࣪ ִֶָ☾.Sky Capsule • E.S ּ ֶָ֢.
soft healing au, fluff, comfort, no swearing, gentle vibes, 4k+ words.
ּ ֶָ֢.syn. one quiet evening in busan, you share a pastel sky capsule with a serendipitous stranger, and that small moment overlooking the ocean is the start of everything you thought you’d never get to have ֶָ֢.
The dream begins the way dawn touches the sea - slowly, gently, like a secret being revealed.
You're standing on a stage, but it doesn't feel like a stage.
It feels like the ocean floor.
The lights above you ripple like waves, bending and shimmering as if sunlight is filtering through miles of blue water. Every beam moves with the softness of a tide, brushing over your skin like warm currents. The air tastes faintly of salt and something sweet - like the moment before a wave breaks.
The crowd in front of you isn't loud.
They're glowing.
Faces blur into a soft, luminous haze, like lanterns floating on the surface of the sea. Their cheers rise and fall like the pull of the tide - rhythmic, gentle, surrounding you completely. You can feel their warmth, their hope, their breath held in unison.
You inhale.
The dream inhales with you.
When you open your mouth to sing, the sound doesn't feel like a voice.
It feels like water.
Warm, smooth, flowing out of you in ribbons of light. It wraps around the room, around the people, around your own body like a soft current. Every note drifts upward, shimmering, dissolving into the ocean‑colored air.
Someone in the crowd cries.
Someone reaches out.
Someone presses a hand to their heart.
The dream folds around you like a tide pulling you deeper, deeper, deeper-
And then it lets you go.
You wake up.
The real world enters slowly, like surf retreating from your ankles. Your eyes open to the pale morning light of Busan filtering through your small apartment window. The blinds are half‑open, half‑snagged, hanging crookedly like they always do - catching the sunlight in uneven stripes across your floor.
Outside, the street is already alive.
Scooters hum.
Vendors call out.
The city breathes in warm, bustling rhythms.
You sit up, the last traces of the dream clinging to your chest like seafoam.
Your apartment is small, but it meets your necessities.
The window is tiny, but it frames a world that never stops moving.
You stand and tug at the blinds, but they snag again, rattling stubbornly. You sigh and walk into the bathroom.
The light blue walls greet you softly, like a calm morning sky. Little bunny decals hop across the tiles, and the bunny‑shaped soap dispenser sits by the sink, smiling its permanent plastic smile.
Your mom helped you paint this room.
She picked the color.
She placed every bunny sticker with careful hands.
She said it should feel like a place where you could breathe.
That was before she passed.
You touch the counter for a moment, grounding yourself in the memory, then turn on the faucet. Cool water runs over your hands, over your face, washing away the last of sleep.
You pat your skin dry with the soft towel - the one with the embroidered bunny ears - and breathe in.
Filling a glass, take a sip of water, the coolness waking you up more than anything else. Your throat feels dry, your eyes still heavy, so you hum a little - not a song, just a soft sound to keep yourself company as you move around your kitchen.
Your fridge opens with a tired creak.
Inside, the shelves look as exhausted as you feel.
A small block of cheese wrapped in plastic.
Leftover takeout noodles from two nights ago.
Two eggs sitting in the corner like they're trying their best.
You exhale through your nose, not frustrated - just used to it.
You pull everything out and set it on the counter. The pan warms under your hand, the metal clicking softly as it heats. You crack the eggs, stir the noodles in, sprinkle in the cheese, and the smell of fried rice fills the room - simple, warm, familiar.
⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆
⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆
You hum again, this time a little melody you've always liked. Your voice is soft, but it carries through the small apartment easily.
You've always had a beautiful voice.
It was the one thing that made you feel like you weren't falling behind. School had never been your strong suit - no matter how hard you tried, the grades never matched the effort. You weren't the kind of student teachers praised. You weren't the kind your mother bragged about to relatives.
You tried.
You really did.
But trying didn't always mean succeeding.
Your mother never yelled.
But you saw the sadness sometimes.
The worry.
The fear that the world would be too heavy for you.
So you sang.
Your father used to sing too - at clubs, in smoky rooms, in places filled with neon lights. At least, that's what your mother told you before he left. You never heard him yourself. But sometimes you wondered if your voice came from him, like a small piece of him stayed behind even when he didn't.
You finish cooking and sit at your tiny table, the plate warm beneath your fingers. You take a bite, humming again, letting the morning settle around you.
Then your phone buzzes.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
You check it.
The owner of the restaurant down the street - the one where you work - is messaging you again.
We're understaffed. Can you come in early? Please?
Another notification pops up.
Your landlord.
Rent is due. Please confirm payment.
Your humming stops.
The note you were singing breaks off mid‑sound, hanging in the air for a moment before disappearing.
Your chest tightens a little.
Your voice...
It wouldn't carry you through life.
Not the way you once hoped.
Not the way you dreamed as a kid.
It wasn't realistic.
It wasn't enough.
You take another bite of fried rice, chewing slowly, staring at nothing.
You finish eating slowly, letting the last bite settle before you stand. The plate clinks softly as you place it in the sink. You turn the faucet on-
Or try to.
The handle lifts, the metal squeaks, but nothing comes out.
Not even a drip.
The water is out again.
You stare at the faucet for a moment, your shoulders sinking just slightly. But you don't say anything. You don't curse or groan. You just breathe out quietly and move on, the way you've learned to.
You wipe the plate with a paper towel instead, set it aside, and walk toward the entryway.
Your mirror hangs there - small, a little scratched, but familiar. You stand in front of it as you pull on your work clothes: a simple shirt, comfortable pants, nothing fancy. You tie your hair back gently, smoothing the strands with your fingers.
Then you look at your face.
You've always been pretty - not in a loud, dramatic way, but in a soft, almost fragile way. Your eyes tilt downward just enough to give you a naturally gentle expression, like you're always on the verge of asking if someone needs help. Your features are delicate, warm, quietly expressive.
You put on a little chapstick, pressing your lips together.
Then you grab your bag and hurry out the door.
✮
✮
Outside, the morning air is cool, brushing against your cheeks as you walk toward the crosswalk. The city is already awake - buses rumbling, vendors calling out, the smell of bread drifting from a bakery down the street.
Your phone buzzes.
A message from your friends.
We're going shopping later! Come with us!
You stare at the screen for a moment.
You can't.
You can't even pay rent.
You can't even get running water in your apartment.
You lock your phone and slip it back into your pocket.
You hum again - softly, almost without thinking - just something to fill the space around you.
An older lady beside you turns her head.
"My, you have such a lovely voice," she says with a warm smile. "You should become one of those big singers in the K‑pop groups."
You smile back, but your eyes drop to the ground.
You had tried.
Forty‑three times.
Forty‑three auditions.
Forty‑three rejections.
Every time you stepped on a stage, your throat tightened. Your hands shook. Your voice, the one thing you were proud of, hid somewhere deep inside you. You couldn't dance. You couldn't project confidence. You couldn't be the version of yourself they needed.
You thank the lady quietly.
The crosswalk light changes.
You walk across the street and head toward the restaurant where you work, the morning sun warming your back.
---
Work feels endless.
You clean tables, wipe down menus, refill water glasses, seat customers, take orders, smile when you're supposed to, apologize when you're supposed to, and move from one task to the next until the hours blur together. The restaurant is loud, hot, and crowded, and your feet ache long before your shift is even halfway over.
But you keep going.
You always do.
By the time the last customer leaves, it feels like you've lived an entire day inside one shift. You lock the door, sweep the floor, stack the chairs, and finally step outside into the cooler late-day air.
Your phone buzzes.
You check it.
Your landlord.
If rent is not paid by tomorrow, you will need to vacate the apartment.
Your stomach sinks.
You stare at the message for a long moment, the glow of the screen lighting your face in the dark. You swallow hard, slip your phone back into your pocket, and start walking.
Maybe a warm shower will help.
Maybe it will wash off the exhaustion, the worry, the heaviness sitting in your chest.
You unlock your apartment door, step inside, and turn the faucet-
Nothing.
Not even a sputter.
The water is still out.
You stand there for a moment, staring at the sink, feeling something inside you quietly fold in on itself. You think about your dream from that morning - the stage, the lights, the feeling of being seen - and it feels impossibly far away now.
Maybe dreams like that aren't meant for you.
Maybe they never were.
You miss your mom.
You miss her voice, her hands, the way she always knew what to say. You miss the places she used to take you - little escapes from the world when things felt too heavy.
Your fingers tighten around the strap of your worn bag.
Instead of staying in the apartment, you turn around and leave.
You walk through the evening streets of Busan, using the stray dollars left from your lunch break. The city lights blur past you - neon signs, headlights, the glow of convenience stores - until you reach the place your mom used to bring you when you were younger.
The Busan Sky Capsule.
࣪ ִֶָ☾.
ּ ֶָ֢.
(So these actually probably cost more than lunch money. And also they go a long distance and stop at a different point down south, not going back to the same place, but for the storie's sake I will forsake logic)
A quiet point overlooking the ocean, where the world feels a little softer.
You walk up the steps slowly, almost aimlessly, and pay for a ride. The attendant nods and gestures you forward. You step into the capsule, the small trolley swaying gently as you sit down.
You exhale, letting your shoulders drop for the first time all day.
Just as the doors begin to close-
A figure approaches.
A young man.
He hands his ticket to the attendant, steps inside the same one as you, and sits across from you just as the doors slide shut with a soft mechanical hum.
The trolley makes a dingimg sound and you begin to move forward smoothly.
It glides forward with a gentle hum, metal wheels rolling smoothly along the track. The ocean stretches out beside you, dark and calm, reflecting the faint glow of the city lights. You sit quietly, hands folded in your lap, eyes drifting toward the window.
Across from you, the young man sits in the same stillness - looking out his own window, shoulders relaxed but his expression carrying something tired, something worn. There's a softness to him, though. A gentleness in the way he breathes, in the way his eyes follow the coastline.
⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆
࣪ ִֶָ☾.
You glance at him for a second.
He's... attractive.
Not in a loud way - in a quiet, steady way.
Someone who looks like he feels things deeply.
You turn back to your window, but your chapstick slips from your fingers and drops to the floor with a soft clatter.
Your face heats instantly.
Before you can reach for it, he leans down, picks it up carefully, and holds it out to you with a small, warm smile.
Something about that smile melts straight through your chest.
"Thank you..." you say softly, taking it from him.
You turn back toward your window, sitting very still, trying not to make any sudden movements. But you can feel him looking at you - not staring, just... noticing.
After a moment, he speaks, voice low and gentle.
"Um... I hope I'm not intruding on your ride. It was the last one they were doing for the day, so... I had to get in this one."
You shake your head quickly. "Don't worry about it at all."
He nods, eyes dropping to his hands, then flicking back up to you. You can tell he's shy - just as shy as you are.
"What's your name?" he asks quietly. "I'm... Seonghyeon."
You smile, small but genuine. "(Y/n)."
His lips curve again - this time without holding back.
"That's a pretty-" he stops, clears his throat, tries again. "I mean... that's a pretty nice name."
You look down, fiddling with the hem of your jacket.
"Where do you work? Do you live here?" he asks gently.
You nod. "I work at a restaurant. Not that far from my apartment."
Your voice dips a little at the end, the exhaustion slipping through.
He notices. His expression softens. "Oh."
You look up. "What about you?"
"I live in Seoul," he says, "but I grew up in Seo‑gu, Daejeon."
You nod, smiling faintly.
Then your phone buzzes.
A message from your friends.
'Guess you're a no‑show again? Lame.'
Your face falls before you can stop it. You try to hide it - you really do - but the hurt sits too close to the surface tonight.
You clear your throat. "What do you do?"
He hesitates for a second, then answers honestly.
"I'm a singer."
Your eyes brighten just a little. "I've always wanted to be one... I wish I could. It's the only thing I'm good at."
He tilts his head. "Why didn't you audition?"
"I did," you say quietly. "A lot. And I never got in."
You swallow.
"And even if I did... it probably wouldn't pay enough. I'll have to keep working my job and... have no water and... not even be able to pay rent."
You freeze.
Your breath catches.
"I'm... sorry," you whisper. "I shouldn't just vent like that to you."
His face shifts - sadness, concern, something gentle and deeply human settling into his expression.
"You can't pay rent?" he asks softly.
"It... doesn't matter," you say quietly, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. "I just... it's nothing really."
The silence that follows is heavy - not uncomfortable, just full of things neither of you know how to say.
Seonghyeon shifts slightly, trying to lighten the air between you.
"Maybe... we could sing together," he says gently. "You said you're good at it. Let's sing."
You look up at him, surprised. "Okay... what song?"
He thinks for a moment, tapping his thumb against his knee.
"Do you know One Day by BTS?" he asks.
You nod. "I've sung that so many times."
His smile grows - small, shy, but warm.
"Okay. Let's do that one."
He pulls out his phone, finds the instrumental, and the capsule fills with soft, familiar chords. You start singing first, your voice smooth and controlled. Then he joins in, his low register blending with yours like it was always meant to.
Your voices fit together perfectly - like two puzzle pieces that didn't know they were missing each other.
"....It's possible in just one day
단 하루만 있으면 가능해
If you and I could be together just for one day
하루만 너와 내가 함께할 수 있다면
If you and I could hold hands just for one day
하루만 너와 내가 손잡을 수 있다면
If you and I could be together just for one day
하루만 너와 내가 함께할 수 있다면
Just one day (just one day)
하루만 (하루만)
Still, smile when you see me someday
그래도 언젠가 보면 웃어줘
You'll blame me a little, maybe a lot.
조금은, 아니, 어쩌면 많이, 날 원망하겠지
I know, I can't look at you anymore because of my dreams
알아 내 꿈 때문에 널 더 바라보지 못해서
Then just give me one day, even if it's in a dream, just one day
그럼 내게 하루만 줘, 꿈 속이라도 하루만"
He keeps glancing at you as he sings, smiling more and more.
You blush, but you can't stop smiling either.
He thinks you're amazing.
He can't hide it.
It's written all over his face.
When the song ends, he exhales softly.
"Dude, you could literally debut," he says, half‑laughing, half‑in awe.
Your cheeks warm. "I... I can't. I get shy. I freeze up."
He nods, putting his phone away. The two of you are sitting closer now - not touching, but close enough to feel the warmth.
"Hey," he says gently, "no one's perfect at it. I get nervous all the time. I'm nervous right now."
You look at him, surprised.
"All you have to do is find someone to be confident for," he continues. "Whether it's the people, your team... or even yourself. You just have to put yourself out there. And you get more confident the more you do it."
You nod slowly, remembering the way your mom used to play the piano while you sang beside her. Those were the moments you felt brave. Safe. Like singing was something you were meant to do.
Both of you turn toward the window.
The sky outside is bright and warm, the late‑afternoon sun stretching across the ocean like a memory of childhood summers - vivid, golden, soft around the edges. The capsule glides along the tracks, the world passing by like a storybook illustration.
Then the ride slows.
The capsule stops exactly where you boarded.
The doors slide open with a soft hiss.
You both step out.
"Well..." you say, adjusting your bag, "I guess... I'd better go. Um... it was nice meeting you, Seonghyeon."
You smile politely and nod to him.
He hesitates - then quickly catches up to you.
"Wait... um... what's your number? If you don't mind."
Your heart jumps, but you hand him your phone. He types his number into it, then adds yours into his.
"Oh... also, where do you live?" he asks gently.
You tell him he can just add your address under your name. He nods and types it in carefully, like he doesn't want to mess anything up.
"Thank you," he says softly. "It was... really great to meet you."
You stand there for a moment, looking at each other. The ocean waves crash softly in the background, and the trees rustle with a cool breeze that brushes your hair back.
"Yeah... you too," you say.
He checks his phone. "Well... I have to head back to the place I'm staying at."
He gives you one more warm smile.
"I'll see you around."
You smile back.
Then the two of you walk in opposite directions, the distance between you growing slowly - but the feeling of the moment lingering like a warm echo.
---
࣪ ִֶָ☾.
Seonghyeon's POV
The walk back to his hotel (where he is staying for his three days he has off) feels longer than it should.
The night air is cool, brushing against his cheeks as he moves through the quiet streets. But all he can hear is her voice - the way it blended with his, the way it filled the capsule like something warm and fragile.
She was so talented.
So naturally gifted.
And yet... so discouraged.
He keeps replaying the way she looked when she talked about freezing on stage, about failing auditions, about not being able to pay rent. The sadness in her eyes. The way she tried to hide it.
He reaches the small apartment he's staying in and closes the door behind him. The room is quiet, dim, unfamiliar. He sits on the edge of the bed and pulls out his phone.
Her contact is there.
Her name.
Her address.
He hesitates - then types the address into a map.
It's real.
It's close.
He exhales slowly, then presses call.
A man answers - older, gruff, tired.
"Hello?"
"Um... yes," Seonghyeon says softly. "I'm calling about a tenant. Her name is-"
The man confirms it.
Seonghyeon swallows. "How much for two months?"
There's a pause.
A number.
A sigh.
"Okay," he says. "I'll send it. Thank you."
He ends the call and sets the phone down beside him.
He doesn't know why he did it.
He just knows she didn't deserve to cry over rent.
Not someone with a voice like that.
Not someone with eyes that soft.
He lies back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, her voice still echoing in his mind.
---
⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆
(Y/N)'s POV - The Next Morning
You wake up slowly, blinking at the same ceiling you've stared at for months. The same cracks. The same shadows. The same quiet.
You sit up, stretch, and shuffle to the bathroom.
You turn the faucet-
Water pours out.
You freeze.
Then smile.
A real smile.
Small, but warm.
Maybe today could be a little better.
You wash your face, letting the cool water wake you up fully. You towel off, humming softly, and walk to the kitchen to make coffee.
Your phone buzzes.
You glance at it casually-
Then stop.
"June and July payment processed. Thank you!"
Your coffee sits forgotten on the counter.
"What...?" you whisper.
You stare at the notification, heart pounding.
That can't be right.
You didn't pay anything.
You couldn't.
You grab your phone and call your landlord immediately.
He answers on the second ring.
"Um- yes, sir," you say, voice shaky. "I think there's been a mistake with my monthly payment. It says I covered June and July, but I never-"
"Ohhh," he interrupts. "Yeah. Some young guy called in. Asked for your name and room number. Paid it. I don't care who pays it as long as it's paid."
You stand there in your kitchen, frozen.
Young guy.
Your breath catches.
You thank him quietly and hang up.
Your phone lowers slowly from your ear.
"Seonghyeon..." you whisper.
Your hand covers your mouth.
Your eyes fill.
Your knees feel weak.
"Oh my gosh..."
You press your palms to your face and cry - soft, overwhelmed tears that fall before you can stop them.
Later your phone buzzes again as you're fixing your hair in the bathroom, smoothing the strands back with your fingers. You glance at the screen.
"No need to come in today.
You put in a lot of hard work.
Take the day off."
You blink.
Your boss... giving you a day off?
You smile - small, surprised, grateful - and set your phone down.
Then another buzz.
Your friend.
You frown slightly, expecting teasing, maybe a complaint.
You open the message.
"hey mom 🙄
ik you were being lame and stayed home instead of going out with us
i know you were probably just tired so me and the girls got something while we were out
i left it at your door since you're still in bed at this hour cause you're old and don't know how to have fun
anyway. enjoy"
A soft laugh escapes you - the kind that warms your chest.
You walk to the door and open it.
A designer bag sits there.
A really nice one.
Your eyes widen. You pick it up carefully, almost reverently, and bring it inside. You set it on the floor, kneel down, and open it.
Inside is a brand‑new book/laptop bag - soft pastel colors, high‑quality, elegant. Something you've admired in store windows but never even considered buying.
You lift it up by the mirror, holding it against your chest.
Your hand flies to your mouth.
It's beautiful.
There's a note tucked inside.
"to mom,
you're such a workaholic, thought you'd need this
~Gigi"
Your eyes sting.
You cover your face with one hand and text her a flood of hearts with the other, still clutching the bag tightly.
This day feels unreal.
Like the universe is finally letting you breathe.
Like everything heavy is lifting, piece by piece.
You sit on the floor, hugging the bag to your chest.
"I can't believe..."
Your voice trails off, overwhelmed.
You sit there on the floor, hugging the pastel bag to your chest, the morning light spilling across your apartment like something gentle.
"I can't believe..." you whisper, voice trembling.
Your phone buzzes.
You jump slightly, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand.
W...what?
It's Seonghyeon.
A short message.
"Please don't be mad...
i... wanted to do it.
It's literally not anything much,
and if you're that paranoid you can owe me like ice cream some time."
Your jaw drops.
You type back instantly, fingers flying.
"Ice cream isn't 2 months rent!!!!!! 😡😡😡"
A reply comes almost immediately.
"Relax. Gosh. Ice cream or nothing."
You let out a breath - half a sigh, half a laugh - and lean your head back against the wall.
Then you type:
"I... thank you... really... you don't even know how much it means to me... if I can ever pay you back."
A pause.
Then:
"Don't mention it... also...
you could do one thing...
I messaged my friend about you...
just something small if you're interested.
It'd be cool if you'd check it out."
Your brows knit together.
You open your email app.
A new message sits at the top of your inbox.
You tap it.
The subject line hits you like a wave.
"Hello, this is Big Hit..."
The words blur instantly.
Your breath catches.
Your hand flies to your mouth.
And you cry - soft, overwhelmed tears spilling down your cheeks as the world tilts in a way you never expected.
---
࣪ ִֶָ☾.Some Time Laterּ ֶָ֢.
You wake up to the soft hum of the AC.
Not the rattling noise of an old apartment unit - a clean, steady breeze that fills the sleek dorm room with cool air. The blankets are soft, the mattress comfortable, and the morning light slips in through neat curtains instead of crooked blinds.
You sit up slowly, stretching your arms over your head.
Your phone buzzes.
"Practice room in 5, lazy!"
You smile at the message from one of your members - the kind of smile that comes easily now.
You get out of bed, pull on some sweats, tie your hair back, grab your water bottle, and step into the hallway. The HYBE building is quiet this early, the polished floors reflecting the soft overhead lights. You walk toward the elevator, passing staff and trainees who nod at you like you belong here.
Because now... you do.
Practice is long, but it's the good kind of long - the kind that makes your muscles ache in a satisfying way. Your five teammates stretch beside you, laughing and teasing each other.
"We're heading to the café," one says. "Snacks?"
You nod. "I'll be there in a bit."
They wave and head out.
You grab your keychain, spinning it around your finger as you walk toward the hallway. It's a habit now - something comforting, something familiar.
You turn the corner.
A studio door opens.
Somone steps out, adjusting his hoodie, hair slightly messy from hours of work. He looks up and smiles - that same soft smile.
"You ready for this collab?" he asks, voice warm and easy. "It's gonna be amazing. I just know it." Seonghyeon smiles.
You smile back - simple, natural.
"Yeah," you say. "I'm ready."
The two of you walk into the studio together, side by side, the door closing behind you as you start working on the next Big thing, but you dont have to rush.
You don't have one day to do it, because you know you'll see him everyday now.
No drama.
No fear.
Just a quiet, steady happiness.
Just One Day today. And then tomorrow
ᝰ.ᐟ
Camera Roll of a Comedic Co-worker
Caption: (This Exhausted Bum is Always Working.png)
(Late Again.png)
(Got Him To Order Somthing Other Than Açai praise the Lord.png)
(Who We Are TNT "Tired Nonchalant Teens".png)
࣪ ִֶָ☾.ּ ֶָ֢. The End
✎Masterlist
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