Rin

I wake, but I don’t wake. The air is thick, wet, too heavy. My lungs feel like glass. I try to inhale, and it shatters. My room isn’t a room. The walls lean in, then lean back, then stretch up so high I can’t see the ceiling. Blue light slashes through the blinds, cutting the floor into thin, sharp bars. I press my palm over my mouth because the sound trying to escape isn’t me — it’s something jagged, broken, scratching at my ribs from the inside.

Heeseung.

I see him first in flashes — hands trembling, wrists red, blood smeared across skin and sleeves. His eyes don’t meet mine. I try to call his name. Nothing. My voice is gone. My throat tastes like iron. The word dies in my mouth before it even forms.

Then he’s gone.

Two days. Two days since Lee Heeseung disappeared. Two days and silence presses against my skull like a vice. My chest tightens. My heart beats too loud, too fast, like it’s trying to escape my body.

My thoughts are loud, screaming, clawing inside my skull:

He left...

Everyone leaves.

You should have known.

Eight again.

Eight years old. The walls melt. Trainees whisper behind mirrors. Trainers shout from nowhere, their voices echoing through hallways that twist into themselves. Cameras stare even when they aren’t filming. I am small, too small, trembling on a cold rehearsal floor.

And him.

Heeseung, kneeling to my level, gentle hands, soft voice: “You did good today.” His fingers ruffled my hair like it wasn’t fragile glass. He raised me, watered me, tried to keep me alive in a world that wanted me broken.

And now—gone.

I swing my legs off the bed. The floor wavers. The bathroom stretches like taffy in front of me. Mirrors reflect infinite versions of me. Hollow eyes. Sharp cheeks. Lips bitten raw. My body is not my body.

Thoughts crawl in like vipers, soft, polite, patient:

Don’t eat.

You’re too much.

You make people leave.

The dream flashes again. His wrists. Red. Trembling. Blood dripping. My stomach twists violently.

“No,” I whisper, but the room swallows it. The walls bend. Shadows crawl up them like insects. The ceiling drips, folds, slides. I slide down the bathroom wall. Cold tiles bite into my back. My knees press to my chest. My hands shake. My nails drag across my skin, leaving pale lines that bloom then fade.

It would be easier if you just disappeared.

The dark thoughts don’t shout. They murmur, polite, patient. Calm. They promise relief, a way out, a soft silence.

The apartment drifts. The floor warps. The ceiling leans closer, closer, closer. I float. Time collapses. The clock blinks 2:17 AM, but it doesn’t matter. It’s just a flicker in a world that no longer obeys rules.

I see him again. Hands shaking. Red. Gone before I can reach him. My chest twists, folds in on itself. My shadow stretches, tries to pull me under. I grab at it. It laughs.

Do.it.

I stumble through impossible hallways. Doors fold into floors. Mirrors reflect me a hundred times, each one smaller, hollower, sharper, bleeding into the next. I see my eight-year-old self hiding in corners, curled on cold tiles, bleeding quietly, whispering: I’m still here. I’m still here.

You're still that girl

I drag my nails across my arms again. The pain is sharp, immediate, and yet… calming. Lines bloom then fade. My body feels both too large and too small. My skin tingles like electricity.

The apartment is alive. Walls breathe. Shadows slither. Ceilings drip memory. Floors ripple like water. My own reflection leans closer, grins, whispers, bends.

The hallucinations merge. I see my childhood, my trauma, my present, my fears, all at once. Trainers’ voices, whispers, laughter, shouting. My failures. My self-harm. My absence.

And his voice. Fractured, distant, comforting:

Rin. Eat. Sleep. Don’t vanish.

I can’t tell if it’s him, or me, or a fragment of my mind trying to survive.

I drift through the apartment as rooms bend into each other. One moment it’s my bedroom, the next the rehearsal room from when I was eight. The walls ripple and hum. Shadows crawl along floors. Mirrors shatter and rebuild themselves with different faces inside. My own reflection whispers my sins, my fears, my failures.

Leave. Stop existing. You’re nothing.

I drag my nails across my arms again, watch pale lines bloom and fade. I don’t move. I don’t act. Just breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

The refrigerator hums somewhere, impossibly real, steady, defiant. Time keeps moving without him.

I float through rooms that are not rooms, corridors that are not corridors. Memories crash into me. Childhood, abuse, being broken, being molded, being left. My body stretches and contracts. Limbs too long, too short. My reflection fractures. Whispers echo. Every “don’t eat,” every “leave,” every “you’re too much” circles me like knives.

And yet.

I sit. Fevered. Hollow. Shattered. Waiting for a world that isn’t melting. Waiting for light that isn’t blue and sharp. Waiting for him.

But he’s gone.

And I am still here.

Still breathing. Still trembling. Still broken. Still watching the walls bend, the shadows crawl, the mirrors mock me, the hallucinations whisper, the thoughts spin, the lines fade, the refrigerator hums, and the world—twisting, impossible, infinite—keeps moving without him.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Author's note: Heyyy, before you dive in — I suggest reading my first ff, “Small Things,” and then the last ff I posted before this one which is "The Glass Doors Between them" . Reading them first will give you a better sense of what’s going on in this world and Rin’s story, so everything in this chapter lands the way I intended.

So… real talk. Heeseung leaving IRL really fucked me up, okay? I needed to cope, so I decided to vent a little through writing. Naturally, my OC — the eighth member of ENHYPEN — is going through some intense stuff in this chapter. Teehee.

The hallway outside the lobby felt suffocating.

No one spoke.

Even the staff who usually moved around quickly were standing still, whispering to each other like they didn’t want the members to hear.

Heeseung walked toward the glass exit doors with his head down, steps uneven.

His eyes were red.

His breathing wasn’t steady.

He kept wiping his face with his sleeve, like if he just kept walking fast enough, he could make it outside before anyone saw him like this.

But the elevator doors opened behind him.

Footsteps.

Then a voice that shattered the quiet.

“Hyung—!”

The sound of Rin’s voice cracked so badly it barely sounded like her.

Heeseung stopped.

For a split second he didn’t turn around.

Because he already knew.

Then suddenly she slammed into him.

Her arms wrapped around his waist so tightly he staggered back a step from the impact.

“No—!” she sobbed.

Her fingers twisted into the fabric of his hoodie like she was terrified someone might pry them off.

“You can’t go. You can’t go. You can’t—”

Her words dissolved into broken crying.

Heeseung’s face crumpled instantly.

“Rin…” he whispered.

His hands came up automatically, holding the back of her head and shoulders, pressing her close.

But the moment his arms tightened around her, she clung harder.

Her entire body shaking.

“No!” she cried into his chest. “I’m coming with you. I’m coming with you!”

Heeseung tried to walk toward the door again.

He had to.

But Rin refused to let go.

Her arms stayed locked around him as he moved, forcing him to drag her with him step by step.

Her shoes scraped across the floor as she clung to him desperately.

“Please don’t leave me,” she cried.

Her voice was raw now.

“I can’t do this without you—hyung please—”

Heeseung stopped again.

His breathing completely fell apart.

His hands were shaking as he tried to gently pull her arms away.

“Rinnie… you have to let go.”

She shook her head violently against his chest.

“No.”

He tried again.

“Please.”

“No!”

Her grip tightened even more.

Behind them the members had gathered silently.

Ni-ki stood frozen, his chest rising and falling too fast as he watched.

He’d never seen Rin like this.

Not even when they were trainees.

And he’d never seen Heeseung cry this hard.

Heeseung tried moving again.

But Rin dropped lower, arms sliding around his waist and practically hanging onto him as he took another step.

He had to half-drag her forward.

“Rin please—” his voice broke completely.

She shook her head over and over.

“I won’t let you go.”

Her fingers tightened so much they were trembling.

“I won’t.”

Heeseung shut his eyes hard.

For a moment it looked like he might collapse.

Then he turned his head slightly toward the others.

His eyes found Ni-ki.

And Jay.

He didn’t speak.

Just a small motion with his hand.

Help.

Ni-ki forced himself to move.

Each step toward them felt heavy.

“Rin…” he said quietly.

She ignored him.

Jay gently grabbed one of her arms.

“Rin, please.”

The moment they touched her she panicked.

“NO!”

She twisted violently, clinging harder to Heeseung.

“Stop! Don’t touch me! Let go!”

Her hand grabbed onto his hoodie again, fingers curling so tight the fabric stretched.

“Heeseung—!”

Heeseung’s face crumpled completely.

He looked like he might shatter.

But slowly… painfully… he reached down and started prying her fingers off himself one by one.

His hands were shaking so badly it took several tries.

“Hyung—no—!”

She tried to grab him again.

He caught her wrists gently but firmly.

“Rin,” he whispered, voice breaking.

“Please don’t make this harder.”

Tears kept falling down his face.

She fought against his grip, trying to latch onto him again.

“I don’t care! I don’t care!”

Her voice was hysterical now.

“You raised me! You can’t just leave!”

That broke him.

His shoulders shook as he pulled her into one last tight hug.

For a second she thought he had given up leaving.

She wrapped around him again instantly.

But then—

Heeseung slowly pushed her back.

And stepped away.

Rin lunged forward immediately.

Ni-ki caught her around the waist just in time.

She struggled violently in his arms, reaching toward Heeseung.

“HEESEUNG—!”

Her voice echoed through the lobby.

Heeseung couldn’t look at her again.

If he did he wouldn’t leave.

So he turned.

And walked out the door.

The glass doors slid shut between them.

Rin collapsed against Ni-ki, sobbing uncontrollably as she realized he wasn’t coming back inside.

Ni-ki held her tightly while she cried, his own eyes burning.

The place where Heeseung had been standing felt painfully empty.

The person who raised them…

Was gone.

✩°｡⋆✩°｡⋆✩°｡⋆✩°｡⋆✩°｡⋆✩°｡⋆✩°｡⋆

The glass doors had barely finished sliding shut.

For a moment the entire lobby was silent.

Too silent.

Then Rin’s knees gave out.

A broken sob ripped out of her chest as she collapsed against Ni-ki, her hands still reaching toward the door like she could somehow pull it open again.

“No… no—”

Her voice sounded small now.

Like a child who had just realized something irreversible had happened.

Ni-ki tightened his arms around her waist, but the second he did she started shaking harder.

“He’s gone,” she cried. “He’s actually gone—”

Ni-ki swallowed hard.

His own chest felt tight.

But he kept holding her.

“You’re okay,” he said quietly, though his voice trembled. “Rin… breathe.”

She shook her head violently.

“I can’t.”

Her fingers grabbed onto the front of his shirt now, clutching it desperately.

“You saw him—did you see him? He was crying—”

Her words dissolved into sobs again.

Ni-ki looked down at her.

And suddenly the image of Heeseung prying her fingers off his hoodie replayed in his head.

Over.

And over.

And over.

His jaw tightened.

“I know,” he whispered.

That was it.

That one sentence broke the last bit of control he had.

Ni-ki pulled her closer suddenly, burying his face in her shoulder as his own breathing turned shaky.

“I know,” he repeated, voice cracking this time.

For years, Heeseung had been the one holding them together.

Training.

Debuting young.

Late night practices when they were exhausted.

Heeseung had always been there.

The one who made sure they ate.

The one who stayed up helping them rehearse.

The one who told them they were doing well when they thought they weren’t.

And now—

Ni-ki let out a broken breath, his grip tightening around Rin as his own tears finally spilled over.

Rin noticed immediately.

She lifted her head slightly, eyes swollen and red.

“…Ni-ki?”

He shook his head quickly, trying to wipe his face.

But another tear slipped down anyway.

“I’m fine,” he muttered.

She stared at him.

Then suddenly wrapped her arms around him just as tightly as she had held Heeseung earlier.

And Ni-ki completely fell apart.

His shoulders shook as he clung to her, both of them crying in the middle of the lobby while the other members stood nearby, too stunned to move.

It felt like the foundation of their world had just cracked.

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

Outside the building—

Heeseung had only made it a few steps.

The cold air hit his face.

And everything he had been holding back finally snapped.

Lee Heeseung stopped abruptly on the sidewalk.

His breathing turned uneven.

Then he covered his face with both hands.

A broken sound escaped him before he could stop it.

He bent forward slightly, shoulders shaking as the sobs came harder now.

“Fuck…” he whispered hoarsely.

His voice cracked badly.

He slid down onto the low concrete edge near the entrance, elbows resting on his knees while he tried to catch his breath.

But he couldn’t.

Every time he closed his eyes he saw Rin clinging to him.

He heard her voice.

You raised me.

That sentence echoed in his head like it was stuck there.

His hands clenched tightly in his hair as another sob forced its way out.

“I didn’t want this,” he muttered to himself.

“I didn’t want to leave them.”

People passing by slowed down slightly, recognizing him but unsure what to do.

Heeseung didn’t notice.

He was completely lost in the breakdown now, breathing uneven and wiping his face repeatedly even though the tears kept coming.

Inside the building—

Rin suddenly looked toward the doors again.

Her voice came out small.

“…he’s outside.”

Ni-ki followed her gaze.

For a second it looked like they might run after him again.

But neither of them moved.

Because deep down they both knew—

If they saw him like that…

None of them would be able to let go again.

author’s note: hey… i’m here if anyone needs to talk. i’m super depressed too, and i’ve been sobbing since the news came out. 💔 but pls… don’t lose hope. keep dropping enhypen hashtags on twitter, like “@BELIFTLAB RETRACT YOUR STATEMENT. LET HEESEUNG DO SOLO ACTIVITIES WHILE BEING AN ENHYPEN MEMBER.

#BELIFTLABTREATENHYPENBETTER

#HEESEUNG

#ENHYPENIS7

#COMEBACKHEESEUNG

#ENHYPEN_HOME

#ENHYPEN_IS_7

#Alwayswithyou"

also on instagram comments keep spamming “ENHYPEN IS 7, BRING HEESEUNG BACK” hashtags, put templates on IG stories as much as you can, and remember…

please sign this petition to show support. if you can donate, it helps the campaign, but if you can’t, your signature still matters. sign, share the link, and ask at least one person to sign

we can do it… it was thrown to divert attention from bang si hyuk’s press conference, and ye… let’s keep fighting. 💔

so like… imagine this story. yk the vibe:

Rin, youngest and absolutely iconic, walking into the room like the queen she is.

Ni-ki, quiet, efficient, chill guy? yeahhh not really. he’s low-key whipped in a subtle golden-retriever sorta way and everyone knows it but him. like he pretends he’s not but he is. constantly. tragically. obviously.

he tries so hard to look normal around her but the second she asks for anything—anything—he’s already doing it. before she even finishes the sentence. thinks he’s casual. nope. glowing and rin knows. ohhh she knows exactly how much he’s whipped and uses it for fun.

Sunoo, watching this whole disaster unfold:

“I’m literally making a documentary. this is my favorite sitcom.”

and he narrates it like the chaos is national treasure content, every subtle Ni-ki ‘i’m totally casual but also worshiping rin’ moment.

basically… sunoo POV: "Ni-ki is quietly, efficiently whipped. Rin knows. Everyone else sees."

🌸 POV: Sunoo

“A Documentary On Ni-ki Being Accidentally Whipped For Rin”

(First-person)

Okay so.

It’s 10 a.m. I am tired. I am beautiful. I am minding my own business.

We’re in the practice room, stretching, and by stretching I mean sitting on the floor doing nothing.

Then Rin walks in.

And suddenly, Ni-ki transforms from “quiet dancer boy” to “loyal knight awaiting orders.”

Again.

I KNOW what I see. Don’t gaslight me.

･ﾟ✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ

I’m sipping my drink, watching life go by, when Rin goes:

“Ni-ki, can you pass me my water?”

Her water…

Is NEXT to her.

Like literally 5 centimeters away.

Her pinky toe could grab it if it tried.

Before I can even blink, Ni-ki SLIDES across the floor like he’s auditioning for a superhero movie.

“Here.”

I stare.

Heeseung stares.

The water bottle stares.

Rin just goes, “Thanks!” with that knowing little smile like she’s the CEO of Puppet Strings Inc.

Ni-ki sits back down like nothing happened.

I write “whipped” in my mental notebook.

･ﾟ✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ✧

Our heater is precious.

It is sacred.

It is MINE.

I’m guarding it like a dragon.

Rin enters the room, looks at Ni-ki, then looks at my heater seat.

I feel the betrayal BEFORE it happens.

Ni-ki: “Sunoo hyung… can I sit there?”

Me: “No.”

Rin: soft cough

Ni-ki: “Hyung, please.”

I move.

I don’t know why.

It’s like mind control at this point.

Rin sits. Ni-ki sits next to her.

I sit on the cold floor like a side character.

I write “REALLY whipped” in the notebook.

･ﾟ✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ

We’re going over choreo.

Everyone’s fine. Normal.

Then Rin says ONE (1) sentence:

“Ni-ki, your footwork looks really clean today.”

I swear to you on my skincare routine:

This boy straightens up like someone tightened his screws.

And suddenly he’s dancing like he’s in a final boss battle.

Spins. Jumps. Sharp lines.

He even adds a move we HAVEN’T DONE SINCE 2022.

Jake: “Why are you showing off??”

Ni-ki: “I’m not.”

Meanwhile Ni-ki is literally glowing like a character with maxed-out stats.

Rin: giggles

Ni-ki: downloads new personality

I write “hopeless” in the notebook.

Final Thoughts (Imagine sunoo narrating it)

I, Sunoo, have seen many things.

But nothing… NOTHING… is as entertaining as:

Ni-ki pretending he’s not doing everything Rin says

Rin knowing EXACTLY what she’s doing

The rest of us suffering in silence

I will continue observing this phenomenon.

I will continue documenting it.

National Geographic, call me.

End of episode.

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

author’s note 💌

hey so um… yeah i just wanted to say thank you for reading this lmao 😭💖 i really enjoyed writing it, like honestly had so much fun just thinking about sunoo narrating everything and rin being… rin and ni-ki just quietly losing at life for her lol. i tried my best to make it feel very sunoo and sweet and chaotic at the same time and… yeah i hope you enjoyed reading it just as much as i enjoyed writing it 💫

also like… just a heads up this isn’t really how ni-ki would be or anything, it’s totally just for fun and like… not representing him or anything in real life, so keep that in mind 😌✨

if u liked it, like and repost or whatever bc i really love writing and just wanted to put this out there, 🌸 also if u wanna check out my other stuff, i’ve got a link to a more serious post too 🌿

Context: rin yuemi, enhypen’s eighth member, was dragged into the industry at eight years of age. eight.

puberty came, and suddenly people hated the way she grew.

every change, every stumble—broadcast, dissected, judged.

it’s inspired by niki. by the hate he got growing up, the way puberty hit him and the world didn’t wait. the kind that rattles your head and your heart.

she was just a kid. still is.

and somehow… she’s still standing

Style: First person pov

The dorm was quieter than it should be after a comeback. Normally there would be music bleeding from Jungwon’s laptop or someone humming in the kitchen, but tonight the only sound was the refrigerator’s soft hum and the fact of my breathing ,measured, practiced, like a metronome I could control.

I sat on the edge of my bed with the blinds half-closed, a sliver of streetlight slicing my knees. My notebook lay open in my lap, a handful of scribbled lines that sounded better in my head than they did on paper. I had eaten nothing all day, and my stomach argued like a small, patient animal. I told it to be quiet.

There was a soft knock , careful, the kind Heeseung used when he didn’t want to startle me. “Rin?” His voice was a low question that asked permission.

I did not answer.

The door eased open anyway and he came in with two paper cups and one of those boxed sandwiches the convenience store sold near the practice studio. He set them on the little table and sat down opposite me, keeping a distance that would have felt polite in any other life.

“You weren’t at rehearsal for the last ten minutes of the chorus,” he said, then swallowed and laughed like it was a joke. “You almost fell asleep on stage. I—” He stopped. His hands found each other in his lap. “We’re worried.”

Worried. The word fell into the room and sounded like someone trying to fill a hole with air. It was such a small thing to say and also everything. I stared at the notebook as if its margin could swallow me.

“I’m fine,” I mouthed. The lie tasted like paper.

Heeseung didn’t argue. He reached into the box, unfolded the sandwich wrapper with a fussy, negligible flourish, and pushed it across to me. “You always eat the crusts first. Mom says it’s because you think if you finish the hard stuff first the rest will be easy.”

Something in me tightened, the memory of a different home, of a small hand in mine at an airport gate, of being tucked up like a storybook. I wanted to tell him to go. To tell him I didn’t need crusts or speeches or to be fixed. I wanted to tell him that the thing inside me kept saying I deserved the emptiness.

Instead my fingers closed around the paper and I folded it like I was holding a secret. I bit the edge of a crust and then, because my mouth required the motion, I took another small bite and another. It was ridiculous how much noise the crumbs made in my head, tiny avalanches of shame and relief.

Sunghoon slipped in then, carrying a blanket and a look that was all father and apology. “Don’t let anyone make you feel small,” he said as if reciting a sentence he’d practiced. “Not even the people with contracts and power.”

“You can’t fight everyone,” a quieter voice —Jungwon’s— whispered from the doorway. He leaned against the frame like the weight of him could hold the jamb steady. “But you can let us fight the ones we can.”

I wanted to tell them to stop. I wanted to tell them to let me disappear like I used to in rehearsal rooms where the mirrors only reflected faces and not what was beneath them. I wanted to be the princess again who could swallow a note and it would sit in the chest like sugar.

Instead, Heeseung reached across the table and set his hand on mine. His fingers were warm and ridiculous and human. They fit without ceremony, like the missing piece of something patchy.

“Please,” he said, and it was a word stripped of performance. “Let us be here. Let us do the small things. If you don’t want to talk, that’s okay. But don’t lock the door.”

I almost laughed. It was an ugly sound that I stopped before it finished. The hardness around my ribs loosened in a way I didn’t expect. I let my thumb find his knuckles and rest there. The contact was light as breath. I could have pulled away — I knew I could — but my hand stayed.

“We tried talking to the staff,” Sunghoon said when the silence stretched. “They… they say they’re ‘managing an image’ and making decisions. We’re trying to get them to—” He broke off, his jaw clenched.

“We filed a request for a day off,” Jungwon added. “Agency stalled it. I called the manager and left a message that made me sound like an idiot, but he answered. He said we’d get something scheduled.”

“We’ll make time,” Heeseung said. “We’ll sneak practices for you. We’ll—” He stopped, like saying everything would make it smaller.

It was the way they circled around the edges that sank into me, their helplessness and their stubbornness braided together. They couldn’t pry open the contracts or rewrite the schedules with a soft note, but they could sit in the quiet of my dorm and bring cardboard sandwiches and blankets. They could insist, clumsily, on being the people who hustled me back to life in increments.

A small, stupid thing tugged at me: a hairband Heeseung had wrapped around his wrist like a child. Before I knew what I was doing, I reached up and pushed my hair back, Tucking my face into the motion. Heeseung’s fingers moved without asking and gathered my long braid, knotting it in the way my mother used to when we were flying somewhere.

The action felt sacramental. My throat vibrated. I pressed my forehead against the back of my hand because the room felt huge and my chest too small for it.

“Can we…?” Heeseung whispered, hand frozen in my hair like a question.

I let him finish the braid. My scalp tingled like the first morning of spring. It wasn’t recovery. It wasn’t even a step forward in a way that had guarantees. But when the braid tightened, a small part of me, the part that had once loved bright stages and hot lights, recognized the motion as care.

They didn’t fix the agency’s emails or stop the hate comments that still crawled under my skin. They couldn’t unravel the years I’d spent smiling until my cheeks ached. But they sat. They insisted on the small rituals: a sandwich, a blanket, a braid, a playlist with songs that made the room taste like summer. They kept showing up in ways the contracts couldn’t define.

When Heeseung finally slid his hand away, the warmth lingered on my knuckle. I tucked my thumb beneath my lip and caught a ridiculous little laugh between my teeth.

“Okay,” I said, and the word was small and useless and perfectly truthful. “Okay.”

It wasn’t a promise. It wasn’t even a plan. It was the single syllable of someone who’d accepted a cup of water after running in hot sun. Enough for now.

so, yeah… this fic it’s kind of inspired by ni-ki. 2022 was rough for him. i watched him lose his spark. i watched the hate pile on for things that were… just him being human. blowing a candle? hated. his voice? hated. joking around with sunoo? apparently bullying. like… he was just being friends. that’s niki. that’s literally who he is. and seeing him get trashed for just being himself? that was the writing spark for this.

✧ i’m iranian-french (and if you’re wondering about my japanese-sounding name, it’s after the kind woman who helped my mom during my birth—so it’s pretty special to me ♡)

✧ i’m bi 🌸 and an ENFP

✧ i love k-pop, books, dark romance, and the occasional fluffy story

✧ i devour fanfics, especially smut (no shame here, i loveee it)

✧ i write poetry when words start to spill over

✧ you’ll probably see me talking about stories that hurt just right and characters i can’t stop thinking about

basically: i’m here to scream about books, music, and whatever else my brain is obsessed with. let’s be friends <3