#asheyxash

"hyung what the hell was that?" hoshi spat, anger shown by the way his veins looked like they might explode. "you didn't have to be so harsh." though softer, dk's words were laced with a certain apprehensive tension and annoyance. dino scowled, "cheol hyung, that wasn't you we saw a few moments ago. that wasn't the cheol we know." "yeah man, the insults weren't necessary, geez..." vernon mumbled under his breath. jun snapped a little too loudly, "ya, choi seungcheol, who the actual fuck do you think you are?" seungkwan backed him up (with maybe a little too much cursing), "why did you yell at y/n like that? we know you're an ass, a dickhead, no you know what? a jerk asshole bastard, but keep your shit to yourself!" usually the members would say something to this, but no one did, everyone's eyes only focused on glaring at their leader. joshua, the ever carefree gentle one, blurted out before the words could properly form in his head, "cheol, she's not a toy you can play around with cause literally is that how you treat a woman?" "red flag, y/n gotta avoid this one-" minghao murmured, wonwoo finishing his sentence right after, "hyung if i were her i would dump your stupid ass." "i mean, she's kinda you're girlfriend, or might be ex now HA!"jeonghan giggled, although the sharpness in his tone showed how he really felt. "hope she dumps your ass too!" mingyu was more than angry though, as someone closer to y/n, he was about to grab seungcheol's collar but the other members stopped it before anything could happen. "just saying cheol, you don't know just how much words can hurt someone else, especially y/n." woozi said quietly.

"no it's okay, come at me...i deserved that." the man in question finally spoke, the whole room silencing itself once again.

"...WHAT?"

"are you bipolar or-"

"bro i swear to god get your shitty act toGETHER"

"you've officially lost it, i'm out." vernon muttered, storming toward the door, muttering curses under his breath as if just being in the same room was making his skin itch.

but seungcheol didn’t move. not even a twitch. he stood still, eyes lowered, as if bracing for something more than fists. "you all think i don’t know?" his voice came out quiet, almost swallowed by the air itself. "you think i don’t realise what i did?" no one answered. "then why the hell did you do it?" mingyu’s voice cracked, louder now, breaking through the silence like thunder. "you think saying sorry makes it better? after the way she looked at you like she didn’t even recognise who the hell you were anymore?" "she flinched, hyung," dino muttered, his jaw tight, hands shaking. "she flinched when you raised your voice. she never does that. not even with you." "and you didn’t even care," joshua said, and the usual softness in his voice was gone, replaced by something cold. "you didn’t even look at her after." "i saw it," jeonghan muttered, and his eyes were glassy with fury. "i saw the moment you broke her. and you just stood there like a statue while she stood there trying to hold herself together. she was fucking trembling, hyung."

"i know."

seungcheol’s voice cracked on that second word. like it physically hurt to say. "i know." he said again, a little softer this time, as if repeating it would make it real. "then what the fuck is wrong with you?" hoshi barked. "what the actual fuck is going on with you?" woozi, the one who was listening in silence finally spoke, his voice dark as everyone gulped. seungcheol inhaled sharply, like the air was knives. "i don’t know. everything’s been… boiling. i’ve been on edge for weeks. months, maybe. i thought if i pushed her away first, if i gave her a reason to hate me, she wouldn’t see everything else falling apart underneath."

"so you punished her for your chaos?" seungkwan’s voice shot out like a blade. "that’s not pain, hyung. that’s cowardice." "you treated her like trash and now you’re pretending it was for her own good?" minghao added, each word like acid. "god, that’s so fucking manipulative." "i didn’t mean it to be," seungcheol said, voice shaking now. "i just… i thought i was protecting her from the worst of me." "newsflash," jeonghan bit out, "she still got the worst of you." "and she loved you anyway," dino said, voice barely audible. "even while you tore her down, she was still standing there trying to understand you. begging you to just talk to her. and you looked her in the eyes and told her she didn’t matter."

"i said she was just another distraction," seungcheol whispered. and the room cracked. "you what?" mingyu’s voice rose, and he looked ready to punch a wall. "you said that to her fucking face?" "why? to push her away? to see how fast you could make her bleed?" seungkwan growled. "i saw her afterwards, you know?" wonwoo finally spoke, slow and deliberate, like every word was carved in stone. "sitting in the hallway, not even crying. just… empty. like you drained every last bit of her and didn’t even notice."

"i noticed," seungcheol said.

his voice cracked. this time, there was no hiding it.

"i noticed," he repeated, barely above a whisper. "i noticed the second it was too late. when she stepped back and wouldn’t meet my eyes. when she said ‘okay’ like it was the only thing keeping her from falling apart." "then why didn’t you stop?" woozi asked, and his voice wasn’t angry anymore. it was worse. it was disappointed.

"because i was scared," seungcheol confessed. and for the first time, it sounded like the truth. "scared that one day she’d see through me. realize i’m not who she thought i was. that she deserves someone better. that i’m just this… broken thing trying to pretend i know how to love." "so you self-destructed and dragged her down with you," minghao said.

"i didn’t mean to."

"but you did," hoshi snapped. "intentions don’t erase consequences." "you don’t deserve her," jeonghan muttered. "not after this. not anymore." seungcheol closed his eyes.

"i know."

he looked tired. not the kind of tired sleep could fix. the kind that made you wonder if you’d ever feel whole again. "i’m not asking to be forgiven. not by her. not by you. i’m not asking for anything. i just needed to say it. out loud. without pretending i didn’t fuck up." "you didn’t just fuck up," seungkwan said, staring straight at him. "you shattered someone who loved you unconditionally. and that kind of damage doesn’t come with second chances." "you destroyed something beautiful," woozi whispered. "on purpose. and no amount of guilt brings that back." mingyu snapped, his voice fiercer than he had ever been. "you broke her. you broke her. and you’re still standing here like you’re the one bleeding."

"i am bleeding!" seungcheol suddenly shouted, his voice cracking open like a wound.

"you think this isn’t killing me? you think i didn’t see her hands shaking when she tried to pick up her bag and leave? you think i didn’t hear the way her voice cracked when she asked me what she did wrong? you think i didn’t notice how small she looked when she walked away like she didn’t want to be seen crying? i saw all of it. and i didn’t stop her."

"then you’re worse than we thought," jeonghan muttered, disgusted. "because that means you chose to watch her break." "you were supposed to protect her," woozi said, arms crossed tightly, jaw locked. "you were supposed to be the one she ran to, not the one she ran from." "i was scared she’d leave," seungcheol whispered. "so you left first," joshua said. "don’t dress it up as fear. you abandoned her before she had the chance to hurt you. and in doing that, you crushed her." "and now she’s gone," minghao added. "and maybe she won’t come back. not after this. not after you." "good," mingyu muttered, eyes red. "she deserves better anyway."

seungcheol didn’t argue. he didn’t cry. he just stood there. and for once, not a single one of them moved to catch him. because this time, he had to fall.

you stared at the screen, heart stumbling in your chest.

“please... if you ever read this, just let us know you're okay.”

simple. soft. almost too careful. and somehow, it shattered your breath in your lungs.

it didn’t say "come back." it didn’t demand forgiveness. it didn’t pretend like everything was fine.

just… are you okay.

a second ding snapped you out of your thoughts.

slowly, you unlocked your phone and the same message reappeared.

your thumb hovered over the reply box. the cursor blinked expectantly, a small, pulsing invitation. your fingers trembled. you didn’t know what to say. how to answer. how to unravel the storm of emotion that churned beneath your ribs.

you had spent weeks burying the ache. painting over your grief with quiet routines and solitude. the first night alone, you didn’t sleep. the second night, you cried so hard you thought the walls would crack. by the fifth, your tears ran dry—but your heart stayed heavy.

and still, you stayed away.

you remembered the exact words thrown at you like knives. remembered how they didn’t flinch when you begged to be heard. remembered walking out with your dignity fraying, wondering if any of them would run after you.

none did.

you told yourself that was the end. that you had to move on. you filled your days with meaningless errands, sat alone in cafes where no one knew your name, stared at your reflection until you couldn’t recognize the girl who once stood on stage beside thirteen boys who promised you forever. but no matter how far you tried to run from that night, the memories lingered like bruises beneath your skin.

and yet... here was this message. not a grand gesture. not an apology.

a thread.

a whisper in the dark.

your thumb moved instinctively. maybe to type. maybe to block. maybe to finally scream everything you never got to say. but your chest tightened. your breath caught. your vision blurred.

you couldn’t answer. not yet.

forgiveness wasn’t easy. and love—once shattered—didn’t always come back whole. sometimes it returned cracked and tender, quieter than before, needing time to find its shape again. you closed your eyes, pressing the phone to your chest, as if you could absorb their remorse through the glass. the silence pressed in. your tea remained cold.

but there was something else now.

a seed. not quite hope. not yet forgiveness. just... a crack in the door. and yet, you smiled. faint, small, weak, but it was a smile. your lips curved upwards, your eyes twitched, and you smiled. you smiled.

and maybe a smile was all it took to change everything.

as it seems fate must have seen your smile, everything that unfolded the next few days went past in a blink of an eye.

it started small.

a box at your door. no name, no label—just a small, careful thing wrapped in brown paper and string. inside, a tiny fox plush you thought you’d lost forever. the one you used to carry on every tour stop, tucked safely into your bag. the one you clutched in your dorm bed during hard nights when the noise of the world grew too sharp. the one you left behind in your rush to escape the silence.

its fur was ragged. its eye was a little crooked, sewn back on with mismatched thread. but it was there. home. taped to its ear was a note. just three words, scrawled in a handwriting you knew by heart.

"we kept it."

you stared at it for hours, fingers curling tightly around its small body, the thread catching on your skin like memory. you didn’t cry. not yet. but the ache in your chest shifted. just a little.

two days later, your name trended. not for scandal. not for speculation. not for the usual rumors that followed silence. but for a song. seventeen had released a new track—no teasers, no schedule. just lyrics. and those lyrics were for you. you.

not directly. not by name. but in the way they sang about missing pieces. about empty spaces no light could fill. about the sound of laughter that no longer echoed in the corners of their home.

“we counted stars and missed one. the one we let fall.”

“we built a stage, but without you, it echoes.”

“sorry doesn’t rewind time—but if it could, we’d have shouted your name louder than our pride.”

the bridge was seungcheol’s voice—raw, hoarse, frayed with the weight of words too long unspoken.

“we thought silence would keep the peace. but we let it bury you.”

and when the chorus hit, something in you cracked. not like a break. more like the sound of a door finally creaking open after being shut too long. this wasn’t for image. this wasn’t to win anyone back. it was a confession laid bare, trembling on a melody. they didn’t stop.

little things. quiet things. deliberate things.

a delivery of banana milk—your favorite brand, always hard to find—arrived at your door, with a sticky note clumsily written in pink pen: don’t forget to eat, shortie <3 you knew that handwriting. woozi. though he’d never admit the heart was his.

then came a hoodie. yours. worn, familiar. it smelled faintly like jun’s cologne and the detergent from the dorm. something tucked into the pocket. a usb drive. you hesitated. then you remembered your smile from just a few days back. you missed smiling like that with them. you missed the pillow fights, the binge watching of kdramas at midnight (where you and seungkwan cried together every time), you missed the dorm chaos, the late night convenience store runs for instant noodles and hoshi's very important jongga kimchi, you missed the many hours of non-stop practicing and falling on your backs, exhausted when you were done but seventeen always encouraging you, you missed singing in woozi's recording studio, and yet most of all, you didn't want to admit it, but you missed them. without a second's thought, you plugged it in. your hands trembled.

it was a video.

no makeup. no glamour. no edits. just the thirteen boys you once called family, huddled in the messy dorm living room. no script. just heart. seungkwan was the first to speak.

“hi, y/n. if you’re watching this… i guess you didn’t block us. yet.” he tried to smile, but his lips trembled. “that’s… already more than we deserve.” he stepped aside, and the others took turns—raw, breaking, real.

jeonghan didn’t smile for once. his voice shook. “i was cruel. i acted like you were a burden. but it was me. i couldn’t admit how much i needed you. so i hurt you first. that’s cowardice. i know. and i’m sorry.”

mingyu looked like he hadn’t slept in days. dark circles, red-rimmed eyes. “you begged us to listen. and i… i stayed quiet. i thought it’d blow over. that you’d come back on your own. but you didn’t. because we broke something. and we’re the ones who need to fix it. not you.”

vernon didn’t say much. he sat in the back, silent tears tracing paths down his cheeks. his voice was quiet, almost inaudible. “i miss you every day. and god i'm sorry. for everything i said, i know my words hit you the hardest and i'd regret them every day for the rest of my life.”

joshua spoke gently, his voice a hushed apology. “i used to call you my little sister. but i wasn’t the brother you needed. i saw you slipping. i knew you were breaking. and i looked away.” his voice broke. “i failed you. i’m so sorry.”

dk had drawn something—a crumpled comic of you and the group, stick figures with exaggerated smiles and sparkles. at the bottom, it read: we’ll wait. even if it takes forever, because forever is the 14 of us. hoshi didn’t speak much. just held up a sign. you’re our 14th. you will and have always been. nothing changes that.

the camera panned. seokmin was crying silently, holding a tissue to his nose. even wonwoo—stoic, usually unreadable—was blinking fast, jaw clenched like he was holding back a sob. minghao’s voice, usually sharp and precise, came softer this time. “i thought i was being honest. but honesty without empathy is just… sharp edges. i was so focused on being right, i forgot what it meant to be kind. i forgot you. i’m so sorry.” then it was seungcheol again. he sat at the front, hands clasped tightly in his lap.

“no excuses,” he said. “no begging. just… if you still have space for us—any space—we’ll fill it with love this time. the kind that listens. that stays. that protects.” his voice cracked. “we’ll never be whole without you. but we don’t expect you to come back to broken promises. so this time, we’ll earn it. we'll wait, as long as eternity takes because fate will always bring us together, all fourteen of us, fate will lead the way back home.”

you didn’t reply. not right away.

but you watched that video three times a day.

you slept with the fox plush again. you cried into your pillow until your chest ached from the effort. you whispered their names like prayers, like scars, like lullabies. you missed them. you missed them. you missed seventeen.

and suddenly, one day, you showed up.

no warning. no message.

just the quiet sound of your footsteps outside the dorm, your hand hesitating on the door handle. your stomach lurched and hurled, your heartrate increasing rapidly. you could hear the blasting of music inside and the laughs that didn't quite resonate with you. those laughs weren't their laughs. you could imagine and picture how they smiled, but their smiles never really reached as high as usual. you breathed, and you pressed down the door handle. when you opened it, the music stopped. bodies froze. thirteen pairs of eyes turned toward you. the silence was deafening.

the dorm was dim, soft yellow light flickering against the walls, casting long shadows that felt more comforting than eerie. the quiet hum of the heater filled the space between heartbeats. no one spoke for a while—not out of awkwardness, but reverence. like they were sitting in the presence of something sacred.

you found your way back home.

you were back home.

you were home.

home.

you stood there, arms wrapped around yourself, heart thundering. and for a moment, no one moved. then seungcheol stepped forward, slow, cautious, like you were a dream he was afraid to touch. he didn’t reach out. didn’t overwhelm you. just looked you in the eyes. “don’t say anything if you’re not ready,” he whispered. “we won’t mess this up again. just… let us show you. let us try.”

and you broke.

not in anger. not in bitterness.

you folded.

you wept.

and they ran to you.

seungcheol was the first to break the silence, voice low, heavy.

“i rehearsed this a hundred times in my head,” he said, hands folded tightly in his lap. “and every time, i thought it wouldn’t matter. that maybe… we were too late. i led us. i’m supposed to protect us. and i failed you. i let the room turn against you, let the air grow too heavy for you to breathe. i thought if i kept quiet, if i stayed neutral, i could keep the peace. but silence was the wound. you didn’t need me to be neutral. you needed me to fight for you.” he looked down, knuckles white. “i’m sorry. i’ll never choose peace over you again.”

jeonghan leaned back against the couch, eyes fixed on the ceiling like he couldn’t bear to look at you directly. “you were always the softest of us. so easy to tease. i thought it was harmless—jokes, sarcasm, a little push here and there. but i crossed lines. i saw the cracks and kept poking anyway, because i didn’t want to deal with my own guilt. when you left, it felt like karma. and it hurt. because i finally saw how much you gave us, and how little we gave back. i’m sorry i didn’t protect your heart.”

joshua reached for your hand gently, like he was asking for permission just to hold it, and you let him. “i always said i’d be your big brother. but i wasn’t. i saw how tired you were, how much you wanted to be heard, and i did nothing. i thought… maybe you’d tell someone else. maybe it wasn’t my place. but i knew. and i didn’t act. and that’s worse than ignorance, isn’t it? i love you. we all do. and you deserved every ounce of that love when it would’ve mattered most.”

jun’s voice was quiet, but steady. “you made us laugh. even on days we didn’t deserve to smile. you stood beside us, even when we made you feel like you stood alone. and that’s what kills me. i let you feel alone. you were never a guest in this group. you were one of us. my family. my sister. and it breaks something in me to know you didn’t feel that. i’ll spend the rest of our days showing you differently.”

hoshi sat forward, elbows on his knees, heart in his throat. “i’m the mood maker, right? the sunshine. but when you needed light, i was somewhere else. i brushed off your pain. called it a bad day. told you to just cheer up. but you weren’t being dramatic. you were drowning. and i didn’t throw the rope. i let my brightness blind me. i’m so, so sorry.”

wonwoo cleared his throat, eyes fixed on the floor. “i don’t talk much. that’s not new. but with you, i thought you could feel my care, even in the quiet. turns out, silence doesn’t always equal comfort. sometimes, it’s just emptiness. i should’ve said something. anything. stood up. said, ‘hey, she’s hurting. why aren’t we listening?’ but i didn’t. and that silence, it haunts me.”

woozi was next. his voice, usually sharp and purposeful, cracked on the first syllable. “i pride myself on my words. on knowing how to say things in songs when i can’t in real life. but i had no lyrics for you. no defense. i failed you as a producer, as a member, as a brother. you were hurting right in front of me, and i just… turned it into fuel for another track instead of holding your hand. i don’t want to write about you in past tense anymore. i want you here. and i’ll work every day to earn that.”

minghao leaned forward, gaze intense but gentle. “i thought i was being fair. critical. honest. but my honesty cut too deep. i wanted you to grow, but not like that. not at the cost of your spirit. i forgot that growth without care is just cruelty. and i know now… i wasn’t helping. i was hurting you, and calling it ‘tough love.’ that’s not love. and i see that now. i want to be better. for you. for all of us.”

mingyu’s hands shook a little as he spoke. “i’m supposed to be the warm one. the one who notices when someone’s quiet, who cheers people up. but i didn’t notice you were breaking. i was too focused on my own stress, my own tunnel vision. and i took your strength for granted. thought you’d always bounce back. but you weren’t okay. and i didn’t see it until you were gone. i’m sorry. i missed you so much it hurt.”

dokyeom’s voice was thick with emotion, his eyes already red. “every time i laughed after you left, it felt wrong. like something sacred was missing. you were our harmony. our balance. our smile. and i didn’t defend you when the room turned cold. i should’ve shouted. should’ve cried. should’ve done something. but all i did was smile like everything was fine. and when you left, i realized… my smile was hollow without you.”

seungkwan didn’t try to hide his tears. “i was so mad at you. not because you left. but because i couldn’t stop you. because it hurt so much to watch you walk out and not chase after you. i was scared. scared that if i ran after you, you’d say goodbye to my face. and i couldn’t handle that. so i said nothing. and every day since, i wished i had done anything. screamed. cried. begged. something. because now all i have is regret.”

vernon was quiet, then said softly: “i didn’t know how to help you. i never know what to say when things go bad. but i saw you. i noticed when your smiles didn’t reach your eyes. i noticed when you stayed behind after practice. and i noticed… when the light in you started to flicker. and i just watched. i’m sorry i didn’t speak up. you deserved someone louder.”

dino reached for your hand last, eyes wide and brimming. “i always looked up to you. you made me feel like i wasn’t the only one who had to prove something. we were the youngest. we got each other. and i let you down. i thought if i stayed quiet, they’d stop fighting. but my silence made them think it was okay. i miss you so much. please let us try again. please let me stand with you this time.”

you looked around the room—at the broken boys who had once let you walk out without a word. and now, they were here, laying their hearts bare on the floor, asking for another chance not through performance or apology—but through vulnerability. your voice shook when you finally answered.

“it’s not perfect. i’m still healing. but… i believe you.”

the relief that washed over them was silent, like a storm breaking.

you were home.

and this time, they’d never let you feel alone in it again. they slowly huddle together, forming a circle around you, and then cheol asked, his voice shaky, "may we hug you?"

you didn't answer, yet your open arms gave them a good enough answer to absolutely give you the most tight-squeezing, suffocating hug you've ever been hugged your whole life. it wasn't to smother you, it wasn't to fix it in one hug. but to hold you. to cradle every piece of you that fractured that night. to apologize with every trembling breath.

dino clung to you, his body trembling. “i thought you hated me,” he sobbed. “i thought we lost you forever.” you cupped his face, tears streaking your cheeks. “you didn’t lose me,” you whispered. “i just needed time to find myself again.”

joshua stood behind him, eyes red. “can we… start over?” you smiled through your tears, voice shaking. “no. let’s pick up where we left off. but better.”

that night, the dorm felt like home again. laughter returned—cautious, softer, but real. you all sat in a circle. takeout containers half-eaten. hands tangled in yours. hoshi placed a paper crown on your head.

“for our princess,” he grinned. “the 14th star.” you laughed. really laughed. and so did they. their real laughs this time.

and something in you began to mend. they didn’t pretend everything was perfect. they didn’t rush your healing. but they stayed. they listened. they learned how to love you the right way.

and finally, for the first time in what felt like forever…

the stage lights were blinding.

but this time, they didn’t burn. they didn’t sting your eyes or remind you of all the moments you spent behind them, out of focus, always dancing a half-step behind, always trying to prove you were more than just the exception, more than just the only girl, more than just the youngest. tonight, they felt like sunlight. like the warm, late afternoon kind that filters through old windows and lands on your skin like a promise. they didn’t chase you away, they welcomed you in. and for the first time since your debut, you didn’t feel like an accessory to someone else’s spotlight. you felt like you were the light.

you stood in the center of the stage, not tucked in the corner, not shaded behind the boys’ silhouettes, not posed like a garnish to their performance. no. you were center. you were here. and when you looked down at your feet, planted firmly in the place you used to daydream about when you were practicing alone after hours, something bloomed in your chest that didn’t quite have a name. your spine was straight. your fingers trembled, but not with fear. your heart was loud — so loud — thudding like a second bassline in your ribs, shaking your lungs until you could barely breathe. and then the sound hit you. not the music yet. not the beat.

the crowd.

you could feel it rising like a wave, the kind that swells slow and wide, stretching to the sky before it crashes. and laced in that wave, embedded deep in the fabric of cheers and screams and chants, you heard it. your name. your real name. not just “maknae.” not “the girl.” not “the 14th.”

you.

you didn’t even realise you were crying until you tasted salt on your lips, swallowed down hard so your breath wouldn’t hitch over the opening move. but god, it was beautiful. they knew your name. the music started. and this time, you weren’t just trying to keep up with the tempo or stay perfectly in line behind the boys. you weren’t just part of the formation — you were the center of it. your movements didn’t feel like choreography anymore. they felt like instinct. like exhale. like home. every pop of your shoulder, every twist of your hips, every stomp of your foot, it wasn’t performance. it was expression. your whole body was telling a story you’d been aching to speak aloud for years. and then, just as your turn ended, you glanced sideways, and saw soonyoung already watching you. his grin wasn’t the big, explosive kind he wore on variety shows. it was quieter, warmer, full of meaning. he didn’t say anything, but his eyes said it all. “look at you. i always knew you could.”

when the final beat dropped, you hit your ending pose like a prayer, and the roar from the audience made your knees nearly buckle. you bowed, sweat clinging to your skin like a second outfit, confetti catching in your lashes. you blinked and laughed and covered your mouth with shaking fingers. the lights dimmed. the cheers still echoed. the music faded. you were dizzy — with joy, with disbelief, with the kind of high that comes only after you’ve given every piece of yourself to something you love. you walked backstage half-floating, heart still hammering, breath still caught somewhere between your throat and your ribs. you didn’t even hear jeonghan until he called your name for the third time, sharp and clear through the noise. “hey- hey! y/n!” you turned, startled, and then suddenly, you were surrounded. arms. laughter. warmth. a full-circle hug. thirteen boys pulling you in all at once, so tight you couldn’t breathe, and you didn’t even care.

“you crushed it,” mingyu said, voice cracking with pride as he held your shoulders like he couldn’t believe what he just saw. “center really suits you, huh?” seungkwan beamed, wiggling his eyebrows as he nudged you in the ribs. “stealing our spotlight already…” “yah,” wonwoo muttered with a teasing glare, though his voice was soft, full of warmth. “don’t make her cry again. she just stopped.” but you did cry. and you laughed through it. and it wasn’t the kind of crying that curled in your chest and whispered not enough. it was the kind that spilled over because your heart was finally too full to contain it. it was relief. it was release. it was finally. you wiped your face with the sleeves of your jacket and tried to form words, but everything stuck in your throat. finally, you whispered, “you guys didn’t have to do that. let me take center.” there was a beat of silence. and then seungcheol, your leader, your anchor, your forever shoulder, stepped forward and looked at you in a way that stilled the whole room. “we didn’t let you,” he said simply. “you earned it.”

you trended that night. not for drama. not as a sidenote in someone else’s fame. not as “seventeen’s only girl.” but as a name. as you.

“14th member of seventeen commands stage with emotional performance.” “y/n proves she’s not just the maknae, she’s the moment.” “seventeen’s youngest shines brighter than ever,fans call her the soul of the stage.”

you sat in the dressing room staring at the headlines, one hand over your mouth, the other clutching your phone like it might slip out of your fingers from shaking too hard. and behind you, chan leaned over and whispered, “told you the world would catch up.” his voice was low, but sure. like he never doubted it for a second. like he was just waiting for everyone else to see what he already knew. on carat twitter, your name trended in every language.

“i don’t know how to explain it but she felt like the stage tonight.” “from background to CENTER. she didn’t steal the spotlight — she was the spotlight.” “i cried during her solo move. her presence. her face. her confidence. it’s her era now.” “the members looking at her like she hung the moon. i’m sobbing.”

back at the dorm, they threw you a chaotic little party. a cake too sweet, candles from three different birthdays, and party hats made of folded paper. minghao handed you a single sunflower and said, “for growth.” jun added, “and for surviving us. honestly a miracle.” dokyeom shoved frosting on your nose and declared a food fight which (thankfully) seungcheol had stopped before it escalated to a full break out of food wars and digusting messes you all know will take a day to clean. vernon played your fancam on repeat on the TV, muted, like it was art in a museum. jeonghan stuck a sticker on your forehead and refused to let you take it off... okay you weren't quite sure how that one was related but it was jeonghan after all, soo anything really, would be an encouragement. and somewhere between the laughter and the cake and the yelling over karaoke mics, you sat cross-legged on the floor, a paper hat tilted sideways on your head, and looked around at them. thirteen boys you used to admire from a distance. thirteen boys who once scared you with their effortless synchronicity.

now? they were your family. your home.

your constellation. and for the first time since debut — you didn’t feel like you were trying to keep up. you weren’t behind. you weren’t “just” anything. you were seventeen. equally. fully. finally.

as the night softened into late hours and the noise faded into quiet conversations and half-finished karaoke songs, jihoon slipped a small folded paper into your hand. you blinked. “what’s this?” he didn’t meet your eyes. just shrugged. “something i should’ve said a long time ago.” you unfolded it carefully, heart already racing. his handwriting was messy. not his usual neatness — this was rushed, emotional, unfiltered.

“you were never slowing us down. you were teaching us how to slow down and see you. thank you for staying. thank you for dancing. thank you for being ours.”

you clutched the paper like a lifeline, lips trembling. you looked up, and all of them were watching you. not with guilt. not with pity.

but with love.

real, steady, unwavering love.

soonyoung grinned and leaned against your shoulder. “told you this would be your year.” mingyu pulled you in again, murmuring, “we don’t say it enough. but we’re lucky it was you.” seungkwan beamed through misty eyes. “you’re not ours because you're the girl. you're ours because no one else could ever be you.” and cheol, always the last, always the anchor, pulled you into one more hug and whispered in your ear, “you belong here. always have.” and in that moment, tucked between the chaos of the past and the starlit promise of tomorrow, you realised something. love — the real kind — doesn’t just show up. it sees you.

and tonight?

everyone saw you.

and you shone.

it started with silence.

the kind that wasn’t empty, but too full. full of unsaid words, shattered trust, unfinished memories. a silence that screamed in the corners of your apartment, that wrapped itself around your chest every night as you tried to sleep but only ended up staring at the ceiling, reliving the way his voice broke you. a silence that clung to the walls like smoke, curling into everything... your coffee, your shower, your reflection, reminding you of what once was, and what never would be again. it followed you like a shadow, uninvited but constant. like silence. like him. and for weeks, that’s all you gave him.

not because you wanted to hurt him, but because you had to protect yourself. after what he said, after the look in his eyes that night — sharp, cold, unfamiliar, there just wasn’t anything left to say. he had cut too deep, and it wasn’t just the words. it was the way he didn’t stop himself. the way he didn’t even flinch as you stood there with your heart in your hands, waiting for him to take it, and instead, he dropped it. dropped it like it meant nothing. like you meant nothing. so you left. not loudly. not with slamming doors or shouted curses. just… quietly. painfully. and you didn’t look back. no goodbye. no dramatic closure. just silence in return — the same silence he once gave you while you begged him to say something, anything, to explain. you gave it back. not to get even, but to get free.

your phone remained untouched. no read receipts. no notifications from him that you didn’t delete. you didn’t block him — you couldn’t bring yourself to. but you didn’t answer either. not once. because how do you respond to someone who only realised what they had after they lost it? how do you open the door to someone who didn’t fight to keep it closed? you saw the messages, even if you didn’t open them. one-liners at first. then longer ones. the kind that sounded like they were written at 2am, when regret feels loudest. then none at all. silence from him too — the kind that meant he was probably giving up. and still, that hurt more than it should’ve. because part of you wanted him to keep trying. even if you didn’t know what you’d do if he did.

until one night, there was a knock at your door.

you weren’t expecting anyone. your hair was messy, pulled up in a lazy bun. you wore the sweatshirt you always wore when your chest felt too heavy. your apartment was dimly lit, the rain tapping lightly on your windows. a half-drunk mug of tea sat forgotten on the counter. and when you opened the door just a crack — you saw him.

seungcheol.

hood pulled over his head, soaked from the light rain, holding a cardboard box in his arms like it weighed more than he did. his sneakers squelched slightly against the welcome mat, water dripping from the frayed edge of his sleeves. he looked like a ghost. one that still knew your name. you didn’t move. didn’t say anything at first. you just stared at him. he looked pale, tired, worn down — like he hadn’t slept well in weeks. the dark circles under his eyes told stories no words could. and finally, your voice came out, low and flat. “what do you want, seungcheol?” he blinked, momentarily taken back because normally you would never call him his name like that, but he deserved it. of course he did. exhaling shakily, he said four words. just four. “to fix what i broke.”

you didn’t say anything.

he adjusted his grip on the box, fingers curled too tightly around the sides. the cardboard looked damp near the edges, and you wondered if it was from the rain or from the way his hands wouldn’t stop shaking. “you can’t undo what you said,” you replied, the words falling out before you could stop them. not bitter. just honest. he nodded slowly. “i know.” “then why are you here?” his eyes met yours, and for a second, it looked like he might cry. he looked like he already had. “because i love you,” he said, and it felt like the air shifted. like the earth tilted just a little under your feet. your breath hitched. you didn’t know what to say. because those were the same words he’d used before — back when you believed them. back when they felt like safety, not a bruise. “because you deserved better than the way i treated you,” he continued, voice shaking now. “and i didn’t realise how much damage i caused until you were gone. and now i don’t even know if i have the right to ask…” he swallowed. looked down. then looked right at you.

“but… is it too late now to say sorry?”

your fingers tightened slightly on the door. his words hung in the air like fog. you finally spoke, slow and tired. “…what’s in the box?” “memories,” he said. “apologies. the truth. and maybe something that could be a start. if you’ll let it be.” you stared at him, heart tight. you hated how much you wanted to believe him. how much you still wanted him. “you think a bunch of letters can fix what you did?” he shook his head. “no. they’re not meant to fix anything. they’re just proof. that i haven’t stopped thinking about you. that i remember everything. that i still… want this. want you. if there’s even a small part of you that wants me too.” your chest ached.

“…i don’t forgive you.”

he nodded again. “i wouldn’t forgive me either.”

and maybe it was the way he didn’t try to fight that, didn’t beg or rush to defend himself — that made something in your expression shift. because for once, he wasn’t asking you to forget. he was asking you to feel. “…you look like shit,” you muttered. his laugh was short, breathless. “i feel worse.” still, you didn’t close the door. “…i’m not ready,” you whispered. his eyes softened. “i don’t need you to be.” and then — slowly, like he was afraid the moment might break — he crouched down and set the box gently by your feet. you didn’t touch it. not yet. but you saw it. saw the hoodie you hadn’t realised you missed. the envelope. the corner of a small photo album peeking through.

he backed up a step, hoodie dripping water onto your welcome mat. he looked like a boy again. someone who had once held your hand and made promises he didn’t know he’d break. “but when you are ready,” he said, voice steady despite the shaking in his chest, “i’ll be here. every day. same place. no pressure. just me. waiting.” he turned. and for some reason — you didn’t close the door. “…you really kept that polaroid of us in the rain?” you asked quietly. he turned back instantly. “of course i did.” you looked down. your voice came out smaller than you meant. “idiot.”

he smiled. but he didn’t say anything more. and then he walked away.

you didn’t open the box right away. it sat on your coffee table for a full day before you even touched it. and when you did, it broke you. the hoodie still smelled faintly like him. like cinnamon and clean laundry and memories you thought you’d buried. you buried your face in it before you could stop yourself. it was stupid how much comfort it brought. how much pain too. the letters — forty-three of them — were all numbered. some long, some short. all raw. all written in his unmistakable handwriting, smudged in places where it looked like tears had fallen. some had dates. some had drawings. one had a dried flower tucked inside. you cried at letter seventeen.

he did too, according to the page.

you didn’t know why that made you cry harder. the photo album — messy, scribbled, heartfelt — made you laugh and cry all over again. captions in his messy scrawl. inside jokes only the two of you would get. pictures that felt like time machines. you weren’t ready to miss him. but you did. more than ever.

you read everything. every note. every caption. every silent apology. but still, you didn’t text him. not yet. until a week later — when the silence finally stopped feeling like safety and started feeling like fear. when you realized your heart was still broken, but not closed. and that night, you sent a message.

[you free tomorrow?] simple. short. but it carried more than you would ever know. a pause. then another. [i’m not saying yes. just… meet me at the old bridge. 7pm.]

you didn’t know why you were crying. only that you couldn’t stop. he was already there when you arrived. hoodie. jeans. hands shoved into his pockets. eyes scanning the path like he didn’t want to hope — but couldn’t help it. you walked up slowly. neither of you said anything for the first minute. then you asked, “you really wrote forty-three letters?” he nodded. “i read all of them.”

his breath caught. “i didn’t know if you would.” “…i cried at letter seventeen,” you whispered. he smiled. eyes shining. “me too.” you looked at him. really looked. and for the first time in weeks — you smiled. small. shaky. real. “i’m still angry.” “i’ll hold your anger until you’re ready to let go,” he said softly. “i’m still hurt.” “then i’ll be gentle.” “i’m scared.” he reached out, fingers brushing your pinky. hesitant. trembling. “me too. but i’m not leaving this time.”

you stared down at your hands. then — slowly — you hooked your pinky with his. you leaned into his side. not all at once. not fully. just enough. “…you’re still an idiot,” you muttered under your breath.

"babeeee! y/n, are you doneeee?" he whines, making you giggle. vernon wasn't the type of boyfriend who usually showcased this much affection, but he sure was being whiny about it today.

"just give me a second!" you call out, the clicking sounds of your mouse representing your urgency.

"you said that ten seconds ago!" he scoots closer to you and tries to peek over your computer, but you cover it and playfully smack him away. "just a moment vernon, i'll be right there, hey!" suddenly, in a brief moment and in one smooth action, vernon takes the chance of you turning around to grab your glasses. in a flash, he's wearing them on himself, and winking at you. you want to be mad at him for interrupting your workflow, but after all, it was one email. work could wait. and who could say no to that attractive as hell face of his?

"give it back!" you grunt, but a light chuckle in your voice signals that you donn't really care as you thrashed around wildly in your boyfriends arms , trying to squirm and escape out of his strong grip as he laughs at your pitiful sight. with one hand around you and the other going higher and higher holding your glasses, you give up and let him put it on. you roll your eyes in a joking manner, but you can't help but blush at the sight of vernon in your glasses. god why was he so cute in anything yet even more adorable wearing your glasses?

seeming to have read your thoughts, he clicks his tongue and throws his other arm around you, pressing a light kiss to your cheek, making your heart flutter. "y/n, don't you think i look good in these glasses?'

"MY glasses you mean?" you correct, but a hidden underlying smile from his question is somehow too obvious as he smirks, "your glasses whatever blah blah, i mean, i think you think i look good in your glasses right?" you glare at him, but the way your cheeks are burning red isn't really helping your case either.

"whatever." you grumble, crossing your hands as you huff." i definitely look better in these glasses though...i think?" you say a moment after uncertainly, as if trying to prove a point, to gaslight...yourself? but of course, vernon was always there whenever you felt awkwardly uncomfortable. "hey, hey baby, i was just joking. you obviously pull these glasses off better than me. sorry, did i take it too far?" he places a warm kiss on your forehead, making your stomach dance in butterflies as you shake your head repeatedly, your face by now literally in flaming red.

"no, no i'm fine. i meant, i know i look better in my own glasses, i mean duh?" you stick your tongue out, grabbing back your glasses and placing them on you, proceeding to showcase a few, well, let's just say, very interesting poses. vernon is dying, as he collapses back on the bed. "y/n, where did you learn...all that?" he asks in between laughet, patting the bed as if motioning for you to come join him.

eagerly, you climb on the bed and slide right next to him. he subtly stretches his arm to your side to somewhat pull you in closer to him as he says, "babe... i really think you look better than me, especially in those glasses." your heart skips a beat, stopping for just a split second as you regain your hearing. your heart is thumping, no pounding, no hammering, wildly against your ribcage, your chest hurting slightly as you are beetroot red. "oh nonie...where'd i ever find such a perfect boyfriend like you ever again in my lifetime?"

"you don't need to cause you'll be mine till we're on our deathbeds." he whispers softly in your ear, nudging your shoulder to look at him in the eye. "you're really beautiful, you know that right?" every word makes you go through another shade of fifty shades of red as you nod shyly, not used to his unusual love affection like this.

"you're the prettiest girl in this world." his words strike a chord in your heart as he lands a delicate kiss on your lips.

in woozi's universe factory

"yah! stop eating the snacks—we're recording!" you froze mid-crunch, chip halfway to your mouth, caught like a deer in woozi's judgmental studio glare. "they were staring at me," you said, solemnly, holding the bag up like it had pleaded for rescue. "i had no choice." "you had every choice," woozi groaned through the intercom. "you chose violence. again." hoshi collapsed next to you, laughter spilling out like glitter. "she's too powerful. even the chips respect her." dokyeom clutched his chest. "you betrayed our sacred recording booth for snacks?" "they were sour cream and onion," you said, unfazed. "oh. valid."

jeonghan tried to steal one, but seungkwan had already taken three and was screeching, "MINE! I CLAIMED THEM FIRST," as they began physically wrestling under the studio desk. vernon, in the corner, headphones on, watched a frog documentary for the third time this week. mingyu entered with a blackened waffle on a fork. "the toaster attacked me again." jun stared. "how is it both frozen and burnt?"

"i wanted it... extra toasty," mingyu mumbled. "you exorcised it." "why does this always happen when she's here?" seungcheol whispered, pinching his nose. minghao entered, took in the chaos, and turned around.

"nope."

in the practice room

dance practice with them was like choreographing a hurricane. hoshi was shouting counts, seungkwan was mid-rant about a ripped sock, and you had just slipped on someone's water bottle. "who leaves a bottle open on the floor?!" "freedom," chan said, picking it up.

hoshi demonstrated a turn-spin-jump combo, shouted "got it?" and fell dramatically onto the ground. "hoshi hyung, the floor again?" "it’s jealous of my energy," he wheezed.

"you tripped on air."

"it was intense air."

woozi paused the music. "one more mistake and i’m chaining you all to the beat." "that sounds like a new genre," you offered. "prison pop." "it already exists. it's called being in a group with you," minghao muttered. all of you fake gasps, and minghao just returns the favour with judgemental, and when i mean judgemental, i mean judgemental stares.

dorm life

living with thirteen boys meant every day was unpredictable.

there was a toothpaste war. jeonghan blamed mingyu. mingyu blamed gravity. you found toothpaste in your sock. "i'm innocent!" mingyu cried. "you squeezed it from the middle," jeonghan hissed. "like a criminal."

seungkwan screamed because dokyeom microwaved foil. again. "IT SPARKED," dokyeom shouted. "because it's metal! this is why we can’t have appliances!" joshua, sipping tea, whispered, "i tried. i truly did."

your room had become a plushie jungle. courtesy of seungcheol, who gave you one every time he missed you. teddy bears, countless teddy ears, rabbits, ducks, cats, dogs, even plushies of each seventeen member that looked scarily too real filled up your bed, a life sized cut-board standee of you next to the door, as if guarding it, more teddy bears and did i mention teddy bears? now a terrifyingly muscular dinosaur named "dinosaur" sat beside your bed. (in vernon's defense you said you wanted a unique name) chan gifted you a screaming frog toy. "its name is boonboo," he said.

"why boonboo?"

"because it screams like seungkwan."

"i do not scream—" seungkwan screamed.

thirteen chaotic members, but they were your chaos

seungcheol pulled you aside one night. ramen between you, hearts wide open. "you make us better," he said. "you made me softer. stronger. more annoying." "thanks, dad." he sniffled. "my proudest daughter."

jeonghan started a prank war. he hid alarm clocks in your walls that gave you a headache for an hour. you replaced his shampoo with green hair dye. he filled your shoes with whipped cream. it escalated until the manager banned all “revenge plotting within 10 feet of shared oxygen.”

joshua tried to teach you guitar. you broke a string. then another. "...maybe percussion?" he offered gently. you played offkey on the piano. you hit too hard on a cajon you whined in pain. he just smiled and said, “maybe you’re better at… triangle.”

jun dragged you into a viral dance challenge. you tripped. he posted it. 3 million views. "we're legends," he said. "we're memes." "we're icons." he argued. "we're memes." you corrected. "same thing."

hoshi made you tiger roar before every show. "this is so cringe." "you're not in the moment yet, just keep doing it every day and you can be my partner in crime." he giggles, lifting your tired hand back to the "horanghae" sign. you stuck out your tongue.

wonwoo left you books with sticky notes: "this part has dragons. you're the dragon." "what?" "nothing." you raise and eyebrow and he covers his face with a book, only for you to cross your arms akimbo, huffing, "so you read upside down now?"

woozi let you into his studio. you hummed off-key. he rolled his eyes but saved the file. "you're chaos," he muttered. "i'm your chaos." "unfortunately." "lowkey my whistle was good." you challenge, and he replays the track. he rolled his eyes. “fine. it works. you chaotic genius.”

minghao took you to museums on your days off. you stared at a blank canvas. “what does it mean?” you asked. “it reminds me of your brain sometimes.” you hit him with a brochure.

mingyu tried baking cookies. they became bricks. cold, hard, yet burnt? "how does one do that..." you mumble under your breath, patting his back as he cried. you painted eyes on them and from that day, always gave stupid excuses to avoid eating his cookies.

dokyeom sang lullabies. one night, he used "baby shark." it worked. now it's a tradition. sometimes you join, although i guess voice cracks were way more often late at night. "i think you should leave the sharks alone." he chuckled, as you chuck a pillow at him, and a pillow fight occurs.

seungkwan forced you to try teas. "this one's for emotional balance." "it tastes like dirt and betrayal." "you’re welcome." the next one was worse. “this one helps sadness.” you gave a skeptical eye but he flashed you a cheeky smile and practically shoved it in your hands to drink anyway. “it tastes like feet.” you gag. “that means it’s working, wait how do you know how feet tastes like?”

vernon handed you headphones. "block the idiots." "you’re an idiot too." "i know." he shoots a thumbs up and you sigh. "is that your default pose?" you frown. "no, you just never asked."

chan let you choreograph an intro. it became everyone's favourite part. "told you you’re a star," he said. you smiled, brightly, and so did everyone else. you were a star. their star.

on stage, together

the lights dimmed. the fans screamed. and you stood in the middle of it all—between the boys who broke your heart and then fought like hell to mend it. you sang. you danced. you smiled like the past didn’t weigh you down anymore.

hoshi spun you mid-dance like a princess. jun winked at the camera. mingyu almost tripped but you caught him this time. woozi gave you a discreet thumbs-up mid-chorus. minghao nodded at you from the shadows. seungkwan sent about 14 diff variations of hearts. dino blew kisses. seungcheol smiled with the softness of someone who had almost lost everything.

you ended the song in perfect sync, the final note ringing through the air like a ribbon tied around everything you'd survived. as the music faded, you turned—and they were all there.

smiling. proud. whole.

the 14 of you hit that final pose like it was written in your blood. the fans screamed. you smiled. behind you, they reached out, linked hands, hearts wide open.

you grinned so wide it hurt.

“one more time?” you asked, catching your breath.

“always,” seungcheol said.

home is where seventeen is

home wasn’t a building. it wasn’t the practice room. it wasn’t the stage. it wasn’t even the dorm with fourteen toothbrushes and burnt waffles and people falling over air.

it was them.

their chaos. their laughter. their voices yelling over each other. the group chat with 2,605 unread messages titled “14 idiots 1 soul.” it was the arms you ran back to. and the hearts that never stopped waiting for you.

it was laughter. forgiveness. chaos. second chances.

13 boys who were your forever, even when they got it wrong the first time.

home was a second chance.

and you?

you were finally, ridiculously, overwhelmingly happy.

you weren’t just back.

scoups:

his girlfriend is definitely someone who he is scared of like how his members fear him because of his aura, as soon as he comes home from work, he will be running for his life if he sees his girlfriend mad. he always tries to please her, giving their relationship his all and on most occasions she returns the love, making them quite a happy couple with a healthy relationship (unless cheol pisses her off then you already know he’s sleeping on the couch tonight😃).

jeonghan:

his girlfriend isn’t the angel you think she is either, just like him, because he would need someone to be his evil partner when joshuas not around. she is very playful and pranks jeonghan’s members too, making seventeen groan internally whenever jeonghan brings her to practice with him. she has an outgoing and bubbly personality (1), makes friends with anyone and everyone to “earn” their trust, just to prank them afterwards.

joshua:

unlike her boyfriend, she is someone very calm and collected, and if i do repeat myself, ✨NORMAL✨ she’s got long, smooth hair that matched her visuals so everyone calls her and joshua the visual couple, she puts up with shua’s antics because anything he does is cute to her, blushes whenever he calls her baby, is the melt absolutely KINDEST soul you’ve ever met and could do no wrong, the main reason why joshua fell in love with her anyway.

jun:

girlfriend is unexpectedly funny, just like him. an introvert obviously, but she knows jsut when and what to do to make you laugh or smile after a bad day, and did i mention an amazing cook? (her food is so good svt begs jun to ask her to make some for them) makes jun the best chinese mala dishes ever and treats jun as her number one priority, MAJOR green flag!!!

hoshi:

isn’t it obvious? his girl would definitely have that tiger energy in her as well, bringing headaches to every single seventeen member whenever she tags along during practice because oh damn you bet she’s loud and crazy and chaotic, just like hoshi. they call her the tigress, but svt has to admit she’s got the skills of a dancer too (also part of the reason why hoshi went head over heels over her was because he saw her effortless and flowly yet sharp dancing and loved her artistic style🔥) likes to tease hoshi by joining in on the anti horanghae club, often hears and keyword, IGNORES hoshi’s complains on how she likes woozi more than him but can you blame her?🐯

wonwoo:

his girlfriend is interesting. she's mysterious, her feelings so hidden only someone so close to her like wonwoo would know what she's feeling or thinking. she looks really cold on the outside, but is the absolute sweetheart inside once you get to know her. LOVES mystery and crime shows, and reads books so much wonwoo had to built her a small library in their shared apartment. the seventeen members and wonwoo himself sometimes feel intrigued to knowing more about her. she also loves cats and although has an RBF, couldn't hurt a fly because she's so sweet.

woozi:

his girlfriend loves music. albums, records, vinyl players, radios, dg booths, she loves them all. instead of being quiet, she's actually quite talkative and an extrovert who gets along well with basically everyone. finds woozi's height cute and pinches his cheeks every time they go to the studio. cries a lot and very emotional, but her tears aren't always sad tears and most of the time are tears of overflowing joy and pride whenever seventeen wins an award, the most supportive girlfriend to her boyfriend's career fr.

the8:

his girlfriend loves the art and can make REALLY good tea. chamomile, green, earl grey, fruit teas, you name it, she somehow has the ingredients and teabags for it???🍵🍃 very peaceful and understanding so her and minghao barely ever fight. she gives in really easily, and is sort of the peacemaker, her voice alone enough to calm down any tension. the one who suggested her boyfriend to start trying yoga and meditating with her to which he eagerly agrees to. her voice is music to anyone's ears, and never, ever does raise her voice at anyone, doesn't hold grudges and VERY forgiving.

mingyu:

unlike him, she is very focused, neat and organised, and is polar opposites to mingyu because she's careful and firm, somewhat a perfectionist but then again, mingyu defends with "opposites attract" which is somewhat true, because they fell in love at first sight after he accidentally knocked down her cup of coffee on himseld one random night at a cafe. she loves reading up on animals and is the BIGGEST eco friendly enthusiast on earth, cares passionately about saving the environment so makes seventeen recycle and use sustainable materials but that just makes mingyu fall in love with her once again.

dokyeom:

his girlfriend is the cheery girl version of himself. cute and short, but her heart is bigger than the universe. has a burning interest towards nursing and healthcare, and is incredibly smart too! loves taking care of children and aspires to be a pediatric nurse. she has a strong set of values and a moral compass that she sticks by too, and will NOT tolerate it if anyone crosses the line, breaks her limits or hates on her boyfriend because let's all be fr, who hates our happy pill dk right?

seungkwan:

his girlfriend has has an outgoing and bubbly personality (2), never fails to make anybody laugh. she is seungkwan's whole motivation to keep going and she would do anything, and i mean anything, in a heartbeat for his boyfriend. she does NOT care about any hate comments and defends her boyfriend very aggressively, but a smile is always plastered on her face and she's always bright and positive, lighting up anyone's day. she is the diva and is just as if not even more savage than seungkwan, does not gaf and would roast seventeen as if she owned the place. this world is hers, and we're all just living in it:D she actively peels oranges for seungkwan because it is "good for him"🍊.

vernon:

like him, his girlfriend lives her life exactly how you expect her to. nothing fun, nothing boring, but at times, she does break "character" and wants attention from her boyfriend who of course, instantly melts at her eyes that he doesn't know whether to describe cute, or a look of "vernon hansol chwe you better look at me this instant or i will dig your eyes out" YES, kinda creepy and gives silent treatment when mad so yeah...she's chill with her girls though and very generously splurges on her friends, treating them to whatever whenever because she also helps to pay the bills out here, but may or may not fake her "anger" sometimes just to see the pitiful side of vernon because she likes to spice her life up a bit, yk?

dino:

you wake to the sound of soft birdsong and the way golden light seeps through the cracks in the curtains. everything feels still, like the world hasn't fully woken up yet. your bed is warm, your blanket tangled around your legs, and the hoodie you're wrapped in smells like him—fresh laundry and that familiar trace of his cologne that always makes you feel safe. he’s not beside you, but the sheets are still warm where he lay, and there's something gentle in the air… like music, maybe? soft hums and the faintest sound of something sizzling. vyou blink slowly, then stretch. sunlight brushes over your skin like a kiss, and the smell drifting in from the kitchen is unmistakable—vanilla, butter, something sweet.

your heart already knows.

you shuffle out of bed in your socks and his hoodie, sleeves way too long, steps quiet on the wooden floor. you don’t say anything when you reach the doorway. you just watch. and damn do you smile too. your heart is already blooming and it wasn't even nine yet. he was perfect. joshua stands at the stove, his back to you, the early sunlight painting his profile in soft gold. he's humming—something slow, almost jazzy, like he's part of an old vinyl record. his hair is messy, curls a little flattened on one side. he looks like a dream you don’t want to wake up from. you smile wider this time, hugging yourself a little. he turns just then, catching you with sleepy eyes and a soft grin. he chuckles, making your heart beat just a little faster. “well good morning to you beautiful,” he says, like the words are wrapped in honey. “did i wake you?”

you shake your head, stepping into the kitchen. “no. the smell of pancakes woke me. and… you humming.” he chuckles, setting the spatula down. “was i that loud?” “no,” you say, wrapping your arms around him from behind. “you were just… peaceful. it made me want to find you.” his hands cover yours instantly, warm and grounding. he sways a little with you like there’s music only the two of you can hear. “i wanted to let you sleep in,” he says, voice soft. “you looked really peaceful.”

“so you made pancakes?”

“and coffee. and cut fruit. and… well, i may have burned the first pancake but we don’t talk about that one.” you laugh quietly into his shoulder. “you’re kind of perfect.” he hums. “kind of?” you smile against him. “i’ll let you know after i taste the pancakes.” he spins in your arms, hands still holding yours, and presses a soft kiss to your temple. “deal.”

he plates everything gently, like it’s sacred. pancakes with cinnamon, maple syrup, strawberries cut into little hearts, of course, and two steaming mugs of coffee, one with the exact amount of sugar you like. “breakfast is served,” he says, sliding a plate toward you as you sit at the table. the moment feels like something out of a movie. morning light spilling over the table, soft music still playing from the speaker in the background, your knees brushing under the table. “you did all this just to let me sleep?” you ask.

“i did all this because i love you,” he says simply, sipping his coffee.

you go still for a second. not from shock, but from the way your chest swells. because he says it like it’s easy. like it’s obvious. “you’re really just gonna drop that like it’s nothing, huh?” he tilts his head, smile soft. “it’s not nothing. it’s everything. but it doesn’t have to be heavy.” your heart does a little somersault. you take a bite of pancake, and it’s fluffy, warm, cinnamon-sweet. “okay,” you say with a small grin. “you’re perfect.” he lifts a strawberry with his fork and holds it out to you. “only if you say it again.”

“you’re perfect.”

“again.”

you laugh, taking the bite. “you’re impossible.” he leans in, brushing a kiss to the tip of your nose. “and you’re beautiful in the morning.” you nearly melt into your chair. you take a sip of your coffee—warm, perfectly sweetened, just the way you like it. he watches you like it's his favorite show, chin resting in his hand, eyes fond. "what?" you ask, cheeks warm. "nothing," he murmurs. "just thinking about how lucky i am."

after breakfast, you help him rinse the plates while he dries them. he keeps bumping into your side on purpose, and when you flick a few water droplets at him, he gasps like you’ve declared war. “you really wanna start something, baby?” “what are you gonna do, splash me back?” he grins, mischief dancing in his eyes. and then he grabs the faucet sprayer. you shriek and duck behind the counter, laughing so hard your stomach hurts. somehow, it ends with you both damp, breathless, and leaning against the sink, foreheads pressed together. “we’re such idiots.” you murmur.

“and yet you love me anyway.”

“i do.”

you say it so naturally, so easily, and the way he looks at you in that moment makes your knees go a little weak. "come on," he says softly, pulling you by the hand. "blanket. couch. you. now." you don’t even need to answer. you just follow. you end up back on the couch, wrapped in a blanket too big for two people, but you make it work. his arm is around you, your legs tangled in his lap, the soft sound of acoustic music humming through the speaker.

outside, the sun is bright and slow. your coffee mugs are still warm on the coffee table. your heart is full. his fingers trace gentle patterns on your arm, and you close your eyes. “we could bake something later,” you mumble sleepily. “cookies. or banana bread.” “only if we slow dance in the kitchen while we wait for it to bake,” he says. you lift your head just enough to look at him. “you really are trying to win boyfriend of the year, huh?” he smiles, brushing your hair out of your face. “just trying to be worthy of you.” you stare at him for a beat too long. then, in a voice so soft it nearly disappears, you say, “you always have been.”

without a word, he leans in and kisses you—slow, unrushed, like you have all the time in the world. like this is the only moment that exists. his hand cups your cheek, and yours slips into his hair, tugging gently. when you finally pull away, he rests his forehead against yours. “i could live in this moment forever,” he whispers. “me too.” later, as you slow dance barefoot in the kitchen with banana bread in the oven, joshua’s hands resting at your waist, your head on his shoulder, you realise something: