𝒥UST A PRETTY FACE ℘ SKZ's! ♡ part four.
ɞ . abstract. they tell you what their first impression of you was—and it's not as romantic as you'd have thought. what's romantic about the love of your life writing you off as just a pretty face? ɞ . warnings / tags. angst, hurt/comfort. emotional exhaustion/burnout. anxiety and panic attacks. severe guilt and self-loathing. mentions of objectification. depictive neglect. relationship tension. ɞ . note. ib: @/loveyislost's series. part one here, part two here, part three here. hyunjin's part is double everyone else's because he needed that redemption arc 😭🫰also reader's highkey too nice in some of these lol + also if i missed tagging someone i'm so sorry in advance
BANG CHAN
the silence that followed your departure wasn't just quiet; it was deafening. for chan, the apartment had always been his sanctuary because you were in it, but now every corner felt like an indictment. he sat at the kitchen table for hours, the rain continuing to batter the glass, staring at the empty chair where you had just been.
he replayed the conversation over and over—not the argument, but the original one. the one on the couch. he remembered his own voice, casual and breezy, saying those words that he had thought were a compliment. girls like you. used to the attention. just a look.
he felt physically sick. as a leader, chan prided himself on seeing people. he spent his entire life analyzing trainees, members, and lyrics, trying to find the soul beneath the surface. yet, with the person he loved most, he had been lazy.
he had been arrogant. he had let a prehistoric, shallow bias dictate how he viewed the woman who held his heart. he hadn't just made a mistake; he had failed the very core of his own values.
four days passed. chan didn't go to the studio. he didn't call the members. he spent that time in a state of raw, agonizing reflection. he wrote letters he tore up. he looked at photos of you and realized that in every single one, he was looking at you with pride—but was it the pride of a man who loved a partner, or the pride of a man who had won a prize?
the realization that it might have been even five percent the latter made him want to crawl out of his own skin.
on the fifth day, he couldn't take it anymore. he didn't text to ask if he could come over; he knew you’d say no. instead, he showed up at your friend’s apartment. when you opened the door, the sight of him nearly broke you.
chan was usually so put-together, even when stressed, but he looked hollow. his eyes were dark and bloodshot, his hoodie was wrinkled, and he looked smaller, as if the guilt had physically bowed his shoulders.
"i'm not here to fight," he said, his voice a dry rasp. "and i'm not here to be defensive. i just... i need you to hear me. and then, if you want me to leave and never come back, i will. i’ll walk away if that’s what you need to feel respected."
you stepped aside, the heavy silence following you both into the small living room. you sat on the edge of the sofa, your arms wrapped around yourself, watching him. chan didn't sit. he stood by the window, looking at his hands, before he finally turned to face you.
"i've spent every second since you left thinking about why i said those things," he began, his voice trembling. "and the truth is, there’s no excuse. i could tell you i was tired, or that the industry makes me cynical about looks, but that’s all garbage.
"the truth is that i was an idiot. i was shallow, and i was lazy. i saw someone as beautiful as you and i let my own insecurities and my own prejudices do the thinking for me."
he took a shaky breath, stepping closer but staying far enough away to respect your space. "you asked me if i entered this relationship with zero respect for who you are. and it kills me to say this, but in that moment on the couch, i realized i had. i had put you in a box before i even gave you a chance to step out of it.
"i judged you by the very thing i tell my members never to worry about. i looked at the cover and decided the story wasn't going to be complex. i am so deeply ashamed of that, jagi. i’m ashamed that the man you loved turned out to be someone so small-minded."
you looked up at him, seeing the raw honesty in his eyes. there was no "leader chan" here. there was no "prodigy producer." there was just a man who had realized he’d almost destroyed the best thing in his life out of pure ignorance.
"i'm not just glad you have a brain," chan continued, his voice breaking as he dropped to his knees on the carpet in front of you. he didn't reach for your hands, but he looked up at you with a plea so intense it was palpable.
he shakes his head. "that was such a disgusting way to put it. what i should have said—what i should have felt—is that i am the luckiest man on earth because you chose to share your brilliance with me. you aren't a 'pleasant surprise.' you are the standard. you're the person who taught me that i still have so much to learn about being a human being."
he leaned his forehead against the edge of the sofa, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. "i didn't see you. i saw a reflection of what i thought the world was. and in doing that, i hurt the only person who actually sees me. you didn't stay and suffer because you were weak; you stayed because you’re better than me. you have more grace in your pinky finger than i’ve shown in our entire relationship. i don't deserve your forgiveness.
"i know that. but i need you to know that i see it now. i see the way your mind works, the way you think three steps ahead of everyone, the way you care about things that have nothing to do with 'aesthetics.' i see your soul, and it’s the most beautiful thing i’ve ever been allowed to witness."
the room was quiet for a long time, save for the sound of chan’s jagged breathing. you felt the wall you’d built up—the one made of self-protection and hurt—start to crack. you still loved him. you loved him so much it felt like a bruise.
but seeing him like this, stripped of all his pride and his "perfection," made you realize that he was finally being the man you deserved. he wasn't looking at a doll. he was looking at his equal.
"chan," you whispered, tears free-falling, reaching out a hesitant hand to rest on his hair.
he flinched at the touch, then leaned into it, a broken sound escaping his throat.
"i don't want to be a 'bonus feature,'" you said, your voice thick with tears. "i don't want to be a surprise."
"you're not," he choked out, finally looking up at you, his face wet with tears. "you're the whole damn book. you're the reason i want to be better. i was so focused on the image of us that i forgot to cherish the reality of you. i’ll do anything.
"i’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you never feel invisible again. i’ll listen to every thought, every fear, every boring detail of your day, not because it’s a 'surprise' that you have them, but because they are the most important things in my world."
he reached up, tentatively taking your hands in his, his grip firm but careful. "i made a mistake that i’ll regret forever. judging people by their looks is a poison, and i let it into our home. i'm so sorry i made you feel like you had to audition for my respect.
"you had it from the start—i was just too blind to realize i was standing in the presence of someone so much greater than i ever expected. please. give me the chance to be the man you thought i was."
you looked at him, and for the first time in weeks, that dreadful feeling began to lift. it wasn't a total fix—trust like that takes time to mend—but as you watched chan, the man who held the weight of the world on his shoulders, break down and beg for the chance to simply know you, you knew you weren't ready to let go.
"you have to stop looking at the surface, chan," you said softly. "not just with me. with everyone."
"i will," he promised, his voice thick with conviction. "i've learned my lesson in the hardest way possible. you changed my perspective. you showed me that the most beautiful things about a person are the things you can't see until they trust you enough to show them. thank you for trusting me once. please, just let me earn it back."
you pulled him up from the floor, and when he finally folded you into his arms, it didn't feel like he was holding a trophy. it felt like he was holding his life. he buried his face in your neck, whispering apologies against your skin, and for the first time in a month, nothing about this felt like a cage.
it felt like a beginning.
LEE KNOW
the silence of the park on a weekday afternoon was supposed to be healing. you were sitting on a secluded bench, watching the wind ripple through the trees, trying to find the version of yourself that didn't feel like a hollowed-out shell. but the peace was short-lived.
the sound of footsteps on the gravel path made you stiffen. you knew that stride anywhere. before you could even stand up to leave, minho was there. he wasn't wearing his usual armor of cold indifference or sharp wit. he looked exhausted, his hair messy and his eyes shadowed.
"hey," he said softly, stopping a few feet away. "how are you doing?"
you didn't answer. instead, you stared at him for a heartbeat, the memory of his words—no much going on behind your face—surfacing like a bruise.
instinctively, you gripped your bag and took a step back, and then another. you weren't even thinking about it; your body was just trying to create distance from the person who had reduced you to... a pretty face.
minho stopped dead in his tracks. he looked down at the space between you, and then back at your face, and you saw something in him break. the sharp, observant lee minho was gone. in his place was a boy who looked like he’d just realized he’d burned down the only home he ever cared about.
"right," he whispered, his voice cracking. "yeah. sorry. stupid question."
he stood there, frozen, his hands trembling at his sides. minho was never a mess. he was the one who held it together, the one who controlled the room with a single look.
but now, his breathing was shallow, and his eyes were swimming with unshed tears that he didn't even try to blink away. he looked physically pained, like the sight of you backing away from him was a wound he couldn't close.
you felt a pang in your chest—that old, nagging urge to reach out and comfort him, to tell him it was okay. but the weight of his judgment held you back. you stayed rooted to the spot, torn between the love you still carried and the self-respect you were trying to rebuild.
"i’m not here to yell," he said, his voice a ragged whisper. "i’m not here to be defensive. i’ve spent every night since you left sitting at that kitchen island, looking at your empty chair and realizing what a disgusting person i was. i prided myself on 'knowing people,' but i was just a coward who used labels to keep people at a distance."
he took a jagged breath, finally letting one tear fall. "i was an idiot. a shallow, arrogant idiot. i looked at you and i saw the most beautiful person i’d ever encountered, and instead of being humble, i was threatened.
"i told myself you were 'shallow' because i was afraid that if i admitted you were brilliant and deep and kind, i’d realize i didn't deserve you. so i tried to make you small. i tried to make you a decoration so i didn't have to face the fact that i was the one with nothing going on behind my eyes."
he finally looked up, his gaze raw and pleading. "i’m so ashamed, jagi. i’m ashamed that i made the person i love feel like they had to hide their mind from me. i’m ashamed that i used my 'honesty' as a weapon to hurt you.
"you didn't just prove me wrong—you changed my entire perspective. you showed me that the world isn't made of categories and 'types.' it’s made of people like you, who are infinitely deeper than anyone has the right to assume."
minho stepped back, giving you even more space, as if he realized his presence was a burden. "i’ll do anything. i’ll wait as long as it takes. i’ll spend every day for the rest of my life proving to you that i see you. not the face, not the look—but you. the way you think, the way you care, the way you make me want to be someone who actually deserves to stand in your light."
he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, a shaky, desperate gesture. "i don't expect you to come home today. i don't even know if i expect you to ever come home. but i need you to know that i know what i lost. i lost the only person who truly saw through me, because i was too busy looking at a mirror."
he stayed there for a moment longer, trembling in the cold wind, before he turned to walk away, his head bowed. he didn't look back, leaving you in the silence of the park.
you watched him go, your heart heavy with a grief that was finally starting to turn into something else. he wasn't looking at a doll. he was looking at the person he’d broken, and he was finally willing to sit in the wreckage he’d made.
the silence that followed his confession was different from the cold, sharp tension of the previous weeks. it was heavy, yes, but it was thick with a raw vulnerability that you had never seen from minho.
he had always been the one to keep a cool head, to maintain a distance with a sarcastic remark or a sharp deflective joke. seeing him stand there, stripped of all his defenses, trembling as he apologized, was jarring.
he had started to walk away, his footsteps heavy on the gravel, but he didn't get far before your voice stopped him.
"minnie?"
he halted instantly, his shoulders tensing, but he didn't turn around. it was as if he was afraid that if he looked back, he’d see the same rejection in your eyes that had prompted him to leave in the first place.
"you really thought i was a decoration?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
he slowly turned back to face you. his eyes were red, the skin around them blotchy from the tears he had finally let fall. "i thought it was safer to believe that," he admitted, his voice ragged. "it’s easier to handle someone you’ve already labeled. if you’re just a 'pretty girl,' then i don’t have to worry about you seeing the parts of me i don't like. but i was so wrong. i was so incredibly wrong."
you looked at him—really looked at him. you saw the genuine pain in his expression, the way his hands were still shaking as he shoved them into his pockets.
he wasn't trying to control the narrative or manipulate your emotions with a clever argument. he was just a person who had made an awful mistake and was finally facing the consequences.
"i spent my whole life being told i was just a face," you said softly, taking a cautious step toward him. "i thought you were the one person who actually cared to look past that. when you said those things… it felt like the one safe place i had was just another display case."
"i know," he choked out, another tear tracking through the dampness on his cheek. "and i hate myself for it. i’ve spent my life judging people based on how they present themselves because i was afraid of being judged myself. i looked at you and i projected every stereotype i’ve ever hated onto the person i love most. it’s disgusting. i'm ashamed to even be standing in front of you."
you stopped a few feet away from him. the wind picked up, swirling the fallen leaves around your feet. you still felt the sting of his words, the ache of being written off, but as you watched him struggle to even breathe under the weight of his own regret, you felt the wall around your heart begin to crumble just a little.
"you said you'd do anything?" you asked.
minho nodded fervently, his eyes fixed on yours with a desperate hope. "anything. i’ll learn how to actually talk to people without using labels, i’ll spend every second proving that i value your mind above everything else. i’ll even go to fucking therapy. i just… i can't lose you. not like this. not because i was too arrogant to see what was right in front of me."
you were silent for a long moment, weighing the love you felt for him against the hurt he had caused. it wasn't an easy choice. trust, once broken, is a difficult thing to piece back together.
but as you looked at minho—the boy who loved his cats, the boy who worked until his bones ached, the boy who was currently falling apart because he had hurt you—you realized that you weren't ready to let go yet.
"i'm not going to just move back in and act like everything is fine," you said firmly. "we aren't going back to the way things were. because the way things were was built on an assumption that hurt me."
minho nodded, his expression solemn. "i don't want to go back to that either. i want something real. i want to earn the right to know you. truly know you."
"then start by listening," you said, taking the final step to stand in front of him. you didn't reach out to touch him yet, but the distance between you was no longer an abyss. "no more 'jokes' about my looks being the only thing i have going for me. no more assuming i'm 'simple' or 'shallow' just because it makes you feel more secure."
"i promise," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "i promise, jagi. i’ll listen to every single word you say like it's the only thing that matters. because it is."
you reached out then, your fingers grazing the sleeve of his jacket. he let out a shaky breath, leaning into your touch as if he were a drowning man finally finding a piece of driftwood.
he didn't pull you into a hug—he seemed to know he hadn't earned that yet—but he stayed there, standing in the cold park with you, finally seeing you for exactly who you were.
"okay," you said softly. "we can try."
a look of profound relief washed over his face, and he let out a jagged, sob-like laugh. "thank you. thank you, i… i won't let you down. i swear."
as you walked back toward the park exit together, the silence between you was still there, but it was no longer sharp. it was a quiet, tentative space where a new kind of honesty could grow. minho stayed a respectful distance away, but his eyes never left you.
because he was looking at you.
CHANGBIN
the weeks following your departure were the quietest of changbin’s life. the dorm, usually a place of chaotic energy and loud laughter, had become a tomb.
he went to the gym, but he moved like a machine, going through the motions without the fire that usually defined him. he stared at the weights and only heard the echo of his own voice from that day—the day he’d casually dismantled your self-worth between sets.
he was sitting in the studio on a tuesday night, a week and a half since you’d left, staring at a blank midi track. he’d been tasked with doing a quick solo livestream to check in with fans, and he’d tried his best to put on the "seo changbin" persona. he smiled, he joked about the members, he talked about his workout routine.
but halfway through, the mask began to crack. he was staring at the rolling comments, seeing people tell him how healthy and strong he looked, and he felt like he was suffocating.
his chest felt tight, the air in the studio too thin. his breathing became shallow, and he stopped mid-sentence, his eyes fixated on a point behind the camera. he looked fragile—a word no one ever associated with him.
you were watching from your sister’s couch, your heart twisting in your chest. you had been trying to stay strong, trying to maintain the distance you needed to heal, but seeing him like that—shaky, his eyes glassy and vacant—it broke something inside you. you knew him better than anyone. you knew that look. he was seconds away from a panic attack.
against your better judgment, you pulled up your messages.
“binnie. breathe. you’re okay. take a drink of water and end the stream. don't bottle it up.”
on the screen, you saw his phone light up. he glanced at it, and the change was instantaneous. his eyes widened, and he let out a jagged, audible breath. he didn't even try to play it off.
"sorry, everyone," he rasped into the mic, his voice thick. "i’m not feeling great tonight. i’m going to end this here. thank you for coming."
the screen went black. three seconds later, your phone buzzed.
“please. can we talk? i know i’m pushing it. i know i don’t deserve it. but i can’t breathe without knowing you’re okay. i'll come to you. please.”
you stared at the screen for a long time. the lack of communication was wearing you down as much as the initial hurt. you were tired of being a ghost. you typed back a single word: “okay.”
when he arrived at your sister’s apartment an hour later, he didn't look like the confident rapper the world knew. he looked like he’d been through a war. he was pale, his eyes red-rimmed, and his hands were trembling as he shoved them into his hoodie pockets.
"thank you for seeing me," he whispered as you stepped out onto the quiet balcony to give yourselves privacy. the night air was cool, a sharp contrast to the heat of his gaze.
"i watched the stream, changbin," you said softly, leaning against the railing. "you looked like you were falling apart."
"i am," he admitted, his voice breaking. he didn't try to hide it. he didn't try to be the "strong man" tonight. "i’ve spent ten days trying to figure out how to be a person again, and i can't do it. i keep replaying that day in the gym. i keep hearing myself say those things, and i want to go back and rip my tongue out of my own head."
he took a step closer, but stopped, respecting the space you’d put between you. his eyes were raw with a level of sincerity that made your chest ache.
"i was an idiot. i was a superficial, arrogant idiot who thought he was being 'cool' or 'honest' by admitting to a shallow prejudice. i grew up in a world where everything is judged by the surface, and i let that poison leak into how i looked at the most important person in my life. i judged you by your cover because i was afraid that if i admitted how much i truly needed you, i’d be vulnerable."
he looked down at his hands, his knuckles white. "you said i didn't fall for you, that i fell for a face. but the truth is... i’ve been so ashamed that i didn't know how to tell you the opposite. i fell for your face first, yeah. i hate to admit that. i really do.
"but i stayed because of the way you think. i stayed because of your heart. i just... i was so caught up in the 'trophy' of it all that i forgot to tell you that the trophy is worthless compared to the woman holding it."
"it felt like a 'buy one, get one free' deal to you, bin," you reminded him, your voice small but steady. "you said my brain was a bonus."
changbin winced, his face twisting in pain. "i know. and that is the most disgusting thing i’ve ever said. you aren't a bonus. you’re the whole point. you’ve changed the way i see everything. i used to look at people and see a '10' or a '5.'
"now i just look for the light you have. you taught me that people aren't what they seem, that the surface is just noise. i’m so ashamed that i had to hurt you to learn that lesson."
he finally reached out, his hand hovering near yours on the railing, waiting for permission. when you didn't pull away, he gently covered your hand with his. his palm was hot, his grip desperate.
"i'm not giving up," he whispered, his voice thick with a promise. "i'll spend every day proving to you that i see you. not the 'polished' girl. not the 'magazine' girl. just you. i’ll listen to every thought you have until i know your mind better than my own lyrics. i’ll do anything. talking, not talking, whatever you need. i just... i need to earn back the right to love you."
you looked at him, seeing the boy who had struggled to breathe on a livestream just an hour ago. the anger was still there, but it was being drowned out by a profound sense of exhaustion—and a tiny, flickering hope.
"it’s going to take a long time, okay?" you said, your voice finally cracking. "i still feel like a decoration sometimes when i look in the mirror."
"then i'll be the one to remind you that you're the architect," he said, stepping into your space and finally pulling you into a hug. he buried his face in your neck, and you could feel the dampness of his tears against your skin. "i'm so sorry. i'm so, so sorry."
you didn't hug him back immediately, but you let him hold you. for the first time in weeks, the air didn't feel so thin. the silence wasn't a weapon anymore; it was a space where you could finally start to rebuild.
"don't ever call me a '10' again," you whispered into his chest.
"i won't," he promised, tightening his grip. "you're my everything. and that doesn't have a number."
HYUNJIN
the following week was the longest of your life. for seven days, the ghost of hyunjin lived in your pocket. your phone buzzed with such frequency that it became a background noise, a rhythmic hum of desperation that vibrated against your nightstand, your coffee table, your palm.
he called at 3 a.m. he texted at noon. he sent voice notes that you were too afraid to listen to, fearing that the sound of his breaking voice would shatter the fragile wall you’d built around your heart.
you tried to go through the motions of your life, but everything felt gray. you kept thinking about his face in that last argument—the way his arrogant, defensive posture had completely collapsed into something small and broken. but the hurt was still too sharp. you kept hearing the word "simple." you kept hearing the word "lucky."
by the seventh evening, the buzzing became unbearable. he had called twelve times in the last hour alone. your screen was a wall of grey text bubbles, all beginning with "please" or "i’m so sorry." eventually, the sheer weight of his persistence wore you down. you weren't ready to forgive, but you were exhausted from the siege.
when the phone lit up for the thirteenth time, you swiped to answer before it could even ring. you didn't say hello. you didn't give him an opening.
"hyunjin, stop. please," you said, your voice sounding thin and ragged even to your own ears. "my phone is going to explode. i can’t keep doing this. i told you i needed space."
on the other end, there was a heavy, suffocating silence. then, a sound that made your stomach drop—a wet, hitching breath that sounded more like a sob than a gasp.
"jagi?" his voice was a barely audible rasp, thick with the kind of hoarseness that came from hours of crying. "please... just ten minutes. i’m outside. i’ve been here since last night. please let me in. i can’t... i can’t breathe anymore."
your heart stopped. you checked the time on your stove—it was nearly 9 p.m. "last night? hyunjin, what are you talking about?"
"i couldn't go back to the dorm," he choked out, the sound of the wind whistling through the receiver. "i just sat in the car. then i walked. i’ve just been... waiting. i didn't know where else to go. i'm sorry. i'm so, so sorry."
a surge of panic and genuine worry overrode your anger. the temperatures had plummeted overnight, and the thought of hyunjin—your hyunjin, asshole or not—wandering the streets or sitting in a freezing car for twenty-four hours made your blood run cold. it wasn't safe. if a fan saw him in that state, if he got sick, if he just kept wandering...
"stay where you are," you said, already moving toward the intercom. "i’m buzzing you up."
when you opened the door to your apartment, the man who stepped inside was unrecognizable. he was pale, his skin almost translucent, save for the dark, heavy circles beneath his eyes and the raw redness of his nose and cheeks. his hair was a matted mess, falling over his eyes, and his expensive hoodie was wrinkled as if he’d slept in it. he was shivering so violently that his teeth were literally chattering.
he didn't even look at you at first. he just stood in your entryway, his head hanging low, his shoulders hunched as if he were trying to disappear into himself.
"get inside," you whispered, reaching out to pull him by the sleeve into the warmth of the living room. "hyunjin, you’re freezing. sit down. i’ll get you a blanket."
he followed you like a shadow, sinking onto the edge of your sofa. he looked like a ghost. as you wrapped a thick, plush throw around his shoulders, he finally looked up at you. his eyes were bloodshot and swimming with fresh tears.
"i'm sorry," he whispered, a tear spilling over and tracking through the grime on his face. "i know i'm the last person you want to see. i know i'm a mess. i just... i couldn't be alone with my head anymore."
"why were you outside all night?" you asked, sitting on the coffee table in front of him, keeping a small distance but unable to stop yourself from checking his forehead for a fever. "you could have gotten hurt. you should have gone home to the members."
hyunjin let out a broken, self-deprecating laugh that turned into a cough. "to the dorm? so i could look in the mirror and see exactly what you see? a visual? a face that doesn't have anything behind it?" he shook his head, more tears falling. "i hated myself so much that i couldn't stand to be inside. i deserved that cold."
you opened your mouth to say something, to scold him for thinking that, but he cut you off.
hyunjin gripped the blanket, his knuckles white. "everything you said... it was true. i spent that whole night thinking about it. about how much i hate it when people write me off. when they say i’m only in the group for my face, or that i don't work hard, or that i'm just a 'doll' for the company to dress up. it kills me, jagi. it makes me feel like i’m not even a person. it makes me want to scream until my lungs give out."
he looked at you with a raw, agonizing sincerity. "and then i realized i did that to you. the one person who actually knows me. the one person who has seen me at my absolute worst, crying on the floor about these exact insecurities...
"and i used them as a weapon against you. i said those things because i was feeling small. i was feeling like i wasn't enough, and i wanted to pull you down to where i was. i wanted to make you 'simple' so i didn't have to feel so intimidated by how much better you are than me."
hyunjin reached out, his hand trembling in the air between you before he pulled it back, as if he didn't feel worthy of touching you. "i don't think you're boring. i never did. from the moment i met you, i was terrified because you were so smart and so quick and you saw right through all my idol bullshit.
"i said those things to hurt you, and i am disgusted by myself. i’m disgusted that i could be so cruel to the person i love just to make myself feel powerful for five minutes."
watching him fall apart in front of you, seeing the genuine physical and emotional toll his guilt had taken, your heart began to ache. the anger was still there, a dull throb in the background, but it was being drowned out by your natural instinct to protect him. you hated that he’d hurt you, but you hated seeing him suffer like this even more.
"jinnie," you said softly, finally reaching out and taking his cold hands in yours. he flinched at the warmth of your skin, a fresh wave of sobs breaking out of him. "you should have talked to me. if you were feeling that insecure, if the comments were getting to you again... you should have told me."
he shook his head, burying his face in his hands. "how could i? i was supposed to be your boyfriend. i was supposed to be the one taking care of you. instead, i acted like a child. hearing you comfort me right now... it makes it worse.
"i don't deserve it. i'm supposed to be groveling, i'm supposed to be the one making it up to you, and here i am, a pathetic mess, letting you warm my hands."
"hyunjin, look at me," you commanded gently. he slowly lifted his head, his face a mask of grief. "the people who say you’re just a face? they aren't fans. they don't know you. their opinions are empty noise. you are a dancer, an artist, a singer, and a man with a heart that is far too big for his own good. you know that i see those things. you know that to the people who actually matter, you are so much more than your image."
you squeezed his hands, your own eyes welling up. "but you have to see those things in me, too. you can't just put me in a box when it’s convenient for your ego. it hurt because i thought we were past that. i thought you were the one person in the world who didn't look at me and see... that."
"i don't," he whispered, his voice cracking. "i promise you, i don't. you are the most complex, beautiful, brilliant person i have ever known. i was just... i was projecting my own self-hatred onto you. i wanted to ruin something perfect because i felt flawed. it’s not an excuse. it’s just the truth of how stupid i was being."
he leaned forward, his forehead almost touching yours, his breath shaky. "i don't deserve for you to forgive me. i know i don't. i wouldn't blame you if you told me to leave right now. i just needed you to know that i see you. i see all of you. and i’m so, so sorry for trying to make you feel small just because i felt invisible."
the room was quiet for a long time, save for the sound of his hitching breaths and the hum of the heater. you looked at him—this boy who had stayed out in the cold for twenty-four hours because he couldn't stand the sight of himself—and you realized that you couldn't let him go. not yet. he was flawed, and he had been cruel, but he was also human. and he was yours.
"we can try again," you whispered.
hyunjin froze. he looked at you with wide, disbelieving eyes. "jagi? really?"
"we can try," you repeated, your voice firmer. "but this can never happen again, hyunjin. you can't take your insecurities out on me. if you’re hurting, if you’re feeling like 'just a face,' you come to me. you talk to me. you don't turn into a stranger and start throwing stones at me to feel better. communication, jinnie. that’s the only way this works."
he nodded frantically, more tears spilling over as a look of intense relief washed over his face. "i promise. i promise i'll talk to you. i'll tell you everything, even the ugly stuff. i'll never hold it back again. i'll do anything to make you feel safe with me again."
he reached out then, and this time, he didn't pull back. he wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his face in your stomach, sobbing into your sweater. you stood up and pulled him into a full embrace, your arms wrapping around his neck, holding his head against your chest.
you stood there in the middle of your living room, swaying slightly as you both cried. his tears were hot against your skin, and his grip on you was so tight it was almost painful, as if he were afraid that if he let go, he’d disappear back into the cold night.
"i love you," he muffled into your shirt. "i love you so much it scares me. i’m so sorry i was so stupid."
"i know," you whispered, stroking the back of his matted hair. "i know, jinnie. just breathe."
eventually, the sobbing subsided into quiet sniffles. he didn't let go of you, and you didn't push him away. the wound wasn't healed—not yet. there was still a lot of work to do, a lot of trust to rebuild.
you would still have moments where his words would echo in your head, and he would still have moments where he felt like he had to prove his worth.
but for the first time in a week, he was looking at you. and you were looking at him. not as a visual, not as a doll, and not as just a pretty face. just two people, broken and tired, trying to find their way back to each other in the dark.
"let's get you a hot shower and some food," you said softly, pulling back just enough to wipe his face with the corner of the blanket. "you look terrible."
he gave you a tiny, watery smile—the first real smile you’d seen in forever. "yeah? is my 'visual' ruined?"
you smiled back, a little sad but genuine. "it's a start."
he laughed softly, a broken sound, and leaned his head against yours. "thank you," he whispered. "thank you for seeing me."
"always, jinnie. just make sure you keep seeing me too."
"i will," he promised, his voice thick with a new kind of resolve. "i won't ever look away again."
as you led him toward the bathroom, his hand tightly clutched in yours, you knew the path ahead wouldn't be easy. but as he looked at you—not at your profile, not at your clothes, but directly into your eyes—you felt the weight of the box finally begin to lift.
you weren't lucky because you were beautiful; you were lucky because you were together. and for now, that was enough.
HAN
the following days were a descent into chaos for jisung. the apartment was too quiet, the air too heavy with the memory of the door clicking shut.
he didn’t just miss you; he was unraveling at the seams. he sent text after text, his thumbs moving as fast as his racing heart—long, rambling apologies followed by frantic "please just tell me you’re safe" messages.
when those went ignored, he started calling. he called until his phone battery died, and then he charged it and started again.
jisung’s mind had always been a storm, but usually, you were the lighthouse. without you, he was drowning. he stopped going to the studio. he couldn't write; every melody felt like a mocking reminder of the harmony he’d destroyed. he stopped eating, the very thought of food making his stomach twist with nausea. he just sat on the floor of his room, staring at his phone, waiting for a blue bubble that never came.
it got so bad that minho finally stepped in. he had found jisung curled up in a corner of the dorm lounge, shaking, his eyes wide and unfocused, breathing in short, jagged gasps. minho had seen jisung’s anxiety before, but never like this—never this raw, this total.
when your phone rang and you saw minho’s name, your heart skipped a beat. you knew minho wouldn't call unless the world was ending.
"he's a mess," minho said, his voice unusually soft, devoid of his usual sharp edge. "i know he’s an idiot. i know he doesn't deserve your time after what he said, and i’m sorry for even calling you. but he hasn't slept in three days. he's spiraling, and i don't know how to pull him back. he needs to talk to you. even if it’s just to say goodbye for real, he needs to hear your voice."
you felt a wave of cold fear. you were still hurt, still reeling from the realization that jisung had built a wall of assumptions around you, but you loved him. the thought of him sitting in the dark, unable to breathe, was more than you could bear.
"tell him to come over," you whispered. "just... tell him to try and breathe, okay?"
when the knock came at your door an hour later, it wasn't a confident knock. it was a tentative, scratching sound. when you opened it, jisung looked like a ghost of himself. his skin was sallow, his eyes bloodshot and swollen, and his hoodie—the one you used to steal—looked two sizes too big on his slumped frame.
"jagi," he whispered, and the word broke in the middle.
"come in, hannie," you said, stepping aside.
he sat on the very edge of your sofa, his hands tucked into his sleeves, vibrating with a fine tremor. for a long time, he couldn't even look at you. he just stared at the rug, his chest heaving. when he finally spoke, his voice was thick with unshed tears.
"i kept thinking about what you said—that i didn't expect to know you," he started, his voice cracking. "and the truth is so much stupider and more painful than you think. i didn't think you were empty because of your face. i told myself you were empty because i was terrified of what would happen if you were actually as incredible as i hoped you were."
he looked up then, and the sheer desperation in his eyes was staggering. "i’m so insecure. i look at myself and i see this loud, anxious kid who can barely keep his head on straight. i’m constantly waiting for people to realize i’m not enough. and then i saw you. you were so beautiful it didn't feel real. you looked like someone who belonged in a world i didn't have access to."
he let out a jagged sob, covering his face with his hands. "so i told myself, 'it's okay, she's probably just pretty, you don't have to be perfect for her.' i made you small in my head so i wouldn't feel so small next to you. it was a defense mechanism. i made you a caricature of a person just so i could feel safe."
the room was silent for a moment, save for the sound of his weeping. you looked at him—this boy who had categorized you to protect his own ego—and felt a profound sense of sadness.
"that's not love, jisung," you said softly, your own voice trembling. "that's a security blanket. you turned me into scenery because you were too scared to deal with a real person. you didn't give me the chance to be your equal because you were too busy trying to make sure i wouldn't judge you."
"i know," he whispered through his fingers, his shoulders shaking. "i know that now. i didn't realize i was doing it until i saw the look on your face in the kitchen. i’ve spent my whole life being afraid of people judging me, and then i went and did the exact same thing to the only person who ever truly saw me.
"i hate that i made you feel like you were just scenery. you aren't. you’re the most vivid, brilliant thing in my life, and i was just too scared to admit i was standing in your light."
he looked at his lap, his fingers twisting frantically in the fabric of his hoodie. "i was just a kid trying to play it cool because i was drowning in how much i liked you. i thought if i treated you like... like the way i did, it would make me the one in control. but i was never in control. i was just losing you every time i opened my mouth."
he looked at you then, looking for any sign of hope, his face a wreck of tears and exhaustion. "i don't deserve another chance. i know i don't. i called you, what? a hidden character unlock? god, i'm an idiot. i can't believe i even said that. fuck.
"i just... i couldn't live with myself knowing i left you thinking i only liked you for your face. i love your mind. i love the way you see things i don't. i love that you’re a nerd. i love all of it. i love that you’re smarter than me. i was just too much of a coward to say it."
you sat there, watching him. the hurt hadn't vanished—you still remembered the sting of being called "watery"—but the anger had shifted into a heavy, weary understanding. he had hurt you out of fear, not out of malice. it didn't make the words better, but it made him human again.
"you can't do that again, hanji," you said, your voice steady despite the tears in your own eyes. "you can't make me small so you can feel big. if you're scared, you tell me. if you feel insecure, we talk about it. but you don't get to decide who i am before i even open my mouth."
he nodded frantically, reaching out a hand and then pulling it back, afraid to touch you. "i won't. i promise. i'll talk. i'll be honest. i'll do anything. i just... please don't let me be without you."
you took a deep breath, the weight in your chest easing just a fraction. "i’m not ready to say everything is fine, hanji. i’m still really hurt. and i think we need to take this very, very slow."
he let out a breath that sounded like a prayer, his eyes closing in pure relief. "slow is fine. slow is perfect. i'll wait forever. i'll earn it back. i promise."
you reached out then, and his hand met yours instantly, his grip tight and desperate. he leaned his forehead against your joined hands, his tears wetting your skin. for the first time in days, his breathing started to even out.
the storm hadn't passed, but the lighthouse was back in sight. and for now, that would be enough.
FELIX
the following days were a whirlwind of frantic, silent energy for felix. he didn’t call you. he didn't text you a thousand apologies or show up at your door at midnight again. instead, he retreated into his own form of chaos.
he spent hours in the kitchen, the counters covered in flour and sugar as he baked batch after batch of brownies and cookies he didn't even eat. he scrubbed every inch of the dorm until his hands were raw, trying to wash away the feeling of his own stupidity.
he hated that he’d been defensive. he hated that his panic had made him lash out with accusations about hyunjin. most of all, he hated that you were out there thinking his heart was as shallow as the words he’d spoken.
on the fourth day, your phone chimed. it wasn't a call. it was a single image: a photo of the weathered park bench near the river. it was the spot where you’d sat for hours on your third date, the night you both realized this was more than just a casual thing.
underneath the photo was a single message: "i’m not calling to blow up your phone. i just wanted you to know i’m here. if you’re ready to hear the truth—the real truth, not the defensive stuff i said before—i’m at our spot. i’ll wait as long as it takes."
you stared at the screen for a long time. your pride told you to stay home, to keep the distance that felt like safety. but as the sun began to set and the temperature dropped, all you could think about was felix sitting out there alone in the dark.
he was stubborn, and he was sensitive, and you didn't want him catching a cold or sitting in his own guilt until the early hours of the morning.
against your better judgment, you grabbed your hoodie and headed out.
when you arrived at the park, the moon was high and the grass was damp with dew. you saw him from a distance—a small, slumped figure on the bench, his head buried in his hands. he didn't hear you approach until you were standing right in front of him.
when he looked up, his face was already a wreck. the moonlight caught the wet tracks on his cheeks. "you came," he whispered, his voice sounding like it had been shredded. "i didn't... i didn't think you would. thank you. thank you for coming."
you sat down on the far end of the bench, the wood cold beneath you. "i didn't want you sitting here all night, felix. it's freezing."
"i deserved to be freezing," he said, let out a shaky breath that hitched in his throat. he turned his body toward you, his eyes raw and pleading. "i need to tell you the truth. without the ego, without the panic. the bet... it was a stupid thing we did. it was a bunch of guys being idiots, trying to pass the time while we watched people go by. we were making up stories about everyone because we were bored and... i don't know, immature."
he reached out, his fingers twitching as if he wanted to touch you but didn't dare. "i hate to admit it, but i did have that thought for a split second when i first saw you. i saw someone so beautiful it didn't feel real, and i told myself, 'she's probably just a pretty face.' but sunny, the moment i thought it, i was ashamed. i felt sick for even thinking it because the second you actually looked at me, i knew i was wrong."
"then why did you say it like that?" you asked, your voice barely audible. "why make it sound like i was just a challenge to be won?"
"because i was trying to be funny!" he cried, the tears starting to fall again. "it sounds so pathetic now, but i was trying to make light of how intimidated i was by you. the bet was a joke between us, but for me, it was just a way to work up the courage to even say hello. i forgot all about it the second we actually talked.
"i haven't thought about the bet in months, until i brought it up like a complete fool. i wasn't waiting for you to fail. i was just... i was so caught up in being comfortable with you that i didn't realize how much those words would hurt. i thought i could look back on how dumb i used to be and we’d laugh about it."
he moved closer, dropping to his knees on the grass in front of you so he could look up into your face. "i don't think you're empty. i never would. i know you. i know how you care about people, how you're so sharp and funny and how you see the world in ways i never could. you’re the most real, vivid person i’ve ever met.
"you’re my home, sunny. i was just a coward who tried to make you small because i was afraid of how big my feelings were.judging people before meeting them is the most hypocritical thing i've ever done, and i'm so mad at myself for hurting you with a past version of myself that didn't even know your heart."
felix looked at you, his face wet with tears, looking utterly defeated. "i really don't deserve you. i know that. i just... i couldn't let you think that i only liked you for your face. i love your mind. i love the way you argue about movies. i love the way you're so sharp and kind at the same time. please believe me."
you glanced down at him, at the boy who usually radiated sunshine, now looking so dark and shattered by his own mistakes. he wasn't being defensive anymore; he was being honest. and in his honesty, you could see the boy you loved—the one who made mistakes but always cared too much.
"i'm still upset, felix," you said, your voice trembling. "it's going to take a long time for me to forget the way you described me. it made me feel so... disposable."
"you're not disposable," he choked out, finally reaching up to gently take your hands in his. his palms were warm, even in the cold air. "you're the most permanent thing in my life. you're my anchor. please, i don't want to lose you over a joke that wasn't even funny. i’ll do anything. i’ll prove it every day. i’ll never, ever write you off again."
you looked into his eyes—those bright, expressive eyes that were now so clouded with regret—and you felt the ice around your heart start to thaw. you weren't ready to let go, but you weren't ready to go back to exactly how things were, either.
"okay," you whispered. "we can try to fix this. but we need to take things slow, felix. i need time to feel like... like you're actually seeing me, and not just the version of me that fits into a story."
he let out a sob of pure relief, leaning his forehead against your knees. "thank you. thank you, angel. i’ll take it as slow as you want. i just want to be near you. i’ll prove it to you, i promise."
you reached down and ran your fingers through his messy hair, a small, sad gesture of comfort. "get up, 'lix. you're going to get your jeans all dirty."
he laughed through his tears, a small, broken sound, and stood up to sit back down next to you. he didn't try to pull you into a big hug or kiss you; he just sat close enough that your shoulders touched, a silent promise to stay present.
you were still hurt, and he was still guilty, but also... you were real, you were messy, and for now, you were still together.
SEUNGMIN
the few days following that night in the kitchen were a nightmare for seungmin. he had always prided himself on his clarity—on his ability to see the world for what it was and speak the truth without the clutter of useless emotion.
but for the first time in his life, his own truth had backfired so spectacularly that it had left him standing in an empty apartment, staring at a cold cup of tea as if it held the answers to why his life was falling apart.
he didn't go after you that night. he was too stunned, too paralyzed by the sudden, violent realization that his logic had been a weapon. he had spent days analyzing the conversation, replaying every word he’d said to you since the day you met.
he looked at his journals—those notebooks where he recorded his thoughts with such precision—and felt a wave of nausea. he saw the entries from the early days, the ones where he’d noted your beauty but dismissed your depth.
at the time, he thought he was being objective. now, he saw it for what it was: arrogance.
he stopped eating. he barely slept. he went to the studio and sat in silence, his eyes fixed on the lyrics he couldn't bring himself to finish. he kept hearing your voice: “i don't wanna be evaluated. not by you.”
on the seventh day, he couldn't take the silence of the apartment anymore. he knew where you were—staying at a small guesthouse you loved near the library. he didn't call. he didn't text. he knew his words over the phone would sound too practiced.
he waited for you outside the library café. when you finally stepped out into the afternoon sun, carrying a stack of books, you stopped dead when you saw him. you looked tired, your eyes shadowed, and for a moment, seungmin felt his heart physically ache.
you didn't move. you just stood there, clutching your books like a shield. "seungmin."
"i’m not here to argue," he said quickly, his voice cracking. he looked different. his hair was flat, his clothes looked like they’d been thrown on without a thought, and he wasn't wearing his glasses, making his eyes look vulnerable and raw. "and i'm not here to give you an evaluation of why i'm here."
he walked toward you, stopping just outside your personal space. he didn't look like a ghost anymore; he looked like someone who was finally, painfully awake.
"i’ve spent the last three days reading my old notes," he began, his voice low and trembling. "and i hated every word. i hated the person who wrote them. i thought i was being smart by waiting for you to 'prove' yourself to me. i thought i was being discerning. but the truth is, i was just a coward who was too afraid of how much i liked you to admit that i was the one who wasn't good enough for you."
he took a shaky breath, his eyes never leaving yours. "i told you your soul was a 'pleasant surprise.' that's the most disgusting thing i've ever said to anyone. your soul isn't a surprise, jagi. it's the only thing that matters. i was just too busy looking at your face and my own ego to realize that i’d been given the greatest gift of my life, and i was treating it like... like fucking science project."
you looked away, your jaw tightening. "you called me boring, seungmin. you said you were prepared to be bored until you found out i had a brain."
"i know," he whispered, stepping closer, his hand reaching out tentatively before he stopped himself. "and i'm so sorry. i'm so incredibly sorry. i judge people by their covers because it’s easy. it’s safe. if i decide someone is 'shallow' before i know them, i don't have to worry about them hurting me.
"i did it to you because you were so beautiful it felt dangerous. i tried to make you small in my head so you wouldn't be so powerful. it wasn't you who was boring, jagi. it was me. i was the one with the empty head."
he finally let a tear fall, and he didn't move to wipe it away. "you said you feel like you're on a trial period. i want you to know that the only person on trial here is me. i’m the one who failed. i’m the one who didn't respect the person i love most.
"you don't have to be 'interesting' for me. you don't have to be 'well-spoken' or 'logical' or anything. i just want you. i want to listen to you talk about nothing for ten hours, not because i'm checking your vocabulary, but because your voice is the only thing that makes me feel like i’m home."
he looked at the stack of books in your arms. "you’re not a prize in a cereal box. you’re the whole reason the world makes sense to me. i was a prick, and a snob, and i let my own pride blind me to how lucky i was. please. i’ll do anything. i’ll throw away every notebook i’ve ever written if it means you’ll look at me without thinking i’m grading you. i don't want to be your judge anymore. i just want to be your person."
you looked at him, seeing the way his typical composure had been completely replaced by a desperate, messy sincerity. seungmin didn't do "messy." he didn't do "unplanned."
but here he was, standing on a sidewalk, crying in front of the person he had hurt, finally admitting that his logic was a failure.
"i'm still really hurt, minnie," you said softly, your own voice breaking. "i still feel like i have to perform when i'm around you."
"then let me spend every day proving you don't have to," he pleaded, finally taking the books from your arms and setting them on a nearby bench so he could take your hands. his palms were warm and damp. "let me be the one who learns from you for once.
"you taught me that people aren't categories. you taught me that beauty isn't a mask, it's just part of the person. i'm so ashamed of how i treated you, but i'm so grateful you're in my life. you changed my perspective on everything."
he squeezed your hands, his gaze searching yours. "i don't deserve another chance, but i’m begging for one. i want to take this slow. i want to earn back the right to hear your thoughts. i promise, i'll never file you away again. i just want to be in the same room as you."
you looked at him for a long time, the weight of the last week finally starting to lift. he wasn't being analytical. he wasn't being cold. he was just seungmin—the boy you loved, who had finally realized that the most logical thing in the world was to stop thinking and start feeling.
"okay," you whispered. "we can try. i'm not promising anything, yeah? but no more evaluations.
he let out a jagged, sob-like laugh and pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your shoulder. "never again. i promise. i love you. i love you for exactly who you are, and i’m so sorry i ever acted like i was waiting for more."
you held him back, the sun warming your back as you stood together on the sidewalk. it wasn't perfect, and the scars were still there, but as seungmin held you, you knew he wasn't looking at your face or your mind.
he was just holding your heart.
I.N.
the following days were the longest of jeongin’s life. he felt like he was living in a house with no windows, trapped in the suffocating silence of his own mistakes. he didn’t know how to be alone with himself. every time he looked in the mirror, he didn't see the confident, sharp-witted idol everyone else saw; he saw a boy who had looked at the person he loved and saw a stereotype instead of a soul.
he tried to keep busy. he practiced until his legs felt like lead and his throat was raw, but even the music couldn't drown out the sound of your voice telling him you shouldn't have to audition for your own relationship. that phrase haunted him. it played on a loop in his head, a relentless reminder of how he’d treated you—not as a partner, but as a lucky find he’d appraised from a distance.
he didn't text you a thousand times. he was too afraid. every time he picked up his phone, his hands would shake, and he’d realize he didn't have the right to ask for your time. he spent his nights sitting on the floor of the kitchen exactly where you’d left him, staring at the door and waiting for a sound that never came.
finally, after nearly a week of agonizing silence, he couldn't take it anymore. he didn't want to corner you again—he knew that would only make you pull further away. so he did the only thing he could think of. he went to your sister's apartment and sat on the steps outside, huddled in his oversized hoodie, waiting. he didn't call. he didn't buzz.
he just waited for you to come out.
when you finally emerged to go for a walk, the sight of him made your heart stop. he looked terrible. the playful, mischievous spark that usually defined him was gone, replaced by a hollow exhaustion. his eyes were red and swollen, and he looked like he’d lost weight. he looked small, sitting there on the concrete, like a child who had lost his way home.
"innie?" you whispered, your voice cracking.
he scrambled to his feet, his movements jerky and nervous. he didn't step toward you; he stayed where he was, as if he were afraid his proximity alone would hurt you.
"i’m not here to be a jerk," he said, his voice a jagged rasp. "and i’m not here to tell you that you’re being dramatic. i... i’ve spent every second since you left thinking about what you said. about how i didn't bother to look for the hearts of 'other girls' either. and it made me feel sick. because you were right."
he took a shaky breath, his fingers twisting in the strings of his hoodie. "i’ve been so protected in this idol bubble. i meet so many people who only see the 'i.n.' version of me, so i started doing the same thing to the world. i became a person who only saw the surface because it was safer.
"i looked at you and i saw the most beautiful person i’d ever seen, and instead of being grateful, i was suspicious. i told myself you had to be empty because if you weren't... if you were real... then i was the one who was in over my head."
he finally looked at you, and the raw, unshielded honesty in his eyes made your stomach flip. he wasn't the defensive boy in the kitchen anymore. he was just jeongin, and he was breaking.
"i made you a fluke, jagi," he choked out, the tears finally spilling over. "i treated your intelligence and your kindness like they were 'bonus features' i didn't pay for. i was so arrogant that i thought i was the one doing you a favor by staying. but the truth is, i’m the one who doesn't deserve to even be in the same room as you. i was the one who was shallow. i was the one who was boring."
he dropped his head, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. "i’m so ashamed. i’m ashamed that i made you feel like a trophy. i’m ashamed that i looked at you and didn't see a human being. you aren't 'not like other girls.'
"you’re just you. and you are brilliant, and funny, and you have the biggest heart i’ve ever known, and i’ve spent our whole relationship making you feel like you had to prove that to me every single day."
you stepped toward him, your own vision blurring with tears. seeing him like this—stripped of all his pride and his armor—it made the anger you’d been holding onto start to dissolve into a heavy, aching sadness. you still loved him. you loved him so much it felt like a bruise.
"i didn't want to win, jeongin," you said softly, reaching out to touch his arm. "i just wanted you to see me."
he flinched at your touch, let out a broken, hitching breath, and then leaned into it, his forehead dropping onto your shoulder. "i see you now," he whispered against your coat. "i see everything. i see how much i hurt you, and i see how much i don't deserve you. i’ll do anything, jagi.
"i’ll spend every day for the rest of my life making sure you never have to 'audition' again. i’ll listen to every thought, every boring detail, every fear... not because it's a surprise that you have them, but because they’re the only things i care about."
he pulled back just enough to look at you, his face wet and pleading. "i’m so sorry. i was a kid trying to be cool, and i ended up being a monster to the only person who ever truly cared about the real me. please. i don't expect you to come home today. i don't even know if i expect you to ever come home. but i need you to know that i know what i did. i know i treated you like an object, and i’ll never forgive myself for that."
the silence on the sidewalk was heavy, but for the first time in a week, it wasn't cold. you looked at the boy in front of you—the boy who had made you feel so small, but who was now making himself even smaller just to show you he understood.
"i’m not ready to go back to the way it was, innie," you whispered, your hand moving up to cup his face. "because the way it was... it wasn't fair to me."
he nodded frantically, leaning into your palm. "i know. i don't want it to be like that either. i want to be the man who deserves you. i want to take it slow. i want to learn who you are all over again, the right way this time. no assumptions. no 'bonuses.' just you."
you stayed there for a long time, standing on the steps in the cool afternoon air. jeongin held onto your hands like they were the only things keeping him from drifting away. he wasn't looking at your face like it was a prize; he was looking at you like you were his entire world, finally realizing that the most beautiful thing about you had nothing to do with what he could see.
"okay," you said softly. "we can try. but if you ever make me feel like a fluke again, jeongin... i won't come back."
"i won't," he promised, a tiny, watery spark of the old jeongin returning to his eyes. "i’ll never let you feel like anything less than the most important person in my life. thank you. thank you for giving me a chance to be better."
he pulled you into a hug then, burying his face in your neck, and for the first time in a week, you both breathed. the road back to trust would be long, and there would be days where the old hurt would resurface, but as jeongin held you, you decided to trust his words. to trust him.
🏷️ ( general ) : @beautifulsharkgoatee @susu6944 @emilywjinnie @emotionalstrawberries @babythisisourcinema @maliatate96 @sapphirewaves @iconicallyher @fussel9913 @yawwni
🏷️ ( series ) : @vinylphwoar @anakinishotdoe @skzcodered @itsraininghyunebuckets @emilywjinnie @idiotmaterial @notmeneo @buckybarnesgirl24 @nchhuhi @fics-lovebot @stay-tiny-things @beal-o @yazzyu @floofeh-purpi @lixsluv @xrusa01 @emotionalstrawberries @noxxobscura @ilovetylerthecreater @kaiyaba @stay-tiny-things @doliveiraa @lilloool @fussel9913 @lilyneaire @tsunderelino @yxxtxxa @orangeblueandpurple @yasmincansstuff @myfavoritedelusion
🏷️ ( sfw ) : @straykiisses
