yenas blog

the clingy prompt

night again (chan) – @chahnniesroom

meanie bf!seungmin calls you clingy :( - @hyunbelievable

clingy (chan) – @skzhocomments

stray kids reaction || you were clingy and suddenly you aren't – @dreamescapeswriting

bf!skz x fem!reader: he calls you clingy (hyung line ver.) – @chlix

bf!skz x fem! reader: he calls you clingy (maknae line ver.) – @/chlix

skz!fake texts: he calls you clingy (hyung line) – @dazed--xx

skz!fake texts: he calls you clingy (maknae line) – @/dazed--xx

feelings not sent (lee know) - @starmy-sky

feelings not sent (chan) @/starmy-sky

feelings not sent (seungmin) - @/starmy-sky

they call you clingy (skz) - hyung line pt. 1 and pt. 2 - @yangfleurs

they call you clingy (skz) - maknae line pt. 1 and pt. 2 - @/yangfleurs

hurts so bad (s.coups) – @babyleostuff

the reason (chan) - @writingnabi

clingy (changbin) - @linoxpudding

argument scenes that hurt

bf!skz x fem!reader: he ruins your birthday (hyung line ver.) – @/chlix

you don't need me (minchanlix x reader) - @writingforstraykids

almost gone (seungmin) - @/writingforstraykids

rebound (ot8) - @pnutbutter-n-j-elyy

where i.n's not a fan of physical touch - @/pnutbutter-n-j-elyy

quiet hurst loudest (han) - @4linos

where i used to be - (hyunibini x reader) - @hwanghhjinie

worthy of you (i.n) - @/hwanghhjinie

loved (s.coups) – @rubywonu

others

chlix's masterlist just to make sure

But lately, it wasn’t just that.

He’d been distant. Not unkind. Just… elsewhere. Every conversation felt like you were knocking on a door he no longer heard you through.

You chalked it up to work, because it was work. He’d been spending long hours writing, recording, tweaking things late into the night, and barely looking up from his laptop when you came in. You were used to it, in a way. This was Jisung. He went hard when inspiration struck. He burned hot, fast, and completely.

Still, it stung in a way you didn’t want to admit.

Especially with your birthday just a few days away.

You hadn’t said anything about it. You’d made a quiet decision not to bring it up. Part of you thought it would be sweet if he remembered on his own, if he had something planned, something thoughtful, even small. Jisung wasn’t extravagant. He didn’t do grand gestures. But he knew you. He always knew you.

So you waited.

And waited.

Each day passed without a mention. No little comments. No suspicious texts. No asking if you were free. Just his head down, pen scratching across paper, headphones on, a world away.

But today, Tuesday, you couldn’t take the silence anymore. You weren’t going to outright ask him if he remembered. That would be pathetic, you thought. That would make it worse if he didn’t. But you could be subtle. Casual. Just ask if he had Friday off. Plant the seed. Give him a chance.

It was late afternoon when you walked into his studio. You could hear the low hum of a beat looping in the background, his fingers moving fast over his keyboard, pausing every so often to scribble something into his notebook. His back was to you, hunched slightly, hoodie pulled up over his head.

He didn’t hear you come in.

You walked over quietly, wrapped your arms around him from behind, pressing your cheek lightly against his shoulder blade. He stiffened slightly at the sudden contact, but didn’t pull away.

Yet.

"Hey, baby," you said softly, your voice almost lost in the music. "Do you have Friday off?"

You didn’t mention why. You didn’t want it to sound like a trap.

He didn’t turn around. Just shrugged, his fingers still moving.

"I don’t know. Maybe. I’ve got a lot going on right now."

You blinked. Pulled back a little. That was it? No follow-up? No “why do you ask?” Not even curiosity?

You bit your lip and tried again, stepping around him this time so you were facing him. He looked tired, eyes slightly puffy from staring at the screen too long. You leaned down, gently trying to kiss his cheek, but he shifted just as you did, and your lips landed awkwardly at the corner of his jaw.

You let it slide. Forced a smile.

"Really no plans this weekend? Not even a day off?"

He finally looked up. Annoyed. The kind of look you’d only seen when he was dealing with customer service or slow Wi-Fi.

"Can you not right now?" he snapped, rubbing his temple. "I’m in the middle of something."

You blinked. Stunned for a second.

"I was just asking—"

"Yeah, and I said I don’t know." He exhaled hard, clearly irritated. "Why are you pressing me about this? I’m busy."

That one landed like a slap. You took a step back, arms folding tightly over your chest. You felt like you were shrinking.

"Sorry for bothering you," you said coldly, the tightness in your throat giving you away. "God forbid I ask my boyfriend a simple question."

You turned before he could say anything else, before the anger on your face melted into something worse. You didn’t want him to see. You didn’t want him to know.

The door slammed behind you harder than you intended. The echo rang down the hallway like a warning bell.

You stood there, frozen, in the hallway. Alone.

And that's when it hit you.

He’d forgotten.

He really, truly had forgotten.

Your birthday was in three days.

And Jisung, the boy who once remembered the exact day you first cried in front of him, the boy who had surprised you with ramen at 1AM because you offhandedly said you missed home, had forgotten.

Your chest burned.

You didn’t cry right away. You refused to. Crying meant giving it weight. It meant making it real. And maybe, maybe this was still salvageable. Maybe he’d realize. Maybe this was just a bad moment, a bad hour.

But the more you thought about it, the more the silence over the past week screamed in your ears.

Not one hint. Not one look. Nothing.

-

The house was quieter than usual, but not in a peaceful way. It was the kind of silence that felt like tension stretched too thin. The kind of silence that made the air feel heavier.

You’d noticed it growing for a while now, the slow fade of warmth, like a candle burning down to its last inch of wick. Jisung had been lost in his work lately, immersed in melodies and metaphors, his mind trapped in the small studio tucked at the end of the hall.

He’d always done this. You knew his process. He dove headfirst into his music, sometimes forgetting meals, forgetting sleep. You’d loved him for that. For how deeply he loved creating. For how earnestly he got caught up in the things that mattered to him.

But this time… something was different.

This time, you felt like a stranger to him while he buried himself in lyrics.

And it hurt more than you wanted to admit.

Your birthday was in just a few days.

That tiny fact sat in the back of your mind like a needle under the skin. Small. Sharp. Unshakable.

You didn’t need much. You weren’t the type to demand gifts or parties or posts with long, poetic captions. What you wanted, what you hoped for was that he’d remember. That he’d do something meaningful, something that showed he still saw you.

You had convinced yourself that he did.

Even after the way he snapped earlier that day, the way he brushed you off when you asked if he had Friday free, you still gave him the benefit of the doubt.

You had to. Because if he had forgotten, if he truly wasn’t planning anything… then what did that say about the two of you? About how far you’d drifted without realizing it?

That evening, the house remained mostly silent.

You moved around the bedroom without saying much, folding laundry you didn’t have the energy to care about, rechecking a calendar you’d already memorized. You hadn’t seen him much since the argument. He stayed locked away in his studio, headphones on, music leaking faintly through the door like a barrier between you.

You had hoped stupidly, maybe that he’d come out and say something. Apologize, even a little. Ask what was wrong. Notice that you’d been quiet too. That you didn’t eat dinner. That you didn’t sit on the couch like usual waiting for him to finish work.

But none of that happened.

It was nearly midnight when he finally came into the room. You were already in bed, the blanket pulled up to your chest, your body curled to one side, eyes closed. You weren’t asleep, not even close.

He moved quietly, but you heard every step. The rustle of his hoodie dropping to the floor. The faint creak of the mattress as he slipped in beside you.

You waited.

Your heart thudded.

Then, slowly, you inched toward him.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t push your luck with words this time. You just slid closer and gently wrapped your arm around his waist, your face nestling near his shoulder. A quiet attempt at truce. A silent please let’s forget the fight.

But before you could even settle into the comfort you craved, he flinched.

And then he sighed. Loudly.

“Seriously?”

The word hit you like a slap.

Your body stilled. “...What?”

“When I’m working, I really need you to not be all over me,” he said, voice flat, frustrated. “It throws me off. I was just about to write something important earlier and you came in, touching me, kissing me and I completely lost the line I had in my head.”

You pulled back slowly, staring at him in the dim lighting. His profile was hard. Tired. Detached.

You blinked once. Twice. Trying to process what he’d just said.

“I distracted you…?” Your voice came out smaller than you wanted.

He didn’t answer right away. Just let out another sigh and turned his back to you.

“I just… I’d appreciate it if you could give me space when I’m in work mode. That’s all.”

You didn’t speak.

You couldn’t.

You lay there, staring at the back of his head, the curve of his shoulder rising and falling slowly with each breath.

There was something hollow in your chest. A yawning emptiness where warmth used to live.

All day, you had been convincing yourself that this was just stress. That he was just overwhelmed. That he didn’t mean to be cold or distant. That it wasn’t personal.

But this, this wasn’t just stress.

This was dismissal.

And that, somehow, hurt more than him forgetting your birthday.

Because this wasn’t about one day.

This was about being made to feel like you were in the way. Like your affection was an inconvenience. Like loving him gently, quietly, earnestly was a problem.

You blinked away the heat in your eyes and rolled onto your other side, facing the wall.

You didn’t say goodnight.
You didn’t touch him again.
You didn’t cry.

Not yet.

Lying there in the dark, you played the moment over and over in your head.

You weren’t sure what stung more:
That he hadn’t tried to fix the argument.
That he’d called your love distracting.
Or that he didn’t even realize he’d hurt you.

You thought about how he used to pull you into bed and kiss you like he couldn’t wait to tell you everything he’d written.
You thought about the nights when he would bring his lyric notebook to the couch just to be next to you.
You thought about the quiet way he used to hold your hand while working, like even in silence, he wanted to be tethered to you.

Now… you were a distraction.
And worse, someone who made you feel too much for wanting to be close.

You clutched the edge of the blanket and closed your eyes.

You didn’t want to cry.
You didn’t want to give it that power.

But the tears came anyway silent and slow, soaking into your pillow like an open secret.

In that moment, you realized something heartbreaking:

It wasn’t that he forgot your birthday.

It was that, lately, he’d forgotten you.

-

You woke up the next morning feeling like you hadn't slept at all.

Your eyes were sore, your body heavy from the weight of unshed words and smothered cries. There was a dull ache behind your ribs that hadn’t gone away since last night, since he turned away from you after telling you that your love was distracting. Since you’d reached out for comfort and got a complaint instead.

You lay still in bed, watching the gray morning light bleed into the room. You could hear him moving around in the kitchen, opening cabinets, the quiet shuffle of his slippers on the hardwood floor. The clink of a mug. A spoon against a bowl.

Your heart didn’t race. It slowed. Because nothing felt worse than knowing he was acting like everything was fine.

And it was then that the decision made itself:
You wouldn’t say a word.
Not out of pettiness.
Not out of spite.
But because you had said enough.
And he had heard nothing.

Let him feel the silence he gave you. Let him hear it this time.

You walked into the kitchen wrapped in a hoodie, your face blank, your mouth a hard line. He was standing by the stove, eating cereal straight out of the bowl, scrolling through something on his phone. He looked up briefly.

"Morning," he said, like nothing had happened.

You nodded once, tight, and opened the fridge. You could feel his eyes linger on you for a second too long like he was waiting for you to say more. But when you didn’t, he just turned back to his screen.

You didn’t speak.
Didn’t ask about his schedule.
Didn’t try to sit close.

You took your yogurt and left the kitchen, eating alone in the living room with the TV off and your thoughts screaming.

The silence grew louder as the hours passed.

He didn’t notice it at first. You were usually quiet in the mornings anyway. He probably assumed you'd snap out of it, give him a kiss on the cheek, ask how the lyrics were going, sit beside him with your head on his shoulder.

But you didn’t.

And by mid-afternoon, it had become clear that this wasn’t just a quiet morning.

You walked past him in the hallway when he emerged for coffee. He smiled faintly and said, “I think I figured out that chorus.”
You gave a nod that didn’t reach your eyes. No follow-up.
You didn’t even glance at him.

He paused. Just for a second.
And then kept walking.

By evening, you heard the subtle tone in his voice shift. A flicker of unease.

He called from the kitchen, “Hey… you want me to make pasta or something?”

You didn’t respond.

“...Y/N?” he tried again.

You were in the bedroom, folding the same shirt over and over just to keep your hands busy, your mind distracted.

He peeked into the room, holding the bag of pasta in his hand.
You didn’t look at him.

“I’m making something to eat,” he said slowly, carefully. “Do you want any?”

Still, you said nothing. You didn’t even shrug.

He exhaled sharply, clearly irritated now. “Okay. I’ll just leave you alone then.”

And he did.

The rest of the day passed the same way.
Cold. Wordless. Wide.

You were in the same rooms but worlds apart.
He started watching you more carefully. Furtively.
He asked small things throughout the day "Did you do the laundry already?" or "Hey, have you seen my hoodie?"
Each question met with nothing but the silence you were buried in.

You saw confusion start to shift in his face. His brows furrowed. His shoulders pulled taut. He’d ask something, and when you didn’t answer, his eyes would narrow slightly like he was starting to notice that something was wrong but still couldn’t connect the dots.

And that hurt more than anything.

Because to you, the answer was obvious.
You were bleeding right in front of him, and he was asking why the floor looked red.

You were brushing your teeth late that night when he leaned on the bathroom doorframe, arms crossed.

"Are you gonna stay mad forever?"

You blinked once and spat the toothpaste into the sink, wiped your mouth without answering.

He waited.

"I seriously don’t know what I did," he said, his voice cracking a little with frustration. "If you’re not gonna tell me, how am I supposed to fix it?"

You turned off the bathroom light and walked past him.

The door didn’t slam this time.
It clicked shut, soft and final.

By the time Thursday night arrived, he looked exhausted. You couldn’t tell if it was from the studio or from trying to figure out what had changed. Probably both.

You sat on the couch with your arms crossed, the TV playing something you weren’t even watching.

He stood in the doorway for a while, watching you with an unreadable expression.

Then finally, he said it.
“I’m gonna go to the practice room for a bit.”

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t react.

“Maybe you just need space or something,” he muttered. “I don’t know. I don’t want to keep bothering you.”

You bit your lip so hard it nearly bled.

Space?

That’s what he thought this was about?

He thought you were ignoring him because you needed air? Not because he’d forgotten the one day you were silently hoping he’d remember? Not because he’d made you feel like loving him was a chore? Like your affection was an obstacle?

You blinked at the screen, your eyes glassy. The show kept playing. You didn’t even know what episode you were on.

He waited a moment longer.

Then the door shut.

And suddenly you were alone. Again.

The tears finally came, thick and hot, as soon as his footsteps faded. They weren’t quiet this time. You choked on them, the kind that made your chest heave and your throat close. Your hands shook.

Because you were tired.

Tired of giving the benefit of the doubt.
Tired of excuses.
Tired of being too scared to say it’s my birthday tomorrow and you’ve done nothing.
Tired of hoping he would see you, without you having to beg for it.

How could he not know?

How could he be so oblivious?

And still… you couldn't bring yourself to tell him.

Because wasn’t that the whole point?

You wanted to be chosen. Not reminded.

You wanted him to remember, not be told.

And tomorrow…

Tomorrow, when you woke up…

It would be your birthday.

And you had no idea if he would know it.

The practice room lights were dim, buzzing faintly overhead like the last nerve in Jisung’s mind, frayed and twitching. He stepped inside without much thought, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie, and let out a breath that seemed to deflate his whole body. His legs gave out near the far wall, slumping down onto the cold wooden floor beside Hyunjin, who looked like he’d just finished drowning in sweat and choreography.

Jeongin was sitting criss-cross at the center of the room, stretching lazily with one earbud still dangling from his hoodie. Felix lay flat on his back beside him, chest heaving with tired breaths, while Minho scrolled through his phone like he hadn’t just danced for two hours straight.

The energy in the room was comfortable. Familiar. But the second Jisung sat down, it shifted.

Hyunjin glanced at him sideways. “What are you doing here?”

Felix sat up halfway, his brow scrunched. “Don’t you usually spend your days off with Y/N?”

“Wait—yeah,” Jeongin chimed in, tossing his head back. “Isn’t this, like, a once-in-a-blue-moon thing for you to be here on a day off?”

Jisung didn’t respond at first.

He exhaled hard and let his head fall back against the mirror. “She’s not talking to me.”

That caught their attention.

“What?” Hyunjin blinked.

“Like... ignoring you ignoring you?” Felix asked, scooting closer.

“Yeah. Since yesterday. Full-on silent treatment. Not even a shrug. Just—blank face. No words.” Jisung pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. “And I swear to God it’s driving me insane.”

“Damn,” Jeongin muttered under his breath.

Minho looked up from his phone. “Did you do something?”

Jisung shook his head instantly. “No! I mean—I don’t think so? I don’t know.”

Jeongin snorted. “That’s not convincing.”

“I didn’t, though!” he snapped. “Like—okay, yeah, maybe I was kind of short with her the other night, but I was working. She came into the studio while I was trying to get this chorus down and I got frustrated, that’s all. I didn’t say anything bad.”

Minho raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

“She tried talking to me a couple times that day and I just—I asked for space. I was in the zone.” Jisung rubbed his temples, groaning. “She knows how I get when I’m writing. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“And then she just stopped talking to you?” Hyunjin asked, skeptical.

“Yeah. Didn’t even respond when I asked what she wanted for dinner. Hasn’t said a single word in two days. Like, is that normal?”

Felix frowned. “Sounds like she’s hurt.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t get why,” Jisung said, his voice raising without him meaning to. “I didn’t yell at her, I didn’t say anything cruel, I just... I was working! I asked for space!”

Jeongin gave him a long, unimpressed look. “Okay, but did you look at her?”

Jisung paused. “What?”

“I mean... when she came to see you, when she tried talking to you—did you actually look at her? Like—her face? Her energy? The way she was holding herself?”

Jisung frowned, caught off guard. “I mean... not really? I was focused.”

Felix leaned forward, soft but serious. “Maybe that’s the problem.”

Silence fell for a moment. The kind that starts to crawl into your chest when people say things you aren’t ready to hear.

“You probably said something you didn’t even notice,” Hyunjin said, wiping his forehead with a towel. “You do that when you’re in work mode. You push people away without meaning to.”

“I was just trying to finish my song,” Jisung muttered. But even he could hear the defensiveness in his voice.

Minho finally chimed in. “Then maybe ask yourself what’s more important—your music, or the way you treat the person who’s always there supporting it.”

The words hit harder than Jisung expected. They weren’t said harshly. Just plainly. Truthfully.

And they made his stomach twist.

He hated the idea that he had done something careless. That while he was focused on not forgetting a lyric, he might’ve forgotten her. Forgotten how hard she tried to love him even when he was too preoccupied to notice.

Jisung leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands knotted together tightly.

“She looked so blank,” he mumbled. “I didn’t realize how... quiet she really was. I thought she just needed space.”

Jeongin raised an eyebrow. “Or maybe she was waiting for you to realize something.”

The silence that followed was sharp.

Jisung blinked down at the floor, the thought nagging at him like a weight on his back. He hated the way it made his chest feel tight. The way guilt started to form like smoke in his lungs.

And then..

Hyunjin, ever the emotional antenna in the room, turned to him with an almost casual question.

“So, anyway—what do you have planned for her birthday tomorrow?”

Jisung looked up, confused. “Huh?”

“Her birthday,” Hyunjin repeated. “Tomorrow, right?”

Jisung laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “Nah, it’s not tomorrow. It’s next week or something. The—uh—the 11th, right?”

“Tomorrow is the 11th,” Jeongin deadpanned.

Jisung froze.

His hands went numb.

He instinctively pulled out his phone, thumbing the lock screen, eyes scanning the date like it had betrayed him.

Thursday, July 10th.

Tomorrow: Friday, July 11th.

His world tilted.

“No…” he breathed. “No way.”

Felix’s face fell as realization hit him too. “You didn’t…?”

Hyunjin stared at him in disbelief. “You forgot her birthday.”

“I—” Jisung's voice caught in his throat. “No—I didn’t—I just—I thought—shit—”

The words splintered into chaos. He dropped his phone. His mind was spinning.

It wasn’t just the date. It was everything. The way she came to him asking if he was free Friday. The way she tried to kiss him, twice. The way she’d softened into his side that night in bed, begging silently for him to hold her. The way she hadn’t said a word since.

The way she hadn’t cried. Not where he could see.
But oh god, she had cried, hadn’t she?

He missed all of it.

He missed her.

“Oh my god,” he whispered.

Minho stared at him, arms folded. “Now do you get it?”

“She was trying to see if I remembered,” Jisung muttered, like he was trying to convince himself the sky was blue. “She didn’t even say it out loud. She just… asked if I had Friday off.”

“That’s the worst part,” Felix said gently. “She didn’t want to remind you. She wanted you to care enough to remember.”

A punch to the gut wouldn’t have hurt as much.

Jisung buried his face in his hands.

“I fucked up.”

“Yeah,” Jeongin muttered. “Kinda bad.”

He didn't even argue.

Because he could see it now, all of it.
Her silence wasn’t punishment.
It was heartbreak.
It was the sound of someone giving up.

And tomorrow, her birthday, she’d wake up in a house full of silence, thinking the person she loved most in the world didn’t remember or care enough to say a single word.

The second the realization hit, Jisung couldn’t sit still.

He shot to his feet like the floor had burned him, nearly tripping over Felix’s outstretched legs. The others barely had time to register his panic before he was already moving, storming out of the practice room, heart pounding in his chest, the door slamming shut behind him with a crack that echoed down the hall.

He barely heard Jeongin’s “Hey—where are you going?”
Didn’t stop to explain.
Didn’t even breathe.

He’d forgotten.

Your birthday.

Tomorrow.

No, today. It was past midnight now.

He had forgotten your birthday.

The one day he was supposed to remember. The one day you never reminded him of because you always wanted to be seen without having to ask.

And instead of showing you love, he’d brushed you off. Pushed you away. Told you that your affection, your literal presence was a distraction.

It made him sick to think of your face in that moment now. The softness of your voice when you asked him if he was free. The way you leaned in, tried to kiss him. How your touch lingered on his shoulder like you were silently begging him not to let go.

And he had.

Without a second thought.

He hurt you.

The company doors banged shut behind him as he ran into the cool night air.

The streets were mostly empty, the last few buses rumbling past. He tugged his hood up and darted toward the only place that made sense, the only place he could think of at a time like this:

Your favorite bakery.

Even though he knew it was close to closing. Even though the odds were against him.

He didn’t care. He had to try.

He arrived, chest heaving, legs burning, and nearly slammed into the glass door.

Inside, the lights were still on. But barely.

The workers were already cleaning up, putting chairs on tables, wiping down the counters. Their eyes shifted to him the second he pushed the door open.

He could see it on their faces. That “please don’t walk in” expression masked with tired politeness.

“Can I get a cake?” he blurted, breathless.

One of the girls forced a smile. “We’re just closing up, I’m sorry—”

“I know,” he said quickly, stepping closer. “I’m really sorry, I wouldn’t be here this late unless it was an emergency. I forgot something really important. Someone’s birthday. Someone I love.”

Something in his voice must’ve hit them.

Because after a beat, the girl sighed, glanced at the display case, and muttered, “I think we have one left. Lucky night, I guess.”

Jisung’s heart flipped.

She returned a second later with a small cake box in hand.

Your favorite flavor.

He could’ve cried.

He ran the whole way home. The cake safely in his arms. Careful. Intentional.

When he got back, the apartment was dark. Quiet.
You were already asleep.

He peeked into the bedroom, you were curled up, turned away from the door, your shoulders tense even in rest.
You looked… small. Worn out.

The guilt twisted inside him like a knife.

He closed the door gently. Didn’t make a sound.

Then he stared at the living room and kitchen like they were a blank canvas.

And he got to work.

He didn’t sleep.

He blew up balloons some crooked, some lopsided. He taped pictures of the two of you on the walls, printed ones he’d taken in secret during your late-night snack runs, your beach trip, even that one where you were brushing your teeth with a scowl.

He strung up a makeshift “Happy Birthday” banner, cut by hand with scraps of colored paper. He’d messed up the “R” three times. It still looked wrong.

He pulled out the small gifts he’d forgotten he had been meaning to give you, the lyrics he’d scribbled in the back of a notebook weeks ago, inspired by something you said while laughing. A hair clip you pointed at in a store once. He wrapped them in old sheet music.

He wrote a letter. Messy. Panicked. Honest. Full of crossed-out words and a giant smudge where he wiped his eyes.

He arranged it all by the time the clock hit 1:00 a.m.

And then he collapsed on the couch mid-balloon. One still half-inflated in his hands.

He didn’t hear the bedroom door creak open.

Didn’t feel the light of the hallway hit his face.

But the moment you moved,
He did.

His body shot up like he was jolted back to life.

There you were.

Standing in the hallway, arms crossed over your chest, the expression on your face carefully blank, but your eyes spoke volumes.

You were still upset.

Rightfully.

You hadn’t forgotten. You hadn’t forgiven.

But he didn’t care if you hated him for another hour, another day, a week he had to show you something real now.

“Wait—don’t look yet!” he rushed, nearly tripping over a balloon.

You blinked slowly, unimpressed.

He walked up to you, gently reaching his hands to cover your eyes. You didn’t resist, but you didn’t soften, either.

He felt the chill in your posture. The hurt still lingering in your shoulders.

“Please,” he whispered. “Just... let me try.”

He guided you, quietly. Carefully.

His hands shook.

He stopped you in front of the living room, heart pounding against his ribs.

“Okay,” he murmured. “Now.”

He removed his hands from your eyes.

The lights were low. The table was covered in flickering tea candles. The little cake, topped with your favorite frosting. Photos taped to balloons hovered above.

Your name was scrawled across the banner in bright colors. The gifts sat nearby. His letter peeking out from under them.

He stepped in front of you.

“Happy birthday,” he said, breathless. “I’m sorry I forgot. I’m sorry I hurt you. I know this doesn’t fix it, but I needed you to know, I know now. And I’m not going to forget again.”

You stared.

Expression unreadable. Chest tight.

He could see your jaw twitch like you were trying not to smile. But your eyes were glassy. The corners of your mouth shifted ever so slightly. You nearly cracked.

Nearly.

But the silence remained.

Because what he hurt wasn’t something decorations could patch up.

And still, you stood there.

Looking at him.

Looking at the effort.

The mess.

The truth.

And for the first time in days,

You didn’t look away.

The soft flicker of candlelight painted the room in warm hues, casting shadows over the clumsy decorations, the carefully placed gifts, the melting frosting on your cake.

It should have felt special. Thoughtful. Sweet.

But it didn’t.

Not yet.

Jisung stood just in front of you, his breathing uneven. His hands hung awkwardly by his sides like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. He looked nervous. Not in the cute, shy way he usually did when he surprised you, but the kind that made his whole frame feel like it was waiting to collapse.

You didn’t speak.

You didn’t move.

Your arms remained crossed, your expression unreadable, carefully neutral, but your eyes were fixed on him. Not the decorations. Not the cake. Not the pictures or the presents.

Just him.

And that silence, heavier than any door slam or raised voice, pierced deeper than either of you were ready to admit.

He finally swallowed hard. “I… I didn’t sleep. I stayed up all night working on this.”

You blinked slowly. Once.

“I ran all the way to the bakery before they closed,” he added, as if that explained anything. “They only had one cake left. I—I begged them.”

Still nothing.

He shifted on his feet, his eyes scanning your face, searching for something, anything to tell him he was getting through. That he hadn’t completely shattered the fragile thread between you.

But your face remained calm. Distant.

“I didn’t mean to forget,” he said softly, almost pleading. “I swear I didn’t mean to—”

You finally moved. Not toward him.

Just your head, tilting slightly.

Your eyes flicked over the decorations. The half-deflated balloon on the couch. The misspelled banner. The crumpled wrapping paper around a small box. The cake. The candles, now half-melted.

And then back to him.

A beat passed.

And then your voice quiet, hoarse, deliberate cut through the air.

“You didn’t mean to forget,” you echoed, almost to yourself. “But you did.”

Jisung flinched.

Because hearing it said out loud like that made it feel real all over again.

You didn’t yell. You didn’t accuse. You didn’t cry.

You just told the truth.

And somehow, that hurt more.

“I know,” he whispered, guilt tightening in his chest like a fist.

You finally stepped forward, walking past him, not bothering to ask if you could. You stood before the table, staring down at the small cake in the center. Your favorite flavor.

It looked perfect.

But it felt... wrong.

Uncomfortable.

Artificial.

You were quiet for a long time before you spoke again.

“You know what hurt the most?” you asked, eyes still on the table.

Jisung slowly turned to face you, but didn’t interrupt.

“It wasn’t that you forgot the date,” you said, voice trembling just enough to betray your restraint. “It’s that I came to you, twice, and you didn’t even look at me.”

He said nothing.

“I asked if you were free,” you continued, quieter. “And you brushed me off. I tried to kiss you, and you called me a distraction. You said you almost forgot your lyrics like I was in the way.”

The words cut like glass.

“And then you came to bed,” you said bitterly, shaking your head, “and instead of pulling me close, you scolded me again. You didn’t notice that I didn’t say anything back. You didn’t ask why I turned away.”

Jisung’s voice caught. “I didn’t know—”

“I know you didn’t,” you snapped suddenly, turning to face him now, arms still crossed but your chest rising fast, “because you didn’t care to know. You were too wrapped up in your music to notice that I was hurting. That I was right there in front of you, trying everything I could to be seen.”

His mouth opened. Closed.

“I didn’t want cake,” you said, softer now. “I didn’t want decorations or balloons or even a gift.”

Your voice cracked just slightly.

“I wanted you to remember me.”

A silence fell over the room that made even the candles seem to quiet.

Jisung’s heart felt like it had dropped out of his body.

Because now he saw it.

All of it.

This wasn’t about a forgotten birthday.

It was about what that forgetfulness meant to you.

That in the middle of his chaotic, music-fueled mind, you had fallen out of focus. And not just the date, you. Your presence. Your love. Your place beside him.

And the worst part?

You hadn’t yelled. You hadn’t begged.

You’d just gotten quiet.

And he hadn’t noticed until it was too late.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, but it sounded so small now. So empty in the shadow of everything you’d just said.

You looked at him for a long, long moment.

There was something raw in your expression now. Not anger. Not even sadness.

Just tiredness.

And then you gave a faint shrug.

“I know you are,” you said. “But I’m still hurt.”

You turned back toward the hallway slowly.

And before you walked away, you added one final thing,

“I don’t need grand gestures, Jisung.”

You paused.

“I just need to know I matter without having to remind you.”

And then you left him standing there.

Alone in a room full of balloons.

-

Morning came heavy.

The early light filtered in through the curtains in faded strips, casting muted patterns across the floor and walls. You were already awake, had been for hours. Lying still in bed, eyes on the ceiling, a dull ache stretching across your chest.

You hadn’t slept much.

Even after he decorated the night before. Even after the surprise. The effort.

The reminder that he cared, but only after he realized he’d forgotten.

There was something deeply hollow in the pit of your stomach. Something disappointment couldn’t fully name.

It wasn’t that he didn’t love you.

It was that he didn’t see you when you needed him to.

And you weren’t sure a cake at 1:00 a.m. was going to fix that.

When you finally got up, you didn’t say a word.

You padded into the living room, careful to avoid looking at the decorations still up. They felt… false. Like remnants of something built on guilt rather than intention.

Jisung was already awake, curled up on the couch, eyes half-lidded and red from lack of sleep.

He sat up immediately when he heard you.

"Morning," he said, softly cautiously.

You didn’t respond. Not even a glance in his direction.

He frowned but didn’t push.

You passed him, quiet as ever, and walked to the kitchen. The clatter of a mug on the counter was the loudest sound in the apartment. You poured yourself water. That was it. No breakfast.

He stood a minute later, stretching awkwardly. He hovered, just a few steps behind. Like he wanted to be close but didn’t know if he had permission anymore.

The silence between you was crushing.

He trailed you throughout the day, always within sight. Always trying to stay near you like he could fix the damage just by being close.

He didn’t go to practice. Didn’t write. Didn’t open his laptop or touch his notebook.

Instead, he lingered.

Watching.

Waiting.

Hovering.

When you sat on the floor to organize a drawer you didn’t really need to organize, he sat a few feet away, legs crossed, pretending to scroll through his phone, but his eyes kept flicking over to you. Quietly hopeful. Painfully anxious.

You didn’t speak.

When you changed rooms, he followed.

Not in an overbearing way just enough to make it known he was still there. That he was trying, even if he didn’t know how.

By the time afternoon crept in, you were still silent.

You didn’t eat.

Not out of pettiness, but because your emotions were so knotted, so close to the surface, that even chewing felt like a chore. Food would make this real. Food would be you accepting the day.

And right now, you weren’t ready.

Jisung noticed. Of course he did. But he didn’t say anything.

He just... watched you.

With a kind of quiet panic in his eyes that made it clear he was spiraling inside.

By late evening, the tension had become a third person in the room breathing heavily, sitting between you on the couch, pressing against your sides.

You were scrolling absently on your phone. You hadn’t spoken in hours.

He was next to you, knees pulled to his chest, a small cushion hugged against his stomach. His hair was a mess, his hoodie wrinkled. He looked miserable, but kept pretending to be calm.

Then, in the quiet, your stomach growled.

Loudly.

Painfully loud in the dead silence.

You immediately stilled, eyes widening.

Jisung’s head whipped toward you.

There was a pause.

A long, too-long beat where his mouth twitched, like he was fighting it.

And then he laughed.

Not obnoxiously. Not teasingly.

But a soft, breathless, startled kind of laugh. Like the kind that slips out when the universe plays a joke on you.

He clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide like he knew he wasn’t supposed to laugh, but he couldn’t help it.

And for just one second, you cracked.

Your face twisted as you tried to stay stern. Tried to keep the front up. But the ridiculousness of it all, the dead silence, your growling stomach, the haunted look on his face, broke something loose.

You choked on your own breath, and suddenly a small laugh escaped you.

Not a big one. Not even a full sound. But enough.

His eyes softened instantly.

The tension snapped not fully, but just enough for the room to breathe again.

He stood, carefully, like approaching a wild animal that might still bite. Then walked toward you, slow and sure, eyes never leaving your face.

"Hey," he said, voice rough with exhaustion and emotion. "Look, I know you’re still pissed. And you should be."

You didn’t answer, but you didn’t look away either.

“I’ll apologize as many times as you want. I’ll keep groveling for the rest of the year if I have to,” he said, gently, kneeling in front of you now. His hands rested on the couch cushion beside your legs, not touching you. Just near.

“But right now… I need to celebrate you. Just a little. Just today. You haven’t eaten. You haven’t let yourself breathe. And I know I ruined the start of your day, but I’m begging you, please let me try to salvage the end of it.”

You blinked at him. Slow. Guarded.

“I know I messed up,” he said again, voice shaking. “But you don’t deserve to be hungry on your birthday. You don’t deserve to sit here feeling invisible. You deserve cake and your favorite food and someone telling you that you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to them.”

His throat bobbed.

“I’m that someone. I swear I am.”

You didn’t move. You didn’t smile. But your lip quivered.

And he saw it.

He saw that flicker. That tiny unraveling.

So he slowly reached out his fingers brushing yours, tentative, waiting for rejection.

But you didn’t pull away.

Not this time.

He let out a shaky breath, and his grip tightened slightly around your hand.

“I’m ordering your favorite,” he said softly. “And I’m not letting you lift a finger tonight. You’re going to eat, and if you want, we’ll sit in silence. Or we’ll watch that show you love. Or I’ll leave after. Whatever you want. Just… let me be here for you. Like I should have been from the start.”

Another pause.

Then, barely audible

“Please.”

The air between you had shifted, slightly, like clouds parting just enough for a patch of sun to warm the skin. Still cloudy. Still heavy. But there was warmth now. And that was a start.

You watched him as he pulled out his phone, thumb hovering over the food delivery app. “Your usual?” he asked gently, cautious but hopeful.

You nodded.

But just before he tapped the screen, you spoke, your voice barely louder than a whisper.

“…Add a brown sugar bubble tea.”

He looked up at you, surprised.

Your eyes met his briefly.

A small corner of his mouth lifted, hesitant at first, like he wasn’t sure if a smile was allowed, but when you didn’t pull away, it widened with quiet relief. That moment, tiny as it was, cracked something in both of you.

He tapped a few buttons and said, “Large brown sugar milk tea with extra pearls, 50% sugar, less ice. Right?”

You nodded again.

“…Thank you,” you added softly.

His eyes softened, his shoulders dropping slightly as if he’d been holding his breath this entire time. “It’ll be here soon,” he said, setting his phone down on the coffee table.

Then he moved slowly like approaching a fragile edge of ice.

He sat beside you, close enough to feel his warmth again, but not crowding you. Not forcing anything.

And then, gently, he leaned his head on your shoulder. Slowly tilted further down until he was lying across the couch, his legs curled and head tucked carefully against your side. One arm draped loosely across your lap, his grip feather-light. His face pressed into the hem of your hoodie.

“I'm so sorry,” he whispered against you. “God, I’m so sorry.”

The words were hoarse. Choked.

Not dramatic. Not performative.

Just real.

Repeated again, like a mantra. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

You ran your fingers through the sleeve hem of your hoodie for a moment, eyes staring past him, before you finally said, “I know.”

He turned his face a little, just enough to glance up at you.

“I forgive you,” you murmured, after a beat. “But I need you to know that you really, really hurt me.”

His breath hitched, but he nodded slowly.

You kept your voice steady. Firm but not harsh.

“I wasn’t even upset about the birthday anymore,” you said quietly. “You know I’ve never cared about birthdays that much.”

You paused.

“But when I asked if you had Friday off, you barely looked at me. And then I tried again, and you told me I was distracting you. Like I was bothering you. Like I was some kind of obstacle in your way.”

Jisung’s eyes dropped. His fingers curled tighter against your lap. He stayed completely still.

“That’s what hurt,” you said, voice finally cracking slightly. “Not the forgetting. But the pushing away. Like I was too much. Like I was getting in the way of your real priorities.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he whispered, desperate. “I wasn’t thinking. I was overwhelmed, I should’ve stopped and seen you.”

“You didn’t even notice when I stopped talking to you,” you added, looking down at him. “I was right there. And you didn’t even ask.”

His chest rose sharply, his lips pressing into a thin, broken line.

“I’ve been kicking myself for that for two days,” he said quietly. “I kept thinking, ‘Why is she being so cold?’ And I didn’t even consider that it was because I had gone cold first. I made you feel like a burden when you were just trying to love me.”

You didn’t say anything, but your eyes softened at that.

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“You’re not a burden. You’re my peace. My home. And I treated you like you were noise.”

That hit something in you. Hard.

Because that was the truth you had no words for until now. You hadn’t wanted flowers or presents, you’d wanted to be met. To be held in mind and heart like you always did for him. You were asking to be cherished, just for a moment. And he hadn’t shown up.

But now, here he was.

Curled around you like an apology with a heartbeat.

You let your hand fall gently to his hair, fingers brushing through the soft strands.

And you finally said, “Just… don’t let me feel like that again.”

“I won’t,” he said immediately, his voice thick. “I swear, I won’t.”

You tilted down slightly to meet his gaze. His eyes were red. Teary. He looked so small, so ashamed, but so present.

“I love you,” he said, his voice cracking. “Even when I’m stupid. Especially then.”

You gave him a small, tired smile.

“You are stupid,” you whispered.

He exhaled a breath of a laugh. And then looked at you again, this time with a question in his eyes.

You didn’t answer with words.

You leaned down, cupped his cheek gently, and kissed him.

Not soft.

Not dramatic.

But real. Lingering. Quietly desperate.

His arms wrapped around your waist instantly, pulling you closer, holding you like something he thought he’d lost. He kissed you back like he was still apologizing through every movement like he didn’t deserve you, but would spend the rest of his life making it up.

When you pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed, breathing shallow.

“Happy birthday,” he whispered, barely audible.

You closed your eyes.

And for the first time all day, you smiled.

“I still want that bubble tea,” you whispered.

He laughed into your shoulder, voice warm now, full of the relief he hadn’t dared hope for hours ago.

“You’re getting it,” he said, kissing your temple. “I’ll buy you ten. I’ll buy the whole damn shop.”

“You better,” you muttered, resting your hand over his.

And for the first time in days, the silence between you didn’t ache.

It simply held.

//

a/n: for 🌺 anon.

masterlist.

author’s note: hello and welcome to my first date series!! i seriously had so much fun writing this and i’m so excited to continue with the other members. i hope you all enjoy! if you liked it, please remember that any and all feedback is appreciated!! happy reading <3

“So…I know a guy.”

You groan, throwing your head back against the cushion of the booth you’re currently shoved into. Changbin drops his fork to gesture at you with his hand, a look of exasperation on his face.

“Come on, I haven’t even said anything yet!”

“The problem is that you’ve said anything at all.” You say, glaring at him as you reach for your drink.

Changbin, as much as you love him, is notorious for being the worst wing man in the history of wing men. His most recent pick, Jooyoung, was a friend of his from high school. A freelance writer, the owner of a snazzy apartment in one of the more sophisticated districts of Seoul, and conveniently single. They’d recently reconnected after a mutual friend threw a party that they both went to, and he was ecstatic to try and set the two of you up.

You’d been reluctant, rightfully so, but Changbin is anything but a quitter and you also just so happen to be the world’s biggest pushover (his pout is just too good, okay?), so you’d agreed on the off chance that it just might work out.

Long story short, it didn’t.

Jooyoung was probably the biggest asshole you’d ever been on a date with. Not that you were surprised, though. Changbin’s circle of friends when he was younger mainly consisted of grade-A douchebags who were born with a golden spoon in their mouths. Perks of being born into a wealthy family and attending one of the most elite private schools in the country, apparently. Changbin had attended a university on the outskirts of Seoul for a reason. Lesser known, laid back—to study music of all things—and the sole reason for his father’s headache, as he’d put it. That’s where he met you.

“Okay, but I think this guy might be the one.” He makes air quotes around the two words, and you scoff as you cross your arms.

“And what would you know about that?”

“Um, a lot? You’re my best friend, I know exactly what you’re looking for.”

This is the part where things go south—or so you assume. Changbin puts on the puppy eyes, jutting his bottom lip out to hell as he stares at you from across the table. You glare at him dead on, unwavering. He won’t get you this time. Not over your dead body.

“At least let me tell you about him?”

“No.”

“I met him at the company. He makes music just like me, only slightly better. And you know how I am, I don’t just say that stuff. That means he’s really good.”

Choosing to ignore him, you go back to poking at your noodles.

“He’s from Australia. Born here, moved there when he was young, then moved back to pursue music. Kinda ballsy if you ask me. But he speaks English, so at least communication won’t be as much of an issue as other guys.”

A small crack in your composure. The idea of this guy growing up somewhere other than Korea is…pretty intriguing.

Despite moving here three years ago for school, it’s still kind of hard to communicate when your Korean could be more polished than it is. You’d basically kept to yourself for the first year until you met Changbin. He’d easily integrated you into his group of other music majors, even though you stuck out like a sore thumb as both a foreigner and a stem major. But if it weren’t for him, you think that you might’ve hauled ass back home a long time ago due to the isolation. So to be introduced to someone who can speak english, under the prospect of possibly dating them, sparks a bit more interest.

Changbin notices the slight twitch of your brow and smirks, one side of his mouth pulling downwards. Bastard.

“Hmm, what else? Oh! Dude’s got a killer set of dimples. You’re into that, aren’t you? You used to go on and on about that younger guy in your physics class during senior year. What was his name—Jeongsuk? Jeong—Jinyoung? Jeongin! It was Jeongin.” Changbin snaps his fingers like he’s impressed with his own memory, pointing at you as you fix him with a blank stare. “He has dimplessss.” He sing-songs for emphasis.

And, really, this should not be the breaking point. You’re better than this. You’re not so shallow that you would throw away your pride for a man you’ve never met—let alone never seen before—all because he has dimples.

But, once again, you’re a pushover. A big one. So yeah, fuck it.

“What’s his name?”

Changbin blinks like he wasn’t expecting you to fall for it. “Seriously? That’s what got you?”

“You have five seconds to tell me his name before I change my mind.”

He scoffs, mouth agape. “I went as far as disregarding my own talents to play up this guy and his music making abilities—”

“Five.”

“—tried to give you a little bit of a backstory, too—”

“Four.”

“—and the dimples are the final nail in the coffin?”

“Three.”

“Chan! His name is Chan. God. Just—stop counting. It freaks me out.”

Chan. You throw the name around in your brain for a bit, pointedly ignoring the way Changbin is whining about how you sound like his mother when you do the whole number thing. It’s kind of…cute. Not enough to conjure up an idea of what he might look like, but putting a name to a faceless stranger with dimples in your head is gonna have to do for now.

“You swear this guy is normal?”

Changbin rolls his eyes. “Define normal.”

“Okay, let me rephrase myself,” you push your plate forward, laying your forearms on the table as an indicator that you’re serious, “Is he an asshole?”

“No.”

“Hm. Okay. So that’s a maybe.”

“What the fuck? I just said no.”

“Yeah? You also set me up with Jooyoung, remember? The guy who literally started flirting with the waitress right in front of me five minutes into our date? And then proceeded to yell at her when his fries weren’t salted?”

“How was I supposed to know…” Changbin mumbles, looking off to the side guiltily.

“Nevermind. Just—if this goes bad, I’m blaming you. And then I’m never going on a blind date with one of your friends again. Matter of fact, I’m never going on a date again, period. Deal?”

Changbin grins, the apples of his cheeks shiny under the restaurant lighting. He holds his hand out for you to shake, and you take it hesitantly, grimacing when he uses his strength to jostle your arm like a ragdoll.

“Deal.”

🎥🍿

Any hope you had for the date going smoothly starts to dwindle once Chan texts you the day of.

You’d gotten his number from Changbin, who had so kindly already given Chan your number before he’d even broached the subject with you. The resulting lecture about privacy and consent may or may not have extended the rest of your time at the restaurant, a sheepish Changbin rubbing at the back of his neck while you berated him for his lack of common sense.

When your phone buzzes on your bathroom counter, Chan’s name flashing across the screen, you mistakenly think that he might be messaging because he’s early. Which, given the fact that you were standing in nothing but a towel, hair still wet from your shower and face covered in moisturizer you hadn’t rubbed into your skin yet, would be less than ideal.

Chan [12:32p.m.]

Hey! I’m really sorry to have to do this, but can we push the date back an hour?

Something came up at the studio

I tried to get out of it but I have a deadline to meet, client probably won’t be too happy of their track isn’t done on time

Great. Already off to a rough start.

In his defense though, you appreciate the fact that he’s messaged a whopping two hours in advance. Most people probably wouldn’t be bothered to allow that much of a grace period.

You [2:33p.m.]

no worries!!!

you didn’t buy the tickets yet, did you?

Chan [2:34p.m.]

Nope! So we should be fine

I’ll purchase them for 6 and then be there to scoop you up around 5:30 if that’s cool?

You [2:36p.m.]

sounds perfect

hope stuff goes well at the studio!!

Chan [2:40p.m.]

You’re sweet

Thank you, I’ll see you soon :)

You’re sweet. You stare at the words on the screen, your brain buffering for a moment. A big fat loading circle floating above your head.

Suddenly it’s way too hot in the bathroom. You blame the fact that you shower with the water cranked all the way up to boiling, because really there’s no other explanation for the warmth spreading throughout your cheeks.

To be fair, it’s been almost a year now since you’ve had any sort of positive interaction with another male. On one hand, your last relationship ended in a ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ ordeal that most definitely gave the impression that it was you. On the other hand, most of the dates you’ve been on have ruined themselves within the first five minutes, never really giving you the chance to feel any sort of connection. Cocky attitudes, overly pushy encounters, and even someone who walked into the cafe you were seated at, took one look at you, and walked right back out. That one still hurts.

It’s a little sad that Chan is the only guy out of the mix whose elicited any sort of reaction out of you. Especially since you haven’t even met him yet.

The extra hour that you have to compensate for flies by a lot quicker than you expect, and before you know it Chan is messaging that he’s five minutes away.

You take one last glance in the mirror: a pair of light wash jeans that sit right above your hips, black halter top bodysuit, and a thin cream colored cardigan to tie it all together. Simple and cute. A movie date doesn’t really call for all the dramatics, and you’d hate to overdress for a first impression.

You’re in the middle of reapplying your chapstick when the doorbell rings.

Take it easy, you say to yourself, inhaling deeply as you reach for the door handle. You let the air out with one final huff, swinging the door open only to be met by a bouquet of daisies directly in front of your face.

You blink in surprise. Well that’s a first. Before you get a chance to speak, the bouquet is being lowered, and the moment Chan’s face comes into view causes a small gasp to fall from your lips.

He’s…cute. Beautiful, even. A bright smile, dimples that tuck themselves into his laugh lines as his eyes disappear into crescents much like the moon, and lips that make your head spin when his tongue darts out to wet them nervously. His hair falls messily across his forehead in a faded hue of purple with hints of brown, definitely unconventional and an obvious result of one too many washes, but he makes it work. He makes it work well.

He clears his throat, brings a fist up to his mouth to emphasize it, and then grins. “Hi there.”

It takes a second for your brain to catch up. Even his voice is attractive. He’s using english, which leads you to assume that Changbin has already told him that you’re not from here. His accent is there, not too noticeable but also strong enough to be picked up on.

“Hey.” You smile, rubbing a hand up and down your arm.

“These are for you. I, uh, as an apology for being late. Is it too much?”

You shake your head quickly. “No! No, these are—they’re beautiful. I love them. Thank you…Chan.” His name rolls off your tongue hesitantly, but it all disappears as soon as he flashes that smile again.

“Good, I’m glad,” his voice catches the breathy end of the laugh he lets out, “This is weird, isn’t it? I’m sorry, I don’t really do well with this kind of stuff. But you look really nice, and I’m excited. My car is parked just out front if you’re ready to go.”

Honest. Awkward. A laugh that makes you want to hear it over and over again. You were sold the minute his eyes met yours. Chan offers his elbow for you to take like you’re in some cheesy romance movie from your childhood.

Yeah. This one is definitely gonna go well.

🎥🍿

Chan might not show it, but he’s just as nervous as you are.

You wouldn’t be able to tell at first glance that he spent an entire forty-five minutes deciding on an outfit, only to settle with some jeans and a white shirt, a jacket thrown on top for some color.

When Changbin first proposed the idea of going on a date with you, he was adamant that he wasn’t looking for anything right now. But as soon as you opened the door, eyes wide and looking like the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, he’s glad he said yes.

“So what movie are we seeing?” you ask, frowning when Chan laughs. “What? What’s funny?”

“It’s a surprise.” He smiles, rushing forward to hold the door of the car open for you. When he puts his hand against the top part to block your head, you have to suppress the smattering of butterfly wings that start to clamor against your ribcage.

Chan is sweet. He double checks that you’re buckled in before driving off, he asks if there’s any specific music you want to listen to before foregoing it all entirely to ask about you instead, he listens with an attentiveness that has you feeling seen and heard, and he smiles with such genuinity and warmth that you feel cold once it disappears. You stare at him in awe, like he’s a figment of your imagination.

Chan’s been staring back, too. He spares glances in your direction when you’re not looking, feels the steady thump of his heart gradually increase whenever you lean a little too far to the left when he makes you laugh, and he thinks your voice is prettier than anything that’s ever played on the radio.

You learn more about him as he drives. He moved back from Australia when he was seventeen, he’s got two younger siblings and an adorable puppy named Berry back home (and pictures on his dashboard to prove it), he prefers Australia’s summers over Seoul’s winters but he finds more inspiration here in the city than anywhere else. You resonate with the fact that he doesn’t really have anyone here besides a small circle of friends. No family, no one to fall back on when things get tough.

Chan talks like he’s an old friend, like he’s re-telling a story you’ve heard a thousand times. He makes it easy to fall into step with him as if you’ve been here all along.

By the time the two of you get to the movie theater, the initial awkwardness that had hung in the air is gone, replaced by comfort and ease. Chan throws the car in park and all but books it out of his seat to open your door for you, and you giggle when he makes a dramatic bow as you exit.

The theater is kind of busy for a Thursday night. There are families with their kids lined up to get tickets and groups of teenagers at the concessions, all of which make for a crowded lobby. Chan glances down when you place a hand on his arm, mostly because you want to stay close, but also because it’s hard to ignore the feeling of being magnetized towards him. He smiles, bending at the elbow to allow your arm to slip into his.

There are cardboard cutouts along the sides of the lobby, all of which serve to promote the newest animated release about a family of ducks. You squint at the showtimes once the two of you make it to the front of the counter, letting your eyes scan the movie titles until you finally land on—

“Two tickets for Migration, under Bang Chan.”

The girl behind the counter looks up, her eyes bored. She can’t be any older than sixteen, most likely resentful about the fact that she’s stuck here on a school night. “The kids movie?” She asks, unimpressed.

Chan braves a glance in your direction and—ah, there goes that grin again. Cue the butterflies. You’d agree to a three hour long showing of static and white noise if it meant he’d never stop doing that.

“Yup, that’s the one.”

Tickets in hand, a smiling Chan right next to you, and a massive line for popcorn that honestly might have the two of you late for the previews. “We’re seeing a kids movie?” You ask, moving up a spot in the line.

“Mmhm. I spent so long looking at all the options. The romcoms seemed boring, Bin mentioned that the newest superhero movie was bad, and I figured a scary one was too cliché,” he eyes you sidelong, “Unless you’re into that.”

You huff out a laugh, not really expecting him to be so straightforward, “I definitely am not.”

“Hm, so the old yawn to put my arm around you trick won’t work?” His eyes are playful, but something about the idea of being in even more contact with him has your stomach doing flips.

“Nope. Sorry. Seen that one before.” You say, making him laugh, his earring dangling when he drops his chin towards his chest.

“I guess I’ll have to figure out something else then.”

Another thing you learn about Chan is that he enjoys interesting food combinations.

“You like peanut m&ms?” he asks, throwing a bag of them onto the counter when you nod your head. After he pays, he pockets his wallet and turns to you with a bucket of popcorn tucked under his arm and a large drink with two straws in his hand. “Could you grab the candy?”

First door, theater one. There are a bunch of parents and their kids entering ahead of you, all of them buzzing with excitement. It’s a little funny, the fact that two grown adults—no kid in tow—are walking into the showing of a kids movie.

Chan leads you to the very back row. “For the kids, just in case they can’t see over us.” He quickly clarifies after noticing the way your eyebrows shoot up in silent question, but even in the dim lighting you can still see the tips of his ears turning pink.

“Taking me to a kids movie and then propositioning me in the presence of five year olds? You’ve got some nerve.” You say, timing it perfectly as Chan is leaning forward to take a sip of the drink that’s placed in the cupholder between the two of you. He sputters around the straw in surprise, coughing into his fist.

“That’s not—” You laugh, cutting him off as he stares at you with red eyes from his coughing fit. The mood shifts after that, and Chan visibly relaxes into his seat as he starts throwing jokes out a lot easier than before.

“Learned this from my dad,” he says, opening the bag of m&ms, “It’s my favorite thing to do at the movies. Haven’t been in a while because—well, I don’t really have anyone to go with.”

You watch as he dumps the candy into the popcorn bucket, shaking it to mix everything together. He reaches in to grab a piece of popcorn and an m&m at the same time, popping it into his mouth.

“Oh my god,” he sighs, slumping into his seat, “Forgot how good that is.”

When you don’t respond, he looks over. “You okay?”

Are you? You’re not sure. Every bone in your body is screaming bloody murder because Chan is making it really hard to not want to lean over and kiss the concerned frown off of his stupidly pretty face.

The thing about it is that you don’t do blind dates. And you most especially don’t enjoy them. But Chan is different. Chan holds doors open for you and makes corny jokes. Chan laughs at everything like it’s his last day on earth and he’s making up for lost time. Chan listens when you talk and responds with genuine interest. Chan compliments the little girl in the theater lobby who’s wearing a princess dress to watch the new superhero movie. Chan shares something as special as his dad’s favorite movie snack with you. Chan is just…Chan. And you like him. A lot.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay, I’m just—thank you. For sharing that with me.” You say, the corners of your mouth lifting.

“Stop doing that.” He mumbles, eyes trained ahead.

“Doing what?”

“Smiling. It makes my head spin.”

Your heart slams against your chest. You’ve spent the entire date trying to make sense of the way Chan makes you feel, trying to put it all into words. Yet here he is, right in front of you, saying his thoughts as they come and absolutely ruining your resolve in the process. Like it’s easy for him.

There’s no time to answer when the lights go down, the screen up front widening to signal the start of the movie.

Just like any other kids movie, it’s easy to get caught up in all the surface level jokes while also understanding the themes. You and Chan laugh outwardly at some parts, hold your breath at the suspenseful ones. It’s almost like you’re a kid again, enjoying yourself fully for the first time in a really, really long while.

Chan was right, the popcorn and m&m combination is good. You reach back into the bucket for more, freezing when Chan does the same and his knuckles brush yours in the slightest of touches, sending a jolt of electricity up your arm. It happens a few more times, each one leaving his hand lingering for far longer than the last, until eventually he makes a show of digging really hard for an m&m and hooks his pinky with yours in between the popcorn. It’s cheesy and cliché but god does it make your stomach do somersaults.

About three-quarters of the way through the movie, when it’s clear that neither one of you are willing to take it the next step further, you lean into his ear.

“You okay? You look kind of tired.”

Chan turns, confused. He’s certain that he wasn’t dozing off. He did have a late night last night. He was up working on the track that still somehow managed to hold him back today, hoping to have everything polished so that he didn’t run into any obstacles before your date. But that didn’t really work out in the end.

“Huh? No, I’m fine. Honest.”

“You sure?” you ask, a slight lift to your voice, “I don’t know, you looked like you were about to yawn.”

The light from the movie hits the left side of his face, illuminating all of his features in a way that makes your breath hitch. He’s pretty. So, so pretty.

Chan blinks, slow, and then his confusion slowly turns to one of understanding. Cue the grin.

“You know, now that I’m thinking about it…I am kind of tired.” He makes a show of fake yawning, stretches his arms above his head (and not blocking any children since you’re in the back row, thankfully), before bringing his right arm down and around your shoulders.

You spend the rest of the movie like that, tucked into Chan’s side while his fingers move gently against your shoulder. He’s unbelievably warm, and eventually you find your head resting in the spot just between his shoulder and his neck, his cheek pushed up against the side of your head. The position makes it easier to reach up and pat his eyes dry at the end, a single tear slipping out as he sniffled and mumbles a ‘M’not crying’ that has you giggling and doting all over him.

He doesn’t move his arm for the entire walk back to the car, and you momentarily mourn the loss when he opens the door for you (again!) so you can climb in. When he finally gets in on the other side, he says nothing, just reaches over to intertwine his fingers with yours and places your joined hands on the center console like it’s something you’ve done a thousand times.

“Ready to go home?” He asks, looking over at you.

You glance down at your hands, then back up at him. “Is it weird if I say no?”

“Not at all,” Chan grins, throwing the car into drive, “I was hoping you would say that.”

🎥🍿

“For you.”

Chan plops down on the bench, a hand outstretched with a steaming hot chocolate ready for you to take.

“Thanks,” you smile, cradling the cup between your hands.

After some deliberation, you and Chan had decided to come to the Han River. It’s quiet, the bridge lights reflecting off the water as the sounds of the city fade into the background. The temperature is slightly on the colder side, the tail end of winter just barely there. When he notices the slight shiver of your shoulders after a particularly strong gust of wind, Chan shucks his jacket off in a heartbeat to drape over you.

“Oh, you don’t—”

“You’re cold,” he scolds, pulling at the collar of the jacket to tighten it around you. His hand lingers near the base of your neck, fingers itching to reach out and touch. He doesn’t though, just smiles and settles back into the bench. “Plus I think Changbin might actually kill me if something were to happen to you.”

“Oh please,” you roll your eyes, “Ignore him. I’m not a baby.”

Chan takes a sip of his own hot chocolate, licks his lips to catch the excess. Not that you’re staring. “I’m serious. I mean, I get it. He told me that you’re here alone and stuff.”

You hum in understanding, turning your head to stare out at the water. “So are you.”

It’s Chan’s turn to look at you now, his elbows resting against his knees, and you watch out of the corner of your eye as his face turns unreadable.

The silence stretches thin, nothing but the sound of cars passing and a dog barking nearby. It’s kind of comforting in a way. Being on your own in a new place has been one of the hardest transitions you’ve ever had to deal with. There were times where it felt like a mistake, where you wished that you’d never even gotten on the plane. But then there were times where you felt lucky to be experiencing the things you are; to be able to try new things and pursue a life for yourself that you never thought possible.

“How’d you do it?” you ask quietly, turning to meet Chan’s gaze. “I mean, you were young. Seventeen is basically still a kid. Being alone in a place like this is scary as an adult, I can’t even imagine what that was like.”

Chan smiles, but it’s sad. His eyes twinkle with something like resentment, the lights from the bridge making it look like he’s glowing. A flame that’ll never burn out. “Would you believe me if I said I’m still figuring it out?” The end of it comes out as a laugh, but you can tell he means it.

“I don’t know, being a big shot music producer with deadlines and clients seems pretty figured out to me.”

Chan nods and stares at the cup in his hands. “My parents hated it. Still do, I think.” You don’t say anything. Chan is grateful for that; grateful for the space you’re giving him to explain. “They wanted more for me I guess. But I’m not sure that more would’ve necessarily been what I wanted, you know? I’m content with where I am now. I’m doing something I love, even if it took a while to get here. They don’t see it.” He chews his lip nervously, fingers playing with the soggy material of the paper cup’s rim.

Chan doesn’t know why he’s saying any of this. He’s not the type to completely bare himself out to anyone, to scoop away at his insides until there’s nothing left besides the hollowness he feels whenever he thinks about how he traded his life back home for a life of music. But you’re different somehow. Chan knew since the moment he saw you, felt it in the way your eyes lit up whenever he spoke and in the ease of how well the two of you got along. He was doomed from the start.

“I see it.” you say, your eyes still fixed on the water. “I might’ve only just met you today, but I see it. And I get it, too. Maybe not to the same extent, but the feeling of wanting to do something for yourself even if it meant losing something else. There’s purpose in that, in you. It’s okay to be selfish if it means you’re prioritizing your happiness.” You let the words settle for a bit, hoping that you don’t sound too shallow. When you turn to look at him, he’s already looking back.

“You don’t know me enough to say that.”

“I don’t have to know you to believe in you, Chan.”

A beat of silence, and then he’s laughing, short and punctuated as he lets his head fall forward with a small shake.

“You’re…”

“What? Corny?” you supply, smiling over at him.

“No,” he says, meeting your gaze. “Perfect.”

You huff out an incredulous laugh, looking away to hide the blush that’s spreading across your cheeks. “You can’t just—god, now who’s corny? Huh?”

“I never said I wasn’t corny.” Chan argues, sitting up to face you fully.

“Yeah but you can’t just say stuff like that.”

“Why not? I think you like it.”

Your mouth opens and closes quickly, lost for words. Chan’s closer now, a lot closer than he was before. One arm thrown across the back of the bench, loosely framing you in, he bends it at the elbow to bring a hand up and tuck your hair behind your ear.

“I never said that.” you mumble, your gaze flicking down to his lips and then back up again.

“You want me to stop then?” he asks, voice just above a whisper. You know what he’s implying the minute his fingers trace the shell of your ear, moving down slowly until they start playing with the collar of his jacket.

“Is it bad if I say no?”

Chan’s hand is warm to the touch, ice to fire. You lean into it. A moth to a flame, one that’ll never go out.

“Not at all,” he repeats, just like earlier, “I was hoping you would say that.”

A dog barking in the distance. Cars beeping as they pass by. A plane flying overhead. A group of friends laughing as they ride past on their bikes. The minute Chan’s lips connect with yours, everything fades, the sounds warbling together like static. Unintelligible; nothing besides the feeling of Chan kissing you matters.

It’s slow, nothing more than a press, but you feel it in every fiber of your being. Kissing Chan feels like the poles of the earth are colliding, meeting in the middle and sending its molten core spreading throughout your entire body. Warm, warm, warm. Chan is warm. He’s soft and gentle and his lashes tickle your cheeks when his eyes flutter closed halfway through because he was too busy etching your features into his memory.

You’re the first to pull away, admiring the way Chan’s eyes slowly peel open, lips swollen and pink. Unable to resist, you lean in and peck them once more, giggling when he blinks at you in shock.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been as compelled to kiss someone as I was just now.” You smile.

“Me too,” he sighs, resting his forehead against yours. “I don’t normally kiss on the first date.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t normally do dates anyways. At least not ones that don’t immediately go up in flames.”

“What about now?” Chan asks, raising an eyebrow. “Have I changed your mind?”

“Hmm, I don’t know. I kind of told Changbin that if this was a disaster I was never gonna go on a date again.”

Chan laughs and pulls you into his side, tucked right under his arm like the shape of him was molded in a way to make sure that you fit perfectly in his embrace.

“Is it bad if I say I like that idea?” He asks, glancing down at where your head is resting against his chest.

“Nope,” you say before leaning up to kiss him once more. He smiles into it when he feels your fingers playing with the curls at the nape of his neck, humming softly against your lips.

“Worst date ever, then?” he mumbles against your mouth.

“Yeah,” you sigh, pulling back to stare into his eyes, big and brown and brighter than the stars, “Worst date ever.”

[tags: @palindrome969 @summergirlsmj @n1staytiny ]

₍ ᐢ..ᐢ ₎ *；　headcanons.

skz and the reason you aren’t together. by @hyunebunx 𖹭

show don’t tell with skz. by hyunebunx

spin the bottle with skz. by hyunebunx 𖹭

late night moments with skz. by hyunebunx

'make me' with skz. by hyunebunx

"what are we?" with skz. by hyunebunx

cheek kisses. by @svngcore

skz when you scream their name while they're performing. by @softstraykidshours

asking for a pillow to cuddle with when you stay over as a prank. by ppiri-bahng

₍ ᐢ..ᐢ ₎ *；　bang chan.

chan drabble. by @nonranghaes

crushing with bang chan. by myjisung

underwater rendezvous. by @stayconnecteed　ー 1.2k words

my wife. by @chrizzztopherbang 　ー 1.2k words 𖹭🍷

scented candles. by @hwajin 　ー 3.2k words🍷

queen!reader x peasant!chan. by ppiri-bahng 🍷

say yes to heaven. by @hwan-g

　ー 3.2k words ; i’m too weak to let you be, to walk away from you. it’s a twisted, distorted thing, what’s going on inside me. i see no end to it, no relief. only suffering. i did this to you, my heart, and i cannot apologize. i don’t want to. i’m jealous, i’m jealous, i’m wretched. 𖹭🍷

₍ ᐢ..ᐢ ₎ *；　lee know.

moonstruck. by @withleeknow 　ー 4.7k words 𖹭

boyfriend lee know. by @hanjsquokka

get better, okay? by @jeonginsleftcheek 𖹭

munch lee know. by @dwaekkicidal 𖹭🍷

₍ ᐢ..ᐢ ₎ *；　seo changbin.

college crush!changbin. by @starseungs　ー 1.2k words

only for you. by starlostastronaut

come home. by stayconnecteed 　ー 3.4k words

changbin nsfw thought #002. by ppiri-bahng 🍷

₍ ᐢ..ᐢ ₎ *；　hwang hyunjin.

crushing with hyunjin. by myjisung

just love me for me. by @ppiri-bahng

hyunjin drabble. by @sunboki

our love untold. by starseungs

　ー 3.1k words ; for those who grew up loved, it eventually becomes a norm to the point that the nuances between its types become untold.

hyunjin nsfw thought. by @jeongin-lvr 🍷

hyunjin drabble. by @hwangskitten 𖹭🍷

hyunjin nsfw thought #001. by ppiri-bahng 🍷

morning text. by @hyunverse

11:11pm. by starseungs

₍ ᐢ..ᐢ ₎ *；　han jisung.

wednesday — [8:47PM] by @myjisung

boyfriend han jisung. by hanjsquokka

han vs. homework. by @soobnny

　ー 1.0k words ; your clingy bf han jisung wants to kiss you.

moonage daydream. by @starlostastronaut

　ー 1.2k words ; every moment in his presence is magical. being alone with the true version of him even more so.

summertime longing. by stayconnecteed ー 2.4k words

how he would take care of you during shark week. by withleeknow

a dream and a dance. by starseungs

　ー 2.0k words ; dreaming was a lot harder as an adult than it was back when you were but a small kid. but maybe—just maybe, you could indulge in this dream come true for once.

distracted gamer. by @seungfl0wer 🍷

jisung nsfw drabble. by @planet-dusk 🍷

skate. by hyunverse

₍ ᐢ..ᐢ ₎ *；　felix lee.

crushing with felix. by myjisung

dating him. by soobnny

better places. by @hwangism143

college crush!felix. by starseungs ー 1.1k words

safe haven. by @comet-falls ー 1.1k words

the cuddle cure. by ppiri-bahng

[13:39] by @starlighthan

₍ ᐢ..ᐢ ₎ *；　kim seungmin.

　ー CLICK HERE.

₍ ᐢ..ᐢ ₎ *；　yang jeongin.

saturday — [3:07AM] by myjisung

college crush!jeongin. by starseungs ー 1.1k words

employee discount. by @felixbit

　ー 1.5k words ; you've been going to the same coffee shop ever since you moved to busan. you seem to be the favorite of the cute barista, jeongin, because he started giving you the employee discount. 𖹭

memories. by comet-falls ー 1k words

You tried your best to enjoy the evening, wanting to see your beloved boyfriend smile and celebrate his hard-earned success. You were there simply to join in their celebration, knowing how much effort they had put in to reach this moment.

Yet, an unfamiliar discomfort lingered in your heart.

You found yourself shaking, unable to relax. You knew exhaustion played a part, but this feeling went beyond tiredness. It was as if your heart was slowly being torn apart.

Your gaze kept drifting to Chaeryoung, a girl you had just met. Something about her caught your attention, but you couldn’t quite understand why. When you saw Changbin getting close to her, it hit you. You didn’t want to be a jealous or possessive girlfriend, but the way he seemed to ignore you almost entirely hurt deeply.

You knew Changbin through Han; you were his best friend before you and Changbin became a couple. After a year of knowing each other, Changbin asked you out, and you happily agreed. Sometimes, after long days at the studio, he would come over to your place, and you’d spend the night together.

Spending time with him was always your favorite. Gradually, Changbin found joy in being with someone like you. He was touched by your kind-hearted nature, something he had never seen in anyone else.

He loves to talk, especially with you. You’re a wonderful listener, always patient even when he vents with a raised voice.

Yet, Changbin remains unaware of the struggles you face. You knew he carried so much on his shoulders, and the last thing you wanted was to not burden him with your own problems. It was your way of protecting him, even if it meant silently shouldering your own hardships.

You knew how hard his work could be.

When his tired eyes met yours, you saw the impact it had on him, but he always assured you he was fine. Despite this, you gave him your full support. You made him breakfast and coffee, even if you were running late sometimes. You did it all for him, because you cared deeply.

You lost yourself in thought for too long, watching the scene unfold before you. The way they were close, sharing easy laughter and inside jokes, was hard to ignore.

They looked so happy together.

It stung to see how effortlessly happy he seemed, and it hurt even more to realize he appeared happy without you. You had never seen him this joyous, never seen him this free when talking. It was as if your presence had always held him back.

Changbin had never told you about her. He never mentioned her at all. Now, you felt like an outsider, unsure of your place in this unfamiliar situation. Everyone seemed to be having a great time.

Maybe they didn’t really need you there after all.

You stood up gently, trying not to draw attention as you made your way to the door. Just as you were about to leave, Han appeared in front of you. At that moment, you were on the verge of tears, desperately trying to hold back the emotions threatening to spill over.

“Hey, Y/n! Do you want to—”

Before Han could finish, you slightly pushed past him and made your way out, leaving him stunned. You wanted to apologize so badly for brushing past him like that, knowing he was probably bewildered by your sudden coldness.

“H-Hey! It's raining, you'll get sick!”

Han’s concern cut through your haze of emotions, but you couldn’t turn back now. You needed to get away, to clear your head.

Stepping outside, you were quickly drenched by the rain, even though it was just a gentle drizzle. You moved slowly, letting your unshed tears blend with the rain. The pain of what had just occurred lingered, unshakable. Despite your trust in Changbin’s loyalty, the hurt you felt was undeniable.

Countless unwanted scenarios flashed through your mind, causing your sobs to grow louder.

As you walked past, people hurriedly seeking shelter from the rain, you must have looked out of place, drenched and heartbroken. An old lady, struck by your sorrowful state, offered you an umbrella with a look of deep sympathy. You seemed completely broken.

Maybe this cold air suits you.

For the first time, you could feel it’s hard to breathe. Your chest tightened, and every breath felt shallow and strained. The world around you started to blur as panic set in. The weight of your insecurities crashed down, suffocating you. The panic attack gripped you tightly, feeding on your fears and doubts. 

You stood there, shivering, feeling more alone than ever. You hugged yourself, looking for warmth even though your heart felt very empty, as if your heart was slowly losing its warmth.

Desperate to find some solace, you forced yourself to take a step forward, then another, moving through the rain-soaked streets. 

Each step felt heavy, like you were dragging the weight of your shattered heart with you.

When you got home, you locked the door and sank to the floor, feeling utterly small and overwhelmed with sadness. You’re not like them; you’re just an employee at a company, insignificant in comparison. You didn't have many friends and weren't a social person. Meanwhile, Changbin was very social; he had many idol friends and knew almost everyone in the industry, just like Chan. The gap between your worlds felt painfully wide, filling you with insecurity.

You didn't fit in with them.

You can't fit in.

As you gazed into the mirror, your stomach dropped. You typically avoided your reflection, but now you couldn’t escape how awful you looked. Unlike the stunning idols on TV, you felt utterly out of Changbin’s league. The dark circles under your eyes, the blemishes on your skin, and your body's imperfections all seemed to scream at you. Every flaw echoed your feelings of inadequacy, making you wonder why someone like him would ever choose you.

You never really had time to go to the spa or get facial treatments. All you did was work. No, you weren't a workaholic, but you didn't want to be a burden or feel useless. You worked for your financial stability. You never told this to Changbin, but he did mention how all you seemed to think about was working and working.

You never wore anything outstanding. Sure, you wore a dress once, but that was for a party. Sometimes, you had to crash at the dorms because of Changbin’s sudden invitations. He always said it was okay, but looking at yourself now, you could see how horrible you looked.

You closed your eyes, letting your tears fall again. You've always been insecure about your appearance, knowing you're not conventionally attractive. People at work sometimes joked about how you looked, their words cutting deep. One of them even cruelly said that no one would ever love you with that face. Each comment echoed in your mind, amplifying your self-doubt.

Her image flashed before you. She was breathtakingly beautiful, and you found yourself wishing you could match her beauty. With her perfect body, charming face, and effortless singing and dancing, it was no surprise that she was adored by so many.

“You're nothing like her, Y/n…” You whimpered as your trembling fingers brushed your tears away.

When you woke up the next day, your boyfriend's hand was wrapped around you. This small act of affection quickly alleviated the heaviness of last night. You turned to face him and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead, waking him gently. He stirred awake and drew you closer to him.

“Why did you leave without telling me? Han even said you walked through the rain... You know you can get sick, baby…” He murmured, concern evident in his voice.

“Just a bit exhausted. I know the party meant a lot to you, so I didn’t want to intrude.” You said gently.

Upon waking up, you prepared coffee and breakfast as you always did, just for him. But when he finished getting dressed, he didn’t drink or eat any of it. You had woken up early, hoping to share a quiet breakfast with him, even though it often made you late for work. Watching him ignore your efforts felt like a stab to your heart.

“Don't you want to have breakfast first?” You asked, your voice filled with hope.

“I’m really sorry, but today the boys and I are hanging out with the Itzy girls. We’ve got some plans, and I don’t want to keep them waiting. I'll text you when I get back.” He smiled apologetically, but it barely eased the ache settling in your chest.

He stepped closer, wrapped you in his arms, and gave you a loving kiss on the nose before saying his goodbyes, leaving you with a pain he didn’t seem to realize.

In the end, you ate the breakfast you had prepared with such care. It felt as though all your efforts had gone unnoticed. You glanced at the clock and got ready for work, silently praying that the day wouldn't bring any more burdens to bear.

It was already late at night, and you were upset that he had been gone for so long without giving you any messages.

“Hey princess, I’m back! I had such a fantastic day, and you won’t believe Chaeryoung’s joke—it was epic!” He grinned widely. “We spent hours laughing and chatting. And her dance? Absolutely incredible!” He continued enthusiastically, completely oblivious to the struggles you faced throughout the day.

Today, the workload at the office was overwhelming. Your boss stacked documents and files on your desk, all needing urgent revisions. Adding to your frustration, a colleague spilled coffee on your shirt, and then you were scolded by investors. Despite the exhausting day, you forced a smile, but inside, you felt like pulling your hair out from sheer frustration. You were so tired, but why couldn't he see it?

You wanted to scold him so badly, but your heart wouldn't let you. Seeing how happy Changbin was, you just gave him a small smile.

Why, though, did he have to spend time with her again? You didn’t want to let jealousy ruin his friendship, so why did you stay silent, concealing your hurt and pretending everything was fine?

“Binnie, it's nice you had a wonderful time today…” 

Those were the only words you could muster as he approached and gave you a light kiss on the lips. The kiss felt hollow, a painful reminder of the growing distance between you. You could feel a gaping void forming in your heart, threatening to swallow you whole, drowning you in a sea of sadness.

“How about you, baby?”

You looked down, not wanting to show the disappointment etched across your face. You didn't want him to worry, you didn't want him to know what was weighing on your mind.

You stayed silent for a long time, and Changbin could sense the heaviness in the air.

“Y/n… Is everything okay?” He asked, his voice tinged with concern.

You forced a smile, looking down to hide your disappointment. "Yeah, Binnie. Just a bit tired, that's all." You replied, trying to keep your voice steady. He gently lifted your chin, searching your eyes for the truth. "Are you sure? You seem off."

“I'm fine, really. I just need some rest.” You pulled away slightly, not wanting him to see the tears threatening to spill. 

Changbin frowned but didn't push further. "Alright, if you say so. But please, talk to me if something's bothering you."

You nodded, the weight of your unspoken feelings growing heavier. "I will. Let's just get some sleep.”

When he left, doubt crept in, and you struggled to understand why you felt so unworthy. Your little heart tried to hold onto hope, searching for strength amid the confusion. You wondered if you were truly enough for him, or if you were just fooling yourself.

It's only been two days, but why are your thoughts already dragging you down? You're not usually like this. Normally, you keep a positive outlook, but now, staring into the mirror, your reflection seems to mock you mercilessly.

Your gaze drops to your hands, and the sight of them trembling sends a jolt of fear through you. Your eyes widen in shock. You try to calm yourself, but your breaths come in shallow, ragged gasps. A wave of nausea washes over you, and you start to shake uncontrollably.

The world around you begins to spin, and you feel as if you're suffocating under the weight of your insecurities and fears.

“Listen, Y/n… Breathe, you need to calm d-down, okay? You're gonna be okay… You're gonna be o-okay.” You whispered, trying to pull yourself together. Hugging yourself tightly, you focused on controlling your breaths, willing the panic to subside.

You're finally calm after what felt like an hour. The chaos had subsided, leaving a fragile sense of peace in its wake.

Lying in bed, gazing at the ceiling, your mind replayed the day’s events. Changbin's soft breathing beside you only emphasized the storm within you.

The next morning, you woke to find the bed empty. Changbin had left early. You sighed, feeling the emptiness beside you. Determined to get through the day, you got ready for work, hoping for a change.

Oh, you're very wrong.

Weeks stretched into what felt like an eternity, and the cycle persisted. You felt an increasing hollowness in your heart. Whenever you were with Changbin, her name seemed to overshadow everything, leaving you feeling unimportant and forgotten.

At work, your motivation dwindled, and the environment felt increasingly stifling. Panic attacks became a frequent companion, leaving you trembling and isolated in the bathroom as you struggled to regain control. Everything was crumbling around you, and you felt like you were slipping into a void with no way out.

Your eyes grew dull, and your coworkers began to notice the change. You struggled to find joy in your work. Each day, you found yourself regulating your breath and covering your ears when the noise became too much, battling the rising tide of panic.

Thankfully, your colleagues were understanding, and you were grateful for their support.

When you returned from work, you found out that Changbin wouldn't be coming home tonight. The weight of loneliness pressed down on you, deepening the ache in your heart. Just as you were about to break down, you heard a soft knock on the door.

“At this time of night?” You murmured, wiping away a stray tear as you walked towards the door. You opened it and were met by your best friend.

“H-Han? What are you doing here? You should just stay in the dorm, I—” You stuttered, your voice quivering with surprise and relief.

“I haven't heard from you in a while, that night you just left. I’m very worried, you know?” Han's voice was soft but filled with concern. His eyes scanned your face, taking in the dark circles and the hollow look in your eyes. You tried to force a smile, but it felt like the emotional burden was holding you back.

“I'm sorry, Han. I've just been dealing with a lot.”

He stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind him. When Han fully saw your face, he noticed how much you had changed. A lot. He could see the coldness in your eyes, the absence of the warmth that used to be there. No, you’ve lost yourself. Han saw the lines of stress etched deeply into your features, the exhaustion that weighed down your every movement. He saw all the times you would sit in silence, staring off into space, not even looking at him.

He needed to know why you were like this. You were his best friend, and you had always promised to be open with each other.

That's when you finally let everything out.

You told him everything, starting from the beginning. The words poured out in a torrent, your voice shaking with every sentence. You looked so pathetic, crying non-stop. Between sobs, you tried to explain the overwhelming sadness that had settled in your heart. It was the first time Han had ever seen you so devastatingly broken.

To be truthful, he’d always viewed you as incredibly strong. Your generosity and kindness were evident, and he remembered how many people had sought your affection. Even now, people were naturally attracted to you.

But there was one side of you he had never encountered; your breaking point.

He’d always believed you were perfect, and finding any flaws in you had always seemed impossible. Many people were jealous of you because you were the humble one. Your kindness was something that others repeatedly took advantage of.

Han noticed the anxiety you were struggling with; it was a feeling he knew well.

This time, he will try to help you.

As Han observed in the studio, he could see how Changbin remained completely unaware, persistently bringing up Chaeryoung in conversation. Despite knowing that his hyung and Chaeryoung were old friends, it was disheartening to watch him be so blind to the impact it was having.

When he saw Han's displeased expression, Changbin’s curiosity turned to alarm, prompting both him and Chan to focus on Han with intense scrutiny.

“Is there a problem, Hannie?” Changbin asked, his voice heavy with tension.

Han’s frown deepened, frustration and anger mingling in his eyes. Was Changbin really this blind? Had he forgotten about you so easily? The thought clawed at Han, sending a surge of adrenaline through him.

“Don't you remember anything?” Han's voice was sharp, cutting through the silence like a knife. “How could you forget so easily?”

Changbin's confusion morphed into unease, his gaze shifting to Chan for some sort of explanation. Chan, sensing the volatile undercurrent, kept his silence, eyes flickering between the two.

“I don’t understand, Jisung.” Changbin said, his voice betraying a hint of desperation. “What did I forget?”

Han's heart raced, the anger inside him threatening to overflow. He’d always known Changbin could be clueless, but this felt like a deep wound. Discussing Chaeryoung with such ease, as if you never mattered, made Han’s blood run cold.

“Chaeryoung this and Chaeryoung that! Are you fucking kidding me, Seo Changbin?! What about Y/n L/n?!” Han’s voice exploded, his annoyance boiling over. The studio fell silent, the intensity of Han's outburst hanging heavily in the air.

Changbin's eyes widened in shock, finally realizing the depth of Han's frustration and the gravity of his oversight. Chan stood frozen, his gaze shifting between his friends, sensing the tension that had erupted so suddenly.

“Hyung. It's hard for me to let my best friend date you. But Y/n is different from other girls. I keep hearing you mention other girls' names and not hers. Don't you realize that, hyung? I thought that when Y/n was dating you, you would take care of her, but why do I have to find her crying because of you?” Changbin's face fell as the weight of Han's words sank in. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. 

“Do you know how lucky you are to have her?” Han’s voice trembled with barely-contained anger and sadness.

“Have you ever asked her about her day? She always hides her burdens because, to her, you're more tired than she is. Did you know that her boss always gives her the most difficult tasks, forcing her to work overtime?” Han took a step closer, his voice trembling with emotion.

You work long hours, not out of passion, but because your boss relentlessly forces you to do this and that. Your workplace is a living nightmare. Your boss constantly belittles you, making you feel worthless. Every day, you're pushed to your limits, leaving you exhausted, broken, and feeling like you’re barely holding on.

You often arrive late to work because you wanted to make breakfast for Changbin.  As expected, your boss constantly scolds you for it. On one occasion, an investor lashed out at you because you tripped and hurt your knee.  He insulted you, saying you were negligent and shouldn’t be working there. That day was your worst; you fell because a colleague who disliked you let you stumble in front of the investor. This incident left you limping for a whole week.

When Changbin asked about your injury, you simply said it was due to your own carelessness, trying to prevent him from worrying. The most terrifying incident happened when you were heading home late from work. A drunk man grabbed you and almost attacked you.

All this time, you’ve been carrying this weight by yourself, choosing not to tell Changbin to prevent adding to his stress and concerns.

“Y/n is like a sister to me…” Han's voice broke as tears streamed down his face. He was grateful to be counted among your friends, cherishing every moment he had learned from you. Yet, the pain of seeing you suffer tore at his heart, leaving him feeling helpless and shattered.

“Please, h-hyung… Take good care of her or you will regret it later. She loves you with all her heart. I’ve watched her s-sacrifice so much for you. She hides her pain, buries her struggles, all just to keep you from worrying. Every tear she sheds, every sleepless night she endures, it’s all because she wants to be there for you. She would give up everything just to see you happy.” Han’s voice trembled with a mix of desperation and sorrow. The room seemed to close in as his words echoed painfully.

“If you don’t change…” Han’s voice was a whisper now, filled with heartache.

“You’ll lose the most precious person in your life. Don’t let her pain be in vain. Please, show her the love she’s always shown you. Before it’s too late… H-Hyung, I beg you… Please, hyung stop hurting her…” Han’s tears flowed relentlessly as he sank to his knees, bowing deeply in front of Changbin. Han's sobs escaped uncontrollably, his body shaking with the weight of his plea.

You walked in, unaware that Changbin had been waiting for you. The sight that greeted you at the doorway was heart-wrenching: Changbin slumped on the couch, his usually vibrant face now marred by sadness. His eyes, swollen and red, bore the marks of his silent tears.

The sight of him at that moment was a jarring contrast to the cheerful presence you were used to. It pierced your heart to see him so vulnerable, and the room felt suffocatingly silent with the weight of what was left unsaid.

Normally, you would’ve rushed to him, eager to embrace him and offer comfort. But tonight, his usual warmth felt like a distant memory. You stood there, paralyzed, unsure of how to bridge the chasm that had opened between you.

When you both moved to the bedroom, the silence continued to loom over you. The unspoken words hung in the air, heavy with the gravity of the situation. Changbin's hands, trembling slightly, rested on your shoulders, his touch both reassuring and heartbreaking. His voice was shaky as he spoke.

“Which part hurts? Here, let me m-massage you…” His eyes, brimming with tears, were fixed on you with an expression of deep regret. He could see the strain and pain etched across your face, and it tore at him.

“This hurts, doesn’t it? I can see it now, princess. I’m so sorry for not noticing sooner...” His voice cracked with guilt as he carefully moved to your knee, the one still sore from an injury not so long ago. His touch was incredibly gentle, almost reverent, as he placed a loving kiss on the sore spot, his fingers moving carefully over it in a soothing manner.

A sob caught in your throat as Changbin’s soft, apologetic gestures broke through the walls you had built around your heart. His tears blended with yours, cascading as he softly attended to your wound, each touch reflecting his heartfelt regret.

“There is no one else, Y/n. Stop comparing yourself with her. You’re you, and that’s what I love. P-Please, stop measuring yourself against someone else. You’re more than enough just as you are.”

His heartfelt words were like a lifeline in the midst of your emotional storm, breaking through the silence that had suffocated you. The walls you had built around your heart came crashing down, and your tears flowed freely.

“I'm not like her, Seo Changbin. And I-I apologize, okay?” Your voice wavered, tears running down. “My imperfections are everywhere, from my body to my face.  Even simple things like a facial treatment are beyond me. I’m not someone who’s full of interesting stories or conversations. I’m sorry for not being able to meet your expectations.”

You gasped for breath, each sob tearing at your heart. “She didn't do anything wrong, Bin. It’s just the thought of one day l-losing you that hurts so unbearably…”

In a state of shock, Changbin watched helplessly as you fell apart. You shook violently, hands pressed firmly against your ears as if trying to block out the intensity of the emotions that were overtaking you.

“Each time her name comes up, it’s like you’re slicing through my heart all over again.  I-I’m worn out from trying to fit into an ideal I can never achieve... I’m drowning in my own self-doubt, and the fear of never being e-enough for you is overwhelming. I’m so sorry for not being the perfect partner you might have hoped for. I’m sorry for not being what you d-deserve…”

“And if you want to break up with me—”

This time, Changbin didn’t hesitate to pull you into his arms, your cries echoing loudly as you wept into his chest. The intensity of your sobs soaked his shirt, and seeing you so fragile and lost was almost too much for him to bear. With tears in his own eyes, he tried desperately to soothe you, his voice barely rising above the noise of your intense grief.

He pressed gentle kisses to the top of your head, whispering soothing words into your ear.

“I'm here, I’m r-right here… I’m not going anywhere.” He whispered softly, his voice quivering with feeling. “I’m so sorry for everything… I never meant to make you feel this way... Please, don’t think you’re not enough. You mean the world to me…”

His fingers moved over your back in a rhythmic pattern, trying to bring you solace. As he heard your cries, his own tears fell, each one reflecting his deep empathy. He embraced you tightly, hoping to make the pain lessened.

You were the one who heard his troubles.

Now, he’s here to hear yours.

You cried for what felt like an eternity, and Changbin, enveloping you in his arms, whispered and kissed you gently to ease your distress. For the first time in weeks, a comforting warmth began to thaw the cold ache in your heart.

“Baby… Please, look at me?”

With a slow, deliberate movement, you raised your head, your eyes meeting his. His hand settled on your cheek, softly brushing it with great care.

“I don't want anyone else. I only want you, Y/n L/n. Stop stressing yourself with expectations because in my eyes, you will always be perfect, okay?” He spoke up.

“I-I know that my words and actions have hurt you deeply. I never meant for that to happen, and I am truly sorry... No matter how many times I say it, it can never undo the pain I’ve caused.” You fell silent, this encouraging Changbin to continue.

He took a deep breath, his gaze unwavering. “Y/n, the d-day I first fell in love with you was when you helped a deaf grandmother who was getting pushed around by a bunch of teenagers… While others did nothing, you were the only one who stepped in to protect her. That was when I knew I had feelings for you... And then, when we volunteered with Felix at the orphanage, your playful interactions with the children and your radiant smile made me see how truly beautiful you are...”

And after a week of lifeless eyes, the light started to come back. Changbin watched as you gradually started to glow again.

“Look at me. Did you know? Even after I changed, people still made fun of me. Especially my body. But there are still those who give me plenty of support and affection, and you are one of them.”

You stared at him in shock, taken aback by his words. Instead of continuing, he offered a bittersweet smile and let out a soft chuckle, though his eyes shimmered with the threat of tears.

“Everyone is different, princess.” Changbin said softly, his eyes reflecting sincere warmth. “But that’s what makes us unique. There’s always something that brings people together, despite their differences.”

As Changbin spoke, you rested your head on his shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. When he noticed the tension easing from your body and saw a faint smile begin to appear on your lips, a wave of relief and happiness washed over him. 

“Also, I want you to quit that job. I'll take care of things for you. If you still want to work, I'll find another job for you.” He stated as you nodded.

His fingers played with strands of your hair as he placed gentle kisses on your forehead. He hummed a calming melody, his voice carrying a peaceful cadence that harmonized with the steady rhythm of your breath. 

As things began to calm down, Changbin let you drift off to sleep beside him. He watched you with awe, utterly enchanted by the peaceful way you looked.

He pressed a delicate kiss to your lips.

“Perfectly imperfect, that’s how I love you.”

As he watched her, tears began to silently trace their way down his cheeks, each drop carrying the weight of his sorrow and longing. He could still hear your final, trembling words: "Love her twice as much in my absence." The memory was a dagger, twisting with the relentless guilt and grief that had become his constant companions. The sight of his daughter's innocent face, so reminiscent of you, only deepened his anguish.

Today had been especially trying. Chan had promised his little girl a joyous outing to the park, a precious respite from his hectic work schedule. But the day took an unexpected turn when Changbin called in a panic, frantically searching for the nearly completed recording of their latest song. What Chan had hoped would be a swift resolution morphed into hours of desperate searching, only to end in the devastating realization that they would have to begin the recording anew.

All the while, his daughter’s patience wore thin. She had no toys, no distractions, just the suffocating boredom of waiting. Her disappointment was palpable, a silent reproach that cut deeper than any words could. Chan felt like he was failing her, failing in the promise he had made to you. Driven by the need to make amends, he gently woke his daughter. Her initial crankiness gave way to curiosity as he apologized for breaking his promise and proposed a sleepover at home. Movies, games, a fort, and endless cuddles — her eyes sparkled at the thought, and her frown dissolved into giggles.

At home, they transformed the living room into a magical fortress of pillows and blankets, a sanctuary just for them. They watched animated tales, played games, and reveled in the simple joy of being together. Wrapped in the cozy embrace of their fort, she eventually succumbed to sleep once more, nestled against him. Her hair, a tousled mess, and a small trail of drool on his shirt were endearing reminders of her tender age and boundless trust in him.

Chan held her close, his heart swelling with love and a bittersweet yearning. She was the living embodiment of his heart, and as he gazed at her, he whispered a vow into the stillness of the night. He promised to love her with all his might, carrying the weight of both his love and the part of you that would forever reside in their lives. In that quiet moment, amidst the echoes of his promises, he felt a fragile sense of peace, knowing that as long as he held her, he was keeping your memory alive.

이민호 ── LEE MINHO.

Minho lay in the dim, soft glow of his bedroom, shadows whispering across the walls as the twins slept peacefully beside him. Their tiny forms had claimed your side of the bed, filling the void where your presence once brought warmth and comfort. The night he returned home with the babies, he had attempted to sleep alone, but the emptiness was unbearable. He tossed and turned, haunted by the silence, until one of the babies began to cry, inevitably waking the other. In his desperation to soothe them, he gathered every pillow he could find, crafting a makeshift crib in his bed. Their delicate features softened in the calm of his presence, and they finally drifted off to sleep.

As Minho gazed at their angelic faces, hands entwined even in slumber, his heart ached with the weight of your absence. How could he begin to process this loss? You had spent almost ten months nurturing these little miracles, only to be taken away before you could revel in the beauty of their existence. Ten months of creating life, and you would never witness the serene way they held hands in their sleep. Ten months of dreams and hopes, and you would miss their first birthdays, graduations, weddings. It was unbearably cruel, and Minho’s soul was tormented by the thought.

You wouldn’t even be here to laugh about the pregnancy mix-up that had both of you convinced it would be a boy and a girl, only to welcome two beautiful baby girls into the world. His friends had offered to stay and help, but he had declined, needing the solitude to grapple with his grief. Now, in the stillness of the night, he questioned if he had made the right choice.

Tears welled up and spilled down his cheeks as the full weight of his new reality settled over him. He was to raise these precious little princesses on his own, and the responsibility felt crushing. Yet, as he watched their peaceful slumber, he knew he had to summon every ounce of strength for them. They were his world now, the living, breathing remnants of your love. He vowed to cherish them, to love them fiercely, and to guide them through life with unwavering dedication, for they were all he had left of you, and he was all they had.

In the hushed silence, he whispered promises into the night, pledging to be the best father he could be. He would ensure they knew how deeply you loved them, even if you couldn’t be there to tell them yourself. And as he held them close, feeling the rise and fall of their tiny chests, a fragile peace washed over him. He knew that in every laugh, every tear, and every milestone, you would be there in spirit, guiding him, loving them, always.

서창빈 ── SEO CHANGBIN.

The sun was setting, casting a warm, golden glow over the park as Changbin and his 13-year-old son sat on a weathered wooden bench, savoring their ice cream. The park buzzed with the laughter of children, their joy mingling with the gentle rustle of leaves in the summer breeze. Parents lounged on the grass, basking in the last light of day, while Changbin watched his son’s face light up with a blush as he received a message.

Changbin couldn’t resist teasing him. "Who’s got you smiling like that?" he asked, his voice laced with playful curiosity.

His son’s cheeks reddened further, and he looked away, trying to hide his smile. "Just a girl from school," he mumbled, glancing at his phone. "She texted to congratulate me on today’s soccer game."

Changbin’s interest was piqued. "A girl, huh? Do you like her?" he inquired gently, but his son just rolled his eyes, keeping his thoughts to himself.

After a while, his son broke the comfortable silence with a question that took Changbin by surprise. "Dad, how did you know Mom was the one for you?"

Changbin's heart swelled with a bittersweet mix of love and nostalgia. He took a deep breath, the memory washing over him like a tender wave. "Well," he began softly, "it was before you were born. Your mom and I had only been dating for a few months. One evening, we decided to take a ride on my motorcycle to grab some food. On the way back, she spotted a bookstore and got all excited. She tapped my shoulder and pointed it out, her eyes sparkling like a child's. I couldn't say no to that."

He smiled, lost in the memory. "We stopped, and I handed her my card, telling her to get whatever she wanted. She promised she’d come out empty-handed, but I knew better." He chuckled, remembering your sheepish yet triumphant expression as you emerged with a bag hidden behind your back. "She ended up buying two books and couldn’t stop talking about them, her excitement contagious. When I told her I was glad she found something, she did this little dance of joy before climbing back onto the bike. She had to hold the bag since her backpack was already stuffed with our food, but she was too happy to care."

Changbin’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. "That’s when I knew she was the one. It wasn’t some grand gesture; it was her pure joy in the little things, her passion for life. I wish you could have known her. She loved you so much, even before you were born."

His son’s eyes mirrored his own longing and admiration. "I wish I’d known her too," he said softly. "My goal in life is to find my soulmate, like you found Mom. I want to love someone as much as you loved her."

Changbin’s heart ached with pride and sorrow. "You deserve to have someone by your side for a long time," he said, his voice thick with emotion. Then, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, he added, "Who knows, maybe this girl from school is your one."

His son groaned, a playful smile tugging at his lips as he nudged Changbin, causing his ice cream to topple onto the ground. Changbin laughed, a deep, hearty sound that echoed through the park. His own ice cream slipped from his grasp, joining his son’s on the pavement, and they both burst into laughter, the joy of the moment a soothing balm to their hearts.

In that golden hour, surrounded by the simple pleasures of ice cream and shared memories, Changbin felt a profound sense of peace. Despite the heartache and loss, he and his son would continue to find love and joy in the little things, just as you had taught him. And in those moments of laughter and connection, he felt your presence with them, a silent guardian watching over their journey, smiling at their shared happiness.

황현진 ── HWANG HYUNJIN.

Hyunjin sat alone in the dimly lit room, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting a warm, golden hue over the familiar surroundings. The air was thick with memories, each piece of furniture and every stroke of paint a testament to the love and labor he had shared with you. His heart ached with a bittersweet nostalgia as he looked around, his mind filled with the echoes of laughter and the whispers of cherished moments.

He remembered the countless hours spent building the furniture, the frustration and triumph mingling as he struggled with stubborn screws, while you sat nearby, reading the instructions with a patience that never failed to calm him. The nursery walls, painted in a tapestry of happy themes, bore the marks of your combined artistic talents, creating a sanctuary for the new life you both awaited with eager anticipation.

The night he returned home with the baby, your absence a gaping void beside him, was etched into his soul. He had sat in the rocking chair, the one he had bought especially for you, cradling the fragile bundle in his arms, paralyzed by the fear of being alone. Many nights, he had dozed off in that chair, too afraid to leave its comforting embrace, haunted by the silence that your departure had left behind.

A wistful smile tugged at his lips as he recalled the day he found your child drawing on the walls, their tiny hands busy creating a colorful mural over your delicate paintings. It had pained him to see your work altered, but the sight of their concentrated little face, so much like yours, had softened his heart. He had chosen to let them be creative, to express themselves freely, even if it meant sacrificing a piece of you.

He thought of the time his six-year-old had cried in his arms, their tiny body trembling with confusion and hurt because they didn't fit in with the boys or the girls. Hyunjin had held them close, whispering reassurances, his heart breaking at the familiar pain. It had been a long journey, but he had worked tirelessly to make their home a sanctuary of love and acceptance.

The memories came in a flood, each one a cherished gem: the summer in middle school when they returned home with bags of new clothes and put on a fashion show, proudly displaying their androgynous style; the pride parade, where he meticulously placed sticky rainbow gems on their face, their giddy excitement lighting up the day; and finally, the day they graduated and moved out, leaving behind an empty room filled with the ghosts of the past.

Tears rolled down Hyunjin’s face as he sat in the rocking chair, now old and creaky, thinking of all the moments he had cherished yet wished he could have shared with you. The weight of the memories pressed down on him, a heavy, inescapable burden.

Suddenly, his phone rang, startling him from his reverie. He hastily wiped his tears and saw it was a FaceTime call from his child. He answered, and their beaming face filled the screen, the excitement in their eyes mirrored by the twinkling fairy lights in their new apartment's bedroom.

“Hey, Dad! Look at my new room!” they exclaimed, panning the camera around to show off their new space, their voice bubbling with pride and joy.

Hyunjin’s heart swelled with pride and love. “It looks amazing, sweetheart,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

“I miss you,” they confessed, their eyes shining with unshed tears. “Can we spend the first night together, through the phone?”

Hyunjin chuckled softly, trying to mask his lingering sadness. “Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of moving out?”

They laughed, a sound that was pure and unfiltered joy. “Maybe, but I know you’re in my old room crying already.”

He laughed too, the heaviness lifting just a bit. “You got me there.”

They didn’t hang up, staying connected through the screen as the night deepened. Hyunjin lay back in the rocking chair, his child propped up in their new bed, both finding solace in the familiar presence of each other. As they talked and laughed, Hyunjin realized that though you weren’t physically there, your spirit lived on in these moments, in the love that continued to bind them together. And for now, that was enough.

한지성 ── HAN JISUNG.

Jisung found his seven-year-old child hidden within the treehouse that the three of you had built together. This small wooden sanctuary, once filled with laughter and joy, now bore the heavy weight of sorrow. They were still in their funeral attire, the black clothes contrasting sharply against the soft glow of the setting sun. The murmurs of the guests lingering in the backyard became a distant, indistinct hum as Jisung climbed into the treehouse, his heart burdened with grief and a simmering anger at the universe for taking you away so cruelly.

His son's youthful face was etched with a grief that seemed too profound for such a young soul. Jisung felt a surge of helplessness as he reached out, pulling his child close, wrapping him in an embrace meant to shield him from the cruel world outside. “I miss Mom,” came the soft, heart-wrenching whisper, each word a dagger to Jisung’s already shattered heart.

“I miss Mom too,” Jisung murmured, his voice thick with unshed tears. They sat together in silence, the weight of your absence pressing down on them like an insurmountable force.

It had been nearly a year since you had fallen ill, the sickness so severe that the doctors had given you only a few months at most. Yet, you had defied their grim prognosis, your spirit burning brightly despite the frailty of your body. Jisung remembered the countless nights spent by your side, swallowing his fears and anger as you spoke of your impending death with a calm acceptance that had always made him furious. To him, it felt as though you had given up, but he knew deep down that wasn’t the case. You hadn’t wanted to waste what little time you had left fighting an unwinnable battle. Perhaps if he had truly listened, if he had embraced those fleeting moments instead of railing against them, he might have cherished your final days more deeply.

His son, too young to fully grasp the concept of death, struggled with the finality of it all. He understood that you would never return, yet accepting it was a different matter entirely. Jisung’s heart broke anew each time he saw the confusion and sorrow in his child’s eyes, a mirror of his own torment.

Holding his son tighter, Jisung wished he could find the right words to ease the pain, to make sense of a world that had suddenly lost its light. But words failed him, crumbled under the weight of their shared grief. Instead, he let the silence speak, hoping the strength of his embrace could convey the love and comfort his words could not.

The treehouse, once a symbol of their shared joy, now held their sorrow. The walls, which had echoed with laughter and dreams, now seemed to absorb their pain, standing as silent witnesses to their loss. But within this small, sacred space, surrounded by the memories of happier times, Jisung hoped they could begin to heal. He would be there for his son, a steadfast presence in the storm of their grief, guiding him through the darkness with a love that, while tested, remained unbroken.

As the last light of day faded, Jisung held his son close, both finding a semblance of solace in each other’s presence. In the quiet, grief-stricken aftermath, they began to forge a new bond, one tempered by loss but strengthened by their enduring love. And in that silent communion, Jisung found a glimmer of hope that they would eventually find their way through the darkness together.

이용복 ── LEE YONGBOK.

In a home where the relentless energy of three young girls and their single father painted every day with hues of joyous chaos, peace was a fleeting visitor. The air thrummed with the symphony of exuberant laughter, the vibrant discord of simultaneous chatter, and the relentless rhythm of youthful exuberance. Yongbok would never trade this tempestuous world for anything, yet a hollow ache lingered for the presence of the one who had been the steady heartbeat of their lives.

Your sudden departure had cast a profound shadow over their once lively abode, transforming it into a quieter realm where your laughter’s echoes were replaced by an oppressive silence. As time wove its delicate fabric over the jagged edges of grief, the house gradually adjusted to a new cadence, yet the weight of your absence hung heavy in every corner.

Despite this, Yongbok discovered fragments of you embedded within the fabric of their daily lives. He saw your essence in the selfless nurturing of his eldest daughter, who had seamlessly stepped into the role of co-caregiver. Her quiet acts of love and responsibility were a poignant echo of the devotion you had always shown, a continuation of your spirit in her every gesture.

In the middle child’s vibrant monologues about obscure topics, Yongbok glimpsed your enduring influence. Her unquenchable thirst for knowledge mirrored the intellectual curiosity you had nurtured, each passionate explanation a living testament to your legacy.

The youngest, with her mischievous gleam and boundless spirit, kept Yongbok perpetually on his toes. Her playful antics and joyful mischief were a vivid reminder of the vivacity you had infused into their home, a living echo of the light you had brought into their lives.

In the quiet moments, Yongbok could still feel your presence. The post-it notes left in his lunch bag by his eldest daughter, each inscribed with a simple message of love, were imbued with your warmth. The tender strokes of his middle daughter’s fingers through his hair during their movie nights were a silent connection to you. And in the gentle inquiries of his youngest, her head peeking around the door to ensure he was alright, he felt the deep compassion you had instilled in her.

Though you were absent from the milestones and daily rhythms, your essence lived on through them. In the small, tender acts of affection and love, you continued to be a cherished part of their lives, an enduring presence in their hearts.

김승민 ── KIM SEUNGMIN.

Seungmin had been absent through the vast expanse of your pregnancy, the relentless demands of touring keeping him away. He returned just in time to witness the birth, only to be swallowed by the crushing weight of your absence. The pain of missing those precious moments with you, of not being there to share in the miracle of your last days, was a wound that never healed. This haunting regret followed him, a constant reminder of a future lost.

The day you passed, Seungmin left Stray Kids, unable to bear the weight of the stage without you by his side. He couldn’t find solace in the bright lights or the rhythms of his music. Instead, he focused on his two sons—an older one, now sixteen, and a younger one, now twelve. The older boy, once a vibrant spirit, had retreated into the shadows of his room, his once lively demeanor replaced by a sullen silence. The baseball games that had once bound them together now lay abandoned, and Seungmin, despite the storm within, knew he had to reach out.

Determined to bridge the chasm that had grown between them, Seungmin planned a day just for the two of them. He left the youngest with his closest friend, Jeongin, and took his older son out. The car ride was a quiet procession of unspoken thoughts, the weight of their shared grief hanging heavily between them. When they finally arrived at their destination, Seungmin braced himself, ready to face the tender fracture of their relationship.

It took patience, but eventually, the silence broke. The older boy revealed his feelings for a boy at school, emotions that he struggled to understand. Seungmin was taken aback, but he remained calm, his heart aching with a blend of surprise and concern. As his son’s tears fell freely, Seungmin pulled him into a tender embrace, his own heart aching with a mixture of empathy and love. He whispered reassurances into his son’s hair, promising acceptance and protection, vowing to stand by him no matter what.

The boy, still tearful but comforted, then showed Seungmin a small journal. Inside was a song he had penned, a poignant melody woven with the threads of his conflicted feelings for the boy at school. The song was hauntingly beautiful, a reflection of his son’s delicate soul and burgeoning talent. Seungmin’s heart swelled with pride and love as he listened, recognizing the echoes of his own musical spirit in his child’s creation.

As the day drew to a close, Seungmin received a snapshot from Jeongin—his youngest child, covered in dirt and beaming with the joy of a day spent playing baseball. The image was a burst of pure happiness, a vivid reminder that even amidst the sorrow, moments of light and joy persisted.

As the sun set, Seungmin felt a renewed connection with his older son, a fragile yet precious bond rekindled through their shared experiences and heartfelt conversation. Though the regret of not being there for you lingered, he found solace in the fact that he was striving to be the father you would have been proud of. In the quiet moments of the evening, he hoped, with all his heart, that wherever you were, you watched over them and felt a deep pride in the man he was becoming—a father striving to honor your memory through the love and strength he gave to your family.

양정인 ── JANG JEONGIN.

Jeongin’s youngest daughter was a restless spirit, her stubborn yet carefree nature a constant reminder of the love she once shared with you. Each burst of laughter, every defiant flicker of joy, was a living echo of your vibrant presence. In contrast, his oldest son was a mirror of Jeongin’s own meticulous nature, his life meticulously ordered, each ambition carefully planned.

Lately, Jeongin’s heart had been heavy with worry. His daughter, brimming with reckless exuberance, frequently dashed off to meet a boy Jeongin knew was unworthy. The thought of her entangled with someone without a future gnawed at him, leaving him adrift in a sea of concern. As he lay awake at night, the silence seemed to taunt him, and he often found himself wondering how you would have navigated these troubled waters if you had still been there to guide them.

One night, as the moonlight spilled softly through the window, Jeongin was wrenched from sleep by the unmistakable sound of muffled sobs. His heart raced as he followed the cries to his daughter’s room. He paused at the door, the murmur of his son’s voice cutting through the silence. The room, once a sanctuary of dreams, was now a cocoon of whispered regrets and stifled tears. His daughter’s voice wavered with the weight of her shame, confessing her feelings of foolishness for having trusted the boy. His son, with a soothing calmness that mirrored your gentle strength, reassured her that she wasn’t foolish, merely swept up in the exhilarating tide of young love. He told her she deserved better than a boy with no future, his words a soft balm to her wounded spirit.

Jeongin’s heart ached with a mixture of pride and sorrow as he heard his son’s comforting tones, the echoes of your nurturing spirit resonating in his voice. After a few moments, he gathered the courage to step into the room. His eyes were tender with understanding as he took in the scene: his daughter’s tear-streaked face, her hands buried in her lap. Her cries grew louder as she saw him, her embarrassment palpable as she shielded her face with her hands.

Jeongin knelt before her, his expression a blend of love and compassion. Gently, he reached for her hands, drawing them away from her face to hold them in his own. His touch was a lifeline, a silent promise of unwavering support.

“You told me so, I know,” she choked out, her voice a trembling whisper.

“I would never say that, my love,” Jeongin murmured, his voice rich with tenderness. He wrapped her in his arms, pulling her close against his chest. His gaze met his son’s, a shared understanding passing between them.

“I know it hurts,” Jeongin whispered into her hair, his voice a soothing melody against her ear, “but this isn’t the end.” His embrace was a warm cocoon, a sanctuary of love amidst the storm of her emotions. The night unfolded in a delicate tapestry of comfort and hope, a testament to the enduring love that bound them together, even in the quiet absence of your guiding presence.

꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ ミ Permanent taglist: @agi-ppangx @sunnyrisee @jisunglyricist

꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ ミ Post taglist: @bowsnbang @nothinginterestingtoshowhere

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A lazy smile forms on his lips as he blinks at the sound of your voice. Your name escapes his lips faintly, as if he’s in awe over the fact that you’re really there.

“Don’t we have classes tomorrow? And you have dance practice too. Why are you getting so drunk?” you chastise, pulling the bottle from his grasp. He lets you, laying his cheek on his arm, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Minho? Won’t you answer me?” you giggle slightly, and he blinks, the grin spreading across his face like sun rays stretching across the sky.

“Did I think of you so much you suddenly appeared in front of me?” he whispers, and your heart thrashes around your ribcage only to plummet to your knees.

You met Minho in one of your psychology classes, and then at the grocery store near your home. That’s how you found out you live only three minutes apart. Minho started walking you home after class, and you attended his dance practices in return. That’s how your crush came to life.

An unrequited love, you long thought.

Now, not so much. You dare hope.

“You think of me?” you whisper, and he nods, his lips forming into a huge pout. Your eyes soften like clay at the sight.

You didn’t know Minho became this adorable when drunk. Truthfully, there are lots of things you still don’t know about him, though your infatuation feels as if it has inhabited your soul for years.

“Ah, Yn-aaah,” he suddenly drawls out, grabbing the end of your chair and pulling you closer. He does it so effortlessly it leaves you dizzy for a few seconds.

“Why are you sooo pretty, huh?” he mumbles, placing his chin on his palm.

“You’re drunk. I look like a mess right now,” you shake your head slightly, your blush now mirroring his.

“No, no, no,” he contradicts vehemently. You blink, and his face is suddenly inches away from yours. “See, your eyes… your nose…” His finger traces your features as he names them. “Your cheeks… and your lips.” His thumb grazes your lower lip, and suddenly, you’re the one who’s drunk off of his touch.

He brightens up, dropping his hand and placing his forehead on the table. “Pretty, so so pretty.”

…

“And then you kept mumbling about how pretty I am till I got you to your dorm,” you giggle, and Minho huffs slightly. He’s acting cool, but his ears betray him, turning a scorching red as you recount the night you found him drunk and alone, two months ago.

“I mean, did I lie? You are pretty,” he mumbles through a pout, one that you quickly kiss away. His lips taste of sugar and love— you dare to hope the grand feeling is reciprocated.

“You also kept yelling my name so loud that someone looked out of their window—” He silences you now, your lips struggling to meet as a fit of giggles overtakes you.

“Shh, let me kiss you,” he smiles against your lips, and you nod, sliding your hand across his jaw. His fingers graze your arm as your mouths meet again and again, and soon you’re no longer sure how much time has passed since you last spoke.

He breaks away first, the tip of his nose grazing your cheek. He brings you onto his lap, burying his face in the crook of your neck. Your apartment is quiet for a little while, the only sound being your synced breathing.

It’s so comforting to be in his hold, to feel his strong arms wrap around your waist, his perfume cocooning your soul. You’ve liked Minho for so long that getting to embrace him still feels like a dream, even after two months of dating.

“I love you,” he suddenly whispers, and a rush of adrenaline courses through your veins at his words, butterflies flapping their wings in your stomach at how gentle he sounds.

“What?” you pull away slightly, finding him blinking furiously, a slight blush tinting his cheeks.

“I love you,” he repeats, slightly louder this time, his hands cupping your cheeks securely, safely. “I really love you.”

You feel as if the entire universe is suddenly singing within your heart.

…

“Minho,” you whine slightly, trying to shake him off, but he doesn’t budge.

“Baby, I really have to pee,” you chuckle, but he shakes his head, pushing his entire weight atop you.

“Warm,” he mumbles.

“Yeah, because you’re suffocating me.”

“So my love is suffocating?” he scoffs loudly, pushing himself off you. “Do you hear that, Soonie?” he turns to the orange cat near your head. “Can you believe it?”

“If Soonie could speak, she’d complain about your sleep-talking,” you joke, placing a quick peck on the tip of his nose. It was one of Minho’s most endearing traits, one that you discovered since you moved in together, a few weeks ago.

“You have two minutes,” he narrows his eyes at you, “or else I’ll terrorize you while you pee.”

“You’re crazy,” you shake your head, but your smile says otherwise. It warms your heart to think that someone loves your presence so much that they’d come to crave it first thing in the morning.

You’re back in bed exactly one minute and forty-seven seconds later (courtesy of Minho’s counting). He’s quick to wrap you in his arms, your back nestled perfectly against his chest.

“You smell good,” you compliment, placing tiny kisses on the arm wrapped around your middle. You grin, recognizing hints of your soap. You smile wider when you spot goosebumps raising across his skin.

“So do you,” he mumbles into your hair. It’s the last you both speak for a few minutes. The only sounds in the room are Soonie’s occasional tired mewls and the curtains swaying before the open window.

Sounds of home.

“Honey,” Minho suddenly calls out, and you open your eyes to find a dainty necklace dangling before you. The initial M reflects the filtering sunlight.

“I’m a bit possessive,” he says, placing a sweet kiss on your shoulder. “Need everyone to know you are mine.”

“You’re very cute,” you smile softly, brushing your hair away from your shoulder. His lips graze your bare skin as he clasps the necklace in place.

“It looks good on you,” he compliments, spinning you around to look at you. “Thank you for giving me a home,” he whispers, before scattering kisses along your collarbone— they remind you of dewdrops falling atop petals at dawn, eager to reunite after a long night apart.

…

“Thank you for coming,” Chan smiles sheepishly as you stand before their table. You quickly give him a side-hug before kneeling in front of Minho.

“Is he okay?” you ask worriedly, rubbing warmth into his hands. Chan shakes his head, placing his jacket over Minho’s shoulders.

“Yeah, he just didn’t want to get into the car. He kept asking for you.”

“He’s very strong even when he’s drunk,” you giggle knowingly, memories of four years past surfacing. Back when Minho was just a crush who called you pretty while drunk.

Now he’s everything to you.

“I’ll be in the car. Just convince him to get in, please,” Chan whines, and you chuckle, sending him a thumbs-up.

“Baby,” you whisper, grazing Minho’s cheeks with your knuckles. His eyes, still glossy, peer at you, a million little stars finding refuge within their depths.

“I want Yn,” he mumbles, closing his eyes again.

“Honey, I’m Yn,” you explain while laughing, peering at him from underneath. He squints one eye at you, a small smile forming on his lips.

“Fine,” he stands up suddenly, tripping on his own two feet. You quickly hold him as his forehead rests atop your shoulder.

“Yn… I’m hiding something from my girlfriend,” he whispers, attempts to, in his drunken state. Your heart catches in your chest as you tread carefully, running your fingers through his hair.

“What is it, baby?” you ask.

“I will propose to her next week.”

“Oh,” you gasp softly, your hold on him growing limp. “Will you?”

“Yes, but it’s a secret,” he brings his finger to his lips, making a shushing motion. “Don’t tell anyone.”

You break out in loud giggles. Chan sends you a quizzical look when he spots the radiant smile across your lips— it’s only a reflection of the sun that has lodged itself into your heart.

Minho lays his head atop your lap on the drive back home. Your soul exhales in content as you gaze at your pretty Minho, your lovely Minho.

“Baby,” you whisper in his ear. He hums sweetly in response.