Common Nobody

Then he saw you.

You were lying on the couch, wrapped in a throw blanket, one arm tucked under your head. Your face was turned toward the back of the couch, and for a moment he thought you were asleep. Relief washed over him so hard he had to exhale just to steady himself.

Hongjoong leaned against the doorway and let out a quiet sigh, his fingers absentmindedly scratching the back of his head. He wanted to say something — anything — but the words tangled in his throat. Apologies felt too small, explanations too late.

Before he could decide, your voice broke the silence.

"Are you just going to stand there and look stupid?”

You turned over slowly, eyes meeting his in the dim light. He froze, caught between guilt and affection. Then, softly, almost sheepishly, he smiled.

“Where have you been?” he asked, his tone lighter than he felt.

“Walking around the neighborhood,” you said, your voice low but steady. “Figured I should walk it off before I strangle you.”

He let out a small laugh — that kind of tired chuckle that carried more love than humor. “Fair enough,” he said, his lips curving into a real smile for the first time that night.

He took a few steps closer, watching your expression. “Come to bed,” he murmured.

You didn’t move. You only looked at him, eyes guarded.

He sighed softly and rubbed the back of his neck. “If you don’t,” he said, “I’m just gonna end up sleeping on the couch with you. And even though I'm not the tallest...this could get uncomfortable."

That earned the faintest twitch of your lips. You let out a quiet sigh and finally sat up, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. Without saying anything, you got up and brushed past him toward the bedroom. He followed, quietly grateful, giving you space but staying close enough that you knew he was there.

When you both lay down, the silence returned — but this time, it wasn’t heavy. It was tentative, fragile, the kind of quiet that comes after the storm passes but before the sky clears.

After a few moments, you felt the mattress shift. Hongjoong moved closer, his arm slipping gently around your waist. You didn’t stop him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against your shoulder. His breath was warm, shaky. “I'm sorry...I'm sorry....I'm sorry."

You turned in his arms, meeting his eyes in the dim light. His expression was open, raw — no walls, no pride left. You cupped his cheek, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth.

“Me too,” you murmured.

He leaned in slowly, almost hesitant, until your lips met. The kiss was soft, quiet — an unspoken promise to try again, to do better, to hold on.

Seonghwa

The sound of running water filled the apartment, echoing faintly down the hallway. Seonghwa lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, his jaw tight. His teeth caught his bottom lip, and he chewed it in frustration. The argument from earlier still replayed in his head like a broken record.

He heard the bathroom drawers slam — once, twice, a little louder each time. He rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath, “Absolute cinema."

He turned onto his side just as you emerged from the bathroom. Your hair was damp, your expression sharp enough to cut glass. For a long moment, you just stared at each other — two exhausted people who loved each other too much to back down.

“Calmed down?” Seonghwa asked, his voice cool but teasing, like he couldn’t help himself.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you raised your middle finger, grabbed your pillow, and started for the door.

His brows furrowed. “What the Fuck?”

“I’m going to sleep on the couch,” you snapped, clutching your pillow like a weapon.

He groaned, pushing himself up onto one elbow. “Seriously?”

You ignored him and kept walking, but he reached out, grabbing the corner of your pillow and tugging it back. “You’re ridiculous,” he muttered.

“Let go,” you hissed, tugging harder.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Y/N, you’re not—”

“Seonghwa, let go!”

The pillow became a silent battlefield, the two of you pulling it back and forth like stubborn children. The frustration that had built all evening poured into that ridiculous tug-of-war. Finally, you huffed, released your grip, and took a sharp step back.

“Fine! Keep it!” you spat, turning to storm off.

But you didn’t get far. Seonghwa was faster — the bed creaked as he lunged forward, catching your wrist before you could reach the door. You gasped as he pulled you back toward him, stumbling until you fell onto the mattress with a soft thud. Before you could react, he rolled over you, one hand braced beside your head, his dark eyes locked onto yours.

“Look at me,” he said quietly, but firmly.

You tried to glare, but his closeness made it hard to think. Your heart was still pounding from the argument, from the tugging, from him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice low and steady. “I really am. I can’t stand the thought of you sleeping on that couch.”

You pressed your lips together, refusing to answer. His thumb brushed along your jawline, his tone softening.

“Please,” he murmured. “You can hog the blanket. Steal my pillow. Kick me if you want. Just… stay.”

The sincerity in his voice melted the last bit of your anger. You sighed, looking up at him with tired eyes. “You’re an asshole,” you muttered.

His lips twitched into a small smile. “Likewise.”

You hesitated, then finally nodded. “Fine. I’ll stay.”

Relief flashed across his face. “Good,” he whispered. “Now kiss me.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Kiss me,” he repeated, a hint of playfulness returning to his tone.

You scoffed, turning your head slightly. “Fuck off.”

But when he leaned closer, your resolve cracked. His nose brushed yours, his breath warm against your skin, and you finally met him halfway. The kiss started slow, uncertain, but deepened as all the frustration bled into tenderness.

When you finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours. “Thank you,” he whispered.

You sighed softly. “You still owe me a new pillow.”

He chuckled, brushing his thumb over your lips. “Deal. Just as long as you don’t leave my bed again.”

Yunho

The apartment had been painfully quiet all evening. You hadn’t said a word to him since your argument — not one. Every attempt Yunho made to talk was met with silence, a blank look, or you simply walking away.

He followed you from room to room a few times, trying to apologize, trying to explain, but your silence hit harder than any words could. Eventually, he gave up and let you have your space, hoping that maybe things would cool down by bedtime.

But when he went to bed later that night, he froze in the doorway.

Your pillow was gone. So were your blankets.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as a faint crease formed between his brows. “You’ve got to be kidding me…” he muttered to himself.

Sure enough, when he walked into the living room, there you were — fluffing a pillow, spreading a blanket across the couch like you were settling in for the night. He watched you for a moment, torn between amusement and frustration.

That was it. He’d had enough.

As soon as you stepped into the kitchen, probably to grab some water, Yunho made his move. He walked over to the couch, crouched a little, and — with a determined look — climbed onto it.

It was far too small for him. His legs hung off the edge, one arm barely finding a place to rest, but he still stretched out and folded his hands over his stomach like he’d just claimed a victory.

When you returned, your jaw dropped. “The Fuck are you doing?”

Yunho looked up at you calmly. “I’m sleeping on the couch.”

Your eyes narrowed. “No, you’re not. I’m sleeping on the couch.”

“Well,” he said, shifting slightly, the couch creaking under his long frame, “I already got here first.”

You crossed your arms. “You don’t even fit, Yunho. You’re going to hurt your back.”

He shrugged, lips quirking into a faint, stubborn smile. “Then I guess we both won’t sleep comfortably tonight.”

“Yunho…”

“Either I sleep on the couch,” he said, turning his head toward you, “or no one does.”

You groaned, throwing your hands in the air. “This is bullshit”

He just smiled softly, settling deeper into the tiny couch, clearly refusing to move. You stood there for a few seconds, glaring at him, before letting out a frustrated huff and storming off toward the bedroom.

“Goodnight!” he called after you, cheerful despite the situation.

He stayed there for a while, staring at the ceiling, the blanket barely covering him. The couch was definitely too small, but he didn’t care. The idea of you out here alone didn’t sit right with him.

A few minutes passed. Then the sound of your footsteps echoed down the hallway again.

Yunho turned his head just in time to see you glaring down at him, arms crossed.

“Get your ass off the couch and come to bed,” you snapped.

He blinked, then smiled. “You sure?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

That was all he needed. He got up, stretching his stiff limbs, and followed you quietly back to the bedroom. You climbed into bed first, turning your back toward him, and he slid in beside you, careful not to push.

The silence returned — but it wasn’t cold this time.

“I hate you,” you muttered into your pillow.

Yunho chuckled softly. “Yeah, I can tell.”

But then he felt it — your foot brushing against his under the blanket, your toes tangling gently with his. You didn’t move away.

He smiled to himself, closing his eyes. She’s not mad anymore, he thought. Not really.

Yeosang

After dinner, the air between you was heavy — not stormy anymore, just heavy. The kind of tension that lingered even after the arguing had stopped. You didn’t say anything, just quietly started gathering your pillow and blanket, carrying them toward the living room.

Yeosang noticed immediately.

He leaned against the doorframe, brow furrowing slightly as he watched you spread your blanket across the couch and fluff your pillow with a little more force than necessary.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice calm but confused.

“I’m sleeping here tonight,” you said shortly, avoiding his gaze.

He blinked, head tilting slightly. “Why?”

“Because,” you muttered, adjusting your blanket, “I don’t want to sleep in our bed tonight.”

He stood there for a few seconds, lips pressed together, trying to process your words. Then he let out a quiet exhale through his nose — not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh.

“Okay,” he said simply.

You glanced up at him, expecting him to argue, but instead, he just turned around and walked back toward the bedroom. You watched him disappear down the hallway, frowning slightly. Maybe he really didn’t care.

But a minute later, he came back — with his pillow and blanket in his arms.

You blinked. “What are you doing now?”

He shrugged, unfazed. “If you’re not sleeping in our bed, I’m not sleeping there either.”

“Bullshit,” you said, shaking your head. “You can’t sleep on the floor.”

He gave a small smile, one corner of his lips curving up. “You'd be surprised.”

And just like that, he set his blanket down next to the couch, fluffed his pillow, and lowered himself to the floor without another word. He didn’t even hesitate.

You stared at him, half exasperated, half touched. “Yeosang,” you started, “that’s not comfortable. You’re going to wake up sore.”

He just adjusted the blanket, stretched out, and closed his eyes as if to prove a point. “It’s fine,” he said quietly. “If you’re here, I’m here.”

Your heart twisted a little.

You stood there, arms crossed, watching him settle in. His face looked calm, peaceful even — like he hadn’t just volunteered to sleep on the hardwood floor. You sighed softly, the last bit of irritation melting away.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, shaking your head.

He cracked one eye open to glance up at you. “What?”

“I can’t watch you sleep on the floor,” you grumbled.

“Close your eyes then,” he said lightly, closing his eyes again.

You rolled yours, but a small smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. Finally, you knelt down beside him, dragging your own blanket with you. “Move over,” you said quietly.

His eyes opened again, and he gave you a small, knowing look before scooting to the side, making room for you. The floor was cold and hard, but when you settled beside him, he wrapped his arm around you without hesitation.

You rested your head against his shoulder, feeling his heartbeat under your ear. “You’re ridiculous,” you whispered.

He chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Maybe. But now you’re stuck down here with me.”

You smiled, eyes fluttering shut. “Guess I am.”

The two of you lay there on the floor, tangled together under shared blankets, the fight fading into nothing more than a memory.

San

The apartment had been silent since the fight. Not the heavy, angry kind of silence filled with shouting or slammed doors — just cold, distant quiet. Neither of you said a word after it ended.

When you went to the bedroom to grab your pillow and blanket, San didn’t stop you. He just watched you from the doorway, his expression unreadable, jaw tight. You didn’t look back.

You spread your blanket on the couch, settled down, and tried to convince yourself you were fine with it. But sleep didn’t come easily. The couch was too small, the air too still, and every creak from the bedroom made your chest ache just a little more.

At some point, exhaustion won. You drifted off, your body curling under the blanket.

When you woke again, something felt… different. There was warmth pressed against your back — solid, steady warmth. And an arm, strong and familiar, wrapped tightly around your waist.

Your eyes snapped open.

You turned your head slightly and saw a familiar mop of dark hair behind you. Choi San.

He was lying on the couch. With you.

You blinked, confused. The couch wasn’t built for two people, not even close, yet somehow he’d managed to wedge himself there, his body molded perfectly against yours. His chest rose and fell evenly, his breath soft against the back of your neck.

“San,” you whispered, still half-asleep and half-annoyed. “What are you—”

“Shut up,” he mumbled, voice low and groggy, eyes still closed. His arms tightened around you, pulling you closer until your back was flush against his chest.

You froze. “You can’t just—”

“Mm-hmm,” he hummed lazily, not loosening his grip. “Go back to sleep.”

You sighed, torn between irritation and the strange comfort of his warmth. For a few minutes, you stayed silent, staring at the shadows on the ceiling. His heart beat steadily against your spine, and despite yourself, your breathing started to match his.

After a long pause, you whispered, “This is not going how I planned.”

San’s lips twitched against your shoulder. He didn’t open his eyes. “You don't say.”

You frowned, even though he couldn’t see it. “You weren’t supposed to come out here.”

“I’m not letting you have your dramatic moment,” he murmured, his voice softer now, the usual playfulness bleeding through. “You don’t get rid of me that easily.”

You rolled your eyes, even as a small smile threatened to form. Carefully, you turned in his arms until you were facing him. His face was half-buried in the pillow, hair messy, expression peaceful — too peaceful for someone who’d just crashed your self-imposed exile.

“You’re a jerk,” you muttered, trying not to sound fond.

One of his eyes cracked open, the corner of his mouth curving into a faint smirk. “Call me whatever you want,” he said quietly, leaning forward until his lips brushed yours. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The kiss was soft — gentle but sure. The kind that didn’t ask for forgiveness but gave it anyway.

You pulled back slightly, still pouting, though your heart felt lighter. “God you really are a nightmare sometimes,” you whispered.

“Mm,” he hummed, smiling. “You’ve mentioned that before.”

Then he took your hand, slow and deliberate, and placed it over his chest. His heartbeat was steady beneath your palm, strong and real.

“See?” he said softly. “Still here.”

Something inside you finally unclenched. You sighed, letting your head rest against his chest as his arm tightened around you again.

“Fine,” you mumbled. “But only because it’s too cold to kick you out.”

San chuckled, pressing a kiss to your hair. “Whatever helps you sleep, baby.”

And with that, wrapped in his arms on a too-small couch, you finally did.

Mingi

The apartment was quiet except for the sound of laughter from the TV. It was late — the kind of late that made the world feel soft and small. You were curled up on the couch, blanket around your shoulders, eyes fixed on the screen as another Friends rerun played.

You’d made yourself comfortable there hours ago, not ready to face the awkward silence of the bedroom after your argument. The cushions weren’t as soft as your bed, but at least the TV kept your mind busy.

At some point, you heard shuffling behind you — heavy, slow footsteps. You didn’t even have to turn to know who it was.

Mingi appeared in the doorway, hair messy, eyes half-lidded from sleep. He rubbed the back of his neck, squinting at the TV light that flickered across the room.

“What time is it?” he mumbled, voice rough from sleep.

“Late,” you said without looking at him.

He sighed and leaned against the doorframe, his head tilting as he watched you. “When are you finally coming to bed?”

You snorted softly, still not meeting his gaze. “As soon as Ross stops being a red flag.”

There was a beat of silence, and then he chuckled — that deep, sleepy laugh that always made your heart skip even when you didn’t want it to.

“This might take a while...,” he pointed out, amusement warming his voice.

You shrugged, eyes glued to the TV. “There is your answer."

He stood there for a moment longer, then exhaled loudly and shuffled toward the couch. Without another word, he dropped down beside you, the cushions dipping under his weight.

You shot him a quick look, but he was already settling in, stretching his long legs and blinking sleepily at the screen. For a while, neither of you spoke. The laugh track filled the quiet space between you as Ross and Rachel bickered on-screen.

After a few minutes, Mingi shifted. You felt him inch closer, the warmth of his body radiating toward you. Then, gently, he tugged on the blanket around your shoulders, pulling it — and you — a little closer to him.

You glared at him from the corner of your eye, your lips pressing into a stubborn line.

He didn’t say anything. He just smiled softly and leaned in, his breath brushing your neck.

The first kiss landed just below your ear — featherlight. The next one, on your cheek. Then another, closer to your jaw.

“Mingi…” you warned, trying to sound annoyed.

He ignored it, whispering against your skin, “I’m sorry.”

You huffed, trying to resist, but the corners of your mouth twitched despite yourself. He noticed immediately — he always did.

When you finally turned your head toward him, he was already looking at you with that tired, sheepish grin — the one that always managed to undo you completely.

“I’m really sorry,” he said again, voice soft but earnest.

Your glare melted into a smile. “I know,” you whispered. “I’m sorry too.”

He tilted his head, eyes warm. “So… are we okay?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his. The kiss was slow and sleepy, all warmth and forgiveness. When you pulled back, he grinned and tucked you against his chest.

The TV kept playing — Ross still being a red flag — but neither of you were paying attention anymore.

Before long, your eyes drifted shut. Mingi’s arm stayed wrapped around you, his chin resting on top of your head.

That’s how you both fell asleep — tangled together on the couch, the glow of the TV flickering softly over you two.

Wooyoung

The fight had been loud — voices raised, words sharp enough to sting long after they’d been spoken. It wasn’t your first argument with Wooyoung, but it was definitely one of the worst. When it finally ended, the silence that followed felt deafening.

He’d stormed off to the bathroom, muttering something about needing to “cool off before saying something stupid.” The sound of the shower running filled the apartment, but even that couldn’t drown out the thudding of your heart or the ache in your chest.

By the time he came out, hair damp and towel hanging around his shoulders, you were already dragging your pillow and blanket out of the bedroom. You didn’t even look at him as you headed for the couch.

He froze in the doorway, water still dripping from his hair. “What are you doing?”

“I’m sleeping out here,” you said shortly, fluffing your pillow.

His eyebrows shot up. “Oh hell no.”

You turned to glare at him. “Well watch me!"

Wooyoung dropped the towel onto the back of a chair, jaw tightening. “If anyone’s sleeping on the couch, it’s me,” he argued, heading back toward the bedroom.

“What?” you scoffed. “Why?”

“Because,” he said, grabbing his own pillow and blanket, “I’m not letting you have your dramatic little moment where I’m the asshole who made you sleep out here.”

You blinked, incredulous. “Too late for that,” you snapped. “That ship sailed an hour ago.”

He frowned, walking back toward you with his things in hand. “Nope. Not happening.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Move over.”

“Wooyoung—”

Before you could finish, he threw his blanket onto the couch, right over yours. The two of you stared at each other, the tension sparking again.

“This is ridiculous,” you muttered.

“You’re ridiculous,” he shot back.

And just like that, the tugging began — both of you pulling at the blankets, bumping elbows, stepping on each other’s toes.

“I said I’m sleeping here!” you hissed.

“I said I’m sleeping here!”

“Why are you so—”

But before you could finish your sentence, one of you tripped over the corner of the coffee table. The next thing you knew, you were both stumbling — arms flailing, balance gone — and then thud. You landed on the floor, tangled together in a mess of blankets and limbs.

For a moment, there was silence. Just the two of you staring at each other in disbelief.

Then, slowly, a laugh escaped him. You tried to hold it in, but it was impossible — within seconds, you were both laughing so hard your sides hurt.

When the laughter finally faded, Wooyoung reached over and grabbed your hand. He brought it to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss against your knuckles.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, his voice a little shaky from the laughter. “I shouldn’t have yelled.”

You smiled faintly, brushing your thumb over his fingers. “I forgive you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

You sighed dramatically. “Fine. I’m sorry too.”

“That’s better,” he said with a grin.

For a long moment, you just lay there, the remnants of tension melting into something warm and familiar. Then Wooyoung pushed himself up and offered you his hand. “Come on,” he said, “we’re idiots, but at least we can be idiots in bed.”

You rolled your eyes but took his hand anyway.

Back in your bedroom, the sheets felt cooler, softer — or maybe it was just the calm after the chaos. As soon as you both settled in, Wooyoung wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close until your head rested on his chest.

“See?” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your hair. “Way better than the couch.”

You smiled against him. “Yeah. But you’re still a pain in the ass.”

He chuckled quietly. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Jongho

The argument hadn’t been loud — not on his part, anyway. You’d done most of the yelling, frustration pouring out in sharp words and quick breaths. Jongho, meanwhile, stood there with his arms crossed, expression calm, eyes steady.

And that quietness — that infuriating calm — only made you angrier.

“Say something!” you had snapped, voice echoing through the apartment.

He didn’t. He just exhaled slowly through his nose and muttered, “I don’t see the point in yelling.”

That was it. The final straw.

You’d huffed, grabbed your pillow and blanket, and stormed out of the bedroom.

He watched you go, jaw tightening, but didn’t say anything at first. You started arranging the couch, fluffing the pillow with more force than necessary, the anger still burning in your chest.

Then came the sound of his footsteps — steady, unhurried — and his voice, deep and calm.

“This is ridiculous,” Jongho said, standing in the doorway. “You’re going to hurt your neck sleeping like that.”

You didn’t even turn around. “Good,” you muttered. “Maybe I’ll wake up paralyzed and you’ll feel bad.”

He let out a quiet scoff, somewhere between disbelief and amusement. “Oh Wow, dramatic much.”

“I’m being reasonable,” you shot back, yanking the blanket into place.

He watched for a moment, the corner of his mouth twitching. Then he shook his head slowly. “Unbelievable.”

You heard him move closer — two quiet steps — and before you could react, his arms wrapped around your waist.

“Jongho—”

In one smooth motion, he picked you up, tossed you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing, and started walking back toward the bedroom.

“Put me down!” you shouted, pounding lightly on his back.

“Not a chance,” he said, his tone even but firm.

“Jongho!”

He gave your ass a light smack — more teasing than anything — that made you gasp. “If you’re going to act like a child,” he said, voice low, “I’m going to treat you like one.”

You kicked your legs weakly, half furious, half embarrassed, but he didn’t flinch. Within seconds, you were back in the bedroom, where he set you down on the mattress none too gently.

You glared at him from your spot on the bed. “Are you serious?!”

“Yes,” he said, climbing onto the mattress beside you. Then, with that unbothered calm that drove you crazy, he leaned over, his face hovering just above yours. “But at least I’m not letting you sulk out there like a toddler.”

You turned your head away, crossing your arms. “You’re still annoying.”

He chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “Maybe. But I’m also right.”

You glared at him again, though the heat in your chest was already fading. He sighed, his expression softening as his thumb brushed over your cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I know I’m too quiet sometimes. But you don’t have to walk away. Talk to me instead, yeah?”

You hesitated, biting your lip, then finally nodded. “Fine,” you murmured. “I’m sorry too.”

A slow, bright smile spread across his face — the kind that always made your heart skip a beat no matter how mad you were.

“Good,” he said softly, leaning closer until your noses nearly touched. “Because I really hate fighting with you.”

Before you could answer, his lips pressed against yours — warm, gentle, certain. The kind of kiss that said we’re okay now.

When he finally pulled back, you sighed quietly, all your anger gone.

“Next time,” he murmured with a teasing grin, “just yell at me from the bed, okay?”

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway. “Deal.”

inspired by my friend that i mentioned in this post. this was a convo that we had, and a convo that i hold dear. my mental health challenges peaked when i was in highschool and i just couldn't understand why it had to do so during what i regarded to be one of the most important years of my academic life. no one will ever have a clear answer as to why, but she said that "it's called mental health challenge because it's difficult" and for some reason, that simple explanation just kept me going. it's hard to describe, but i think i just needed someone who understood and put it into words.

It's one of those days when you can't understand yourself or the world around you. When the aching heart beat pounds too harshly on your chest and against your eardrums, and the sweat around your forehead and fingertips. With no clear reason to be feeling this way, you could only slump against the kitchen bench, sliding your back against the surface to sit on the floor.

You're blanked out, eyes staring mindlessly at an imperfection on the wooden floor. You're breathing the cooling air, but you can't feel your lungs taking any of it. Your lips are chapped due to the hour-long waterfall of tears. You try to rehydrate yourself, but the coolness of the glass makes you retract your hands, as if the temperature were the complete opposite.

Your golden retriever, Sunny, first sensed your anxiety flaring up before you did, and he's been carefully trailing you from behind. Now, completely defeated on the ground, he carefully taps his paws on your thigh. The small touch makes you turn your head to him, and you give him a faint smile. It's the sign you give to allow him to climb onto your lap. When he does, he tries to breathe calmly and hopes yours will sync with his soon. Your jittery fingers pat his back, trying to focus on his soft fur amidst the chaos.

The idea to adopt and train Sunny for health purposes was none other than your loving boyfriend's. Yunho knows that anxiety attacks have no scheduling or time limit, and he fears the times that he's not there to hold you close. The last time you had a major attack and he was out of the house, you passed out on the floor due to exhaustion. Staying in the hospital for a full day wasn't fun for him, but he could only imagine the excruciating moments that led you to be there.

Sunny nudges the home telephone that he had in his mouth into your hand. You know exactly what he's telling you to do and what you should do; what you've promised to do. Currently, Yunho is out with his friends. You know he wouldn't be mad if you asked him to come home and hold you tight with no words. But you couldn't bear being the person who would cause the smile on his face to drop. Even though you would do it for him if he were in your situation, you couldn't dare pick up the phone and dial his number.

It's so complicated to know that someone else would drop everything for you, not get mad, yet because of the past, everything you do is calculated with doubt.

You shake your head. "Let's just give him a few more minutes. I'm sure he'll be home soon." Sunny whines, his eyes and ears drooping at your reply. Your words weren't comforting to him, and it sure wasn't for you as tears prickled on the corner of your eyes.

You hum to yourself as you close your eyes, trying to picture a memory that brings you peace. It starts with meeting Yunho and his cheerful personality. The way his cheeks flushed red when he first asked you out. The first time he asked if you could be his first kiss. The day you and him bought this house that you both call home together. Jeong Yunho has been part of all your milestones, and you're the luckiest person in the world to have him.

Your heartbeat steadily calmed down, a gentle smile overtaking your frown. If it wasn't for Sunny wagging his tail, you would've missed the unlocked door and the car keys being set on the trinket bowl.

"Y/N, I'm home!" Out of energy, you couldn't respond to him, but you turned towards the direction of the kitchen entry, waiting for him. "Y/N?" he calls out for you. When he steps into the kitchen, his furrowed eyebrows of confusion are immediately replaced with alarmed eyes.

The paper bag in Yunho's hand is set down on the table over you, and he joins you by your side. Your hand is immediately in his, and he slips his arm behind your neck so that you can rest on his shoulder. Yunho doesn't say anything else and kisses the crown of your head.

"I'm here," he whispers. "Just tell me what to do, and I'll do it."

Your eyelids shut once more. "Just stay here with me."

"Done."

Sunny extends his front paws to Yunho, catching his attention. Yunho scratches Sunny's head and mouths a 'good boy' to the companion who kept you grounded. Sunny looks over to the discarded phone, and Yunho pulls a tight smile at it. He checks the call logs quietly, confirming that his phone isn't broken. It's not the time to talk about it now, he thinks. All that matters is to make sure you're feeling better.

"I know you think I should've called you," you break the silence. "I'm sorry that I didn't. It's not that I don't trust you or anything like that, Yun."

"No, I know," he reassures. "I know that it's hard to lean on someone when you're not used to it." He wants to continue with a 'but'. To remind you that he would always drop everything for you. But sometimes genuine words could scare a person more than it could comfort them, even if they mean good.

You lift your head from Yunho, already missing his warmth and touch. Slight shaking, you face him properly. "I'm sorry. I know I'm hard to comfort and get through-"

"Hey, hey, no. Don't apologise." Yunho cups your cheeks with his palms. His thumbs slide across under your eyes, ridding any leftover tears. "You're not, Sunshine. Don't say that. Let's take this step by step, okay? Of course, I wished you had called me, but I know reaching out is hard for you. I'm here to remind you that I'm always here. No matter what."

It's weird that he's calling you 'sunshine' when it's he who gives bright energy. When you ask him why he calls you the name with such love, his eyes soften and he leans for a sweet kiss: "Because you always make my days brighter. No matter what."

Your lips quiver at his understanding. His orbs shine for you, and the light touches he offers only make you break out into a second round of tears. Yunho's heart twisted at the sight of you fighting and bearing everything alone. He's here to remind you that he'll always be beside you, and he has every single time. You just need more time to dial his number. It's an improvement from the previous time when you slid the phone across the room.

Yunho extends his legs, patting his thighs for you. You take his offer and sit on his lap. He tucks your face under his chin and hums a calming melody. His fingers brush through your hair, and the one holding you across your back steadies you. To the beat of his melody, he taps your waist, bubbling a light chuckle from you.

"Tickles?"

You shake your head. "Perfect."

"Just like you," he confesses from the bottom of his heart, and you know he means it. "I love you and I'm so proud of you, Sunshine. I'll always be by your side."

His grey shirt hues darker from your tears, and Yunho whispers sweet nothings continuously. You could only nod, whimpering into his chest and keeping your heart warm.

"I love you, Yunho. Thank you for always being with me."

"I'm all yours, no matter when and where, Sunshine." Because his love for you is stronger and truly has no schedule or time limit.

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 ateez masterlist 🤍 part of 'especially to you...'

inspired by my friend that i mentioned in this post. this was a convo that we had, and a convo that i hold dear. my mental health challenges peaked when i was in highschool and i just couldn't understand why it had to do so during what i regarded to be one of the most important years of my academic life. no one will ever have a clear answer as to why, but she said that "it's called mental health challenge because it's difficult" and for some reason, that simple explanation just kept me going. it's hard to describe, but i think i just needed someone who understood and put it into words.

It's one of those days when you can't understand yourself or the world around you. When the aching heart beat pounds too harshly on your chest and against your eardrums, and the sweat around your forehead and fingertips. With no clear reason to be feeling this way, you could only slump against the kitchen bench, sliding your back against the surface to sit on the floor.

You're blanked out, eyes staring mindlessly at an imperfection on the wooden floor. You're breathing the cooling air, but you can't feel your lungs taking any of it. Your lips are chapped due to the hour-long waterfall of tears. You try to rehydrate yourself, but the coolness of the glass makes you retract your hands, as if the temperature were the complete opposite.

Your golden retriever, Sunny, first sensed your anxiety flaring up before you did, and he's been carefully trailing you from behind. Now, completely defeated on the ground, he carefully taps his paws on your thigh. The small touch makes you turn your head to him, and you give him a faint smile. It's the sign you give to allow him to climb onto your lap. When he does, he tries to breathe calmly and hopes yours will sync with his soon. Your jittery fingers pat his back, trying to focus on his soft fur amidst the chaos.

The idea to adopt and train Sunny for health purposes was none other than your loving boyfriend's. Yunho knows that anxiety attacks have no scheduling or time limit, and he fears the times that he's not there to hold you close. The last time you had a major attack and he was out of the house, you passed out on the floor due to exhaustion. Staying in the hospital for a full day wasn't fun for him, but he could only imagine the excruciating moments that led you to be there.

Sunny nudges the home telephone that he had in his mouth into your hand. You know exactly what he's telling you to do and what you should do; what you've promised to do. Currently, Yunho is out with his friends. You know he wouldn't be mad if you asked him to come home and hold you tight with no words. But you couldn't bear being the person who would cause the smile on his face to drop. Even though you would do it for him if he were in your situation, you couldn't dare pick up the phone and dial his number.

It's so complicated to know that someone else would drop everything for you, not get mad, yet because of the past, everything you do is calculated with doubt.

You shake your head. "Let's just give him a few more minutes. I'm sure he'll be home soon." Sunny whines, his eyes and ears drooping at your reply. Your words weren't comforting to him, and it sure wasn't for you as tears prickled on the corner of your eyes.

You hum to yourself as you close your eyes, trying to picture a memory that brings you peace. It starts with meeting Yunho and his cheerful personality. The way his cheeks flushed red when he first asked you out. The first time he asked if you could be his first kiss. The day you and him bought this house that you both call home together. Jeong Yunho has been part of all your milestones, and you're the luckiest person in the world to have him.

Your heartbeat steadily calmed down, a gentle smile overtaking your frown. If it wasn't for Sunny wagging his tail, you would've missed the unlocked door and the car keys being set on the trinket bowl.

"Y/N, I'm home!" Out of energy, you couldn't respond to him, but you turned towards the direction of the kitchen entry, waiting for him. "Y/N?" he calls out for you. When he steps into the kitchen, his furrowed eyebrows of confusion are immediately replaced with alarmed eyes.

The paper bag in Yunho's hand is set down on the table over you, and he joins you by your side. Your hand is immediately in his, and he slips his arm behind your neck so that you can rest on his shoulder. Yunho doesn't say anything else and kisses the crown of your head.

"I'm here," he whispers. "Just tell me what to do, and I'll do it."

Your eyelids shut once more. "Just stay here with me."

"Done."

Sunny extends his front paws to Yunho, catching his attention. Yunho scratches Sunny's head and mouths a 'good boy' to the companion who kept you grounded. Sunny looks over to the discarded phone, and Yunho pulls a tight smile at it. He checks the call logs quietly, confirming that his phone isn't broken. It's not the time to talk about it now, he thinks. All that matters is to make sure you're feeling better.

"I know you think I should've called you," you break the silence. "I'm sorry that I didn't. It's not that I don't trust you or anything like that, Yun."

"No, I know," he reassures. "I know that it's hard to lean on someone when you're not used to it." He wants to continue with a 'but'. To remind you that he would always drop everything for you. But sometimes genuine words could scare a person more than it could comfort them, even if they mean good.

You lift your head from Yunho, already missing his warmth and touch. Slight shaking, you face him properly. "I'm sorry. I know I'm hard to comfort and get through-"

"Hey, hey, no. Don't apologise." Yunho cups your cheeks with his palms. His thumbs slide across under your eyes, ridding any leftover tears. "You're not, Sunshine. Don't say that. Let's take this step by step, okay? Of course, I wished you had called me, but I know reaching out is hard for you. I'm here to remind you that I'm always here. No matter what."

It's weird that he's calling you 'sunshine' when it's he who gives bright energy. When you ask him why he calls you the name with such love, his eyes soften and he leans for a sweet kiss: "Because you always make my days brighter. No matter what."

Your lips quiver at his understanding. His orbs shine for you, and the light touches he offers only make you break out into a second round of tears. Yunho's heart twisted at the sight of you fighting and bearing everything alone. He's here to remind you that he'll always be beside you, and he has every single time. You just need more time to dial his number. It's an improvement from the previous time when you slid the phone across the room.

Yunho extends his legs, patting his thighs for you. You take his offer and sit on his lap. He tucks your face under his chin and hums a calming melody. His fingers brush through your hair, and the one holding you across your back steadies you. To the beat of his melody, he taps your waist, bubbling a light chuckle from you.

"Tickles?"

You shake your head. "Perfect."

"Just like you," he confesses from the bottom of his heart, and you know he means it. "I love you and I'm so proud of you, Sunshine. I'll always be by your side."

His grey shirt hues darker from your tears, and Yunho whispers sweet nothings continuously. You could only nod, whimpering into his chest and keeping your heart warm.

"I love you, Yunho. Thank you for always being with me."

"I'm all yours, no matter when and where, Sunshine." Because his love for you is stronger and truly has no schedule or time limit.

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 ateez masterlist 🤍 part of 'especially to you...'

he groans when you claw at his back, “that’s it, baby. hold on to me. let everyone know i’m still yours.” his teeth graze your neck, “they can think we broke up all they want, but you just love to come crawling back. begging me to fuck you.”

“yunho…”

“yeah baby…moan my name like that,” he watches how his cock disappears inside you, “oh my sweet girl you do so good for me.”

he thrives off of how easy it is to crawl back into your life. you never say no because you still want him. and he knows that deep down, one of these days you’ll curl up beside him and ask for him to come back. and of course he’ll agree.

he’ll stroke your hair and say, “oh my sweet baby, i was always here. i never left you.”

because you’re still his. wether your consciously realize it or not. your body only responds to him—just like he trained it to.

he knows you can’t come if you don’t hear his words into your year giving you the permission you crave. he knows that everyone you’ve been with since the breakup was lackluster. always underperforming.

because he was there, too. watching you. protecting you. making sure that you were safe and sound until the day you decided to come back to him.

“come for me, baby,” he whispers in your ear, rubbing your clit through your orgasm. you come so hard, making up for the weeks since you’ve seen him.

he’s watched you try to make yourself cum. but none of it works. he knows you listen to the recording he used to send you when you were together. but even those have stopped working.

he remembers one night watching you desperately trying to make yourself come, using the audios as your last resort. but it didn’t work.

he watched as you frustratedly navigated to his conveniently unblocked contact. you stared at the screen, hesitating to call him. you were so close to calling him out of desperation, but you never did.

he holds you close as you come down from your orgasm. your chest heaving, trying to catch your breath. “i’ve got you,” he whispers.

without even thinking, you curl up with your head on his chest, “don’t leave, yet.” it’s just a sleepy muttering from you, but he obeys.

well, at least you didn't wake up with two disappointments. your eyes fluttered open, sheets pulled aside and you glanced down to see san, your disturbingly handsome husband, in between your legs. his dark eyes already looking at you as his tongue runs between your folds. you let out a moan as you feed your fingers through his black strands and you make sure to tug a little on them.

san moans in response and it sends a vibration straight through your core as he goes to suck on your clit. his fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs as he pulls them further apart to the point of where they rest on his board shoulders.

you let out a soft laugh, "you devil, walking me up in the most sinful way."

"it is not sinful if you are my whole reason. i am devoted and wish to worship you," san replies back before he's diving back between your thighs. head moving from side to side as he begins to get lost in the taste of you. "she was calling out and gushing for me so badly, how could i possibly resist her."

ah, there he goes, talking about your pussy like it's a person. treating your pussy like a proper lady.

"would you think you're married and devoted to my cunt more than me, mister," you tease, knowing it will rile him up.

"not true, i'm only making sure every part of you is taken care of, and that includes this beautiful cunt. you could poison me with her taste and i would die the happiest man," he says, before goes back down to make-out with your lower lips. your juices spreading all over his lips and chin.

he looked like a ravaged mess and you adored it.

"mm, san," you moan out, pulling on his hair once more before you try to pull his whole body up towards you. san understands what you are doing and you can tell he reluctantly pulls away with a parting kiss before his body is hovering over yours.

you pull him down, his lips touching yours and he kisses you like its the only thing he knows how to do. san is passionate when he kisses you, tongue slipping into your mouth and you taste yourself on his tongue. his hands begin to roam over your body, having it memorized since the first time he touched you many, many moons ago. he would rather die than forget what your body feels like against his.

"my goddess, you are so perfect, i just can't help myself," he says when he pulls away from your lips.

"my wicked love, then don't hold back. show me how much you are devoted to me," you tell him, a sly smile gracing your lips that leaves him groaning as he's positioning his body more.

you run your hands down his board chest as his hands grip your thighs to spread them, so he could fit between them. his cock was already hard and straining against his abdomen, the tip an angry red as it began to slowly leak. he took his cock with one hand, letting the tip run through your folds. his tip kissing your clit as his pre-cum smear and mixes with your juices from earlier.

you let out a low moan, "don't tease, my love."

san barks out a laugh, head tilted back and he looked like some greek god as the dim lights of the chandelier above shined down on him. breathtaking. "sorry, sometimes i can't help but tease you. i love seeing you a little pouty."

he then slowly began to enter you, pushing his cock past your folds and inside you – almost bullying his cock into your pussy. when he got halfway in, he leaned back over you, his hands gripping your thighs as he threw your legs over his shoulders. "s-so good, feels sooooo good," he mumbles to himself once he's fully inside you.

"like every time i'm inside you, you were made to destroy me."

he starts to thrusts, his cock moving in and out, in and out between your warm walls. you watch his eyes roll back slightly, a deep groan leaving his throat as you squeeze around him every time he sheathes himself fully inside you.

"o-oh fuck, you feel too good... too perfect."

your arms wrap around his neck, one hand trailing down his back and leaving marks as his hips continue to snap into yours. his lips trailed down your skin as he whispered every sin he could think of. and every word lit a fire in your blood and made you crave for more.

his name was like a curse on your lips. your name was a prayer on his.

he continued to thrusts, a little more slower now as if he's trying to savor the feeling of you around him. you could tell he was growing closer to the edge as he managed to maneuver and reposition one of your legs to wrap around his waist. the new angle makes you moan as his cock hits your sweet spot at a new angle.

"my love, you're close~"

"of c-course i am, how could i not when you feel this a-amazing," he replies back, head falling into the crook of your neck. you feel his lips pressing open mouth kisses, tongue trailing over your skin. "taste so divine."

when you finally reach your orgasm, you let out a loud, drawn-out moan as you cling to san. san isn't far behind you, stilling inside you as he pumps you full of his cum. he moans into your skin before he's lifting his head and kissing you. lips slowly molding against yours as your hand runs through his hair and playing with the ends of his black strands.

you both felt ruined, like nothing else in this world mattered more than being together like this in such an intimate way. the world could fall apart and burn to the ground and you would still cling to him despite the wreckage and ash around you. he's all you needed, if you didn't have him then nothing else mattered. you were as devoted to him as he was to you.

san rolled off you, laying next to you and chest still heaving as he looked at you with a lazy grin. you turned your head to kiss his cheek, hand coming to rest gently on his chest.

"the storm might have stopped outside, but you sure caused one inside, my devil," you say and san tilted his head towards the ceiling as he laughed, pulling you to him so you could rest your head on his chest.

"you remind me every day why i'm glad i said i do," he says, "till death do us part~"

“Oh my god,” You sighed heavily as you finally closed the door to your apartment. 

“We’re home!” San celebrated drunkenly.

“Yes, and the first thing you're doing is going straight to bed!” You insisted.

“What do you mean?!” San pouted.

You instead bend down to undo his shoelaces. Your friends and San’s had gone out for a few drinks, which then escalated to Mingi secretly feeding San some shots when you were otherwise distracted. Which brought you to the now, which was a very discombobulated San and a very perturbed you. 

“Babe!” San whined. 

You huffed as you finished helping San remove his shoes. “You heard what I said. I’m exhausted from you leaning on me the whole walk back. You’re going to bed and to sleep this off. Meanwhile, I’m going to send Mingi the most scathing voice note he’s ever received.”

You still remembered the shit-eating grin Mingi sent you, waggling his eyebrows and mouthing “you're welcome”. Fucking Leos. 

“Nooooooo!” San lamented as you helped him walk towards your shared bedroom. “We have to do my bedtime ritual.”

“Choi San.”

San fake-cried that you used his full government name. You sighed heavily again. Like you can ever say no to him.

“Fine. But right after that it’s straight to bed!”

San got a goofy grin on and then proceeded to trip over his own feet as he attempted to change direction and go towards the bathroom rather than the bedroom. You barely ducked under his flailing arm to steady him. Even once you managed to stumble to the bathroom, San let out a loud ‘oof’ as his shoulders hit the doorframe. 

“Swear to God, you are going to go get us breakfast while you’re suffering your hangover tomorrow,” You grumbled under your breath. 

San, the beautiful idiot that he was, smiled up at you like you hung the stars in the sky as he sat down on the toilet seat. “Of course. Anything for the love of my life.”

You continued to scold your drunk boyfriend as you wet a washcloth. “Don’t try buttering me up. I know you let Mingi feed you those shots. You’re literally the strongest person I know but you can’t stop Song Mingi from giving you shots? You’re so full of bullshit, sir.”

“I thought it was water! I thought he was trying to keep me hydrated!” San protested as you gently wiped his face. 

Your hand stopped with the washcloth on one of his cheekbones. He blinked at you blearily. “Really? Water in a shot glass? I know you are not that gullible.”

“Babe!” San whined again. “Don’t be like that.”

“I’m going to kill him.” You went back to threatening Mingi since you could only stay angry at San for five seconds. “Me and Rose are going to have a conversation about this and then she’s going to give me permission to kill him.”

You squirted some of San’s cleansing soap on your hands and lathered it up between your palms. “Close your eyes, you big baby,” You halfheartedly ordered him.

San got that stupid smile on his face again; the one that always made Wooyoung laugh and call him an idiot. “But I’m your big baby!”

With his eyes closed, you rubbed the soap all over his face. San hummed in contentness as you focused your attention on him and only him, just the way he liked it.  

You washed his face with the washcloth and proceeded with some moisturizer to complete the tradition. You gently patted it on his face, but it got procedurally harder as his face split into a grin. 

“You're such a little shit. What am I going to do with you?” You mumbled under your breath.

San opened his eyes and wrapped his arms around your waist, forcing you to straddle his lap. “You’re going to tuck me in and let me hold you while I fall asleep.”

You cocked an eyebrow at him. “And what makes you think you deserve that after the shit you pulled tonight?”

San hugged you so hard that you had no choice but to tuck your head against his neck. You squealed that you couldn't breath and he belly laughed. Your heart absolutely melted. “Because you love me.”

“You’re lucky I love you so fucking much,” You grumbled, feeling your anger absolutely crumble.

“I am,” San agreed. 

And so that’s how you found yourself curled up in bed, with San’s arm thrown over you, holding your body tight to his as the small spoon. San softly snored in your ear as you lazily scrolled on your phone. 

You had no idea how you’d gotten yourself into this situation.

Eight boys, one van, and a road trip that promised music blasting through speakers, laughter spilling out the windows, and maybe—just maybe—a chance to spend more time with the one person who had been haunting your thoughts for months.

Kim Hongjoong.

Leader, producer, rapper, and the reason your stomach did little flips every time he so much as glanced your way. He had this way of making the world feel smaller when he looked at you, like everything else just…faded. But you’d never told him, of course. What were you supposed to say? “Hey, Joong, by the way, every time you smile at me I forget how to breathe”? Yeah, right.

What you didn’t know was that Hongjoong was just as hopeless.

From the front seat, he kept sneaking glances at you in the rearview mirror, tapping nervously at the steering wheel in time with the beat of the song. You were leaning against the window, sunlight catching the curve of your cheek. He told himself to focus on the road, but his heart had other plans.

The rest of Ateez? They were so done.

“Hyung,” Wooyoung groaned from the back, sliding dramatically down into his seat. “If you look at her one more time like a lovesick puppy, I’m going to actually lose it.”

San snorted. “You mean when he looks at her again. It’s literally every five seconds.”

“Shut up,” Hongjoong muttered, ears tinting red, but he didn’t deny it.

Meanwhile, you weren’t safe either. Seonghwa had caught you zoning out mid-conversation, your gaze fixed on Hongjoong’s profile as he drove.

“You really think we don’t notice?” Seonghwa teased later when the car stopped for gas, his voice quiet so the others wouldn’t overhear.

Your face heated. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, you do.” He smirked knowingly before heading inside the store.

By the time everyone piled back into the van, the members were exchanging sly looks. They had a plan forming.

Hours passed with the van winding down quiet highways. The music softened, conversations faded, and eventually, one by one, the boys drifted off to sleep. You’d been fighting it for a while, your head bobbing with every bump in the road, eyelids fluttering.

Hongjoong noticed.

“You should rest,” he said softly, not wanting to wake the others.

You smiled sleepily. “I’ll be fine. Don’t you need rest more than me? You’re driving.”

“I’m okay,” he said quickly, too quickly, because the truth was that your voice alone could probably keep him awake for a thousand miles.

But eventually, you couldn’t resist. Your head tilted against the seat, your breathing slowed, and before long, you were asleep.

Hongjoong’s chest ached at the sight. Peaceful, soft, so close yet untouchable. His hand twitched against the wheel, resisting the urge to brush a strand of hair from your face.

When they pulled over at a scenic rest stop, the members all stretched and yawned, filing out of the van.

“Hyung, let’s go—” Yeosang began, but then he noticed you asleep. His gaze shifted between you and Hongjoong, who had also dozed off against the seat now that the engine was cut.

The moment was too perfect.

Yeosang smirked and whispered to the others, “Don’t wake them.”

San’s grin spread slow and mischievous. “Ohhh, I like where this is going.”

Before Hongjoong could stir, the doors quietly shut. One by one, the boys crept away, leaving you and him alone, locked safely inside the van.

When you stirred, the first thing you felt was warmth. Someone’s shoulder under your cheek, steady breathing near your ear. It took a moment to realize that you had, at some point, shifted against Hongjoong in your sleep.

Your heart stopped.

You shot up, eyes wide, but then froze again—because he wasn’t awake yet. His head rested slightly tilted, lips parted just enough to make your chest flutter. His hand, which must have fallen from the armrest, brushed against yours where they rested between the seats.

You knew you should move. But you didn’t.

Instead, you let yourself look. Really look. The boy you’d liked from afar for so long, right here, close enough that his cologne lingered faintly in the air, warm and familiar.

Then his eyes fluttered open.

And the world stopped.

“Y/N?” His voice was rough with sleep, and something about it made goosebumps rise on your skin.

“I—uh—sorry,” you stammered, pulling back, but his hand caught yours instinctively before you could retreat.

Silence. Heavy, thick, charged.

That was the moment you both realized: you weren’t the only one too shy to speak up.

You stared at his hand over yours, every nerve in your body sparking awake. His palm wasn’t tight, just enough to keep you from pulling away. Enough to let you know he didn’t want you to.

Hongjoong blinked a few times, finally registering the situation. You, inches away. Your lips parted like you had a thousand words trapped behind them. The others nowhere in sight.

Panic flickered in his chest—not because he didn’t want this, but because he did. Too much.

“Sorry,” he whispered, withdrawing his hand as if he’d crossed a line. His ears burned crimson. “I didn’t mean—”

You surprised him by catching his wrist before he could retreat. “Don’t be sorry.”

The air between you thickened, heavy with unspoken confessions. His gaze locked onto yours, searching, questioning, begging for some sign that he wasn’t imagining it all.

Your heart pounded so loudly you were sure he could hear it. You should say something, anything. Instead, all you managed was a shaky laugh. “You know… they totally left us here on purpose.”

Hongjoong blinked. “What?”

You gestured toward the empty rest stop outside the windows. “The guys. They’re gone. I bet they’re hiding somewhere laughing about this.”

It clicked for him instantly. His jaw tightened, though not in anger—more like realization. “Those little…” He trailed off, shaking his head. A soft chuckle escaped him. “Guess they finally got tired of watching us tiptoe around each other.”

Your stomach flipped. “So you noticed too?”

He tilted his head, a crooked smile forming. “Kind of hard not to when I…” He stopped himself just in time, biting his lip.

“When you… what?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes darted away. He couldn’t say it. Not yet.

The silence stretched again, filled only by the faint creak of the van settling and the chirp of crickets outside. You shifted in your seat, suddenly hyper-aware of how small the space was, how close his knee brushed yours, how his scent lingered in the air like a secret.

Hongjoong leaned back, running a hand through his hair, clearly fighting with himself. You caught the movement of his throat as he swallowed hard.

Without thinking, you reached out and tugged gently on the sleeve of his hoodie. “Joong…”

The nickname slipped out so naturally you startled yourself. You’d never called him that aloud before, only in your head.

His breath hitched. Slowly, he turned his face back toward you.

“Yeah?”

The single word sent a shiver down your spine. You’d meant to tease, to lighten the tension, but instead your brain scrambled. All you could do was stare at him—his sharp jawline softened by exhaustion, his lips so distractingly close.

You realized too late that your gaze lingered there.

And he noticed.

“Y/N…” His voice was low now, dangerous in its vulnerability. “If you look at me like that…”

You blinked. “Like what?”

“Like you want me to kiss you.”

Your breath caught.

He froze the moment the words slipped out, eyes wide in panic. “I—I didn’t mean—”

But before he could backpedal again, you whispered, “What if I do?”

Time stopped. His lips parted, but no sound came out. His hand twitched at his side, fingers curling like he was restraining himself. You leaned in an inch, emboldened by the look on his face—raw, unguarded, desperate.

The van felt like it was shrinking around you, pressing you together. His hand lifted, hesitating midair, before brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingertips lingered against your skin, hot enough to burn.

“You have no idea,” he murmured, “how long I’ve wanted this.”

Your chest clenched. “Then don’t wait anymore.”

The words hung there, reckless, irreversible.

Hongjoong leaned in, his breath fanning across your lips. Your eyes fluttered shut, heart pounding. He was so close—closer—

BANG!

A loud thud on the van window made you both jump apart like guilty teenagers.

From outside, you heard muffled snickers. Wooyoung’s voice carried faintly: “I bet they’re making out already!” followed by San’s loud shushing.

Your face flamed. Hongjoong groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I’m going to kill them.”

But even as embarrassment washed over you, you couldn’t stop smiling. Because now you knew.

He wanted you just as badly as you wanted him.

For a long moment after Wooyoung’s voice faded, you and Hongjoong just sat there in silence, the heat between you simmering like an untamed flame. Your pulse still hammered from the almost-kiss, your skin tingling where his hand had touched your face.

Finally, Hongjoong groaned again and leaned back in the seat. “They’re never going to let us live this down.”

You laughed softly, hugging your knees to your chest. “Maybe not. But… maybe they’re right.”

He turned his head, brows furrowed. “Right about what?”

You swallowed, nerves twisting in your stomach. “About us. About… this.” You gestured weakly between the two of you.

For once, he didn’t look away. His dark eyes locked on yours, steady, searching. “Y/N, if I say what I’m thinking, I can’t take it back.”

Your heart thudded. “Then don’t take it back.”

Something inside him cracked. He leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, voice low and rough. “I like you. A lot. Probably more than I should. And I’ve been trying to hide it because… you deserve someone who’s not always busy, not always stressed, not always—”

You cut him off before his self-doubt could spiral. “Joong. Stop.”

He blinked.

You reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers before you could lose your nerve. “I like you too. I’ve been hiding it because I thought you’d never…” You trailed off, cheeks burning.

The way his expression softened made your chest ache. He squeezed your hand gently, thumb brushing over your knuckles like he was memorizing the feel of you.

“Say it again,” he whispered.

Your breath caught. “I like you.”

The way he exhaled, like the words had lifted a weight he’d carried for months, made your eyes sting. “God, you don’t know how long I’ve wanted to hear that.”

The silence after your confession wasn’t awkward anymore. It was thick, electric, charged with possibility. His thumb still traced lazy circles against your skin, his gaze flicking down to your lips, then back up.

This time, neither of you hesitated.

His hand slid to your cheek, tilting your face toward his, and when his lips finally pressed against yours, it felt like every unsaid word between you ignited all at once.

The kiss started soft, tentative, but the moment you leaned in, he deepened it, his free hand moving to the back of your neck. Your fingers fisted in the fabric of his hoodie, pulling him closer, closer, until there was no space left.

He kissed like he did everything else—intensely, passionately, pouring every ounce of himself into it. By the time you broke apart, gasping, your forehead rested against his, both of you breathless.

“Wow,” you whispered, dazed.

He chuckled softly, lips brushing yours again. “Yeah. Wow.

It should have ended there—a sweet kiss, a promise of something new. But the way his hand lingered on your waist, the way his gaze darkened as it flicked over your face, told you neither of you were ready to stop.

You shifted onto your knees, straddling the narrow space between the seats until you were practically in his lap. His sharp inhale sent a thrill through you.

“Y/N…” His voice was a warning, but his hands betrayed him, gripping your hips like he couldn’t help himself.

You smiled softly, brushing your nose against his. “We’re locked in, remember? No one’s coming to save you.”

That pulled a low laugh from him, husky and dangerous. “You’re going to be the end of me.”

Then he kissed you again—hungrier this time. His tongue brushed against yours, pulling a soft gasp from your lips that made his grip tighten. The kiss turned messy, desperate, weeks of pent-up longing spilling out in the heat of the moment.

Your fingers threaded through his hair, tugging lightly, and he groaned into your mouth. The sound made your whole body shiver.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he murmured against your skin, lips trailing down the line of your jaw.

Your breath hitched. “You’re not exactly subtle either.”

He pulled back just enough to smirk, eyes dark with something that made your stomach flip. “Guess I’m done hiding it.”

For all the heat crackling between you, there was something achingly tender in the way he touched you—like he wanted to memorize every second, every detail. His hands roamed slowly, never pushing, always giving you the chance to pull away.

You didn’t.

Instead, you curled against him, resting your forehead on his shoulder, listening to the steady thump of his heart beneath your ear. It grounded you, even as sparks danced over your skin.

“I don’t care if the guys never let us live this down,” you whispered. “I just… I don’t want this to go away when we leave this van.”

His arms tightened around you instantly. “It won’t. You’re mine now. If you’ll have me.”

Your chest squeezed, a smile tugging at your lips. “Girlfriend and boyfriend, huh?”

He leaned back enough to look at you, eyes shining even in the dim light. “Yeah. Finally.

Of course, that was the moment the van door rattled violently.

“HELLOOO? Lovebirds? You done yet?” Wooyoung’s muffled voice rang out.

You groaned, hiding your face in Hongjoong’s chest. He laughed, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

San’s voice followed, teasing. “We gave you like… an hour. You better have confessed!”

Hongjoong rolled his eyes, but you could hear the smile in his voice when he shouted back, “Yeah, we confessed! Happy now?”

A cheer erupted outside, muffled but unmistakable.

You peeked up at him, cheeks flushed. “They’re never going to let us forget this.”

He grinned, leaning down to steal one last kiss before the boys inevitably burst back in. “Good. Let them remember. You’re mine.”

And in that cramped, overheated van, surrounded by laughter echoing outside, you knew—this was only the beginning.

The van doors slid open with a loud clack, and suddenly the cramped little bubble you and Hongjoong had been living in burst.

Wooyoung was the first face you saw—grinning so wide you were tempted to throw something at him. “Finally!” he crowed, clapping his hands. “Took you two long enough.”

San peeked over his shoulder, beaming like a proud parent. “Look at them, hyung. They’re glowing.”

You buried your face in your hands, your cheeks flaming. Hongjoong, on the other hand, crossed his arms and gave the group a flat stare. “You locked us in on purpose.”

Yeosang shrugged innocently, though the smirk tugging at his lips betrayed him. “Worked, didn’t it?”

“Worked a little too well,” Wooyoung teased, wiggling his eyebrows.

Seonghwa stepped in before the teasing got out of hand, ushering everyone back toward the van. “Alright, alright. Give them a break. We still have hours to drive.”

As you slid back into your seat beside Hongjoong, you felt his hand brush against yours deliberately this time. Your eyes met, and a private smile passed between you.

The rest of the drive was nothing short of chaotic. Yunho and Jongho were arguing over snacks, San was singing off-key on purpose, and Wooyoung kept throwing exaggerated winks your way every time you glanced at Hongjoong.

But none of it mattered, because Hongjoong’s hand was twined with yours under the blanket someone had tossed into the back. His thumb stroked gently against your skin, grounding you amid the noise.

At one point, you leaned against his shoulder, and he tilted his head to rest against yours. The simple gesture sent warmth flooding through you.

“You okay?” he murmured, just for you.

You smiled. “More than okay.”

His lips brushed your temple in the lightest of kisses. “Good. Because I’m not letting you go now.

By the time you reached the small cabin the group had rented for the night, everyone was exhausted. The boys piled out, hauling bags and bickering about who got which room.

Somehow, you and Hongjoong ended up sharing the last room at the end of the hall—a small, cozy space with two twin beds pushed together.

“Convenient,” he murmured, eyeing the setup with a crooked smile.

You laughed nervously, setting your bag down. “Think the guys planned this too?”

“Oh, definitely.” His grin widened. “But I’m not complaining.”

After showers and dinner, the cabin gradually quieted. One by one, the members crashed, leaving only the faint creak of floorboards and the distant hum of crickets outside.

In your shared room, you sat on the edge of the bed, scrolling through your phone to distract yourself from how different everything felt now. You weren’t just crushing on Hongjoong anymore. You were his girlfriend.

The word made your stomach flutter.

When he came out of the bathroom, hair damp, wearing a loose t-shirt and sweatpants, you almost forgot how to breathe. He caught your gaze and smirked faintly. “What?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly, cheeks heating.

He didn’t press. Instead, he climbed onto the bed beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight. After a beat, he gently tugged your phone from your hands and set it on the nightstand.

“Come here,” he said softly, opening his arms.

You melted instantly, curling into his chest. His heartbeat thumped steady under your ear, his fingers tracing lazy patterns across your back.

For a while, you just lay there in comfortable silence, the kind that only came when two people finally stopped running from what they felt.

Eventually, he tipped your chin up, his eyes searching yours. “I still can’t believe this is real,” he whispered. “That you’re mine.”

You smiled, brushing your lips against his. “Believe it.”

The kiss that followed was slower than the ones in the van, but deeper. More certain. His hand cupped your cheek, tilting your face as he kissed you again and again, each one sending heat curling low in your stomach.

Before you knew it, you were lying back against the pillows, Hongjoong hovering over you, his weight braced carefully on one arm. He broke the kiss just long enough to whisper, “Tell me to stop if this is too much.”

Your answer came in the form of pulling him back down, your lips crashing into his.

What followed wasn’t rushed like before. It was soft, lingering touches, whispered confessions between kisses, the two of you tangled together as if you’d been waiting your whole lives for this. His hands roamed gently, reverently, like he was memorizing every inch of you, and each brush of his lips left you breathless.

When you finally stilled, curled against his chest under the blanket, his fingers traced soothing circles along your arm.

“Y/N?” he murmured sleepily.

“Mm?”

“I’m really glad they locked us in that van.”

You laughed softly, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “Me too.”

And with his arms wrapped tightly around you, the steady rhythm of his breathing lulling you to sleep, you knew—this wasn’t just a fleeting moment. This was the start of something real.

The next day, chaos returned in full force.

You woke to the sound of San yelling, “THEY’RE CUDDLING!” followed by Wooyoung shrieking, “I KNEW IT!”

Hongjoong groaned, burying his face in your shoulder. “I should’ve locked the door.”

The clock on the studio wall glowed 2:43 AM, its steady red digits cutting through the haze of cables, scribbled notebooks, and half-empty coffee cups. Hongjoong sat hunched over his workstation, headphones dangling around his neck, one hand frozen over the keyboard as though the right note might just appear if he waited long enough.

But nothing came.

You leaned against the doorway, watching him in the low light. His brow furrowed, his bottom lip caught between his teeth — the picture of a man who lived in music but sometimes got lost inside it.

“You’re going to burn a hole through the desk if you keep glaring at it like that,” you teased gently.

Hongjoong turned at the sound of your voice, eyes softening instantly. “Did I wake you?”

You shook your head, padding into the studio. “Couldn’t sleep. And someone left their side of the bed cold.”

That earned you the smallest, crooked grin. “Sorry. I thought I could finish this track tonight but…” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It doesn’t feel right. Like I’m missing something important.”

You perched on the edge of the desk, close enough for him to lean his head against your knee. He did, letting his weight settle into you, and for a moment the studio wasn’t buzzing with pressure — it was just the two of you.

“Maybe you’re thinking too hard,” you said, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “Songs aren’t puzzles to solve, Joong. They’re… feelings you catch before they slip away.”

He tilted his head to look at you, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was filing your words away. “Feelings I catch, huh?”

“Mmhm. What were you feeling today?”

He thought for a long beat, then answered honestly: “Tired. But also… lucky. Like even when I can’t make this work, I still get to come home to you.”

The confession sat between you, warm and unpolished. Your chest tightened, and before you could overthink it, you leaned down and pressed a kiss to his temple.

“There’s your song,” you whispered.

Something lit in his eyes — that spark you’d seen a hundred times but never got tired of. He grabbed his pen and scrawled down your words, repeating them softly like a mantra. There’s your song. Home to you.

Within minutes the studio filled with a new rhythm. A soft beat, hopeful chords, his voice humming a melody that hadn’t existed ten minutes ago. He glanced at you between lines, like he was writing each note into your skin.

You curled up on the couch, watching him come alive in the glow of his monitors, and he caught your gaze mid-verse.

“Stay awake a little longer?” he asked, almost shy despite everything. “I think this one’s… yours.”