in the first place.

He rubs his face. “I'll go. Fix whatever he needs fixing. Then I'll go home.”

Felix doesn't look convinced, but neither is Changbin.

You don't sleep much either. You're awake when the sky begins turning grey beyond the curtains. You've migrated back to your side of the bed at some point, although you don't remember doing it. Changbin's pillow is still clutched against your chest.

You shove it away when you realise, and it lands on his empty side.

Your eyes sting, and everything hurts. Your head is pounding, throat red raw. Your chest aches from all the sobbing you’d done overnight. Even your jaw aches from how tightly you've apparently been clenching it.

You reach for your phone and see nothing new. You hate how much that hurts, but you hate yourself even more for checking. You throw the phone onto the mattress, but five minutes later, you pick it up again.

Still nothing.

“Fine,” you whisper, voice hoarse.

You get out of bed to a flat that feels different without him. You think it’s ridiculous because Changbin isn't always here. There are plenty of mornings when you wake alone because he's left early. Plenty of evenings when you're alone because schedules run late.

This isn't unusual.

Except his shoes aren't by the door, his bag isn't on the stool, and his jacket isn't thrown somewhere you've told him approximately four hundred times not to leave it. The plate from last night is still sitting in the kitchen, and you stare at it. You’d forgotten all about his dinner after the mess of the night before. For some reason, that’s what brings tears to your eyes again.

You grab the plate and scrape everything into the bin. The aggression with which you do it is childish, but you don't care. It feels cathartic. You wash the plate and the pan. You wipe down an already-clean counter. You make coffee but forget to drink it because every few minutes, your eyes drift towards your phone.

Nothing.

Chan knows something is wrong within three minutes of Changbin entering the studio. Changbin doesn't even make it into the chair before Chan swivels around and stares at him.

“What happened to you?”

“Good morning to you, too.”

“You look terrible.”

“Thank you.”

“Did you sleep?”

“Yes.”

Chan stares, but Changbin simply stares back.

“How much?”

Changbin drops into the chair. “Enough.”

“How much?”

“Can we do the lyrics?”

“Seo Changbin.”

“Bang Chan.”

Chan's eyebrows rise at the younger’s response who sighs before answering.

“Like an hour.”

“What the hell were you doing?”

Having the worst argument he's ever had with the woman he loves.

Walking out.

Lying awake on Felix's sofa thinking about every terrible thing he said.

Imagining you crying alone because of him.

“Nothing.”

Chan doesn't move as Changbin opens the project on the computer. “What was bothering you?”

“Bin.”

“Second verse?”

“Bin.”

Changbin's hand stops on the mouse, and he closes his eyes. “Can we please just work?”

Something in his voice must tell Chan to leave it alone. Or at least, for now.

“Okay.”

Chan works as Changbin attempts to. It takes him four tries to understand a sentence Chan says. He reads the same line so many times that the words stop looking real. He suggests changing something and then, ten minutes later, suggests changing it back because he's forgotten he was the person who wanted it changed in the first place.

Eventually Chan pushes himself away from the desk, sighing.

“Okay.”

Changbin looks over. “What?”

“We're stopping.”

“No, we're not.”

“You're useless.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Changbin glares as Chan crosses his arms. “You're sitting there physically, but your brain is somewhere else.”

“My brain is fine.”

“You just rhymed a word with itself.”

“It was stylistic.”

“You rhymed night with night.”

“Could be powerful.” Chan just stares at him, unamused, before Changbin's shoulders collapse. “Fuck.”

“Exactly.”

Silence settles over the studio as Chan waits for Changbin to explain. Changbin has always known that his hyung knows how to wait. He doesn't fill every silence because it makes him uncomfortable. He just sits there until eventually you realise he's giving you somewhere to put whatever you've been carrying.

Changbin stares at the floor when he finally speaks. “We fought.”

Chan's expression immediately changes. “You and—”

“Yeah.”

“Last night?”

Changbin nods.

“Bad?”

“Mm.”

Chan leans forward. “What happened, Bin?”

Changbin laughs bitterly. “I happened.”

“That doesn't tell me anything.”

“I was stressed.”

“Okay.”

“I came home. She asked if I was okay.”

“Okay?”

“And I snapped at her.” Chan waits for more information as Changbin rubs his hands together. “I basically told her everybody needs something from me.”

Chan's face tightens. “And she thought you meant her.”

“I did mean her.” The admission tastes awful and Changbin tries to backtrack immediately. “I mean, not—” Changbin shakes his head violently. “Not like that. I didn't mean she was a burden. I just meant...” He stops, looking down at his hands, trying to keep his tears at bay as he explain himself more clearly. “She waits for me. She rearranges everything around me. If I say I might finish early, she keeps the evening free. If I'm late, she waits up. If I'm tired, she looks after me. And lately every time she does something nice for me, I just feel fucking guilty.”

His voice breaks on the last word, and he realises that he’s crying.

Chan just slides closer in his chair, softly asking, “Why?”

“Because I can't give any of it back.”

“That's not true.”

“It feels true.”

Chan goes quiet again, giving him time to process his thoughts and feelings.

Finally, Changbin swallows. “And Minho hyung's leaving.”

Understanding flickers across Chan's face. “Ah.”

“And I know it's stupid because we've known this was coming forever.”

“Knowing doesn't make it easy.”

“I keep thinking about when it's me.” Chan doesn't say anything so he continues. “I look at her and I think about leaving her.”

There it is. The thing he couldn't tell you, hidden underneath everything else.

Changbin's eyes burn. “I think about how long I'll be gone. What she'll do. Whether she'll be okay. Whether she'll get used to me not being there.” His voice grows quieter. “Whether she'll realise she's happier when I'm not.”

“Bin.”

“I know.”

“No.” Chan leans forward. “Listen to me.”

Changbin reluctantly looks at him. “You don't get to decide that for her.”

“I know.”

“If she wants to wait for you, that's her choice. If she wants to rearrange an evening because there's a chance she gets to see you, that's her choice too.”

“I know.”

“And if you feel guilty about it, talk to her. Don't push her away because you're scared she'll leave eventually.”

Changbin's throat tightens. “I really fucked up.”

“Probably.”

“Thanks.”

“You want me to lie?”

“No.”

Chan's mouth twitches. “Did you apologise?”

“I left.”

Chan's smile disappears. “You what?”

“I said I needed space.”

“And then?”

“She told me to go.”

“Did she actually tell you to go, or did you make her feel like you wanted to leave until she finally said it?”

Changbin doesn't answer, which is answer enough.

Chan exhales, exasperated when he says, “Bin.”

“I know.”

“Where did you go?”

“Felix's.”

“And she was alone?”

Every question somehow makes it worse. “Yes.”

“Have you spoken this morning?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I was going home.” Changbin gives him a pointed look. “Then somebody called me into the studio.”

Chan's eyes widen. “Oh, shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“You should have told me.”

“You didn't know.”

“I would've told you not to come.”

“I know.”

Chan immediately reaches for his phone. “Go.”

“What?”

“Go home.”

Changbin looks at the computer. “We haven't finished.”

“I'll survive.”

“Hyung—”

“Your relationship is more important than whether I like three lines in a verse.”

That catches Changbin off guard, and Chan looks mildly offended when he notices.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Changbin shrugs. “You're usually the one telling us work comes first.”

“I tell you to take your job seriously. That's not the same thing.”

Changbin looks down as Chan studies him before something changes in his expression.

“Wait.”

“What?”

“I have an idea.”

Changbin immediately distrusts that sentence. “Oh God. What?”

Chan turns back towards the computer. “Send her the song.”

Changbin blinks. “What song?”

Chan gives him a look, and Changbin's exhausted brain takes several seconds to process what he said before-

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because it's unreleased.”

“So?”

Changbin stares at him. “So? Hyung, you're the person who nearly has an aneurysm if somebody plays five seconds of an unreleased track with a window open.”

“That's different.”

“How?”

“Someone might hear it.”

“Someone might hear this!”

“Is she going to leak it?”

“No!”

“Then what's the problem?” Changbin simply stares, mouth agape, as Chan grins back at him. “Send her I Do.”

Changbin's chest tightens.

The song.

His song.

The one he'd written while thinking about you so much that he'd almost been embarrassed when he'd first shown Chan the lyrics. The things he wants to say when ordinary words don't feel enough. The promises that have been sitting inside him beneath all this fear.

“You're serious?”

“Completely.”

“Before the album?”

“Bin.” Chan's voice softens. “It's her.”

Something in Changbin's face crumples when he realises how much his hyung actually knows.  Because he knows what you are to Changbin. He knows that when Changbin talks about home, sometimes he means a building and sometimes he means you.

“You're really okay with it?”

“Yes.”

Changbin looks at the files, his heart is hammering now. Maybe this is stupid. Maybe sending you a song after what happened isn't enough.

Hell, it isn't enough.

He knows that, but it’s a start at least. A door cracked open. Something that says please listen to me before he comes home and says the rest himself.

Chan watches him make his decision.

Changbin reaches for his phone, and he finds the folder they'd been using for the album demos. There are several audio files, some with proper names whilst others are simply working titles or numbers. Some are apparently labelled by people who hate organisation and happiness.

He finds the one marked I DO_final_demo, and his eyes are so tired the letters blur slightly. He downloads it nevertheless and attaches it to your conversation. Then he stares at the empty message box.

“What do I say?”

Chan glances over. “I don't know. It's your girlfriend.”

“Helpful.”

“Tell her the truth.”

Changbin thinks before he types.

I wrote this for you.

He pauses before adding another sentence.

I hope it explains how I feel.

His thumb hovers over send, and his stomach twists.

“Hyung.”

“Yeah?”

“What if she doesn't answer?”

Chan's expression softens. “Then you give her time.”

“What if she hates it?”

“She won't.”

“What if—”

“Changbin.” He looks over, and Chan looks serious now as he says, “Send it.”

Changbin breathes in, then out, before he finally presses the button. The message delivers, the audio file following close behind.

His entire body seems to deflate into his chair. “Fuck.”

Chan laughs softly. “Feel better?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

Changbin rubs both hands over his face. “Maybe a little.”

For the first time since last night, there is something besides dread inside his chest. There’s hope, small and fragile but still there. He imagines you seeing the message and listening to his song for you. He imagines you understanding what he couldn't explain. He thinks that you might cry, but at least they’d be happy tears this time. He hopes that you might message him or that maybe by the time he gets home, you'll at least be willing to hear him out.

Changbin looks at the clock. “I should go.”

“You should.”

He stands, his phone silent in his hand. For the first time since the argument, he isn’t stressed, though. The song is several minutes long, and you might be asleep or need time. He grabs his bag, and Chan pats his shoulder as he passes.

“Talk to her.”

“I will.”

“And Bin?” Changbin turns, eyebrows raised in silent question. “Don't make decisions for her because you're scared.”

Changbin nods. “I won't.”

This time he really means it.

Your phone buzzes at 8:47am. You're sitting on the sofa with your cold coffee between both hands, and you nearly spill it when the noise breaks the eerie silence of your flat.

When Changbin's name appears on your screen, your heart lurches so violently it hurts. For several seconds, you don't touch it. When you put the mug down, your fingers are shaking that badly that you struggle to unlock the screen. When you do, multiple messages are waiting for you.

The first is an audio file, and you frown in confusion when you realise that it’s not a song you’re familiar with. Underneath the audio file, there are two messages, short and to the point.

Bin ❤️: i wrote this for you.

               i hope it explains how i feel.

You stop breathing. Whatever you expected, it wasn't that. Your eyes immediately fill.

“Oh, Bin.”

You cover your mouth in shock. Changbin has always been better at music than conversations when his feelings become too large, and you know that he writes things he struggles to say. He builds melodies around emotions he doesn't know how to hold in ordinary sentences.

And he's written something for you.

Your chest aches, and last night suddenly looks different. You’re not suddenly excusing his behaviour because you’re still hurt by his words and his actions. But this… This is him reaching for you.

Your thumb brushes across his message.

I hope it explains how I feel.

You imagine him sitting somewhere writing it, thinking about you. Maybe this is everything he couldn't say last night, or maybe it’s his apology. Maybe this is him telling you he's scared.

Your eyes blur, and you laugh shakily as you wipe beneath them. “Idiot.”

Fond. Heartbroken. Still completely in love with him.

You press play, and the opening begins. You curl deeper into the sofa, pulling your knees towards your chest as you listen. For the first few seconds, you're simply overwhelmed by the fact that this is his, and that nobody else has heard it yet. The album isn't even out, and Changbin has trusted you with something unfinished and private because apparently ordinary words weren't enough.

But then you start listening properly, and your smile fades.

Something feels… wrong.

You frown in confusion, because surely you’re misunderstanding something. You listen harder, and the warmth in your chest begins to cool as you take in his lyrics because the song isn't about holding on. It isn't an apology or a love letter. It's—

Your stomach drops.

No.

You sit straighter as the track continues. Every line seems to pull the floor further from beneath you.

Leaving.

Distance.

A relationship that has reached its end.

Wanting out.

Wanting freedom.

Wanting to finally let each other go.

Your hands turn cold, and you stare at Changbin's message above the audio player.

i wrote this for you.

Your pulse starts hammering in your ears.

No.

i hope it explains how i feel.

“No.”

You whisper it aloud this time, and you finally stop the song. The flat goes silent, but you simply stare at your phone, wishing you’d misunderstood or that perhaps you were being too emotional. Maybe—

You press play again, starting from the beginning. This time you listen to every word, and you quickly realise that there is no misunderstanding. Whatever tiny scraps of hope you'd managed to gather overnight disappear one by one as last night plays through your head.

I have a million things going on right now.

Everyone needs something from me.

You want time with me.

I can't keep doing this every time I come home.

I can't breathe.

I think I need to go.

You'd told yourself he was overwhelmed and that he'd said things he didn't mean. You'd told yourself this morning that eventually he'd come home and apologise and the two of you would work through it. But apparently Changbin had spent the night thinking too, and this is his answer.

A breakup song.

Your vision blurs, and you pause it again before your hand comes up to cover your mouth to stifle the sob that escapes anyway.

He couldn't even say it to you.

That thought is the one that destroys you because after everything, after all the years of loving him, supporting him, waiting for him, building your life around the chaos of his—

He couldn't come home and tell you.

He sent you a song instead. A song telling you he wants to be free.

Your phone slips from your hand onto the sofa as you stand. You don't know why you stood up because there’s nowhere to go. You make it three steps before your knees feel weak enough that you grip the back of a chair. Your chest hurts, and you breathe in sharply to try and relieve the ache in your chest, but it doesn’t help.

“Okay.”

The word comes out broken, but you nod to yourself, nevertheless.

“Okay.”

He wants out. That's what he was trying to tell you last night, but you just hadn't let yourself hear it.

Everyone needs something from me.

Including you.

Especially you.

Maybe this has been building for months. Maybe every cancelled date really was a relief. Maybe every time you'd waited awake for him, he'd walked through the door and wished you hadn't. Maybe every dinner you'd made was another obligation.

Your thoughts spiralled rapidly as you thought of every message asking if he'd eaten, every call, every kiss goodbye. Every time you sent messages checking when he’d be home or telling him that you loved and missed him.

Need.

Need.

Need.

Your stomach rolled over, and you rushed to the bathroom, dry heaving over the toilet.

“Oh God,” you sobbed.

You press both hands over your face. You're embarrassed, humiliated even. You’d thought that you were helping him, making things easier, but all this time, maybe you were just another person pulling at him.

And last night he'd finally snapped.

Your phone buzzes in the next room and for one stupid second, hope surges through you. You push yourself up from the bathroom floor onto shaky legs before you finally make your way to the next room to grab it.

Changbin.

Bin ❤️: i'm coming home now

You stare at the message, and your heart stops. He was coming home to collect his things. He had clothes and equipment here, his stupid protein powder taking up half the cupboard, his toothbrush beside yours. There were pieces of him everywhere that he needed to collect.

You felt sick all over again when another message came through.

Bin ❤️: please don't go anywhere

A sob catches in your throat, and you almost laugh at the ridiculousness of the message because where would you go? This is your home too.

Or it was.

You look around the flat, and suddenly everything feels temporary. The photographs, the shoes by the door, the blanket his mother gave you, the ridiculous mug Felix bought the two of you. Changbin's hoodie hanging over the dining chair because apparently you've been living with an animal incapable of using a wardrobe.

Your eyes land on it before you walk over to it and pick it up. It smells like him.

That finally breaks whatever control you had left, and you sink onto the kitchen floor with his hoodie clutched against your chest and sob.

Changbin is halfway down the studio’s corridor when his phone vibrates.

He stops when he sees your name on his screen, and his heart jumps in his chest until he opens the message.

You: why?

Changbin stares in confusion. There’s no heart or pet name. Nothing more than the one-word question. His stomach twists when he realises that you're probably still angry. He knows he deserves that, though.

He types quickly.

Bin ❤️: i'm sorry Bin ❤️: i know a song isn’t the best explanation Bin ❤️: i want to explain everything properly when i get there

He sends them and watches for the messages to deliver. When there’s no response, he sighs and puts his phone away.

You're hurt, but he's going to fix this. Maybe not immediately, but he’ll listen to everything you have to say, and he’ll apologise for being such a jerk. He'll stop trying to protect himself from a future that hasn't happened yet by destroying what he has now.

He reaches the lift just as his phone rings.

Chan-hyung.

Changbin answers, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Hyung?”

“Bin.”

Something about Chan's voice makes him stop. “What?”

“Where are you?”

“Leaving.”

“Okay.”

There’s a pause, and Changbin starts to worry when he realises that his hyung sounds panicked at the other end of the phone.

“Why?”

“Which file did you send her?”

Changbin's stomach tightens. “What?”

“The song.”

“I Do.”

“Which file?”

Changbin presses the lift button as he answers. “The one labelled I Do final demo.” When there’s silence from the other end of the phone, Changbin pulls his phone away from his ear to check that the call is still connected before asking, “Hyung?”

“Oh, fuck.”

Changbin goes cold. “What?”

“Bin.”

“What?”

“That file isn't I Do.”

Everything inside him stops. The lift doors open, but Changbin doesn't move. He’s frozen to the spot by his hyung’s words.

“What do you mean?”

“I just opened it.”

Chan sounds horrified, and Changbin's fingers tighten around the phone. “What song is it?”

“Bin—”

“What fucking song did I send her?”

Chan goes silent.

And then he says the two words that make Changbin's entire world drop out from underneath him.

“Way Out.”

Changbin can't breathe.

No.

No, no, no.

“That—” His voice disappears, and he tries again. “That's the breakup song.”

“I know.”

“The one about—”

“I know.”

Changbin swears and quickly opens the last messages he sent to you.

i wrote this for you. i hope it explains how i feel.

His blood runs cold.

“Oh my God.”

He sees your reply.

why?

Not angry. Not asking what the hell he's doing.

Just—

Why?

Changbin's bag slips from his shoulder and hits the floor. “Oh my God.”

“Bin, call her.”

He already is. He ends the call with Chan without saying goodbye and presses your name. The phone rings again and again.

“Come on… Baby, please.”

Voicemail.

Changbin calls again, and there’s still no reply. In a panic, he opens your messages, fingers flying across the keyboard.

Bin ❤️: WRONG SONG Bin ❤️: BABY THAT WAS THE WRONG SONG Bin ❤️: PLEASE ANSWER ME Bin ❤️: THAT IS NOT WHAT I WANTED TO SEND YOU Bin ❤️: I DON'T WANT TO BREAK UP Bin ❤️: PLEASE

He stares at the screen and sees that the messages are delivered but go unread. His hands are shaking as he grabs his bag from the floor and starts running.

Twenty minutes ago, Changbin thought the worst thing he'd ever done to you was make you feel like loving you was a burden. Now, somewhere across the city, you believe he's decided his life would be better without you.

And the last thing you sent him was—

Why?

a/n: now y'all BE NICE NOW OKAY? In all seriousness, I missed writing intense angst hehehe. We okay? Part Two will be better guys xo

“it’s not.” he paused. “i’m in the living room.”

oh my god was he trying to throw his voice so it sounded like it was actually coming from the living room? cute. unfortunately he was not a ventriloquist and it didn’t fool you even slightly.

he had been told time and time again to chill and give his ankle a chance to heal. doctors? ignored. jype? purposefully ignored and actively arguing. friends? shrugged off. you? …

oh yeah he was difficult.

it was unfortunate that it was probably illegal to forcibly restrain someone without their consent, because strapping seungmin to the bed so he couldn’t walk around and put even more stress on his fracture was getting more and more appealing with each day.

instead of responding to his obvious lie – because why would you – you jogged out of your bedroom to catch him in the act.

sure enough, your boyfriend was on his feet, without any form of crutches, actively going against everyone’s well meaning advice.

“seungmin.”

“y/n.”

in the beginning of your relationship, you’d have swooned to his puppy dog eyes and bent to his wants. now, you know better. those puppy dog eyes were unregistered weapons that he leveraged on unsuspecting innocent civilians like you.

“i’m not budging, min. get back to the couch or the bed.”

he gave you a look.

fair, to be honest. you weren’t very intimidating. you crossed your arms all the same and put on your best serious face.

“i’ll call bin and chan and have them restrain you.”

yeah you gave up on trying to obey the thing that might be a law. unfortunately, you were so desperate to stop himself from worsening his injury that you forgot the most important aspect of seungmin: he loved getting manhandled.

especially by his members.

he quirked his stupidly beautiful eyebrow and that told you all you needed to know. his eyebrows literally (figuratively) spoke to you: ‘don’t threaten me with a good time.’