#handongmin

taesan settles beside you, close enough that his warmth seeps into your side. his arm slips around your waist, hand sliding under the hem of your shirt to rest against your bare stomach. his palm is gentle, fingers tracing lazy circles over your skin.

you barely register it, too caught up in the episode, but it's comforting in that absent way.

a few minutes pass, and he reaches for the glass again. "c'mon, finish it," he murmurs, lifting it to your lips.

you shake your head slightly, still sucking on the lollipop. "i'm good.' but he's persistent, tilting the glass just enough that the juice touches your mouth. "just a little more." you relent, parting your lips as he tips it carefully, the liquid filling your mouth with its tropical bite.

"don't swallow yet," he whispers, eyes locking on yours now, dark and intent.

the juice sits there, cool against your tongue, and you feel a trickle escape, spilling just a bit over your lower lip.

taesan's gaze drops to it, and before you can react, he leans in. his tongue darts out, licking the droplet away with a slow, deliberate swipe.

then his mouth is on yours—soft at first, tasting the pineapple mingled with the faint cherry from your lollipop.

your lips tremble under his, the unexpected intimacy making your heart stutter. you can't hold it anymore. you swallow, the juice sliding down your throat.

that's all the invitation he needs. taesan deepens the kiss, his free hand cupping your jaw as his tongue slips past your lips, exploring with a hunger that's been building.

he groans softly into your mouth, the sound vibrating through you. "god, you taste so good," he breathes between kisses, nipping at your bottom lip.

his hand on your stomach presses firmer, sliding up to trace the curve of your ribs, then higher, thumb brushing the underside of your breast through your bra.

he loves every inch of you— the way your body yields to his touch, soft and warm. he pulls you closer, shifting so you're half in his lap, his other hand tangling in your hair to angle your head just right.

the tv playing forgotten in the background as his kisses turn heated, tongues dancing, breaths mingling.

he breaks away only to trail his lips down your neck, sucking lightly at the spot just below your ear. "i could kiss you forever," he murmurs against your skin, his voice rough with affection. his fingers dip lower now, teasing the waistband of your pants, but he keeps it gentle, savoring the way you arch into him.

your sweetness isn't just in your mouth anymore; it's in the way you respond, melting under his hands, his mouth claiming you like you're his favorite treat.

he pulls back to look at you, eyes soft but burning. "you're perfect," he says, hand roaming back up to cup your breast fully, squeezing with just enough pressure to make you gasp. then he's kissing you again, deeper, his body pressing against yours on the sofa, lost in the heat of it all.

BONUS!

Reminder: This work does NOT reflect anyone as a person. This is fiction.

𔓕

his eyes met yours immediately.

“hello,” he said, like he’d been waiting. “what's your name?”

you smiled before answering, your elbows resting against the bars. “y/n.”

he nodded once, thoughtful. “suits you.” his hand reached through without hesitation, fingers wrapping around yours like it was the most natural thing in the world. warm. steady. grounding.

you weren’t nervous. you weren’t trying to impress him. you just talked. about nothing important. about things that didn’t need remembering. until the crowd grew louder. closer. realer. his fingers tightened once, briefly—then let go. and just like that, the moment slipped away.

you’re back where you’re supposed to be. at least, you think you are.

the room is louder now—chairs scraping, papers stacked wrong, decorations half-finished and leaning like they might collapse if someone breathes too hard. you move through it with purpose, hands busy, mind somewhere else.that’s when you feel it.

not a sound. not a voice. just the unmistakable sense of being looked at. you glance up while climbing the stairs and there he is—framed by a door that isn’t fully closed, light spilling out behind him like the room itself wants him seen.

taesan. he doesn’t wave. doesn’t call your name. he just looks at you, still and quiet, like he’s afraid the moment will shatter if he moves.

you break eye contact first. not because you don’t want to look—but because you’re aware now. of walls. of people. of stories that could be made out of nothing.

you tell yourself it’s fine. you’re busy. you have somewhere to be.

when you reach the bottom of the stairs, your chest feels lighter. emptier.

you realize too late that you forgot something upstairs. of course you did. when you turn back, the hallway feels narrower than before, like the dream is closing in on itself. your steps echo louder than they should. you almost collide with him.

taesan is already moving, quick and distracted, like time suddenly remembered him. his hair is slightly messed up, his expression urgent—but when he sees you, everything pauses.

“hey,” he says, breathless. then, softer, “can you… write your name?”

you blink. “my name?”

he nods, already patting his pockets. “yeah. just—” he finds a pen, relief flashing across his face. “here.” there’s no paper.

you both realize it at the same time.for a second, neither of you move.

then you reach out without thinking, fingers wrapping gently around his wrist, pulling his arm closer like it’s the most natural solution in the world. his skin is warm.

the pen doesn’t work properly—ink refusing to appear, lines barely visible—but you write anyway. slowly. carefully. pressing just enough that the letters leave behind faint red marks instead. your name. on him. he watches the entire time, silent.

when you’re done, he exhales like he’s been holding his breath. “thank you,” he says, and this time it sounds heavier. like it means more than it should.

before you can ask why, he’s already moving again—down the stairs, disappearing before the moment can settle. you stare at the space he left behind, heart loud, mind blank.you wonder if anyone noticed. you wonder if it will matter.

you see him one last time that day. the sun is higher now, light slanting through windows at an angle that makes everything look softer, unreal. a van is parked just outside, engine humming quietly. you stop walking when you recognize him inside.

he notices you immediately. the door slides open before you can think, and suddenly you’re stepping in, the outside world muffled as it closes behind you.

it’s quiet in here. too quiet. he sits across from you, knees angled your way, eyes focused like you’re the only thing left to look at.

“I don’t know why,” he admits, voice low, almost shy. “but I keep noticing you.”

you smile, small. unsure. like this isn’t something you’re supposed to hear. he talks about his days—how they blur together, how schedules feel heavier lately. how some moments feel like they slip away before he can hold onto them.

“but you feel clear,” he says. “like I’m awake.” the van doesn’t move. time doesn’t either.and just when you think—maybe this is where it stays

his hand is warm when it finds yours. it’s grounding in a way nothing else has been—like this is the first moment that’s ever made sense. the van hums softly beneath you, the world outside reduced to motion and light you don’t need to look at. he says your name again. clearly. carefully.

and then—you jolt awake. your body reacts before your mind does, lungs dragging in air too fast, heart pounding like it’s trying to escape. you’re sitting up before you realize where you are.

your room is dark. quiet. too big. the walls feel farther apart than they were before, the ceiling higher, the space around you unfamiliar—like you’ve been dropped into a place you don’t fully belong in anymore. your hands are empty. no warmth. no pressure. nothing to hold onto.

you stare at the door for a long second, half-expecting it to slide open. half-expecting someone to say your name like they always have. no one does.

your phone lights up on the desk beside your bed.a notification.you don’t know why your chest tightens before you even read it.

BOYNEXTDOOR — Taesan Live ended 3 minutes ago.

your fingers move on instinct, clicking into the replay. he’s laughing at something off-camera, hair slightly messy, voice familiar in a way that hurts. he lifts his arm while talking—and you freeze.

faint red marks line his forearm.letters, barely visible now.almost healed. almost gone. your name. your breath catches.

the room feels impossibly silent. on the screen, he glances down at his arm for just a split second—so quick no one in the comments seems to notice. then he smiles again.like nothing happened. like he doesn’t remember. like maybe—you were the only one who woke up.

eyig tl <3

↳@sspinky @sthvkaa @mydearyeseo @oowir @beaabz @mymelodyfanatic @enzstr @jvngw0nlvr @evpyzx @slowlylefttyphoon @raccooninii @s0shroe @yuzuksi @univfactbji @yuahh02 @wishive @w3willris3 @kaixlix

Reminder: This work does NOT reflect anyone as a person. This is fiction.

𔓕

eyig tl <3

↳@sspinky @sthvkaa @coerbnz @oowir @beaabz @mymelodyfanatic @enzstr @jvngw0nlvr @w3willris3 @raccooninii @s0shroe @yuzuksi @univfactbji @haeonnie @wishive @w3willris3 @kaixlix @ahnsuhosgf @minjsui @waldorfiles @chiyxru @hannasaurus

Reminder: This work does NOT reflect anyone as a person. This is fiction.

𔓕