Hii! May I request something angsty with some fluff ( happy ending pls ) for park junil ? ( ex trainee a, now bp2 ) im not really sure if he counts as part of group or something ( i checked your pinned about who do you write for ) so im sorry if i made mistake! Thank you tho! đ
yes! coming RIGHT up. i also miss junil so much... isnt it werid how hes just off the radar now.. wtf
itâs the silence that hurts most.
not the yelling, not the slammed doors, not the arguments that left his throat raw and his chest burning with words he wished he never said. itâs the quiet. the way you avoid looking at him now, the way your voice is steady but distant, polite in a way that strangers are. thatâs what cuts deepest.
junil used to think he could survive anything, years of training, brutal practices, watching dreams crumble in the hands of people who couldnât fight as long as he could. he thought pain was something heâd grown immune to. but nothing prepared him for the ache of watching you slip away, one careful step at a time.
and it was his fault. he knows it.
he remembers the first night he came home so late you were already asleep on the couch, phone still glowing in your hand with a half-written text. he remembers promising it wouldnât happen again. but it did. and again. and again. and every time, the excuses fell flat, and your patience wore thinner.
"i donât need promises baby," you had whispered once, tired eyes staring through him. "i need you."
he thought he was doing it for you, for the both of you. all the hours, the sacrifices, the way he pushed himself until his body begged for rest. he thought it would make you proud, that when he finally stood on stage under blinding lights, youâd smile the way you used to. but he didnât realize that in chasing that dream, he was letting go of the person who believed in it first.
he finds you packing a bag one night. not everything. just enough. and his chest caves in because itâs real now. itâs not just a fight, not just words said in anger. youâre leaving.
"donât, please," his voice cracks, and it makes you pause. but you donât look at him. "donât walk away. iâll do better. iâllâ"
"youâve been saying that for months," you say, and itâs calm, so calm it terrifies him. like youâve already made peace with it. "i canât keep waiting for you to show up."
he drops to his knees, not even caring how pathetic it looks. the tears blur his vision, but he doesnât wipe them away. "iâll lose everything else, i donât care. just not you. please."
that night, you leave anyway.
weeks blur. schedules, practices, interviews. he goes through the motions, a perfect trainee on the outside. but inside, heâs hollow. he checks his phone too often, stares at your old texts until the words lose meaning. he wonders if you think about him at all. if you miss him. or if youâre better without him, lighter without the weight of his broken promises.
he starts writing late at night when he canât sleep. not songs for the company, not lyrics for anyone else. just words for you. pages and pages filled with apologies, with confessions he never said aloud, with memories he clings to because theyâre all he has left.
sometimes, he sings them under his breath. the others hear, but they donât comment. they know. theyâve seen the way heâs changed.
months pass before he sees you again. itâs raining, and heâs stupid enough to have forgotten an umbrella. heâs running down the street, hood pulled low, when he spots you standing under the awning of a convenience store, scrolling through your phone.
his chest seizes. you look the same, but differentâtired, maybe, but steadier. like someone whoâs learned how to live without him. he almost keeps walking. almost convinces himself itâs kinder not to intrude. but then you look up, and your eyes meet, and he canât move even if he tried.
"junil," you breathe, and it feels like a lifetime and a second all at once.
he laughs, but itâs broken. "hi."
the silence stretches, thick with everything unsaid. finally, he blurts, "iâm sorry. iâm so sorry. i ruined everything, didnât i?"
your expression softens, but thereâs hesitation. "you didnât ruin everything. we⊠just couldnât keep going the way it was."
he swallows hard, rain dripping down his jaw. "i kept thinking that if i worked hard enough, it would be worth it. that youâd understand once i made it. but whatâs the point of making it if i donât have you to share it with?"
your lips part, but no words come. and for the first time, he doesnât fill the silence with promises he canât keep. he just looks at you, raw and open, and lets you see the mess heâs become without you.
you sigh, finally stepping closer, holding out the umbrella you bought inside. "youâll get sick."
his hand brushes yours as he takes it, and the touch is so familiar it nearly undoes him. he whispers, "do i still have a chance?"
you study him for a long moment. then, quietly: "one chance. donât waste it."
he doesnât. not this time.
it isnât perfectâhe still has long nights, still comes home exhausted. but he shows up. he texts even when itâs just a heart emoji at 3 a.m. he brings you small things that remind him of you. he lets you in, tells you when heâs drowning instead of shutting you out. and slowly, piece by piece, you start smiling at him the way you used to.
one night, youâre curled up together on the couch, your head on his shoulder. he feels your breathing even out as you drift off, and something in his chest finally loosens. for the first time in months, maybe years, he feels at peace.
he presses a kiss to your hair, whispering into the quiet, "thank you for coming back. i swear, i wonât let go again."
and he means it.
