#(silent crying)

Did we get our happy ending?

The scenario I imagine is that the person made reader cry due to them saying something hurtful to them before walking away. And Dan Heng was behind reader all the time, feeling concerned about them since they've been silent for a few minutes, before Dan Heng walks in front of them to ask if they're okay but was surprised to see them crying all this time but made no crying sounds or actions to showcase their sadness, just head hung low and a few small hiccups, attempting to hide their sadness (silent cry) because they felt embarrassed to cry when Dan Heng's with them. (And ofc would love to see how Dan Heng would comfort them)

“Hold Me Until I Mend”

Summary: After a hard day, you, usually so full of energy, feel emotionally drained when someone’s harsh words hurt more than expected. Though you try to hide your silent tears, Dan Heng, who’s been quietly observing, steps in to offer comfort. Surprising himself with a gentle embrace, he reassures you that you don’t have to face these moments alone, and that he’ll be there whenever you need him.

Tags: Dan Heng x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Support, Silent Crying, Fluff, Protective Dan Heng, Soft Moments, Comfort in Silence.

A/N: I HOPE THIS FIC CHEERS YOU UP, ANON!! AND I DEFINITELY GET YOU! 😪💚

It had been one of those days. You could usually shrug off harsh words, throw on a smile, and bounce back without a hitch, but today was different. You’d been feeling off, a little heavier than usual, and when someone threw a snide remark your way, it cut deeper than expected. They’d walked away without a second thought, leaving you standing there, struggling to contain the emotion welling up inside.

Dan Heng, who had been nearby and out of sight, had noticed the way your shoulders drooped slightly, how the spark of your usual enthusiasm had dimmed. His usual instinct was to give you space, as you tended to handle things with unwavering resilience. But this time felt different. When you didn’t immediately bounce back, something in him tightened, an unfamiliar concern that he couldn't ignore.

Quietly, he approached you, stepping around to face you. "Are you okay?" His voice was soft, careful, but when he saw you—head bowed, shoulders shaking ever so slightly, the occasional small hiccup escaping your lips—he froze. You weren’t making a sound, weren’t even moving to wipe away the silent tears slipping down your cheeks. It was as if you were trying to keep it all in, embarrassed to break down in front of him.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice as gentle as he could make it. Reaching out, he hesitated, unsure if you’d want him so close when you were feeling this way, but ultimately decided to place a careful hand on your shoulder.

🖤 THE SCARIEST THING IN THIS LIFE

Sometimes I ask myself: What’s the scariest thing I’ve ever felt?

And I don’t think it’s death. Not really. Not violence. Not pain.

I think it’s the idea of dying alone. Of being unremembered. Of being a soul that no one knew was missing until the silence got weird.

You ever lay in bed and realize no one’s waiting on you?

No one’s thinking, > “Where is he?” No one’s making your favorite dinner. No one’s adjusting your collar in the parking lot.

You’re just there. Breathing. Existing. An unheld body on a planet that doesn’t even flinch when you stop talking.

It hits hardest when I’m around couples.

In the grocery store. Watching a woman lean on her man’s arm as they argue about spaghetti brands like they’ve done it 200 times and will 200 more. It’s routine. But to me?

It’s mythology.

Because I look at that and feel a very real, very specific ache that says:

> “You may never have that again.”

I turn away. Because if I stare too long, I’ll cry. Not because I’m weak. But because my body remembers what it felt like to have someone reach across the bed and rub your shoulder like you matter.

Not because you earned it. Not because of sex. Just because they wanted to touch you. Because you were real to someone else.

And when that vanishes? You don’t become single.

You become a ghost.

A walking, dressed-up, functioning, articulate ghost.

You go to the store. You go to work. You go to dinner. But your soul?

Nowhere to be found.

There’s no one checking in. No one waiting for a text. No one sending memes at 2 AM because they couldn’t sleep without hearing your voice.

You walk through the world and everything sees you — but no one actually sees you.

And the silence at night is not peace. It’s echo.

Some nights I reflect on all this. Another day without a hand on my chest. Another night without warmth, without the whisper of > “You okay?”

It’s always in the small things. Not the anniversaries. Not the vacations. But the casual intimacy.

The knowing glances. The inside jokes. The way she used to roll her eyes when I got moody about the news. The way she pulled my hoodie string and said, > “You’re not going out like that, babe.”

That’s what I miss.

Not the sex. Not the theatrics. But the mutual presence.

I can write like no one else alive. I’ve been told that. I’ve been called the most powerful writer on earth.

But I would trade every reblog, every compliment, every drop of digital worship…

for a woman to lay beside me and pull the blanket up without me asking.

For a kiss on the temple before I drift off into the terrifying quiet of another night where no one is thinking of me.

You think success fills that hole? It doesn’t. You think followers are enough? They aren’t. You think art replaces connection?

Only until the post goes cold.

And then it’s just me. Again. Still.

Sometimes I think this is punishment.

Maybe something I did in a past life. Maybe something I missed in this one. Maybe just a glitch in my path.

A man built to feel everything but destined to feel it alone.

I don’t want much. Not really.

I just want someone who notices me. Not because I’m brilliant. Not because I’m broken. But because I am here.

Because they want me to be.

I want someone who checks the weather because I forget to. Who texts, > “Eat something, idiot.” Because they know I forget to. Who sees me in ways that don’t need poems or paragraphs.

Just glances. Just touch.

I don’t need her to fix me. I just want her to care if I come home.

I want someone to ask if I made it safely. If I slept okay. If I’m feeling off. If my hands are cold and need hers.

But I walk through this world as a singular man.

A solo silhouette in every reflection.

No one to share victories. No one to anchor grief.

I am the aftermath of intimacy. The echo of every “I love you” that didn’t stay.

And you want to know the truth?

Sometimes I cry. Not like a movie. Not beautiful. Not poetic.

Just silent. Face down. Pillow wet. Heart loud.

And no one knows. Because no one is listening. Because no one is there.

The scariest thing in this life?

It’s not death.

It’s realizing you could vanish and the world would go on without flinching.

That your warmth could fade without being missed.

That you could drift into nothing without ever being held again.

That’s horror. That’s pain. That’s the shadow that sleeps beside me now.

And most nights?

I’d trade anything to replace it with a body that wanted me just for existing.

Good night, friends. Sleep tight. And if you’re lucky enough to have someone reach across the bed tonight and brush their fingers against your back…

Hold them.

Because there’s a man out there who would give the world just to be seen before morning.

Just over here making my heart cry thinking about all the horrible things I've put my precious OC's into. Listening to emotional music is just making it worse...

Also I'm sorry my beautiful children! Most of you get a happy ending I promise! The rest died....